Shackled

by Ray Garton

  Lacey turned her head slightly and frowned suspiciously. "What are they?"

  "They will make you feel more relaxed, make you feel better about things here. You'll need them for the time being, Lacey."

  The girl did not change her expression.

  Jacquie placed the bottle on the desk and stood, grinning. "I'm a doctor, Lacey. If you don't believe me, just look at these." She pointed to three framed certificates on the wall behind her. "I'm a medical doctor, I'm a doctor of psychiatry, and I specialize in child psychiatry." She turned her grin to Lacey. "I'm not going to give you anything that will hurt you. I promise. And I hope that, during our talk here, you have developed a certain amount of faith in me. Am I correct?" she asked, picking up the bottle, offering it to Lacey, and raising her eyebrows hopefully.

  Lacey stared at the bottle. Dr. Jacqueline Melton was the only person she'd met in this place who made any sense at all, who genuinely seemed to care for her and who had not hurt her. Maybe the pills would help her. Lacey stood, reached out, and took the bottle.

  Jacquie came from behind the desk and stood before Lacey. "Good. Very good. You know, you have a lot of work to do. You're going to be a very important person to us. And to Lucifer. I promise I'll see you tomorrow."

  Jacquie was quite tall, so Lacey had to look up at her to ask, "When is tomorrow?"

  Jacquie placed a hand on Lacey’s cheek gently and whispered, "After we've spent some time together, you'll know when tomorrow is. I promise ...”

  3

  Back in her room, Lacey lay on her bed, staring into the darkness, wondering why she shouldn't hate her mother. After all, had the woman ever once done anything motherly! Besides, perhaps, giving birth to Lacey? Had she ever done or said a single thing to put a stop to what Lacey's dad was doing? And her dad ... he was worthy of more than simple hatred. He was worthy of death. Not only for what he had done to her, but for what he would no doubt do to Daphne ... if he hadn't started doing it already.

  Yes, Dr. Jacqueline Melton made a great deal of sense. But what was she doing here? In this place? No one ... nothing ... made sense here.

  But Lacey decided not to dwell on why. The important thing was that Jacquie was there, and Lacey finally felt she had someone she could turn to, someone she would be talking to again tomorrow ... whenever tomorrow came ...

  4

  Dr. Jacqueline Melton's next patient was much smaller, much less cooperative, and much, much more frightened than Lacey had been. In fact, he was so terrified, he didn't want to move.

  He was a tiny little black boy named Samuel Walker. When he was left in the office by the nurse, he stood straight and stiff, arms at his sides, staring straight ahead with wide, frightened eyes. After a while, his eyes began to look around cautiously, but his head did not move. Finally, his eyes fell on Jacquie, standing behind her desk and wearing her best smile. She moved around the desk and came toward him. He stiffened even more, his straight arms trembling at his sides, his shoulders hunched up around his neck.

  She hunkered down before him and took both of his little hands in hers. "Hello, Samuel. I'm Dr. Jacqueline Melton, but I want you to call me Jacquie because you and I are going to be very good friends."

  "You're a ... a doctor?"

  "That's right. And I'm here to help you."

  "Are you, um ... gonna give me a shot?"

  "Oh, no, no." She laughed, placing a hand on the side of his small round face. "I'm the kind of doctor who just wants to be friends, with you and talk about what you're feeling and thinking, that's all. You don't have to worry about any needles in here. I'm a doctor who treats feelings and thoughts, that's all. Now, why don't you come over here and have a seat in this great big chair, okay?" She led him to the overstuffed chair, which swallowed him once he sat in it, his little bare feet sticking upward on the bottom cushion, his elbows hiked up on the fat armrests. "Well, look at that," she said, grinning, "you look like you're sitting on a throne! Just like a little king!”

  Samuel's mouth twitched as if it were trying to smile, but failed. He shifted in the chair uncomfortably as Jacquie took her seat behind the desk.

  She frowned, then said, "No, no, this is too far away." So she came around to the front of the desk and perched on its edge, folding her arms and smiling. "There, that's better. I think we should be close when we talk, don't you?"

  He nodded almost imperceptibly.

  "So, tell me, Samuel, how are you? How do you feel? What are you thinking? Is there anything you want to tell me?"

  Samuel frowned, licked his lips, sucked them between his teeth, scratched his head, ran his fingers through his hair, then, finally, he asked, "Why did the man tuh-take me ... like that?"

  "What man?"

  "The man with the upside-down cross in his car."

  "Ah, yes. The man with the upside-down cross. You probably think he did something bad, but although you don't realize it yet, he was your friend. He saw your situation and he decided to help you. Did you ever think of that? That maybe he wanted to help you, to take you someplace where you'd have something better than what you had at home? Did you think of that? Huh?" She spoke so softly. Her voice was like Samuel's mother's cheek against his ... so soft.

  After a long moment Samuel shook his head. "Why was his cross hanging ... upside down?"

  "Well, Samuel, what do you say we hold on to that for a while. We'll get to that, okay? For the moment I want to know what you're feeling. Really. I'm your friend, Samuel. Please, please tell me what's on your mind."

  "How come I-I'm here instead of at home with my puh-parents?"

  "Well, there's a very good reason for that." She leaned forward, folded her hands, and smiled. "Your daddy is a pastor, isn't he?"

  Samuel nodded.

  "Your daddy is the pastor of a Christian church, isn't he?"

  Another nod.

  "And the Christians worship Jesus Christ, right?"

  A nod.

  "You've seen pictures of Jesus, haven't you?"

  "Yes."

  She backed away from her desk, opened a drawer, and removed a framed painting of Jesus Christ. "Like this, right?"

  "Yes. That's Jesus."

  "Ah, but how do you know?"

  "Huh?" His face suddenly dropped its suspicion and fear and he said, "Whatta you mean?"

  "This is a painting, Samuel. Every picture you've ever seen of Jesus Christ has been a painting. Do you know why?"

  He was silent.

  "Well, do you know why?"

  Finally, Samuel shook his head.

  "Because there were no cameras way, way back then. None of those paintings picture the real Jesus. Did you know that?"

  He shook his head again.

  "Did you know that Jesus —I know this may come as a shock to you — but did you know that Jesus ... was a liar!"

  Samuel's eyes widened and he pressed himself back in the chair hard, as if he were hoping to disappear in its folds.

  "It's true. He was. But, of course, you didn't know that because you're a pastor's son, and you have lived a sheltered life. Do you know what sheltered means? That means you have been protected from the real world. Do you know what the real world is?"

  He shook his head.

  "Well, you might say that's where you are now. Right now. Right here. This is the real world."

  Suddenly his face became simultaneously sad and frightened. "But they tuh-told me here that I h-have to wuh-worship Satan."

  "Well, now, Samuel, let's talk about that. What do you think of Satan?"

  "He's bad. He's evil. He's a fallen angel."

  "But you do admit that he's an angel. Did you know what Satan was called before some people began to call him Satan?"

  "Lucifer."

  "That's right. And do you know what that name means?"

  Samuel shook his head.

  "It means 'angel of light.' Did you hear that, Samuel? 'Angel ... of light.' " Her voice was a musical whisper. "Now, tell me ... does that sound bad or evil to you?
'Angel of light'?"

  The confusion on Samuel's face reached new heights. His eyes darted all around beneath his frown and he fidgeted in the chair until, finally, he said, "N-no, it doesn't sound bad, b-but — "

  "Ah, then why should Lucifer, who is now called Satan, be considered bad? Hmm? Do you see what I mean when I say that you have been sheltered from the real world? You have been, you know. Unfortunately, you know nothing of the real world. But, as I said, you are in the real world now. Do you realize that?"

  With wide eyes, he shook his head slowly.

  "Well, you are. You are. This is the real world, and ... well, Samuel, I'm afraid that what I'm about to tell you is going to come as a shock. It's not going to sound right at first, but you have plenty of time to think about it. Everything you've been told up until now ... by your mother and your father ... by everyone you've known in your father's church ... is a lie."

  Samuel's eyes grew slowly smaller and his face seemed to shrink as he stared at her in utter amazement.

  "Yes, I'm afraid it's true, Samuel," she whispered, her eyes looking so sad, so sympathetic. "It's all been a lie. Jesus is not the savior you have been led to believe. And that's why you are here. Because that man in the car who picked you up realized that you were in need of the truth. The real truth. So he brought you here. Because we have that truth." She grinned. "And we want to share it with you. Do you understand?"

  After a long pause, he shook his head.

  "You don't. Well, I'm sure it's going to take some time. It won't happen immediately. But that's why I'm here. To explain things to you. To make sure you understand the purpose of your stay here."

  "My ... stay?" he asked in a squeaky voice. "You mean ... they're not gonna kill me?"

  "Oh, no, no, of course not. Unless, of course ...” She paused and scratched her chin. "Well, unless you don't cooperate," she said with a little grimace of distaste.

  "Co ... operate."

  "Do you know what that means?" .

  He frowned and shook his head slightly.

  "To cooperate means ... to go along with things, to do as you're told. To not cause any trouble. Does that make sense to you, Samuel?"

  Slowly he nodded.

  "Well, then, that's what you need to do here. You need to go along with things ... do as you're told ... and not cause trouble." She crossed one arm over her breasts, propped an elbow on it, and pressed a knuckle to her lips. "Would you like me to tell you a story, Samuel?"

  After a long moment, he nodded.

  "A little boy came here once who was just like you. In fact, he was almost exactly like you. He was the same age as you, and — " She leaned toward him for a moment. " — he was also the son of a pastor. Just ... like ... you. But unlike you, Samuel ... he did not cooperate. He refused to listen to anyone, to go along with anything. He rejected what we wanted to give him ... which was, of course, the real truth. Do you want to know what happened because of that?"

  Samuel shook his head cautiously.

  "Would you like to see what happened because of that?"

  Samuel froze up then, eyes wide; he could not move or speak.

  Dr. Melton walked around her desk, reached under it, and did something that made a click.

  To her left, a panel in the black wall rose to reveal a twenty-seven-inch television screen. She walked over to the television and hit a button beneath it. The blank, green screen came alive.

  There were three people in a small white room, all tied to chairs and blindfolded: an adult man, an adult woman, and a little toddler boy. An empty folding chair to the left was against the wall and facing them.

  "That's the boy's father, mother, and little brother," Dr. Melton said, hunkering down beside his chair and putting her hand on his.

  The door in the back of the room opened and a little boy was led in by a very large, muscular man naked except for a leather mask with eyeholes and an open zipper mouth and a shoulder holster that held a very large pistol.

  "That's the boy," Dr. Melton said, pointing to the boy being led in.

  The man seated the boy in the chair against the wall, then removed the pistol from its holster.

  In the chair, the little boy put both hands over his mouth, eyes wide, and began to make pathetic whimpering sounds.

  The man with the gun stepped behind the man with the blindfold, held the gun to the back of his head, and, without missing a beat, pulled the trigger.

  The gun exploded.

  The man's blindfolded face disappeared in a splash of red and gray.

  "Daddeeeeee! " the boy screamed, pulling his hands from his mouth.

  But the masked man had already moved behind the woman and placed the gun to her head. He fired again. Her blood splashed the lens of the video camera, spotting it darkly.

  The little boy shot to his feet and shrieked, "Mommeeeee!" so loudly that his face turned a deep red and tendons in his neck stood out like cables.

  The naked man returned his gun to its holster, reached down, and grabbed the screaming boy's elbow, then dragged him out of the room.

  The screen went blank.

  Dr. Melton turned to Samuel. She looked very somber. "Do you see what I mean, Samuel?"

  He nodded very slowly, still gaping at the blank television screen.

  "So you understand the importance of cooperating?"

  Once again he nodded, but without moving his eyes.

  "Good. That's very good. So let's talk tomorrow, okay? We'll talk about the things you're cooperating with and why you're cooperating with them. Okay?"

  Again, a slow, wide-eyed nod.

  "Good, good." She stood, took his hand, and led him to the door. On the other side, the nurse awaited him, unsmiling ...

  5

  After Samuel left, Dr. Jacqueline Melton spent the next few minutes leaning back in the chair behind her desk while she rubbed the back of her neck hard with one hand.

  When the door opened again, she sat up, surprised; she had no more appointments.

  It was Dr. Corbus.

  He smiled as he closed the door, went to the chair before her desk, and lowered his thin frame into it slowly, crossing his long, bony legs and linking the long fingers of both hands around one bent knee. His pale hands stood out like white gloves against his black pants.

  "So, how were your first sessions?" he asked quietly, sibilantly. "You had, what? Seven? Eight?"

  "Eight. They were difficult. I'm very tired. I thought I would at least be able to get a good night's sleep before I went to work. I didn't know I'd have to start the second I got here." She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I could really use some sleep. I'm very tired."

  "Don't worry, you can sleep now. You deserve it. I listened in for a while, and I'm very impressed, Dr. Melton. Now, tell me about the girl."

  "Yes. Lacey. I don't think she'll be difficult. Her mind is going in so many different directions that it should be easy to work with. To mold and separate. Especially with her background. Her parents did most of the work for us without even knowing it. Of course, that's not uncommon, is it?"

  He shook his head slowly, smiling. "What about the little black boy? Samuel Walker?"

  "The boy may not be impossible, but he certainly won't be easy. A lot of that is because of his background; his father, as you know, is the pastor of a Christian church and has really steeped him in the faith. Part of it is also because Samuel is simply ... a tough little cookie. Quiet and scared and timid, maybe, but clinging tenaciously to the beliefs of his father. Anyway, what are you doing about that reporter who's been looking into the boy's disappearance?"

  "It's taken care of. The reporter has a tail. We'll make sure he doesn't learn too much. And just in case, he's going to be frightened off to begin with. Thanks to your help," he added with a slight, gentlemanly bow.

  "Oh? How are you going to do that?"

  Corbus grinned. "Don't worry about it. We will. Now, why don't you have dinner with me tonight? In my apartmen
t, I mean. We have so much to talk about now that you have made the move and, well, plunged in, so to speak." He smirked. "I know you are very tired, so go to your apartment, take a shower, have a nap if you like, and then we can have a little wine before dinner and talk. Say, seven-thirty?"

  She sighed. "Well, I suppose we should talk. Yes. Seven-thirty sounds fine."

  "Wonderful." He reached out his left hand and took her right, twisting his hand in a backward, effeminate sort of way. "I'll have someone escort you to my place. See you then."

  She looked down at the unusual ring he was wearing on his third finger. It was an enormous black star sapphire — probably close to fifty carats — set in silver, with elaborate gargoylelike faces, bats, snakes, and mystic symbols carved into it all the way around the band.

  She stared at the ring a moment as his hand continued to hold hers, then looked at him. "That's quite a ring," she said.

  He smiled. "It certainly has the desired effect on the people who need it, if you understand my meaning."

  "Yes, I think I do."

  "We'll talk more about that later. You rest up. I'll send for you at seven-thirty."

  Just before he left, he gave her hand a squeeze and narrowed his silver-gray eyes to tiny slits beneath long black lashes as he smiled again ...

  6

  Their dinner was lit by candlelight and nothing else. The dancing flames cast shadows over Corbus's face that made it change again and again, as if it were made of liquid ... a shifting, drooping mask of pale wax that was slowly melting-and running down his skull.

  They were waited on by little boys, naked except for their studded leather collars. Occasionally, Corbus smirked as he reached down to fondle this one or that one. One of the little boys was Laotian and Corbus paid him a great deal of attention. Once, when the boy was pouring some wine, Corbus reached up and stroked the boy's smooth cheek with one long nail.

  Corbus whispered sibilantly, "I once knew a little boy in the jungles of Laos who looked very, very much like you. I remember him fondly."

  "You worked in Laos?" she asked, cutting her filet mignon as the boy left them.