by Ray Garton
"Oh, yes."
"Mm. I know very little about you, Dr. Corbus."
"And you are not alone in that. Few people do. It is something I propogate, my aura of mystery. It gives me the edge on everyone else." He winked. "You'll need to do the same, to a certain extent, you realize that, I hope. That's how all of this works. That is the fuel that runs the engine. Mystery. It keeps people off guard, uncertain, and afraid. As a result, they are easy to manipulate and use."
"I read your book," she said, taking a bite of steak.
He smiled. "No one comes to work here unless they've read my book. That's the only audience for whom it was written, which is why you won't see it in your local B. Dalton."
"Well, you said a lot about that in your chapter called, uh, 'Mystique and Leadership.'"
"Very good. I hope you read it carefully."
"Of course. Carefully enough to notice that you have a lot to say about power, manipulation, and mind control. But nothing whatsoever about how you gathered all that knowledge."
"I've spent the better part of my life gathering that knowledge, and the better part of my life living it, as well."
"So, is it off-limits? Your life? For conversation. I mean."
"Certainly not for you, my dear. After all, we are in this together, correct?"
"Yes, that's right. So, what did you do in Laos? It was during the Vietnam War, I take it?”
“Oh, yes. I was a captain then. Special Forces. I went in with a group of men. It was a shadow operation, top secret. You see, at the time, I had a degree in psychology, a degree in primitive religious practices, and a few other degrees in things that were irrelevant at the time. We were supposed to go into the jungle and make friends with the natives — you know, give them things, let them know we were on their side — and get them to fight for us, seduce them over to our side. There had been numerous similar operations, but most had little, if any, success. Ah, but my men and I, we were different." He cut into his steak delicately, raised the fork to his mouth, and wrapped his lips around the bit of meat, sliding it off the prongs. He chewed for a while as he looked over the candlelight at her with smiling eyes. He dabbed his pouty lips with a black linen napkin before continuing.
"Something occurred to me while we were there. These people, these natives living in the jungle, they had a little religion all their own. Oh, people here in this country — people who consider themselves civilized — would never call this a religion, not at all. To people here, it would be nothing more than a hodgepodge of superstitions, but to these people, it was their belief, their faith. It was their life. Catholics have their sacraments and icons, Jews have their yarmulkes and Passover ... these people had their primitive, crude jungle rituals. And with my education, it didn't take long for me to figure it out. Their religion, I mean. Its intricate little doctrines, rituals, and sacrifices, its gods and demons, its parables of monsters and spirits and cannibals. I came to understand it rather quickly. And, as a result, I understood them. So, we used it to our advantage. We combined our need for them with their passion for their religion, and ... it worked. It worked beautifully." He leaned back in his chair, sucking delicately at his teeth, and waved his napkin. "Of course, it's much too complicated to explain now in any detail, but suffice it to say that my use of their primitive religion really did work."
"Sounds impressive," she said, cutting into her steak again.
"Oh, thank you, but it was nothing much at all, really. Quite easy, actually. Surprisingly easy." He sipped his wine. "As a result, I left the army a colonel. But I left with something else. I left with the enlightening knowledge that what so many people consider nothing more than superstitions or laughable witch doctor mumbo-jumbo has far, far more power than that imagined by any Christian or Muslim or Jew, or any other so-called mainstream, civilized religion. Darkness. That's where the real power has nested. In darkness and fear and superstition. It's a part of all of us, inside all of us, and we're all susceptible to it. Even those who staunchly deny it. In fact, those people are especially vulnerable.”
"For example," he continued, "a male heterosexual who is secure in his sexuality has no fear of gay men. But a male heterosexual who does not have that security, who may harbor secret homosexual fantasies and may fear that he could easily be turned to the other side, is terrified of gay men. As a result, his behavior, attitude, his entire life is altered in such a way that he will never be perceived as one of them, even if it means cornering a gay man now and then and beating him senseless."
"In other words," she said, "methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"Precisely. Therefore, the gay man that he fears has a powerful hold over his entire life, a hold he would not have if that man were secure in the knowledge that he was straight and had no doubts about himself. And that is because nothing holds the human mind in a stronger grip than fear." He sipped his wine and took another bite of his steak. "Superstition is humankind's way of pigeonholing and giving order to the frightening unknown, whether it's a jungle ritual or a Sunday morning mass. Therefore, fear and superstition are the most effective ways of controlling the human mind ... and the human will."
She frowned slightly. "But what about the person who truly does not have any superstitions? What about someone who believes in none of it?"
He put his elbows on the table's edge, folded his long fingers beneath his goatee, and smiled in the flickering light, which sparkled on his moist teeth. "Tell me, Dr. Melton. Do you really believe in Satan?"
"Of course not."
He shook his head. "Neither do I, as you well know. That doesn't matter for us, of course, because we are in control. But it doesn't matter for them, either. For two reasons. First of all, most of these children have been taken at the right moment: they're being abused, they've run away, they're confused and lonely and depressed, perhaps the older ones are involved with drugs, whatever the case may be. They are simply vulnerable. And second of all, if they don't believe, we can quickly make them believe because of that vulnerability. True, they're only children. But the same thing works with adults. For example, Charles Manson. Jim Jones. Or Elizabeth Claire Prophet. Masters of manipulation all, but they deal — or dealt, as the case may be — in adults and they each have their own particular methods."
He was leaning forward and speaking faster now, his voice filled with quiet passion. "We deal in children, a very profitable commodity, and we use our own particular methods. But it's all the same the world over. Whether it's a pastor in a pulpit or a jungle native carving mystic symbols into his flesh with a scalding hot knife, a pope waving at a mob from a balcony or a fundamentalist Christian shooting to death a doctor who performs abortions, Middle Eastern religions killing each other off in a holy war, or some man convincing people that he's Jesus Christ and stockpiling enough firepower to scare hell out of the Feds."
He leaned back and let out a sigh. "It's all the same, my dear. All of it. And my point is this: It always works. The tools may be made of different material, but they are still the same tools. The methods may alter from group to group, but they are ultimately the same. Each a single part of the many, many superstitions and spiritual beliefs that rule the minds of men and women all over the world. And the only ones who cannot become victims of those superstitions and beliefs are those of us who know how to use them to control others."
She simply stared at him over the table, not eating or drinking. She had been impressed by his book, but reading that paled in comparison to hearing him speak. His understanding of the human mind and will was far more all-encompassing than she had thought. In fact, he had displayed a better grasp of the human psyche in the past few minutes than any of the professors and psychiatrists and various and sundry experts had in all her years of education. She suddenly had more respect for him than she'd had before. Suddenly she felt she was sitting across the table from a compact but immensely powerful nuclear reactor.
He sipped his wine, then said, "In any case, as a result of my experi
ences in Laos and in other similar places, I continued my education on my own and studied superstitions and spiritual beliefs even more deeply than I had in school." He chuckled "I learned more, too. One always does when one leaves the sacred halls of learning. Those halls are filled with more dust than knowledge, I'm afraid."
"So, you left the army of your own volition."
"Yes, I'm afraid so. It was either that or ... wait a little while and eventually get the boot, as they say." He grinned. "The army, you see, frowns on many things, in spite of all the questionable things they might do. One of those things is — "
The Laotian boy came in with more wine and Corbus reached down to fondle the boy's genitals.
"One of those things is a grown man's attraction to ... to those who are not grown, if you understand my meaning." The boy poured wine for her, then left. "That's something that was with me the entire time I was in the army. It had nothing to do with anything at the time. But then I realized the value of children, the demand for them, all over the world. What we do here is supply that demand."
She chewed her food, deciding not to speak, to respond. She did not want to interrupt his train of thought.
"When I returned to America," he said, "I put what I had learned to good use. I founded a cult. A Satanic cult. After all, here in America, Satanism is the ultimate blasphemy. And I knew there were many people willing — even eager — to commit themselves to that blasphemy. I used it to my advantage. I made a lot of money. And I controlled a lot of people. Not the numbers involved in my current work, of course. But it was a beginning. Religion. Superstition, I used them to get where I am now. I met R.C. shortly after his problem with the church and we began to work together. Now he works for me. Essentially. Although he would probably deny that, because he is not fully aware of the fact. R.C. is a very sharp businessman and a genius when it comes to marketing, to controversy and publicity. But beyond that, he is not, I'm afraid, terribly bright. That is one of the reasons I like him so much. Thanks to R.C., we have this complex. In fact, I designed it myself, all of it. I supervised every aspect of its construction. I know more about this complex than anyone else in it. More than they will ever know. It is occupied by many ... but it was built for me."
"Are you still involved with the military?"
"Oh, now and then. I am called in as a consultant for this and that."
"This ... and that?"
He chuckled. "Mind control. You see, our military is very, very interested in mind control. In fact, I'm quite certain that, collectively, their favorite movie is The Manchurian Candidate.'' He laughed. "I don't think they know quite what to make of me, but they're very, very interested in what I know. They always hold me at arm's length, making sure I come, and go through the back door, if you know what I mean. But they are very eager to hear what I have to say. Such hypocrites, they are. But I enjoy watching them squirm, so I always show up when they call," he added with a sly grin.
"You've been on a lot of talk shows. I've seen you. Why do you do that if you enjoy such a low profile?"
"Like I said, I enjoy watching them squirm. The studio audiences always hate me, but that's okay. Of course, I never tell them anything resembling the truth. They always hit me with the questions about sacrifice. They think I'm going around sacrificing anything or anyone I can get my hands on, which, of course, is not ... entirely true. But I simply tell them my particular religion is strictly opposed to sacrifices of any kind, that the ceremonies used in worshiping our lord Satan are all entirely symbolic and that any group of Satanists — or any other belief, for that matter — found to be sacrificing animals or humans should be dealt with accordingly by law enforcement agencies. They still hate me, no matter what I say, religious freedom or not, but no matter how much they hate me, they can't refute what I say. In fact, do you know that Geraldo Rivera once called me a monster on his show!" He laughed hard, spreading a long-fingered, long-nailed hand over his narrow chest. "I enjoyed that a great deal: Quite an honor, don't you think? I suspect that if Geraldo and all the others like him had their way, they would happily tear the Constitution to shreds just to see me strung up by my gonads."
There was a silent pause as they both ate some of their food, then Corbus said, "You've done your share of talk shows as well, Doctor. Far more than I. So let's hear a little about you, my dear. I have been monopolizing this conversation far too long."
"Well," she said with a sigh, "as I think you know, my parents were both killed in a boating accident when I was a little girl. I was an only child and my only relatives were my parental grandparents. They were too old and infirm to take care of me, so I went into a foster home. I know now that the foster home system is filled with pedophiles and child abusers."
"It's axiomatic," Corbus said with a smirk.
"But I think my foster parents were a little worse than most. They had five other children. Counting myself, there were three girls and three boys. This couple in whose care we'd been placed made us movie stars. Aside from the money they made from the state, they pulled in a small fortune for the pom films they made with myself and the other kids in front of the camera. But they did more than that. To keep us quiet, to make sure that we told no one and didn't try to run away, they scared the hell out of us with little rituals. Nothing big, really. They would wear — their names were Burt and Corinne — they'd put on black robes with hoods and make us kill small animals. We had to swear our allegiance to Satan and to them, Burt and Corinne. Sometimes, they would make us watch while they tortured the animals slowly — a kitten or a puppy — and they promised to do the same to us if we ever rebelled. They told us Satan would let them know if we did anything wrong. It worked for me, I can tell you. I was scared to death of them. So I went along with everything and I never complained. It was horrible at first, but after a while ... once I'd gotten close to the other kids ... it wasn't so bad. We got by. In fact, we sort of made a game of it."
She stopped to take a sip of wine and a bite of bread. Then: "I was twelve or so when I caught them. Burt and Corinne, I mean. It was after one of those rituals. They'd put us through it because one of the kids, a girl named Shawna, started crying during filming. Their movies were all one-take wonders and they didn't like it when we wasted their film. After the ritual, when they felt we were properly frightened back into shape, they sent us all to bed without dinner. I was so hungry I couldn't sleep, so I got up. It was so late, I figured they'd gone to bed already. But as I was walking down the stairs, I saw them in the living room. I could hear them, too. They were both drunk. They were wearing their robes and laughing hysterically, drunkenly. They were going through the ritual again, see, but this time, they were making a joke of it. All of a sudden, there was nothing scary about it, nothing threatening. It was a joke. They didn't take it seriously at all. And I realized what they'd been doing all along. Working us like puppets on strings."
With genuine curiosity, Corbus asked, "And what was your reaction to that realization?"
She shrugged. "I wasn't angry, really. Looking back on it, I would think most kids would be angry. But I wasn't. It made perfect sense. It worked perfectly for their purposes. It was so simple, yet so powerful. Strange as it may sound, I was fascinated."
"It doesn't sound strange at all. Not at all."
"I stayed there for three more years. It wasn't so bad after that. I wasn't afraid of Burt and Corinne anymore. I realized that if anything, they should be afraid of me, because I knew their secret."
"Very good," Corbus said with a little wink at her across the table. "Did you tell the others?"
"I wasn't afraid anymore, but I wasn't stupid," she said. "I didn't know if I could trust the other kids. Maybe they'd let the information slip to Burt or Corinne, maybe tell them it came from me. I no longer believed in their Satanic song and dance, but I knew that if they were able to torture small animals and force kids into performing sex for the camera, they'd probably be more than happy to do away with me once they found out I was on to them
. So I kept it to myself and bided my time."
"Fascinating," Corbus said quietly. "You ran away, I take it?"
"Just before I turned sixteen. I lived with some street kids in San Francisco for a while, but I was determined to make something of myself eventually. I didn't want to burn myself out on the streets and end up dead in some abandoned building. I stayed away from drugs and kept my eyes open for opportunities. When I was seventeen, I hooked up with a therapist, Dr. Jane Bennet. She had her own practice, but volunteered for one of the free clinics. She liked me, sort of took me under her wing. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have gotten an education. She didn't pay for all of it, just got me started. After that, I was on my own. And it was on my own that I made my way here."
"What an inspirational story," Corbus said. "You pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, as the Republicans like to say. I take it your current work is the result of your stay with Burt and Corinne?"
"Oh, yes. During the years after learning their little secret, I saw everything through different eyes. I was stunned by the control they had over the others, as if I were a new arrival. I listened to what the other kids said when Burt and Corinne weren't around. They were so frightened, so paralyzed with terror at what might happen to them if they were to say or do the wrong thing. It didn't matter if Burt and Corinne caught them. Those kids were worried about Satan! I couldn't get over it. I knew that even if I were to tell them what I knew, they probably wouldn't believe me because they hadn't seen what I had seen. I had seen the man behind the curtain, but they still thought they were under the thumb of the all-powerful Oz. As I got older, I realized how common that particular dynamic was in all aspects of life. Children afraid of their all-knowing parents ... people afraid of god ... afraid of their teachers ... their bosses, or even the IRS. I realized there were a whole lot of men behind a whole lot of curtains, and a whole lot of scarecrows quivering and quaking in front of the smoke and mirrors that was the almighty Oz. It stayed with me long enough to become a part of my work. And ... here I am."