Shackled

by Ray Garton

  "Oh, boy," Bent said, stopping.

  The others stopped with him and followed the direction of his eyes.

  Bent's fists were planted above his hips, elbows jutting as he stared down at the Global Inquisitor. Finally, he bent down and swiped up a copy, staring at the cover with disgust.

  "Look at this," he said, "just look at this. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Oh, god, those poor people."

  The others gathered around him.

  "What're you talking about?" Coll asked.

  "This damned cover story!" Bent snapped, slapping the cover with a fist.

  The color cover showed a pathetic-looking woman standing in a room filled with Liberace paraphernalia: pictures, posters, articles, lamps, pillows, busts. She looked as if she were trying to smile, but could not. Above her, the headline read, in fat, black letters:

  LIBERACE'S GHOST TELLS WOMAN

  TO DENY HUSBAND ORAL SEX!

  Under Orders From His Mother, Liberace

  Instructs Lifelong Fan On Proper Behavior

  In Bed!

  As he stared at the headline and picture, Bent said quietly, "Oh, Fleck, you son of a bitch."

  "That's your story?" Rob asked. "You wrote that?"

  "Yeah, I wrote a story about this woman. But I'm sure it's not the story they printed, judging from the headline." He bought a copy and read the story as they continued down the sidewalk. And he remembered vividly that Fleck had only nodded once; he had not agreed, he'd said nothing. "You prick," he whispered.

  "What's the problem?" Coll asked.

  "My own stupidity, that's the problem. I tried to water this story down so it wouldn't hurt these people, but ... I guess it's just a lot more interesting to humiliate them."

  "Hey,” Rob said, "can you guys hold up a sec? I'm gonna get a slice of pizza." He hurried to the window, digging his thin wallet from his back pocket.

  Coll turned to Bent and asked, "Okay, so just what are you so upset about?"

  "Well, this woman, see ... she's sick. She thinks she's getting messages from Liberace. Her husband, who knows she's sick, came to me because, according to his wife, Liberace's mother had told Liberace to tell the wife not to give her husband blow jobs until she was able to talk specifically to me. So I went out to look into it, but as it turned out, the real story this woman wanted to give me was something about these Satanists she's seen performing rituals out in the desert behind their trailer. So I tried to tell my editor, Fleck, that — "

  Bent stopped speaking. He froze. His eyes were locked with Coll's as they widened, mouth still open, one gesturing hand still' raised.

  "Oh, my god," Bent breathed. "Oh, my god."

  "Satanists?" Coll asked quietly, cocking his head. "She was seeing Satanists in the desert? Jeez, they're popping up a whole lot these days, aren't they?"

  "Oh, my god," Bent breathed again, his breath appearing in a ghost of vapor in the biting air as he stared at the tabloid.

  Moving close to Bent, Ethan asked desperately, "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

  Bent only shook his head silently, staring at the paper.

  When Rob returned, chewing a bite of his thick slice of pizza, Bent spun around, dropped the paper, and slapped his hands onto the boy's shoulders.

  "Can you find out where those computer networks come from?" he asked in a ragged, frantic voice.

  Rob was so startled, he nearly slapped the slice of pizza onto his own chest. He tried to back up, coughing against the clump of pizza in his mouth, but Bent's hands held firm, not letting him move from where he stood.

  When Rob didn't reply, Bent said through clenched teeth, "Dammit, kid, can you find out where they come from or can't you?”

  Rob's first words were garbled by the bite of pizza, then he chewed quickly and fought hard to swallow it. "You mean the phone numbers? Where they come from?"

  "Yes, yes, yes!"

  By this time, the others had gathered around, surprised by Bent's behavior and curious about the reason.

  Rob said, "Wuh-wuh-well, they usually huh-have r-relay numbers, y'know? So you're dialing a number with an area cuh-code and a prefix for one place, when they're ruh-really someplace else."

  "Can you trace them?" Bent asked, shaking Rob a little. "I mean, is there some way you can figure out where those numbers really lead to, their origin? Is there any way at all? Tell me, please, because this is important."

  "Wuh-well, I-I could pruh-probably ... maybe I c-could — "

  Coll stepped forward and leaned close to Bent. "C'mon, you're scaring the hell out of the kid."

  Without looking at Coll, Bent said, "I'm sorry, Rob, really I am, I don't mean to scare you, but this is very important. Just tell me. Is there any way at all you can trace those numbers and figure out the origin of those networks?"

  Rob seemed to calm down. He took a deep breath and said hoarsely, "I-I think so, Mr. Noble. It'll tuh-take a while, but I think so, yeah."

  Bent grinned almost manically. "Good, good. Rob, good," he said, slapping Rob's shoulder hard. "Then you should start right away, right now, as soon as possible." He spun around to face the others. "We've gotta go back. Now."

  Coll turned to him. "Bent, what's going on? What the hell's your problem here?"

  Bent turned to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed, saying, "I'll tell you later, I promise. When we get back to the apartment. I'll tell you everything. Right now, we've gotta get this kid back to that computer so he can get to work and I mean it! It's important, Coll, very important." He turned to the others. "We need to go back now, right now."

  Coll stared at him for a moment, not sure what to make of his behavior, then said, "Okay, let's go back. It's, um, getting cold anyway." He leaned down to pick up the paper Bent had dropped, then they started back toward the apartment ...

  6

  When they got back, Ethan called his wife to tell her he'd be back much later than expected while Rob sat down at the computer and turned to them, looking a little scared. Speaking reluctantly, he said, "Um, y'know, I said this would, uh, take a while. And it will. Um ... I don't mind staying up all night, but, uh, y'know, the rest of you might wanna go home for the night."

  All of them exchanged quick looks, shaking their heads.

  "No, Rob," Bent said, "you take as long as you need. We won't bother you."

  And they didn't, for a long time.

  They watched old movies on television in the next room, during which Ethan began to doze on a love seat, sliding slowly to the side until he was lying down and sound asleep.

  As the television's black-and-white images cast a flickering gray light through the dark room, and while Ethan slept, Coll asked Bent in a near whisper, "So, what's your story? And there had better be a good story after the way you lost it out there on the street."

  There was a long pause as Greta Garbo delivered a few lines in her thick and inimitable accent, then Bent finally said, "I promised her the story wouldn't focus on their sex life, first of all."

  "Whose sex life?" Garner asked quietly.

  "The Kotters. David and Nattie. The only story she wanted me to write was the one about the Satanists she kept seeing through her telescope. That's what Liberace told her to tell me. At least, that's what she said ... that Liberace wanted the story about the Satanists to be written and published so everyone would know."

  He stopped and stared at the television for a long time.

  "Bent," Coll whispered, "the woman is obviously nuts."

  Bent nodded slowly. "Oh, yeah, she's nuts, all right. Even her husband realizes that. She hears Liberace talking to her in her head. She's got a Liberace room full of pictures and memorabilia, the one on the Inquisitor cover. But she also has a telescope aimed at the desert behind their trailer. Between San Bernardino and Palm Springs. She said she saw people in black robes around bonfires, sacrificing people. Even babies and children. At least, she said they were Satanists. I didn't take her seriously. Not for a second. Because I knew she was crazy. Ev
en her husband had said so, like I told you. She heard Liberace's voice in her head ... why should I believe her when she told me she saw Satanists in the desert?"

  "But now you think she did," Garner said.

  "She's crazy, no doubt about that, but I think it's possible she really did see something. And the reason I wanted Rob to trace those numbers was to see if maybe one of them came from anywhere near there."

  "Why didn't you bring this up before?" Coll asked.

  "Because I had no idea it was real. Coming from the Liberace lady, I didn't take it seriously. I figured the woman was loopy."

  Garner smiled. "Which is exactly what they want you to think, that anybody who says they really-exist is just crazy. Tabloids are the best thing that ever happened to Satanists."

  Still staring at the television, with the soft gray light flickering over his slack face, Bent said, "I'm just sorry it didn't hit me sooner."

  Coll and Garner looked at each other as Bent continued to stare at the television, almost as if he were mesmerized but at the same time seeming to look at something entirely different, something that wasn't there.

  Coll slapped a hand on Bent's knee and said, "Okay. We'll wait until Rob's finished. And we'll let Ethan sleep. Because he looks like he needs it."

  Bent did not react.

  Coll moved away from Bent, along with Garner.

  "So, what do you think?" Garner whispered.

  "I think he's serious. And I think he just might have something."

  Garner nodded a few times, then they settled down and watched the old movie on television.

  7

  By the time Rob came into the room, the sunlight was shining through the remainder of the morning fog outside. Bent, Ethan, Coll, and Garner were sound asleep, a couple of them snoring quietly.

  On the television, a tall, thin televangelist with thick black and gray hair and a Southern accent, surrounded by hanging plants and motel room furniture, held a bible in his left hand while waving his right frantically through the air. Rob squinted at the television a moment, unable to make out a word the preacher was saying — it all sounded like gibberish. Then he realized the man was speaking in tongues with his eyes clenched tightly as a toll-free number flashed at the bottom of the screen and the ringing of telephones sounded in the background.

  Rob yawned, rubbing the back of his neck, then shuffled wearily to Garner who was slumped in his wheelchair, head bowed forward, rising and falling slowly with his chest as he snored.

  "Hey, Garner?" Rob said, shaking Garner's arm slightly. Rob's voice was hoarse and heavy. "C'mon, wake up. I'm done."

  Garner jerked awake, looked up at the boy, and grunted, "Huh?"

  "I'm done. I traced the numbers."

  Garner blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, and said, "You did?"

  "Yeah. It was harder than I thought. Three of the four numbers had a lot more relays than I'd expected. I had to stop and write up a program to reduce probabilities and ... well, the whole thing was a pain in the ass. But I did it."

  He grinned up at the boy. "No shit? Really? Kid, you're a genius! He scrubbed his face hard with both hands and sat up straight, then said loudly, "Okay, gentlemen, time to rise and-shine! The boy wonder has done it again!" He clapped his hands once, hard and loudly. "Up and at 'em!"

  Rob chuckled through his nose and shook his head as the others began to sit up, yawn, and scratch their heads, all looking rather disoriented.

  Garner wheeled through the room toward the doorway. "You're all welcome to use the facilities, if you can find them. Towels are in the cupboard just outside the bathroom. I'll fix some coffee and breakfast. You think my sandwiches are great, wait'll you taste my omelettes." He left the room, his wheels thrumming over the floor.

  Bent stood, arched his back, and winced, grumbling, "Is there a chiropractor in the house?" Then he limped over to Rob, who was standing at the window, looking out over the street below. "So, how'd you do, Rob?"

  "Well, one of those devil networks was no problem. The other three had over a dozen relays each. Pay phones, I suspect. But I traced 'em all."

  Bent's eyes brightened and he suddenly seemed much more awake. Coll and Ethan joined them as Bent said, "All four networks?"

  Rob nodded.

  Bent was excited now. "Where are they? Where are they coming from?"

  Rob gestured for them to follow him and led them out to the computer. He picked up a spiral-bound notebook and opened to the first page — it was covered with numbers scribbled sloppily in every direction — then the second, which held a neat list of four telephone numbers accompanied with locations. He faced them and looked down at the page, saying, "The first one's in San Francisco."

  "Right here?" Coll asked.

  "Yeah," Rob said, "that's the one with all the tame stuff on it, the hail Satan crap, that kinda thing. Remember I said it looked like these people weren't very serious? Because they were so out in the open and not secretive? Well, this explains it. San Francisco is where the Church of Satan is."

  "Anton LaVey's group," Coll said, nodding.

  "Uh-huh. Started in the sixties, mostly a dog and pony show. Lots of big movie stars and stuff became members — Jayne Mansfield and Sammy Davis, Jr. — and they had ceremonies at the church, stuff right out of those Hammer horror movies with Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, but nothing bad enough to hide. In fact, they flaunted it. They just relied on shock value mostly, got a lot of press. Very showy. LaVey is a former circus performer, so he knows his show biz. He had a goatee and mustache, a bald head ... still does, far as I know. He looks sorta like Emperor Ming in Flash Gordon. Anyway, the church was like some big deal for a while, a fad or something. And they were all very open about it ... which is why no one who knows anything about real Satanists — I mean the scary, deadly ones — takes them seriously. Mostly, they're made up of pissed-off Christians who're rebelling by going over to the other side. They get a membership card they can show to their buddies and use to scare their former Christian friends. They're sorta like the Democrats who voted for Reagan. Not the kind of people you're after. I figure this network probably has something to do with those guys. It's nothing you're interested in."

  Coll stared at him and asked slowly, "How old are you, again?"

  "Nineteen."

  "And you said you didn't do well in school?"

  He shrugged with one shoulder and his lips curled downward for a moment. "Only because I didn't especially want to." Looking at the notebook again he said, "The next one's in L.A."

  "Where in L.A., do you know?" Bent asked urgently.

  "Right in the city of Los Angeles, a 310 area code. That's not surprising. L.A.'s a big city and every big city seems to have a large concentration of Satanists ... just like they have large concentrations of street gangs and Hare Krishnas."

  "And the other two?" Bent asked.

  "The other's in New York City. 212 area code. The last one — " He took a deep breath. " — is in Palm Springs. That's the first one we looked at. The ... really bad one. The one with the most coded stuff on it. The scariest stuff." He raised his eyes slowly to Bent.

  Bent's jaw went slack, his brows knit together as his eyes slowly widened.

  "Palm ... Springs," he whispered. He repeated the two words twice.

  "Um, I-I don't know if it makes any difference," Rob said uncomfortably, "b-but, y'know, there's probably a lot of these networks out there. I've just tapped into four. They're probably all over the place."

  Bent shook his head. "No, no ... it doesn't make any difference. Palm Springs is the one I was looking for."

  Coll said, "Oh, c'mon, Bent, you don't know for sure if — "

  "No, but are you gonna tell me it doesn't look awfully damned strange?"

  "What are you talking about?" Ethan asked groggily. He'd slept through the story Bent had told the others the night before, and now his confusion was evident on his face.

  At that moment, Garner called from the kitchen, "The omelettes are
about to begin and the coffee is almost done! Why don't we all just pause awhile to break bread together? Or, in this case, eggs. Whatta you say? Somebody come in and set the kitchen table!"

  Bent put an arm loosely around Ethan's shoulders. "Let's go have breakfast and I'll tell you the whole story ...”

  8

  Garner did not disappoint them. His elaborate omelettes were just as good as — perhaps even better than — his sandwiches. They were fat with vegetables and melted cheese and served up with bacon, hash browns, and English muffins. The coffee, freshly ground, was chocolate raspberry, and the orange juice was fresh-squeezed and filled with pulp.

  As they ate, Bent repeated his story — more coherently this time, filling in all the details — for Ethan and Rob. They listened closely, and when Bent was finished, there was a silence around the small, plate-cluttered table as everyone ate their breakfast.

  As they finished up, Ethan took a sip of coffee and asked, "So, Bent, what do you plan to do next?"

  "Next?" He took a bite of bacon and chewed, then said, "Next. Well, I think I should go see the Kotters, if they'll talk to me, after that damned cover story in the Inquisitor." He took the last bite of his omelette. "Nattie said she saw something in the desert. Several times, actually. She seemed convinced they were Satanists sacrificing children and babies. Of course, she might be crazy, but so is this ... so maybe she's not."

  "But why?" Ethan asked. "What makes you think you need to pursue that particular computer network?"

  Bent took a drink of orange juice. "Well, because of what Nattie Kotter told me, for one thing. And because the Kotters live out in the desert not far from Palm Springs, where she claims to have seen this stuff. And also because, um ... well, uh ...” He sighed and locked his hands together beneath his chin. "There was something I saw in the first network Rob tapped into that's been bugging me ever since. We all saw it. I've been thinking about it a lot." He looked at Ethan across the oval-shaped table. "It said, 'WANTED: small black pup, male, skinny, trained or disciplined, loid services,' and then it gave the abbreviation for 'permanent.' Later, there was a response to that transmission from #666-13 that said, 'message received ... possibilities.' Think about that, Ethan."