by Polly Iyer
Slater squinted, his eyes turning cold. Lucier braced himself for the inevitable fist, but Slater held back with the same cool above-it-all arrogance.
“Actually, you’re right. That’s exactly what he did, among other things, and I embraced his god in the process.” He walked around Lucier’s chair, checking his bindings to make sure his prisoner wasn’t working free. “I concede you’re not as dim as I first thought. I wondered what Diana saw in such mediocrity and figured it must be something you’re hiding. Something I can’t compete with.”
Ignoring the bait, Lucier reeled in his fury to meet Slater’s composure with his own. “Women don’t fall in love with dicks, Slater. They fall in love with the man. Osiris, my ass. You should have given yourself more credit instead of becoming a eunuch.”
Lucier’s comment had the desired effect. Slater’s face bloomed with color.
“Below the belt, Lieutenant,” he said through clenched teeth, “metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m afraid you’re wrong, though. That was my one white lie, or should I say black lie. Why in Satan’s name would I eliminate the one thing to give me sexual pleasure? Diana was right. Penetration was out of the question, but I can still pleasure a woman and, more importantly, a woman can still pleasure me. Pleasure is anything that transpires between two consenting adults.” He paused, and a smile twitched his lips. “Even those non-consenting. I bet Diana does an excellent job pleasuring. What do you say?”
Slater was pushing all the right buttons. Lucier knew it and couldn’t control himself. He fought harder, the sharp edge of the plastic cuff cutting deeper into his skin. Blood trickled down his hand to his fingers, leaving a telltale stickiness. He collapsed in fatigue, breathing hard. Sweat crawled down his back like liquid worms, soaking his shirt. He shimmied against the back of the chair to stop the slithering effect. “Diana wouldn’t touch you,” he said.
“Are you sure? You didn’t see her when we were together. She’s fascinated by me. I sensed it. So did you. I saw those cat’s eyes of yours turn green. Ask her.”
“I will if you bring her here. Let me see she’s all right.”
“Soon. You’ll see her soon. Like you, she may be a little groggy, but she’ll come around.”
“If you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll kill you.”
Slater laughed. “I admire your optimism. You see, Lieutenant, we use special tactics to incorporate people into our sphere.”
“You mean cult, don’t you, Slater?”
“If you choose to call it that, I have no objection. People crave affection. Other than Phillip, the founding males of our group, including Silas, pulled themselves up from dismal beginnings, some with parents who were so busy surviving they had no time for their children. The one thing those men shared was brilliance and a need to be loved and admired. And greed, of course.”
“But not you. You were blessed with loving parents, belief in God. You had everything.”
“Yes, until I got sick. You know the story so I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say I slipped as low as a man can go and still live. These people offered me the love and passion I’d lost. They accepted me for who I am, or who I had become. A half-man.”
“So the medicine man taught you what? All about Satan?” Lucier snorted. “Give me a break.”
“Ever heard of love bombing?”
“No, and I don’t want to hear about it now.” Lucier wriggled in his chair. “Take off these restraints,” he demanded.
Slater ignored him. “Too bad. I’m afraid you’re a rapt audience. Love bombing takes many forms. It may be a session where the members hold hands, hug each other, and bond. Cults use the tactic. So do many successful organized religions, especially in fundamentalist and extreme churches. You’ve seen pictures on TV of parishioners touching and holding each other, while the preacher strokes their egos, boosts their pride and self-esteem. The method works extremely well with children from the earliest age and makes them dependent on their leader.”
“No different than brainwashing. No different than the Nazis.”
“Yes. The Germans did it well. Turned a whole country into their way of thinking. Our tactics are slightly different. They used hate to bring them together; we use love.
“You remember the polygamist groups? They use love bombing to keep their people in line―to convince them the world is an ugly place outside their confines. The technique does not promise unconditional love. In fact, quite the contrary. Love bombing is highly conditional. Love is tied to membership and participation in the group. If a member doesn’t join or wants to leave, all love stops.”
“You’re justifying using young women like Nona and Brigid and turning them into baby machines to populate your so-called new order. Do you think drugging them to have sex against their will is love?”
“No one drugged Brigid or Nona,” Slater said. “They were eager and willing to do whatever Silas wanted. He’s their father, you know. Selene’s daughters.”
Lucier muffled his gasp, but his shock showed nevertheless. He watched the satisfaction on Slater’s face as the man relished his surprise.
“You didn’t guess, did you? No, I can see you didn’t.” Slater pulled a chair close to Lucier but out of his reach. “Those two women love sex. Each has produced one child, but Brigid’s pregnant again. They were a little young, but they’re Selene’s daughters and very much like her. Not at all like their older sister, Anat. She’s an untrainable non-conformist. Resisted our methods completely, so we were forced to resort to other techniques. We can’t allow her to leave because she’d go to the authorities. She’s content. Not happy, but content. All this is to create a superior race. A city wholly unto itself. Two or three more generations and we’ll be there. Then we’ll infiltrate the best of our group into society to begin the transformation on a larger scale. That will take many more generations, but it’s doable.”
The scope of Slater’s acknowledgement sent ice through Lucier’s veins. “This place will be found, your perversions stopped.”
“Who’s going to stop us, Lieutenant. Certainly not you, because you’ll never leave here. Your prying awakened the authorities, so we’ve readied another place. Diana will join us there. In fact, she’ll be the high priestess. Diana, Goddess of the Moon.”
“Why the notes? You had to know they’d start an investigation. Why?”
“One of our members acted alone, thinking the warnings would scare you off. Unfortunately, they had an opposite effect. When we found out, we dealt with him.”
Slater’s explanation was so preposterous, so bizarre, that Lucier’s stomach somersaulted. Could these people conceivably pull this off? Thinking of Diana as the offering to their so-called deity triggered another losing battle against his restraints. “You’ll never tame her,” he said, panting. “She’ll never conform.”
“You wouldn’t like to bet on that, would you?” Slater rose and went to the door, beckoning to someone outside. A young boy pushed Diana in a wheelchair, a strap tight around her chest, her arms and legs secured to the chair. “Let me reintroduce you to our new goddess. With Diana’s talents, we should be able to produce some special offspring, although genetics don’t always follow the first generation. If not her children, maybe her grandchildren.
Lucier lifted his chair off the ground when he saw her, but his feet were bound to its legs, and he almost tipped over before he righted himself. Thrashing against his restraints summoned power he didn’t know remained. Her name left his throat like the wail of a caged animal, pleading for her to listen, but her blank stare focused on nothing.
“You bastard.” Lucier hissed out the words with as much venom as he could muster. He rubbed sweat off the side of his face with his shoulder, trying hard to calm a heart that pumped so hard he thought it would explode inside his chest. “What have you given her?” Diana was in the drug’s darkest throes. A date rape drug could result in long-term hallucinations or dissociative brain damage, and he’d bet that’s what had r
endered her helpless.
“Not so feisty now, is she? Our doctor is trying different combinations and doses. I heard she fought like a wildcat when she woke from the initial dose. She rejected our vision for her future, and I’m afraid he had to calm her down. Unfortunately, he gave her too much, and she lost her ability to walk. Actually, she lost all motor function and couldn’t feed herself now if she were starving and a plate of food sat in front of her. She’s so tiny he had a hard time judging the dosage, but he’ll get it right. The wheelchair is a nice touch, don’t you think? Even if we unstrapped her, she’d be unable to move, other than to fall to the floor. The straps are for her protection. We don’t want her to hurt herself.”
Lucier’s head pounded, the result of drug residue and his futile attempt to break free. His stupidity in succumbing to the lure of the crescent moon left him in a state of despair. He’d underestimated these people and had only himself to blame for Diana’s predicament.
Think, Ernie. Clear your head. No one would come for them. They couldn’t, because no one knew where they were. With Slater exposing the group’s intent, Lucier would never leave there alive.
“She behaved beautifully Saturday night, though,” Slater went on. “The night of the crescent moon. Of course, she couldn’t do much else, considering her condition. She enjoyed the place of honor. Wish you’d have seen her. Diana, Goddess of the Moon. A glory to behold.”
“You fuck―” Lucier fought the straps again, jumping the chair toward his tormentor until Slater moved back, clearly wary. But Lucier couldn’t keep up his assault, and he collapsed once more. “What did you do to her?”
“Tsk, tsk. Calm yourself. You’ll get sick. Too much action and those drugs can make you nauseous, and we gave you an extra strong dose. Don’t worry. We didn’t do anything to Diana this time. We were all in awe. Once she goes through some…reconditioning, she’ll enjoy what happens.”
Lucier found a new level of strength and screamed. “You’ll kill her.”
“I’m well acquainted with the state she’s in,” Slater said. “Been there, done that. For many years, in fact.” He walked over to Diana and ran his index finger down the side of her cheek. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t feel anything, and she won’t remember what’s happened.”
Lucier sensed the interview was ending. Keep Slater talking. Information was power, and he needed power. “People will search for us, and they’ll keep searching. I’m a cop, for crissakes.”
“Yes, that’s the one issue that bothered Martin. Funny how different things bother different people. He wasn’t in favor of kidnapping babies or even bringing Diana here. He wrote the notes, hoping to frighten Diana off, but she’s not one easily frightened, is she? You knew, though, didn’t you? Martin went along, but he fears cops. Didn’t like you. Bad experience from his childhood. After the incident at Silas’s house with those two idiots Maia brought there, he got cold feet. And when he found out you were accompanying Diana the night of the crescent moon…well, he made his objections public. Not good.”
“Martin was right. You should be worried.”
“There’ll be speculation, no doubt. Did you and Diana run away together? Have an accident? The newspapers will have a field day, but they won’t find either of you. Ever. Your cop friend will say you called and said everything went fine. It’ll be one of the world’s great mysteries. Like what happened to Jimmy Hoffa or Amelia Earhart.”
Diana’s body slumped pitifully in the chair. Lucier didn’t care whether Beecher sent out the FBI, the CIA, or the Canadian Mounted Police. All he cared about was her. He had to save her from whatever indignities they had in store.
“You can’t keep her like this.”
“Oh, we won’t,” Slater agreed. “Not all the time. Only if she’s a problem when we need her, like the other night. The dream she spoke of at Silas’s house happened. She took center stage, lying on a revolving platform, naked for us to worship. Unfortunately, we didn’t give her enough drugs that time, or she’d never have remembered the experience. Our error. It won’t happen again, but I doubt we’ll have to resort to that method forever. She’ll fall in line.” He gazed at Diana, a smile crinkling his weathered face. “She’s the perfect offering.”
Slater walked to Diana and ran his fingers across her chest. “Except for one thing. She’s not made the way the men in our group like their women. Too flat-chested. We cultivate women here who have special endowments to aid in man’s pleasures. Our doctor is experimenting with a growth hormone to ensure those who lack the gene get a little boost. Our men love the results. So do the women, by the way. Makes them feel more like women. We might try some on our little goddess here but, frankly, we’re more interested in her eggs to perpetuate her unique talent.”
The bastard touched her breasts. Lucier emitted a low growl as he jiggled his hands, wasting energy to stretch the plastic cord. Slater checked them from afar, giving Lucier no chance to come in contact.
“Fortunately, Cybele’s well-endowed mother passed those enhancements to Cybele, a fact Phillip couldn’t ignore when he chose the fifteen-year old beauty as his wife. She, of course, passed the genes to her daughters, who in turn passed them to theirs. The sensual beauty of his immediate family gave Phillip the idea to take the religion of his father and his father’s father to a new level―one of hedonistic pleasure.”
“Satan, sex, and pedophilia,” Lucier said. “How did Crane convince all the men to embrace that?”
“Really, Lieutenant. You’re joking, right? You’ve seen those women. They could make a priest forget his vows and genuflect before them.”
“And the Sunrise Mission?”
“A repository of young women with low self-esteem, tossed away like garbage by the men in their lives. My job was to feel them out, ease them into the mindset. Not all the women responded, but most did. They trusted me, and when they were willing, they came here. No money worries, food prepared, education for their children. They think they’ve died and gone to heaven.”
With an expression of self-satisfaction, Slater pranced in front of his captive. Lucier listened, sickened at Slater’s words. “You’re no different than the men who used them before.”
“You’re wrong. We’ve given them a good home and a purpose. Some act as surrogates and others, the beautiful, intelligent ones, are happy to procreate to help us avoid inbreeding, a difficult task at times. The young are so romantic. We’ve only experienced one unfortunate mating.”
Lucier huffed almost under his breath. “My God, you’re mad.”
“A reaction of the unenlightened,” Slater said.
This travesty must be exposed. They couldn’t keep him strapped forever. They’d either have to kill him or untie him eventually. “And Jeanine Highsmith?”
“I tried. Subtly of course, but I never felt comfortable she’d embrace our goals. Too independent and confident. She didn’t need us. That’s what it’s about. Need and acceptance.”
Slater took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He moved closer to wipe the sweat from Lucier’s forehead but must have realized he’d be vulnerable to an attack, even from a man tethered to a chair. He retreated.
“We never mentioned our religious persuasion with any of the women,” he continued, “just love and affection. By the time the worshipping began, they were so happy, so loved, they didn’t care if the devil showed up in his horns and cape and swept them away to Hades.” He put the handkerchief back in his pocket. “By then, they needed us.”
Lucier couldn’t say anything. That was how cults worked. Lure in the weak, the outcasts. Make them feel they belonged.
“I find your lady appealing,” Slater said. “She’s highly intelligent with amazing sex appeal. Once she produces babies, she’ll develop more interest in her sexuality. Between giving birth and her harvested eggs planted in surrogates with the chosen sperm, she’ll produce enough offspring in the time left to her. She’ll nurse them, and I guarantee the motherly instinct will take over. Maybe I’ll
keep you around long enough to witness that.”
Lucier thought about the morning in the pink house, in the rocking chair—Diana’s lactation and its effect. He saw his hands around Slater’s neck, but it was only a mirage. His arms and hands were still strapped to the chair, his fists clenching and unclenching with the fury of a man poised on the threshold of committing murder.
Anyone could be brought to the point of homicidal rage, given the right conditions. He’d seen it as a cop, now experienced it as a man. He needed to save his strength until he found an opportunity. Unless they killed him shackled to the chair, he would.
“I’m sure I can interest her in me again,” Slater said. “She is already―the tortured man, striving to find peace in his ruined life.”
“Man?” Lucier sneered. “Hardly.”
Slater ignored the sarcasm. “Enough of one to make a woman forget. I possess unique talents.”
Lucier’s stomach sank. They were going to turn Diana into a sex zombie. “What you’re doing is not only illegal, it’s immoral.”
Slater’s laugh was the most evil sound Lucier ever heard.
“I have no morals, Lieutenant. May I call you Ernie? I’ve never felt close enough to you till now.”
“Fuck you.”
Slater crouched in front of Lucier’s chair, just out of reach. “Only weak men resort to cursing. I was weak once, but not now. Diana will find out. Of course, I’ll share her with the others. All the men will want their time with the Goddess of the Moon. That’s how it works here. Don’t worry. Being a pragmatist, she’ll grow to enjoy the adulation. No sense fighting what you can’t change.”
The scene resembled a bad horror movie. Slater had obviously lost his mind along with his manhood. They’d all lost their minds.
Diana looked pitiful. Her head lolled to the side, drool hung like a liquid thread from the corner of her mouth. Fighting the restraints only sapped Lucier of what little energy he had left.
Slater, the bastard, knew it too.
Chapter Forty