by Rex Burns
“Didn’t think you was dead.”
“Water.”
The man thought that over while he stared at me. Then he went out of the room and a few minutes later came back with a heavy glass tumbler full of water. I tried to raise up to drink but my arms were too tautly stretched. The caretaker put a wide, callused hand under my head and tilted the glass to my dry lips.
“Guess you was thirsty.”
“Your name’s Sam?”
A faint flicker of surprise. “You know me?”
“Sister Dori mentioned your name. Is she here?”
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a quick look at the nylon straps holding my ankles and wrists and left, leaving the glass on the old bureau.
The headache ebbed a bit, but it came back if I lifted my head or turned it quickly. The dusty, scarred bureau was shoved against one wall. Beside it, another closed door looked like it led to a closet. The ceiling was made of perforated squares set in a gridwork of metal hangers. One corner had old water stains in a brown pattern that looked something like a bobtailed kangaroo. I wondered how much time I would spend studying that stain and counting the rows of perforations.
The patch of sunlight climbed another log. I tried to avoid the stiffening of my bound muscles by shifting my body as much as I could from side to side on the cot. Steadily, I worked against my bonds. The nylon didn’t stretch, but it gave my muscles relief. The headache lessened and I was glad I didn’t feel drowsy or nauseated, both welcome signs that I didn’t have a concussion. I’d been hit on the head before, but I couldn’t remember a blow that hard. Or maybe being over forty had something to do with it. The twinges and tingles of my flesh told me that old injuries and new bruises were beginning to add up to a slower recovery time. Something I’d have to think about one of these days. Right now I could still see Sam’s arms swing across his body and the axe handle whip with the man’s wrists. If I hadn’t heard something—if I hadn’t had that half second to roll away from the swing of the club—Sam might have been right to worry about my being dead.
Then again, he hadn’t seemed all that worried. Maybe he was planning to try again. It would depend on how much they thought I knew. On whether they thought I’d come up here alone. On how much they thought they could get away with.
I tried the straps again. But the nylon webbing had been designed for just this purpose. A loop slipped over each hand and foot, and a ring of some sort clamped it firmly. I figured that the wrist straps, like those I could see on my ankles, were buckled securely to the bed frame. But the leg straps were too short to let me do more than tickle at the metal rail. Still, I grunted to wrench my torso around and try to gain an extra inch, two inches, that might let me feel the wrist buckles and the strap running through them.
The sound of boots outside the door sagged me back against the gritty striped cloth. Dwayne Vengley stood in the doorway and gazed at me for a long moment.
“Sam said you were feeling better.”
“I’d feel even better if I could take a piss.”
The young man shrugged. “Go ahead. It won’t embarrass me.”
“Thanks. I’ll wait.”
He shrugged again and leaned against the bureau. His weight made it creak slightly. “Sam also said you were asking about Dori.”
“She wasn’t at the Temple. I figured she might be up here.”
“I see.”
“Is she? And is she all right?”
He didn’t bother to answer. “You’re not in a position to worry about anybody but yourself, Mr. Steele. I’d think you’d have realized by now you’re not really welcome around here. And that Dori doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I have a message from her father. All I want to do is give it to her. Then I’ll go.”
“Give me the message. I’ll tell her.”
When I didn’t answer, Vengley asked quietly, “What did you see from the barn?”
“I saw you and that boy come out. Then you went back.”
“And what did you hear?”
“Nothing. You were too far away.”
The man shook his blond head. “Sam heard us. He was farther away than you.”
“Wish I’d have heard him.”
For the first time, Vengley smiled. But it stayed on his full lips and didn’t make it to his green eyes. They looked at me with cold objectivity from beneath the ledge of his brow. “Good for us you didn’t. Now, Mr. Steele, your health and welfare depend on your being scrupulously honest with us. Why did you come up here?”
“To find Dori.”
“What have you found out since you’ve been here?”
“That you’re involved in child pornography.”
Vengley nodded. “That’s better. I figured you heard Brian and me. Well, I know a number of things about you, too, Mr. Steele. Such as your daughters.”
“They don’t know anything about you. I’m the only one who does.”
“Um-hmm. You went out to Alef Distributing, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you can guess what goes on there.”
I tried to read the young man’s green eyes. They gave away nothing. “Film processing. Storage. Shipping.”
Vengley nodded again. “It’s a very lucrative business, kiddie porn. Tremendously profitable.” There was even a little pride in his statement. “We ship all over the world.”
I didn’t trust myself to say anything. I watched the face of the young man who gazed back as if not quite seeing me. Finally Vengley wagged his head once. “You just had to keep asking questions, didn’t you? Nosing around. Until you’ve become a problem.”
“Where’s Dorcas?”
“I suspect you’ll see her soon.” He pushed away from the bureau. “You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble. Quite a bit.”
“People are waiting for me to report back.”
A chilly smile. “Then we’ll just have to hurry up and make our decision, won’t we?” He paused at the doorway. “The High Priest will be here soon. You should feel honored: he’s flying in just for you.” The door closed.
I listened to the boot heels fade down the hallway. From somewhere beyond the window came the chirr of a hummingbird claiming his territory and the slam of a car door followed by an engine starting. Then silence.
It was pretty clear that Pastor Pettes recruited the children from the Temple’s day-care program, and that meant some of the Temple members were involved. But not all. The woman sweeping the parking lot had pleaded with me to help the children. And I guessed that Dori, too, had found out something about the porn racket and that’s why she called me. From what Brian had said, the Satanic rituals were used to keep the kids quiet about what happened to them. And the filming took place here, too—deep in the woods on private property so they wouldn’t be seen or heard. Too, the isolation allowed Vengley and the others better control of the children: no place to run, no other adults to appeal to, no one outside the group to say what they did was wrong. It was a separate world the children could be brought into, exploited, and then brought back from. Their memories of what had happened would be set off by distance from their other, ordinary world, and they would be reluctant to tell their parents about it.
A lot of money, Vengley had said. Alef Distributing’s profit sheet backed him up, and probably that was only what the company reported for tax purposes. No wonder they had tried to scare me off. As well as to kill Shelley Aguirre, who had been weak—who, perhaps, had said too much to me. And now Dorcas was a threat. Certainly I was. The meeting would not be to decide whether to kill me, but when and how.
My steady working on the straps loosened them only a bit more, but I didn’t have much else to do. I tried to keep my mind off the increasing pressure of my bladder and the thirst that had returned to be tantalized by the empty glass sitting on a corner of the scarred bureau. Finally, after the patch of sunlight had moved halfway up the wall and faded in the shadow of afternoon rain clouds, the door opened again.
“Dwayne’s right. I need to use the bathroom first, though.”
The weather-beaten man grunted and loosened the buckles on my ankle straps with one hand while clutching the axe handle with the other. Then he undid the wrists.
I rubbed the sore flesh and looked at the nylon webbing with its system of guides and clamps and buckles. “Pretty effective.”
Sam’s smile was proprietary. “They’ll do.” The axe handle beckoned. “This way.”
The narrow hall led between a row of closed doors to a bathroom at the end. Two fiberglass shower stalls, four mirrors and sinks with a long shelf running above them and a litter of soap ends, used toothpaste tubes, scraps of paper, two toilet stalls. Sam held one of the doors open and stood behind me while I relieved myself. When I was through, I headed for a sink.
“What you doing?”
“Washing my hands.”
“Hurry the hell up. I ain’t got all damned day.”
Lathering, I glanced at a rusty razor blade on the shelf. In the mirror, Sam caught the look and his lips tightened. “You try it.” The axe handle smacked against his thick palm. “Just you try it.”
“I wouldn’t even think of it, Sam.”
A grunt.
While I ate, the man stood by the door, swinging the axe handle. Then he made me lie down and buckled first my wrists, then my ankles. He pulled the straps tight against my tensed muscles.
“Acting like a goddamned horse fighting the cinch, ain’t you? Won’t do you a goddamned bit of good.”
It didn’t. If anything, I was drawn tighter than before. But at least my hunger was gone and the headache had faded into a sullen throb that came only when I lifted my head.
The light from the window dimmed and I heard the long, rumbling crash of mountain thunder echo along the valley. A sudden darkening was followed by the sound of heavy raindrops crackling on the shingles and the ripple of runoff in a nearby downspout. A light spray glinted on the screen and the shower passed over. The room slowly grew light again with a weaker and lower sunlight and the cool smell of damp wood and leaves. After a while it became hard to make out the details of the room in the dusk, and when it was almost black, the hall light flicked on to show a wide streak of glow under the door. Vengley flipped on the unshaded bulb and nodded at me.
“The High Priest is here. He wants to talk to you.”
Hands strapped behind my back, I was led along the hall by Vengley while Sam and his axe handle followed. Our feet clumped loudly on the plank stairs down to the lounge with its scatter of worn and sagging couches, easy chairs, end tables, and lamps. Indian rugs brightened the log walls, and in the dimness of the high ceiling at the large room’s far end, the ram’s head loomed. Its glass eyes reflected the lamps with a cold gleam.
On the other side of the empty lounge a side door opened to a smaller room crowded with folding metal chairs that faced a plain wooden table. A many-branched candelabrum at one side of the table held a cluster of snuffed candles. At the other a single, thick candle like a column of gray suet stood cold and unlit in its holder. Overhead, the varnished boards of the ceiling made the room feel cavelike. Behind the table, wearing a plaid woolen shirt and a black silk cravat, sat Arthur Vengley.
“You’re the High Priest?”
The man’s thin lips smiled affirmatively. “I can’t say I’m pleased to see you again, Mr. Steele.”
“You and your son—a family of Satanists?”
“Actually, Dwayne is the third generation. Haven’t you ever heard of a third-generation Episcopalian or Baptist?”
I had, but generational Satanism still seemed bizarre. “Does your wife know about it?”
“Ex-wife. No. I didn’t marry her for her beliefs but for her father’s money.” It was an admission he seemed proud of. “If, over the years, she has had suspicions, she’s been too weak to face them.”
“For good reason.”
“We do nothing we’re ashamed of, Mr. Steele. But we also find no profit in drawing attention to ourselves, or flaunting our beliefs in front of those who would fail to understand. We prefer to go in our own faith, and let the rest of the world go in theirs.”
With, perhaps, the exception of a few children here and there. “Where’s Dorcas?”
The elder Vengley made a little tent of his fingers and rested his narrow lips on it as he studied me. “My son tells me you are interested solely in Dori.”
“Is she all right?”
“Of course.” He added, “She’s also free to do as she wishes. To stay with us or to go home. Whatever.”
“When can I see her?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Meaning?”
Vengley senior didn’t answer right away. Instead, the lawyer rubbed the tips of his fingers together as he stared over them.
Behind me, I heard Sam sigh a breath through his nose and shift his weight like a patient horse. From somewhere in the building came the sound of running feet and the high-pitched, nervous laugh of an overexcited child.
“I mean, Mr. Steele, that I would be willing to let you talk to Dori—even to take her home, if that’s her desire—in return for your solemn promise of silence.”
“About your kiddie porn?”
“It’s not my kiddie porn. That’s Dwayne’s enterprise. His and some others’. But, yes, that would have to be included in the ban.”
“You don’t mind your son exploiting children?”
“Our basic tenet is freedom. Dwayne is free to do whatever he wants to do. Or can do.”
Including sacrifice and murder, as well. “What if I don’t promise?”
“Well, in the first place, you have absolutely no evidence of any wrongdoing. You only have your suspicions, based on a misunderstood and overheard conversation that is inadmissible as evidence. Without evidence, Mr. Steele, no case.”
“And in the second place?”
“Even if there’s no case, the possible notoriety would make things very awkward for us and the Temple. It would also make things awkward for you. And for your daughter in Sacramento.”
“You’re saying I have no choice.”
“I’m saying I think you’re to be a man we’ll be able to trust. What I offer is a quid pro quo—Dori for your silence.”
“Did you give Shelley Aguirre the same option?”
“You’re asking if we killed Shelley? The answer’s no.” He gazed at me levelly, searching for a sign that I didn’t believe him. “We don’t like violence. It’s counterproductive. For a group as nonconformist as ours to draw the attention of the police would be suicidal. We just want to be left alone. That’s all I’m asking: you leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone.”
“That sounds fair enough.”
“And I’m sure we can rely on your word for that.”
“Why not? You have insurance.”
“I’m glad you understand that. And you understand further that our group has members everywhere.”
“Including Sacramento.”
One of the man’s shoulders lifted. “And Bordeaux.”
CHAPTER 30
I WASN’T STRAPPED down this time, but Sam and his axe handle kept me company while we waited in my room. Dori, Dwayne said, was resting. He’d let her know I was waiting to talk to her. When the knock came, Dwayne and Sam flanked me once more and we crossed the balcony above the main lounge. Below, the woman who’d been with the children at the swing sat near the fireplace warming her back. She looked up to watch us come down the stairs. Straight, dark hair framed an expressionless face as she sipped something from a coffee mug.
A couple of other figures in denims and sweatshirts lounged on the overstuffed and sagging furniture. I didn’t recognize the first of the two men. But the second, w
ho stared back impassively, was one of the young men who had chased me from the Temple so long ago this morning. From the kitchen area came the sounds of children eating and talking. But the varnished plywood shutters closed off the serving windows and only the voices, oddly domestic and piping cheer, could be heard.
We went down another short hallway. Dwayne knocked gently and opened a door. The axe handle nudged me in.
Dori sat in a straight-backed wooden chair between a bed and a small writing desk. In a pale and drawn face, her eyes were wide over dark circles. When I came in she seemed to lean back away from me.
“Dori, are you all right?”
The blond head nodded. But the cords of her neck stood out tautly.
“Would you like me to take you home?”
“Home?” She looked at Dwayne and then back to me. “Go?”
“You can stay or go with me. That’s what Mr. Vengley said.”
Mutely, she looked at Dwayne again.
He nodded. “The High Priest gave his word. It’s your choice, Dori. You know what I want you to do—I guess we’ve talked about it enough. But it’s your choice.”
“Really?”
“It’s always been your choice. That’s our basic tenet. You know that.”
She started to stand, leaning heavily on the table. “Go.”
Vengley stepped forward quickly to support the unsteady woman. “She had a miscarriage,” he told me. “She still feels a little weak.”
“Go.”
“All right,” shrugged Vengley. “I’m sorry that’s your choice. But we’re going right now.”
Walking painfully and slowly, Dori didn’t reply. She leaned against Dwayne, who led her out a door at the end of the hallway and gently down three board steps at the side of the lodge. A small Toyota pickup truck with a low camper shell was parked close to the building.
“Dori,” said Vengley, “you sit up front with Sam. It’ll be easier on you there.”
“Where are you taking us?” I asked.
Dwayne closed the rider’s door. “To your car. You left it somewhere down the road, right?”