Malevolent

by David Risen

  She installed bookshelves on the wall to the right as he entered. Books filled the bookshelves from top to bottom – all of them nonfiction reference – arranged alphabetically by author.

  Her desk – an old, gray metal one provided by the university – stood before the left wall with two chairs sitting empty before it.

  Rider turned toward the desk and then sat down in the brown leather office chair.

  Two books sat on top of one another on the right corner with post-its sticking out of the pages marking her place.

  He took the first book from the stack and eyed the cover. The jacket was matte black with embossed red letters.

  Modern Witchcraft

  A Study of Modern Covens and their practices.

  Rider opened the book to the page marked with a Post-it.

  23

  Sisterhood of the Divine Coven

  This coven is so covert that its initiates deny its existence completely even to other witches. Members seem to be women only, and they can only be identified by a talisman worn somewhere on the body. The talisman is the pentacle of the sisterhood, see figure 23.1. It is both an inverted and upright pentagram atop one another inside the sacred circle.

  The upright pentagram in this talisman is usually made of gold symbolizing the magic of light or the sun with the symbols for the elements at the appropriate points, and the inverted pentagram is fashioned from silver symbolizing the moon.

  The presence of both upright and inverted pentagrams may imply that members of this Sisterhood are practitioners and wards of both light and dark magic.

  We know little about the practices of this coven, nor is anyone certain that they still exist. The only blip on the radar occurred when the church put over a hundred nuns bearing this talisman to death in the late 1600s. The most prominent and outspoken of the defendants was Sister Marianna Gabriella, Mother Superior of a convent in Italy.

  Upon her execution in 1689, she warned, “With the death of our order, the magic that has protected the balance in our realm for ages will pass into oblivion, leaving our world exposed to attacks by malevolent beings of a much more powerful foe than our own.”

  A number of contemporary scholars attempted to trace this order deep into antiquity using the pentacle. Using only carvings and reliefs of this pentacle, they boast that the Sisterhood of the Divine Coven can trace its origins back into prehistoric times.

  The sisterhood passed their traditions orally and wrote nothing down, so no one knows which Gods they invoked or the rituals of their magic. If they do still exist, they are one of the best-kept secrets in human history.

  Figure 23.1:

  The Sisters of Divinity Pentacle

  Rider’s eyes focused on this symbol. It seemed familiar – like something he may have seen somewhere before. He closed the book and set it aside, and then he picked up the other.

  The leather-colored jacket read:

  Symbols of the Ancient World

  Rider opened it to the marked page and found yet another rendition of the symbol he saw in the previous book. Beneath it, the text:

  Historians found these symbols all over the world. Some were discovered carved in wooden planks within very old houses, etched in stones thought to be ancient ceremonial grounds, and even embossed in the stones within many Catholic Cathedrals.

  Some experts link the symbol to a secret society that existed up until the Inquisition eradicated them in the 1600s.

  It is obviously a pentacle, and the symbolism of its design has troubling implications....

  Rider looked up to find Trish hovering in the doorway.

  “Find anything?”

  Rider sighed hard, and opened her top left drawer. Within he found the small calendar where she kept track of her daily itinerary and appointments.

  He unsnapped the denim strap and opened it to three weeks ago.

  January 17, 2016

  9:30 – 11:30: Psychology 1101 room 202

  11:30- 12:30: Lunch

  12:30- 1:30: Office hours

  2:00- 3:30: Cultural Anthropology room 205

  3:30- 4:00: Meeting with Sister Ruth Hunter

  4:00- 5:00: Anthropology Lab

  5:00- 6:00: Sociology 2102 room 20

  6:00- 8:00: Office hours, planning, grading

  Rider flipped to the last day on her calendar.

  January 30, 2016

  8:00 – 10:00: Abnormal psych room 205

  10:30 – 11:30: Faculty meeting in room 231

  11:30 – 1:00: Lunch

  1:00 -2:00: Office hours

  2:00 – 4:00: Sociology 3201, room 202

  4:00 – 6:00: Grading, planning, and office hours.

  6:00 – 9:00: Volunteer work at St. Michael’s

  Lauren always had a habit of checking off the items she completed on her schedule – a compulsion of hers. Rider noticed that Lauren checked off every item on the list accept Volunteer Work at St. Michaels.

  He closed the planner and sat it on top of the two books, and then he eyed the black screen of the Dell computer sitting on top of the desk.

  “Are you done, yet?” Trish said from the door.

  Rider scowled at her. “What’s the rush?”

  She squared herself in the doorway propping her fists on her hips.

  “The Dean of Humanities said that you were not to come back. To have you arrested if you did. I’d be in a lot of....”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’ll be out of here before anyone knows any better.”

  He pulled out the keyboard tray. He hit the enter key bringing up a blue sign-on screen.

  The screenname on the computer was fields_rider_l. Rider eyed the blinking cursor in the password field.

  He looked back at Trish.

  “Any idea what her password might be?”

  Trish folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ll give you five more minutes, and then I’m calling security.

  Rider reached into the inside pocket of his black, leather coat and brought out the black phone cord.

  “How?”

  He replaced the cord back in his pocket, and then his hands found the home row of the black keyboard.

  Lauren only had about four different passwords that she used, and she didn’t change them often. He took in a deep shuddering breath and then he typed “AlyssaJaneRider2009.” The computer returned an incorrect password message.

  Rider looked up to Trish. “This would go a lot faster if you’d just tell me her password.”

  Trish shook her head. “She keeps her grades on that computer, and in case you didn’t notice, I’m still a student.”

  Rider gave her a snarky grin, and then he looked at the screen again.

  He typed. “07,” Alyssa’s birth month, “12,” Lauren’s birth date, “83,” his birth year. And then he hit return. Once again, he received an incorrect password message. He removed his hands from the keyboard.

  “Alright smartass, I have one more chance to get this password right, or I’ll be locked out for an hour. If that happens, I’ll have to come back. When I do, I’ll make sure to tell security that you let me in her office.”

  Trish gave him a defeated look. “It’s all lower case: Blake underscore Rider underscore 2006.”

  Rider’s eyes welled up. The year represented their anniversary. He shook it off and typed in her password as Trish prescribed.

  After a brief blue Welcome screen, the computer dumped him out at her desktop.

  The wallpaper was a photograph she had another tourist take four years ago when she and Rider took Alyssa to Disney World. Rider stood on the left, and Lauren stood on the right and they each held Alyssa up in the center. The backdrop was the iconic enchanted castle that appeared at the beginning of every Disney movie.

  Rider tried to ignore it – focusing instead on the icons on her desktop.

  There were seven left-aligned.

  Recycle bin.

  HP LaserJet P1100.

  The third was an excel
shortcut titled Gradebook.

  MS Word.

  MS Excel.

  MS PowerPoint.

  Then, an MS DOS looking icon labeled SODSECS.

  And the final icon was a shortcut to a word document titled simply “For Blake.”

  He moved the black, wireless mouse beside the keyboard – centering the pointer on the icon, and then he double-clicked. The action summoned the blue Word loading screen.

  He wiped his eyes on the left sleeve of his coat and eyed Trish. “I’m on to something.”

  Then he looked back at the computer screen to find himself staring at a form letter dated the day she disappeared.

  January 30, 2016

  Dear Blake,

  If you’re reading this letter, it’s because I’m missing. I’m sorry for not telling you about the nature of my research or how dangerous it turned out to be. I regret having blamed you for the accident, and I wish I had spent more time with you afterwards. If I had, maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess. And maybe I wouldn’t have planted myself in this dangerous situation.

  But because of our actions, mine and yours both, our relationship has been over for a long time. You know that and so do I. I didn’t want to leave you, because I was sure such an action would sink you into an even deeper pit. I didn’t want to stay and watch you self-destruct.

  All my debit cards, my social security card, and my life insurance policy are in a manila folder in the bottom right desk drawer. You know my pin numbers. If you need to know my balances, you can look online. Maybe that will be enough money to see you through until you can come up with a better job than doing maintenance for your mom’s apartment complex.

  Please don’t try to find me. If you get involved in this mess, you’ll probably disappear as well. Don’t even bother filing a missing person’s report. I’m sure that if you do, it will disappear from the police files.

  If Sister Ruth Hunter happens to show up at our door, tell her that you can do nothing for her and move on with your life.

  I love you, Blake, and I hate what the wreck has done to our lives. I hope you’ll check yourself into a rehab somewhere, clean yourself up, and move on.

  There are so many memories....

  Take care of yourself, and know that you’re much better than you seem to be right now.

  Love,

  Lauren.

  Rider didn’t even remember the walk out of the building. By the time he hit the parking lot, he couldn’t restrain the waterworks. He opened the driver’s side door of his GMC Envoy, and sat inside.

  He fished his cellphone – a cheap Samsung his mother gave him for service calls at the apartments – and dialed the number labeled MOM.

  She picked up after two rings.

  “How do you like this weather?” she said.

  Rider didn’t acknowledge.

  “It suits me just fine,” she said. “No court today, and because you checked all the furnaces in the apartments, we’re not having any trouble calls. I get a real day off.”

  “Mom,” Rider said with a shaking voice.

  “Are you crying?” she said with an awed tone.

  He sucked in a deep breath and released it.

  “Lauren’s missing,” he said.

  A long pause with dead air. Rider knew there would be an admonishment for his recent behavior.

  “Missing how?” she said.

  Rider shook his head. “She was considering some kind of secret society, and based on what I’ve found out so far, they got her.”

  “When did all of this happen?”

  Rider bunched his lips. “Three weeks ago.”

  “And you didn’t call?”

  Rider snarled. “If I wanted your help I would’ve asked.”

  “Are you on drugs?”

  Rider huffed. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

  She sighed. “More than likely, if Lauren really is missing, she did it on purpose because she’s had enough of your shit. Good for her! If I weren’t stuck with you, I would’ve shoved your ass under the jailhouse by now and completely forgot about it.”

  “No, this is legit. I don’t know what the hell’s happened to her.”

  “And you want me to get somebody on it?”

  “No! Fuck you! I’d rather be the boyfriend of a big, meathead named Princess in prison than ask you for a single thing. I just needed someone to talk to, and as always, you’re a complete bitch. Kiss my ass.”

  He hung up.

  He slammed the door, and about the time he pulled the manila envelope from his thigh length, black leather coat that he took from Lauren’s bottom right desk drawer, his cellphone rang.

  He silenced it, and then he opened the envelope. He found three bankcards inside and a claims form for Lauren’s life insurance policy.

  He cranked his car, and then he slogged his way through the icy streets to the nearest CVS to refill his prescription for Xanax, Klonopin, and Oxycodone.

  Rider made several more stops.

  After he left CVS, he stopped by a library to do a bit more research on the Sister Claire Jacobs of Bridgeton that Sister Hunter mentioned, and then he decided to find out a little more about Sister Hunter. All of it was interesting.

  Then he stopped by Billy’s – his favorite package store and bought a suitcase of Icehouse.

  After he had everything he thought he needed, he made his way to the Main Street McDonald’s that Sister Hunter suggested as their next meeting site on the letter she left sitting on the side table after he passed out.

  He ordered his usual, a double-quarter combo with a Coke, and sat at his normal window booth where he proceeded to pour Rum from the silver flask in his pocket into his drink.

  Just as he opened the recycled cardboard box containing his Double Quarter, Sister Ruth Hunter sat on the other side of the booth clad in a new khaki trench coat, a different pair of spectacles – gold, oval wire frames, and a black faux fur hat, and she dyed her hair a dark shade of red.

  She crumpled her straight nose.

  “Do you ever bathe?”

  Rider gave her a tired look.

  “Are you ever not a bitch?” he retorted.

  She shook her head. “You look like a homeless person, and you smell like a toilet in a distillery with armpit odor.”

  Rider pursed his lips. “Haven’t had power in two weeks, and it’s been too cold to change clothes.”

  Sister Hunter grimaced.

  “I called and had your power turned back on,” she said. “Call it payment for services rendered.”

  Rider smirked. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “Did you go to her office?”

  Rider took a sip of his rum and Coke. “Yeah.”

  Her perfectly manicured reddish-brown eyebrows spiked.

  “And?”

  “I found a couple of books on her desk. One of them suggests that a symbol called a pentacle dates all the way back to ancient times, and they’ve found it all over the world. The other claims that the symbol belongs to a group called the Divine Sisterhood – a group of women within the Catholic Church persecuted during the Inquisition. But you already knew all of that, didn’t you?”

  She shrugged.

  Rider nodded tightly. “The last item on Lauren’s schedule for the day she disappeared and the only one she didn’t check off was volunteer work at St. Michael’s. Was that what she was doing for you?”

  Sister Hunter nodded.

  Rider looked out the window and closed his lips over the straw, sucking down another burning gulp of Rum and Coke.

  “Anything else?” she said.

  Rider sat his paper cup back down and looked at her. “Only a note she left on her computer telling me not to come looking for her if she disappeared. She also said that if you came knocking to do nothing for you.”

  Sister Hunter sat up straight. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Rider grunted.

  She sighed. “I understand her misgiving. To draw anyone into this affair is to ask too
much of them.”

  Rider nodded and leaned forward. “What are you not telling me?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Rider smiled, replaced his sandwich in the box, gathered his fries, his defiled Coke, stuffed it all in the bag but the Coke, and stood.

  “It was nice knowing you.”

  She grasped the sleeve of his coat. Rider noticed in the process that she still wore gloves. This time, however, they were black driving gloves. “Wait.”

  Rider sat back down and gave her his most amused look.

  She looked left and right as if she were making sure no one was listening.

  “Everything you found out was true and then some. The Sisters of Divinity is not a secret society but a Coven, and they have chapters everywhere. They’re also very powerful women and very tech savvy.”

  Rider looked in her eyes. “And you know this, how?”

  She leaned close. “I told you last night.”

  Rider leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “And that’s where this whole thing breaks down. If you’re Sister Ruth Hunter, I’m Jimmy Hoffa.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Rider reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper that he ran off in the library and passed it over.

  “In 1972, Sister Ruth Hunter disappeared along with five other nuns. She and her cohorts ran a homeless shelter owned and operated by a group of Nuns calling themselves Sisters of Divinity.”

  She looked down. “If I told you the truth, they may discover my identity. If they did so, that would drastically increase their ability to find me before I expose them.”

  “Is that why you always wear gloves?”

  She nodded.

  Rider bit his lower lip and leaned in. “Tell me who you are and what you want, or I walk away.”