Through the darkness, Toni yelled, “Don't hurt her!”
Her message was like electric shock pads, the paddle-like things applied to a heart attack victim, now zapping this scene, because for a moment everything was still. No chants. No voices. Toni and I… just stood there. I didn't know what to expect, but was surprised by the momentary peace. Then, of course, one of the guys moved out of the room, stepped out into the chamber, and stood there staring at us. He was as shocked as we were terrified, just stood there, naked chest, black mask.
He screamed, “Intruders!”
A great whoop went up from the back room, a collective roar that rose and threatened with its animalish power. They started stampeding, pouring out of that room, and Toni and I tore for the door behind us. Lunged for it. Flew against it as the herd charged after us. I heard screams and hoots, knew that if we were caught we would be trampled upon, beaten and mauled. My heart soared out of my body, right out of my chest, up my throat, ahead of me.
Toni and I ran, came crashing against the door, hurled it out before us. I looked up, saw a faint light above. Two flights up. Then the alley, the deserted one. Oh, shit.
We'd never make it. No way we could outrun this herd of wild men barreling after us. Just as soon as we were through the door, I pushed it shut, leaned into it with my shoulder. God, there was no way I could hold them back.
“Get a piece of wood!” I screamed at Toni.
I saw the panic butterfly across her face. Wood?
“Something to pin this shut!” Pointing to where we'd earlier hidden beneath the stairs, I shouted, “Over there!”
She dove into action, scooping up one, then two boards, bringing them over. We crammed one of them into place, wedging it up against the door, beneath the handle, then down against the bottom of the staircase. It was just the right length. Then we took the second board, a longer one, and jammed that between the door and the second step. That one was in place when we heard them come rolling across that room and against the door, banging against it. There was a great thud, a collective groan from inside, and a chorus of screams and curses. I looked down, saw the door swell and bulge toward us, saw the wood bend like simple chopsticks under all that force.
Toni and I turned, bolted up the stairs one and two at a time, feet clawing, climbing, leaving the screaming horde down there behind us. Toni tore ahead of me, bounded like the star marathon runner that she was. We flew up those gritty stairs, bobbed to the surface of light, into the small landing with the chained door, then out onto the loading platform, down the wooden steps, into the alley. Fading light, loose bricks, raggedy train tracks, and no thugs.
I glanced back. Had we escaped? Was it possible?
“Alex, don't stop!” hollered Toni. “They might have another way out!”
Which was highly possible, so we kept running, right out of that alley, down the street and to my car. The Honda. Hands shaking, I unlocked it and we scrambled in, huffing, sweating, and then I brought the engine to a roar and, tires spitting gravel, we were off, out of there, away from them and toward freedom.
So, I wondered as we skidded out onto Washington Avenue, were we okay? Safe? Was that possible?
“We've got to find a phone,” said Toni, staring out the back.
I'd almost forgotten in that first moment of relief, but of course we had to. I sped down the broad street, raced like a dragster some five blocks, then slammed on the brakes in front of one of the Warehouse District's trendy restaurants. The one in the short blue building, J. D. Hoyt's. Toni and I jumped out, abandoning the car in the street, rushed inside, and every diner stopped and stared from the dark booths. There was a TV up in the corner with a game on it. But everyone was looking at us, thinking: This wasn't what we ordered. Wondering fearfully what had happened because we looked like hell and were pale and panicky-demanding.
I lunged at the bar, yelled, “Give me a phone, quick!”
It was an emergency, obviously, and I was hurled a phone, and I dialed 911 and screamed into the receiver. Screamed I don't know what, something about a cult and them attacking a woman, holding her, tying her up. Rape, too. I screamed all that to get them to come quick before they killed her. Where? Where? asked the calm voice on the other end. Of course I didn't know, so I said we were where?—at J. D. Hoyt's—to meet us out front. The cops. Hurry!
Toni and I then ducked back outside. I pulled the car over, got it off the street and in front of a fire hydrant.
By the time I was out of the car, I heard the swirling sirens, and seconds later, they were there, one and then two cop cars. Toni and I rushed to the first one, jumped in the backseat, then pointed down the street, blathering and shouting the way, the story, what we'd seen. Fifteen, twenty men down in a basement, we'd said, and the cops called for other cars, more help.
But by the time we got there, of course, it was empty. The whole goddamned warehouse. The cops made us wait in the squad cars, and they went down, guns at the ready. There was no one, though. They checked the entire building, up and down, and the only thing they found to confirm our story was a little spilled rice on the stairs.
Chapter 11
The cops questioned us in the backseat of the squad car, right there in the alley, and we went over and over the story as the sun faded away and an evening chill took a bite. When we'd told it the third time, I leaned back, looked out the rear window, saw a nearly full moon rising over the warehouses, and I couldn't help but wonder if we'd be there all night.
Toni briefly went into her sister's death—the cops were familiar with it, the suicide they said, the jumper—and she said she thought it was all related, this cult and all. No, she was sure of it. After Tyler's avoiding us, our following him, this cult, the blond woman with the gag, not to mention the rice-stuffed goat, Toni was positive. Well, that may be, said one cop, but how did this warehouse with the so-called devil worshipers empty out so fast? How come the only thing they could find was a little bit of rice? We had no idea, but it pissed Toni off, being questioned and doubted like that, like maybe we'd made the whole thing up. She asked for Detective Jenkins, so they called into the station for him, but he wasn't immediately available. In a few hours, they said. He was out, but he'd be back soon.
That's when Toni and I went back to my place, and by the time we did, it was after nine. It had been the strangest of days. I made some decaf coffee, got out some bread and cheese and mustard, and Toni and I sat in my kitchen, a small room with white walls and a tiny counter. We sat there, relaxing, the tension finally leaving us, but the questions mounting evermore. Tyler, the cult, Liz. How did it all tie together, and just what had we seen tonight? Was the blond woman still alive? Or hacked to pieces and bobbing about in the Mississippi?
Just before eleven, Jenkins called. He'd heard about the incident at the warehouse and wanted to talk to us both. I said sure, and about twenty minutes later the intercom screamed, then screamed again, which wasn't surprising because nothing was more than twenty minutes away except a treeless suburb called Coon Rapids. He came up dressed in a brown polyester sport coat, tan pants, open shirt, and clutching a messy yellow legal pad. He looked tired, as if he'd been on duty too long. All three of us went to the living room, Toni and I sat on the couch. Jenkins faced us, and then we went through the entire story again, from my having called Rob Tyler from Peter's Grill, to propping those boards against the door, to our rushing into J. D. Hoyt's.
First thing, Jenkins said, “Christ, are you two lucky you weren't chopped to pieces.”
Toni barely paid him attention; instead, following a thought of her own, she said, “Tyler's trying to hide something. He knows something about Liz's death—maybe he even killed her. I'm sure of it. And it has something to do with this cult. That's what she wanted to write about and what she wanted me to photograph. It has to be.”
“Probably,” said Jenkins. “But let me put it this way, you two were really stupid to go into that warehouse. It was dangerous and you're lucky nothing happened t
o you. That's a very mean group.”
I asked, “Are you saying you know something about them?”
He looked at me, apparently wondering how much he should divulge, then said, “Yes, I am.” He rubbed his brow. “This group—the Dragons—is under investigation. We don't know that much about them, except that they are a very dangerous bunch. You know about the killings, right? The four women? Well, they've all been murdered since January, all of them killed in the same bizarre way, and it's possible this might be connected. More than that, I can't tell you, but this isn't something you should go poking around in.”
Toni was shocked. “What?”
“Stay away from them, and stay away from Rob Tyler. Avoid him altogether.”
“I don't get it,” said Toni, the anger coloring her face. “Why the hell didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me my sister's death could be cult-related?”
“Because I didn't think it was and because we're trying to keep it out of the papers.”
“But—”
“I didn't tell you because those other four women were all killed in the same ritualistic manner, and your sister wasn't.”
“Yeah, but Liz dated a member of that cult, for God's sake!”
“Look, the other women were raped, carved up, and nailed to trees. Your sister had a history of depression, she'd already attempted suicide once, she was on medication, and she was found in the Mississippi.”
Things weren't right here. Something else was going on, and it was wrong. But what?
“Alex, hold it there-for a second. It's all right to let out whatever your subconscious knows. Just step back and imagine you're looking at a picture of all this. What's going on?”
I caught my breath, held it, and that seemed to capture time, hold it still for a moment. All of a sudden I was no longer sitting there on the couch, but I was up higher, looking down at them, Toni and Detective Jenkins and, oddly, at myself, too. Studying us all from a different perspective, as if I were gazing down on a photograph. Yes, there was something going on. But what?
“You've come back via hypnosis to that meeting with Jenkins. So now as you retell this you have more knowledge and better insights than you had back then.”
Right then and there, back in my apartment after the episode in the warehouse, Jenkins knew quite a bit more about this cult and about Liz's death, too. I didn't know then why he wouldn't tell us, why we were going to have to hunt this all out for ourselves. We did, of course. By the end, we understood it all.
“What are you saying?”
That there was a whole other level to this, that we had only scratched the surface, that Jenkins wasn't…
I ran out of air. My lungs screamed, and I took a deep gulp, which sucked me back to that late night in my condo. There was a lot to find out here, an entirely different reality beneath the surface of Jenkin's sparse words, and we could only get to that reality by going through everything step by step. Logically and slowly.
Jenkins looked up, and said, “Listen, I'm just trying to conduct an investigation the best way I know how. I didn't think your sister's death was related to the Dragons, but maybe I was wrong. Obviously there are some things I need to check into, and if I turn up anything, you'll be the first to know.”
Toni nodded.
“Good. Just trust me, I'm doing everything I can.” He lifted up his pad of paper. “I need your help. Can you describe this woman, the one you saw in the warehouse?”
Toni bent her head, pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand, and said, “Tall, about five ten. And not slender—real full body. Blond hair.”
“Very blond—yellowy,” I added.
“And round face.”
“Definitely in her thirties.”
Jenkins frowned, scratched the back of his head, then from the pages of his yellow pad pulled out a picture.
“This her?”
I took the photograph, a five-by-seven glossy, black and white, that showed a smiling woman, very Germanic or Northern European-looking, with big cheeks, big smile. White teeth, light hair. All of which made her look like half the population in Minnesota. The picture was taken outside, and she was on a sidewalk, looking back over her left shoulder. A soft-looking woman, attractive, someone I might have been friends with.
“God, I don't know,” said Toni, obviously perplexed. “It might be. What do you think, Alex?”
The broad characteristics were the same. A full-bodied attractive woman. Light hair. The face we'd seen in the warehouse had been one of fear and rage. This one was happy and smiling, younger-looking. Think, I told myself, bring back her image.
That image came winging out of my memory, and I quickly said, “Yes, that's her.”
“Are you sure?” asked Jenkins.
“Yeah, absolutely. I remember the eyes—I looked right at them because she was so afraid. And the chin—that's where they cut her. It's the same chin.”
Seated next to me, Toni pursed her lips, hesitant to agree with me. After a moment, however, she nodded. I was right. This woman in the photo was the one we'd seen bound in that sheet, her mouth gagged.
“I agree, that's her.” Looking up, Toni said, “Why do you ask?”
“Because this woman,” said Jenkins, taking back the photograph, “disappeared last week from the U. No trace, no nothing. She went to the library and just vanished.”
I thought, Oh, God, where would they finally find her? Tacked to which tree? In which field? I didn't like this, any of it. The insanity was creeping up here now, bleeding our way. What had happened to the United States when students couldn't cross a campus? When had we become the land of the fearful? Of course they'd never find her alive. Jenkins must have known, as must her parents.
Detective Jenkins slid the photo back into the yellow pad, said, “Well, I'm going to be checking in with our Mr. Tyler. Tomorrow I'll go over to his place, and if he's not there, I'll try the College of Art and Design.” He ran his hand back over his receding hair. “I'm telling you this because I don't want him to know he was seen at one of these Dragon get-togethers. At least I don't want him to know yet. That's sort of an ace I want to hold on to, and I'm afraid that if you look him up, that might be a topic, shall we say, for conversation.”
“Yeah,” said Toni, shaking her head, “it was pretty disgusting what we saw, and I've never been very good at holding my tongue.”
“So you'll keep away from him?” asked Jenkins, looking first at me, then Toni, then me again.
“Sure,” I ventured.
Toni nodded.
“Good.” Jenkins rose. “And keep away from the Dragons, for God's sake. Just let me do some work here. I'll keep you posted, but call me anytime, especially if you think of anything else.”
It was late, he was tired, Toni and I were exhausted. Jenkins muttered some more things, Toni muttered her gratitude. I escorted Jenkins to the door, where I shook his hand, and it seemed to me that he must have been a phys ed teacher once. That was what he reminded me of. A tired PE teacher who'd left education for a more glamorous job. If you could call this glamorous.
“Thanks a lot for coming over so late,” I said to him through the doorway. “I know Toni really appreciates it. This has been very hard on her.”
“I'm sure.”
He lumbered off, and I shut the door, twisting the deadbolt and checking to make sure it was tight, just as I did every night before I went to bed. Then I turned around and realized I still had a guest. Toni. Why did it seem so natural, why did I just assume, that she was going to stay the night?
I started back toward the living room, wondering if indeed that would come to pass. Toni and me, once again.
Chapter 12
I returned to the living room, stood there on the edge of it, wondering what this day and night had been leading up to. My relationship with Toni had never been resolved, at least not from my point of view. Things had only been broken off. I'd never really understood why, and still didn't, of course, and so I now sensed
that all of it was coming to a head. That was next on the day's agenda. The next chapter of Us.
Was it just sexual tension, residual tension, accumulated all these years? Was that what I was feeling? Certainly that was a great part of it. From me, anyway. I stood on the threshold of the living room, wondering what I should do, how I should handle this, whether we'd have sex and sleep together, and if so did that mean we'd do it again and again? Hoping we would. Oh, God, could we, would we be back together?
I didn't want to frighten her, to rush things and thereby push her away. Yes, I was conniving, trying to figure out how I could win her back, as they said. So what could I do to precipitate my greatest wishes? I was motionless, watching, thinking, and Toni, perhaps unaware of my presence, bowed her head into her hands and started to cry.
That's when I started moving. Of course I wanted to comfort her—she was exhausted, her sister was dead, we could have been killed tonight—but I also recognized a great opportunity. Her defenses were weakened, perhaps they could easily be breached. Yes, I knew that was taking advantage of her at that moment, but I didn't care. I had loved, and probably always would love, Toni. If only I could kiss her and tell her all that and more right here, right there on that couch.
“Alex, you can skip to the next part if you want. You don't have to go into this if—”
I couldn't stop myself. More than important, this was necessary. I knew I'd learn things about Toni I hadn't known, only suspected, and I knew that perhaps I'd learn things about myself as well. The driving force was lust, of course, but the altruistic reason was honesty and clarity.
I circled around the end of my big green couch, sat down next to Toni, who sat huddled over, sobbing. I began my seduction by reaching over, slowly, hesitantly, and putting my arms around her, the right one around her back, the left reaching across her front. I encircled her, pulled her into me. A good start.
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