They

Chapter Thirteen

IT WAS ONLY eight-thirty in the evening, and even though it was still sunset it felt like night had fallen fast.

Hank Powell, Mike Peterson, Vince Walters, and Frank Black were gathered in Reverend Powell’s basement. Hank had set up a card table and some chairs in the den, and the four men sat around the table eating take-out pizza that Frank and Mike had brought back from Caruso’s. Vince had called Frank as he was walking back to the motel from the library and told him the latest plan: they were joining forces with Reverend Powell and would be spending the rest of their time at his home. Frank expressed concern at first, but Vince assured him that Mike had made the call. Vince was still reeling from the emotional turmoil of the past few hours and had come to rely more on Mike’s judgment. “We talked about it upstairs out of Hank’s earshot,” he’d told Frank over the phone. “Mike did some checking on him before you even contacted me. He came out clean. He has no prior contact with any cult member except for my mother, and he’s expressing all the classic symptoms of shock at what he’s hearing. Mike’s checked the house out, and once Hank found out the extreme nature of this group, he even pitched in to help. The guy’s an ex-cop and knows quite a lot about surveillance. He says he would have known if somebody had been following him, so he’s just as paranoid as you two are.”

“I guess that’s good to know,” Frank said.

Mike had driven over to the motel to pick Frank up and gather their things. As a precaution, he hadn’t checked them out of the room. They’d picked up two large pizzas at Caruso’s after Hank phoned the order in, and now they were gathered around the card table, a half-eaten pizza and empty beer bottles on the table. Frank had gone through two cans of Coke already. They’d brought Hank Powell up to speed on everything that happened since Maggie’s murder—including the murder attempt on Vince and Tracy—and Frank’s own background. Hank had nodded solemnly, casting a sympathetic glance at Frank. “You’ve been through a lot, my friend. Thank God you lived through it.”

“There’s a well-known quote by the German philosopher Frederick Nietzsche,” Frank said. He was sprawled comfortably in one of the fold-up lawn chairs Reverend Powell had set up around the table. “‘That which does not kill me makes me stronger’ That’s how I look at what I went through.”

Hank Powell looked at his guests and sighed. Vince had watched the man pound down no less than a six-pack of beer and numerous shots of Jack Daniels and the guy wasn’t even the least bit wobbly. Perhaps it was true about ex-cops and preachers—they could hold their liquor. “Well, I’m with you on this,” he said. “As Maggie and Lillian’s friend and minister, and as a soldier for the Lord, I feel compelled to work with you to fight Satan. I know that’s who we’re up against and I thank God for your courage.” He nodded at each of them, his nod lingering longer on Frank. “Especially you, Frank, after finding out what you’ve gone through.” He nodded at Vince. “And you, Vince. As an unbeliever, I know this is hard for you to accept. But I also know you loved your mother, even though the two of you had problems. Despite what you may feel, I refuse to accept that this group feels that you are the Anti-Christ. They want you for something else. Satan hates to lose, and it’s obvious that he feels he lost two great souls when your mother took you and hightailed it out of that den of iniquity. He’s trying to get you back. And he will fight hard for you.”

“So you don’t think I’m the Anti-Christ?” Vince asked. He asked this half-jokingly. He really felt no different physically since coming to these wild conclusions. He imagined that if he were some sort of supernatural being he would have been aware of it long before now.

“No, Vince,” Hank Powell said. “You’re not the Anti-Christ. Confused and scared maybe, but not the devil’s imp.”

Frank chuckled. “You weren’t bad luck to people whom you’ve known the last twenty-five years, were you?”

“No.”

“And you haven’t noticed any unusual marks, right? No six-six-six tattoos or markings on your scalp?”

“No, but then I’ve never looked, either. I could shave my head and we can solve this all right now.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Mike said, bringing the seriousness back to the tone of conversation. “Vince, you’re not the Anti-Christ, so stop thinking such nonsense.”

“Why else would they be after me?”

“It’s like I suggested,” Reverend Powell said, rubbing his jaw. “Satan hates to lose. He wants you back.”

“If that’s the case, why do you claim it’s outlandish that they might think I’m the Anti-Christ?”

“Vince!” Mike’s tone sharpened.

Vince turned to Mike. “Hank believes the devil is pissed off about losing me and Mom. He’s placing this belief in a supernatural entity. If you believe Hank, why can’t you believe they see me as the Anti-Christ?”

Mike fidgeted. He cast a glance at Frank, who remained stoical. Finally, Frank said, “I don’t believe you’re the Anti-Christ, and to tell you the truth, I don’t believe in the devil either.”

“What do you believe in, son?” Reverend Powell asked.

“I believe we’re dealing with a group of fanatics,” Frank said. “I believe we’re dealing with a group of people that’s just as fanatical about their beliefs as the most rabid, fundamentalist Bible-thumper.” Hank Powell’s expression darkened at that description, but Frank ignored him. “To tell you the truth, I think organized religion is a crock of shit. I think Pat Robertson is just as dangerous as Louis Farrakhan and that nut that lives in that cave in Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden. I think these guys are operating on the same delusions as all your television evangelists, only they—”

“The Lord God is not an illusion,” Reverend Powell said, sternly.

“—believe in the devil. Frankly, I think the whole concept of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam is a fraud. I think they’re all based on a bunch of old myths and the early churches and mosques and synagogues forced this crock of shit down people’s throats as a power trip. They made people believe this shit—”

“That’s enough!” Hank Powell thundered. His face was beet-red.

“—and they had the power to either make people pay lip service or they’d kill them. Haven’t you ever heard of the Crusades or the fucking Inquisition?”

“I will not have you curse in my house!” Reverend Powell said through gritted teeth.

“Frank,” Mike said, sternly. “That’s enough.”

“It’s true!” Frank turned to him. “You told me the same thing. Or have you forgotten about that?”

If this embarrassed Mike, he didn’t show it. “Our personal spiritual beliefs are not the issue. The main focus of our discussion is the various crimes perpetrated by this organization, and their threat on Vince’s life.”

“And that’s all based on their spiritual beliefs,” Frank said. “Their belief that they are somehow aiding in God’s plan by helping to bring about the end times as described in the Bible. What they’re doing is no different than some Christian wacko who blows up a Planned Parenthood clinic because he says God told him to kill the abortion-providers.”

They were silent for a moment. Reverend Powell was glowering with anger. “You may not believe now,” he said, his gaze fiery, “but as we go deep into battle you will believe. I pray to God that you believe before it’s too late.”

“The bottom line is this,” Mike said, leaning forward, addressing them all in a clip, authoritarian style that must have worked wonders in the classroom. “Whatever our personal beliefs may be, we need to agree on some basic things that are very much real. One, this group exists and they’re extremely dangerous. Two, they’re responsible for the murder of Maggie Walters. Three, she was involved with them to some degree in the sixties and early seventies and she may have had some knowledge or participated in criminal activities. Four, she wised up and fled with Vince and went completely underground and was successful in changing her and Vince’s identity. And five—”

“They killed her and want Vince for the same reason,” Frank said. “Whatever Vince and Maggie were exposed to, whatever they might have witnessed, The Children of the Night want to silence them.”

“And you,” Vince said, nodding to Frank. “You told me yourself that you were having similar dreams. You don’t think they’re after you, too?”

“My guess is they think I’m too much trouble,” Frank said. He took a sip of Coke. “Besides, I think those dreams are finally just coming to the surface of my subconscious because they have no place else to go. As to them wanting to silence me, I really doubt it. I was a rebellious son-of-a-bitch to my mom, and I haven’t caused them any trouble since she booted me out when I was twelve. I haven’t been in touch with her since, and back then I was a fuck-up and a drug addict. She probably still thinks that. But I haven’t completely ruled out them coming after me. That’s why I’ve taken the precautions I have.”

“Well, it makes more sense for them to try to kill me if they think Mom and I witnessed something or had some knowledge of their activities,” Vince said.

“I still don’t believe The Children of the Night were the ones responsible for your assassination attempt,” Mike said. “What happened at the airport was too brazen, too out in the open.”

Frank nodded. “The Children of the Night are secretive. They’d rather make it look like an accident.”

“Or like Maggie’s murder?” Reverend Powell asked.

“Yes,” Frank said. “In fact, that’s one of their strengths. Making select murders appear to be the work of some deranged lunatic, sprinkle some occult-like symbols in the mix and that just stirs things up. These guys feed on this kind of chaos.”

“They feed on it,” Mike continued, “because it diverts attention away from them. The authorities go after their own pre-conceived notion of what a Satanist is supposed to be and that’s why you always hear about them arresting heavy metal teenagers. And while so-called ‘occult-experts’ are training law enforcement and church officials to be aware of Satanists by the kind of music kids are listening to, or the way they dress or wear their hair, or the kind of jewelry or tattoos they may have, the real culprits are right in front of them.” Mike cast his gaze across the table, like a professor sizing his class up. “They’re wearing the cloak of respectability. They’re the lawyers, the police officers that are drumming up these so-called ‘facts.’ They’re the businessmen that are funding their operations. They’re the ministers who are working for the light during the day, but when night falls they take off their clerical collars and bow before the Prince of Darkness behind closed doors.”

Reverend Powell appeared to think about this. “What you’re saying is…”

“Crazy?” Mike grinned slightly.

“Not in the least bit,” Reverend Powell said. “In fact, it’s something that I can believe very easily.”

Mike nodded. “Let me give you a little crash course in the Black Arts, or at least as they pertain to The Children of the Night.” He reiterated what he’d told Vince a few nights ago about The Children of the Night fostering the urban legends about Satanists infiltrating popular music and taking over the day care centers. “And the Christian community has bought right into it.”

Reverend Powell nodded, still looking angry, but appearing to calm down from his sudden outburst at Frank. “I can see what you mean. I’ve always held the notion that the devil would do everything he could do to spread lies and false witness among the body of Christ. I’ve never subscribed to many of the urban legends surrounding Satan’s influence on the world. But when you put things in this perspective, I see that his influence is working in the world in the same powerful way. It’s just… more subtle.”

“It’s a form of psychological warfare,” Frank said.

“I thought you held to the notion that all this was a bunch of gobbledy-gook?” Hank said, turning to Frank with a frown.

“I do,” Frank said with a smile. “That these people believe their theology is true.”

“Well,” Hank said, “no matter what you believe, perhaps it’s a good thing we’re joining forces. I think we need somebody to fight them on a spiritual level. You, obviously, feel otherwise, although I do not for a moment disagree with that method. I think it’s good to work on both levels.”

“We think so, too,” Mike said, quickly. “That’s why we decided to approach you.”

Hank Powell nodded. “So I guess we need to talk strategy now.”

They talked strategy for nearly an hour. Vince sat back and listened as Mike and Frank talked to Hank about the various ways to approach this. Mike and Frank were very well versed in the background of the cult, and listening to them talk was like listening in on a well-planned strategy for battle. They discussed turning all of the evidence they’d collected, including the box containing the photos and news clippings, over to William Grecko. Reverend Powell asked if they were confident a proper Federal investigation would be started. Mike revealed that William had very strong FBI contacts who were unconnected to the group; they could pull the right strings that would result in arrests. Frank sheepishly admitted that similar federal investigations had always blown up. “Basically you need somebody to infiltrate them to get the proper evidence,” he said. “Everything we’ve collected is circumstantial. But it’s a lot more than what other people have collected. In fact, it’s pretty goddamned solid.”

“What kind of a risk do you suppose there is for one of you infiltrating the group?” Reverend Powell asked, his features serious and penetrating.

“Pretty great,” Mike said.

“Not to mention impossible,” Frank said.

“You couldn’t contact your mother?” Reverend Powell asked, turning to Frank. “Sort of in the guise of a reunion type thing?”

Frank shook his head. “No way.”

“Why not?” Vince asked.

Frank turned to him. “You think I can crack her? Forget it. If what Mike’s found out is true, she and Tom are so high up in the organization they’d be impenetrable.”

Mike nodded, brow furrowed in concentration. “There’s also the possibility that making Frank’s presence known would make them aware of us.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Frank said.

Reverend Powell glowered at Frank.

“Still,” Mike said, rubbing his jaw, thinking. “It might work.” He turned to Frank. “You haven’t been in contact with your mother and Tom for almost eighteen years now, right?”

“Yeah, and I ain’t calling her sorry ass now,” Frank said, his voice rising with a hint of annoyance. “So you can forget it.”

Reverend Hank Powell’s features had softened, becoming concerned. He looked at Frank pensively, as if he were a doctor treating a patient. “What is it you’re afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Frank said quickly. Vince could tell that Frank was afraid of something just by the way he responded so fast. “It’s just that I don’t think contacting my mother is going to help. She’s going to wonder why I would want to see her after eighteen years. She’ll be suspicious.”

“That might be true,” Mike said, nodding. “But then again, you said yourself that the last she knew of you, you were a drug addict. You’re clean now, and that will come as a surprise. That could provide reason for your wanting to contact her.”

“Forget it!” Frank said, hissing the sentence through gritted teeth.

Reverend Powell was watching Frank with a different look; compassion. “Are you afraid of physical violence? Of some kind of physical harm coming to you?”

Frank fidgeted. “No. I… I don’t know. It’s just…”

“You’re afraid of their power,” Reverend Powell said softly. “You’re afraid of the power they have over you. You think it’s a psychological power, and I’m not going to debate that now. But you are afraid of something malignant happening to you, something that you can’t see or feel, correct?”

Hesitating for a moment, Frank nodded.

“Frank,” Reverend Powell leaned forward, staring directly into Frank’s eyes. “Do you really believe these people have supernatural powers?”

Frank looked like he was going to bounce off the walls. He cast nervous glances at Vince and Mike, and then turned to Hank. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “All I know is that… their power scares me. I’ve seen what they can do. And I’m… I’m just scared of it happening to my family.”

Hank regarded Frank solemnly. “Are you afraid they will… somehow find out what you’re up to?”

Frank nodded. “Yes.”

“And how will they find out?”

“I don’t know!” Frank yelled, now animated with worry and fear. He rose from his chair and began pacing the den. “I don’t know how they’ll find out, but they will, I just know it! I can feel it. It’s like… an instinct, my inner voice telling me that the minute I show myself they’ll be able to look into me and see my motivations. Then that will lead them to you, to my wife and kids! Christ!” He ran a hand through his long black hair, visibly shaken.

Reverend Powell remained calm. “Perhaps that’s exactly what you need,” he said.

“Whatever,” Frank said, heading to the bar. He retrieved a Coke. The others remained seated around the table, waiting for something to be said. Vince felt nervous, like everything that was happening, the bad vibes, the mixed emotions, were his entire fault.

Vince thought Reverend Powell would have sought this opportunity to proselytize to Frank but he didn’t. Instead, the preacher said, “Perhaps we should plan another method of attack. Have you thought about talking to the Pennsylvania State Police to see if they’ve discovered any new information on Maggie’s death?”

“That’s a strong possibility,” Mike said. “But that would have to be something Vince will have to do.”

“I can do it tomorrow,” Vince said.

“We can analyze whatever they tell us then,” Reverend Powell said. “If no new information is forthcoming, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Mike said. “Any clues they would have left would point at somebody else. Or nowhere at all.”

“What about the attempt on your own life?” Reverend Powell asked Vince. “Have you heard anything more from the detectives investigating?”

“Nope.” Vince shook his head. “That’s something I can follow up on as well.”

“What kind of research will it take to connect the attempt on Vince’s life to this cult, The Children of the Night?” Hank asked Mike.

Mike sighed. “I really don’t know. It will be almost impossible until we hear what kind of leads the police in Irvine find.”

Reverend Powell remained silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. Frank Black remained at the bar, sipping his Coke.

“I still think a contact with Gladys Black is our best bet,” Reverend Powell said. “At least from the secular level of our investigation.”

“I’m not contacting that bitch,” Frank muttered.

“I’m no longer considering using you for that option,” Reverend Powell said without turning around.

“I’ve got an idea,” Vince said.

Mike and Hank turned to him. Vince could feel Frank’s eyes light upon him too. “We could… or I could… get in touch with her somehow. I could go on the notion that… I’m contacting mom’s old friends and family to… tell them mom is now deceased.” He looked at Mike for some kind of approval.

“It might work,” Mike said, turning to Frank who remained silent behind the bar. “But it would have to be done with a phone call. We don’t have the time to communicate by mail.”

“How are we going to get her phone number?”

“I’ve got it,” Mike said.

“You want to contact her so fucking much,” Frank muttered from the bar, “you guys contact her. Leave me out of it.”

“And what will you do, Frank?” Reverend Powell turned toward the imposing figure who, despite his physical appearance, looked like he was scared to death. “If we contact your mother—if Vince does, rather—what will you do?”

“I could ask you the same question?” Frank shot back, defiant.

“I’ll be praying for guidance and strength for all of us,” Reverend Powell replied. “The Lord hasn’t failed us yet and I don’t believe He will. And God forgive me for this hint of self-righteousness, but I believe we need somebody who is a Christian in this battle. Because, my friends, while you see this battle as a secular one, I see it as a spiritual one first and foremost. And while I join you in the physical aspects of this case with as much vigor as you, I have the spiritual background to arm ourselves against the forces of darkness.” He cast his gaze across each of them, turning to Frank who met his gaze with equal determination. “I can sense your fear. And I can sympathize. We are dealing with the forces of darkness, there is no doubt about that. Our enemy is great, both in spiritual prowess but in physical strength as well. They have their agents of destruction, their assassins, and they have the uncanny ability to work like the mafia.”

Frank huffed. “You can say that again!”

“I will do everything physically to help the three of you,” Reverend Powell continued. “And I will act as a spiritual advisor in the fight and work at breaking down the forces of darkness through prayer. If you’d like, I can even make the call to Gladys myself. I can do so on the grounds that as Maggie’s friend, I came across her name and phone number and wanted to inform her of her sudden passing.” He looked at Mike pensively. “What do you think?”

“It might work,” Mike said, turning to Frank. “It just might. As long as you…”

“I’ll keep my occupation a secret from her,” Reverend Powell said, nodding. “Deception can work for the Lord, too.”

“Why don’t we sleep on it,” Mike suggested. “Tomorrow is Thursday. We’ll have three hours tomorrow morning to finalize our plans by the time the west coast wakes up.”

Vince nodded. Frank looked like he agreed with the plan, as did Reverend Powell. “Agreed,” Reverend Powell said. “We can talk more about what the rest of our plans will be for the day. I think one of those things will be for Vince to contact Tom Hoffman. I can go with him to the Warwick Township Police Station as well.”

“What about us?” Frank asked.

“Perhaps you can come with us,” Reverend Powell suggested. “There is the matter of those dead dogs to deal with. I’m sure Tom can provide you with information that wasn’t leaked to the press. We can reconvene on strategy tomorrow by noon.”

“Sounds good,” Mike said, standing up.

Vince felt better now that they had some kind of plan. As he helped clean up the basement, he couldn’t help but wish that this would be over soon. Perhaps the end was drawing near. He felt that it was.

As they ascended the stairs to the main floor of the house, Reverend Powell said, “One of you will have to sleep in the living room. I’ve got linens in the closet.”

“I can do it,” Frank said.

“Maybe we should rotate shifts,” Mike said, pausing in the living room. “One of us stay awake in the living room as a look-out for a few hours.”

“That’s a sound idea,” Hank said.

“I’ll go first,” Frank said, planting himself in an easy chair, well out of sight from outside. “It’s a little after ten o’clock now. How does three hour shifts sound?”

“Three hours is fine,” Mike said. “I’ll go next. Be sure to have a pot of coffee brewed before you wake me up.”

“Of course,” Frank said.

“I can bring a bottle of whiskey up from downstairs if you want a shot or two to help you sleep,” Reverend Powell said.

“That’ll be great,” Mike answered.

When Reverend Powell headed back downstairs for the whiskey, Mike turned to Frank and Vince. “Whatever we do tomorrow, we stick together. Even if we do meet with Sheriff Hoffman.”

“What’ll we tell him?” Vince asked.

“Leave that to me,” Mike said.

Reverend Powell returned with the Jack Daniel’s bottle and handed it to Mike. “Now I think we’d better turn in. I can take the third watch. Vince, you luck out tonight.”

“Get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow you get to be up at two in the morning,” Frank said. Vince grinned as he caught a glimpse of a smirk on Frank’s face.

“I’m in the bedroom at the end of the hall,” Reverend Powell told Frank. “And I’m armed. I know you and Mike came well armed, but is there anything else you may need?”

“I have my nine and an extra clip,” Frank said. He took the gun out of his waistband and laid it on the arm of the chair. “I’ll be fine.”

“I will, too,” Mike said.

“Okay.” Reverend Powell looked at his guests. “The beds are ready, there’s fresh towels in the linen closet and you can have the hallway bathroom. Mike, get me up at four.”

“You got it,” Mike said.

With a curt nod, Reverend Powell retreated down the hallway to the master bedroom.

“Well, I’m turning in, too,” Mike said. “Will you be alright, Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He turned and headed toward one of the bedrooms.

Vince turned to Frank and shrugged. “I don’t feel tired yet.”

“You’re welcome to hang out with me.”

Vince thought about it for a moment. What he really wanted to do was call Tracy, but he knew Mike would probably be able to hear him in the next room. He knew there was no way he would be able to get out of Frank’s sight long enough to steal downstairs and use his cell phone. He sat down on the sofa reluctantly, facing his old childhood friend in the darkened living room.

They remained seated in the darkness for a minute. The outside shadows were long and dark and the only sounds were those of the crickets chirping in a rhythmic susurration. The toilet in the bathroom upstairs flushed and then the door opened to the sound of padding footsteps making their way to one of the bedrooms. There was the sound of a door closing and then silence.

Except for the crickets.

Vince looked out the window. The curtains were drawn, but there was a thin line between them that he could see out of. What he saw wasn’t much; he tried to see into the darkness, but he knew there wasn’t much beyond the front porch except the long driveway that led to the lonely two lane country road and beyond that a vast corn field.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this,” Frank said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Frank replied. Vince’s vision had adjusted to the darkness in the living room, and he could make out Frank seated comfortably on the chair. The handgun was on the arm of the chair, Frank’s hand inches from it. Frank was looking out the window, too. He turned to Vince. “I’ve always lived in cities. Never lived in a place like this before. I’ve always dreamed of escaping from the noise and the shit and just… hiding out here.”

“It’s definitely a great place to get away from the city,” Vince said.

“Yeah.” Frank’s voice had taken on a reflective tone. “Maybe… when this is all over I can… come out to a place like this. Just pack up Brandy and the kids and bring them out to a place somewhere far away from all the shit big cities breed. Violence, despair, poverty, pollution. You know…?”

“With the work you do, you could make a nice living quite easily out here,” Vince said.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded. He turned to Vince. “What was it like for you growing up out here?”

Vince thought about it. When he’d first come to Lititz last week he’d been instantly transported back through time to when he was young and innocent, ready to face the world. He remembered driving by his old friend John’s house, seeing the family car that he remembered from those long ago days and resisting the urge to get out and walk up to the front porch and knock on the door. He remembered hating Lititz when he first moved out here. He’d been plucked out of his junior year in high school in Toronto without warning and whisked almost five hundred miles away, to a place in the middle of nowhere. He’d missed his friends in Canada terribly, but adjusted to life in the country fairly quickly. He told Frank this in quiet tones as the two men sat in the darkness, Frank’s fingers caressing the handgun. He told Frank how he kept expecting to run into people he’d gone to high school with and how that hadn’t happened yet. “Do you want it to happen?” Frank asked, interrupting Vince’s monologue.

“I don’t know,” Vince said. “I guess part of me does because… it would bring me back to those days to when… I was innocent, I guess.”

“You think that coming in contact with some element of your past will bring the innocence back,” Frank said.

Vince nodded. “Yeah. But I know that most of the friends I made here left for college when I did. I kept in contact with some of them, but I haven’t heard from a lot of them in years. They probably don’t live here anymore.”

“You’ve talked to me about your mother and her friend Lillian before,” Frank said. “Do you remember anything that stands out from the time you were living here?”

Vince thought about this. There really wasn’t anything that stuck out as particularly strange or odd. There was nothing in mom’s behavior or what she said that would have suggested to Vince even then that she’d lived the life of a deranged cultist in the late sixties. “No. I can see why mom became such a Christian fanatic, though. The things she was into in California were—”

“Pretty evil?” Frank chuckled. He leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, even though I don’t believe in all this heaven and hell bullshit, I still don’t see the attraction of worshipping a deity that represents evil.”

They talked some more, mostly trading stories of what they remembered from those times. “All I can really remember is when you used to come over,” Vince said, sitting back on the sofa. “And some of the others came by with their kids as well. I don’t really remember many of them.”

“You remembered Nellie.”

“Yeah, I remember her.” The image that came to Vince of Nellie was one of a little blond haired girl around his own age with fair skin, always happy and laughing, always willing to play whatever it was the boys had in mind. “She seemed… I don’t know… she seemed kinda normal.”

“What do you remember about her parents?” Frank asked.

Vince thought hard to remember. “Her dad wasn’t around much. I… I want to say that he was a truck driver because I remember her talking about that.”

“That’s what he told Nellie and her mother,” Frank said. “Nellie was one of the lucky ones. She wasn’t subjected to the group in any way. Her mother wasn’t a member, but her father was. He was a contract killer. The truck driver ruse was just a cover. He’d leave for the road in truck driver garb, and he’d call in to home on the CB frequencies truckers used to checkin. He was set-up so that by outward appearances he was a truck driver. He was incorporated as a carrier and everything. He even worked with a dispatching service to field messages.”

“Shit,” Vince whispered. He’d never known, had never suspected. “Did my mom know?”

“I suppose she did,” Frank said. “Mine sure as fuck did. Their job was to keep the wool pooled over Lucy’s eyes. Lucy was Nellie’s mom. Remember her?”

Vince’s memory of Lucy was even more vague. He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

Frank was pensive from his spot on the sofa. “Lucy eventually filed for divorce from her husband. Even Mike and I could never get his real name. He went under a lot of aliases.”

“You’ve… done some checking on Nellie? What… what ever happened to her?”

“She’s married with four kids,” Frank said. “Her husband’s a mechanic. She goes to church every Sunday with her husband and kids. Her husband is part owner of the garage he works out of and she manages the business end from home. By outward appearances, she appears to have a good life.”

“Appears to have a good life?”

Frank was silent for a moment. “You’ve got to understand, Vince. These people are really good at blending in. They’re like fucking chameleons. That’s why we didn’t want you blabbing everything to your girlfriend, Tracy. She appears normal too. So do the rest of your friends. Brian Dennison and his wife, the people you hang out with at the office. Your late wife. The truth of the matter is, they’re really good at concealing their true selves.”

“Now you’re just being paranoid.”

“We’ve identified some of them,” Frank continued. “By outward appearances, the ones we’ve identified seem on the up-and-up too. Community service leaders, doctors, lawyers, respected business people. We were able to ID them as cult members due to some stealth investigation into their background and matching their known associates. I also did some light surveillance on a few. We did the same thing with your friends, as well as people Mike and I know. They all checked out. But then, we did the same kind of investigation on acquaintances and friends of the folks that know us… that know you… and do you know what we found?”

Vince shook his head.

“We went back two and three degrees of separation on all known acquaintances and friends of everybody involved. On the surface, they checked out fine. But we found an anomaly in one. He almost passed with flying colors, but there was something about his background that seemed a bit off, so he merited further scrutiny. And… well, to tell you the truth, it’s still inconclusive as to this guy being a member of the cult. It could go either way. And his outward veneer is rock solid, just like everybody else.” Frank paused. “That’s what I mean by when I say we can’t be too sure about anybody. Dig?”

Vince didn’t know what else to say. Frank was silent as they sat, looking toward the window out at the little sliver of darkness between the curtains. Finally, Vince said, “What do you think will happen?”

“With us?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. But I know what I want to do.”

“What’s that?”

Frank turned to Vince, fixing him with a piercing gaze. “I want to kill my mother and I want to kill my step-father. And then I want to kill Samuel Garrison. I want to blow all those motherfuckers to hell.”

Vince shuddered. Frank’s tone of voice suggested he meant everything he said.

Vince wound up staying up until one a.m. with Frank, mostly talking, their voices lowered so they wouldn’t wake up the rest of the house. Vince tried to keep the conversation away from the topic of why they were here, instead focusing on what he’d been up to the last twenty years, trying to coax Frank to tell him more of the same and letting the conversation run from there. Because they’d led such rich, varied lives, they talked about a wide range of subjects: music, politics, literature, economics, travel. Vince could have stayed up all night talking to Frank. When Frank rose from his chair and went to the kitchen and began preparing a pot of coffee, Vince glanced at his watch. “My God, it’s almost one!”

“Yeah,” Frank said, looking through the cupboards for coffee filters. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

And with that, Vince decided to call it a night and headed for his bedroom.