Shadow of Death, page 10
“Brian. Brian Johnston,” the boy told him. He lowered his head and great tears rolled down his cheeks. Hunter stood and drew the boy to him.
“Brian Johnston, your heart is in the right place—and I’m going to see to it that you’re all right, okay? Come on. Let’s get down the trail. And when it’s possible, I will make sure you know your mom is okay, and maybe even see her,” Hunter said.
“Um, okay. Um...thank you.”
“Sure.”
Hunter led the way, heading down the trail. He found himself checking frequently on the boy. Brian. The kid reminded him...
Of himself.
His parents had been fooled into a cult. But there had been a difference. They had known murder was wrong—no matter what anyone had to say. And when the body of a woman who had been questioning their leader was discovered, his folks had known it was time to find help and get the hell out.
He called in when he reached the bottom of the cliffs with Brian, nodding to the numerous officers who were now escorting handcuffed members of Mateus’s “flock” to police cars.
Crandon was down there, speaking to his men, ready to drive out himself.
Hunter called out to him.
“Crandon, thank you—thank you to all your teams!”
“You’ve done us the service!” Crandon called back to him.
They both nodded and waved. Hunter found his car and told Brian to come with him.
“Should I be under arrest, too?” Brian asked him.
“How old are you?” Hunter asked him.
“Eleven. Twelve in six months.”
“You’re not under arrest.”
“They do arrest kids, right?”
“They do. But you are a kid, you were taken along by your folks, and you didn’t want to be there. We’ll find the right place for you. Hop in. We can talk on the way into headquarters.”
“Okay.”
As they drove, the kid still looked broken. He had soft brown hair that fell over his forehead and big brown eyes to match. He was still shaken, and without Hunter having to encourage him, he said, “They... I don’t know. I had friends at school. And I saw them...and went to school...like a normal kid...up until just a few months ago. Then my dad and mom started talking all night, all the time, and my mom would cry, and my dad said it was happening, we had to be prepared. The world is going to explode. Maybe not all at once, but there will be fires and meteors will crash down and more horrible things will happen and the survivors will wander in agony, dying from radiation and whatever else. Only the good, those trying to follow God’s commandments for the coming Apocalypse, would be spared. But for them, everything would be great. We would be eternal, living in the clouds...seeing nothing but beauty and knowing nothing but love.”
He shifted in his seat to stare at Hunter. “They believe that!” he whispered. “My parents... I know they believe they were trying to save others!”
Brainwashing was an amazing thing, Hunter thought.
“‘Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities,’” Hunter murmured.
“What?”
“A saying by Voltaire, a famous French historian, writer, and philosopher,” Hunter told him. He looked over at Brian. “He was born François-Marie Arouet in 1694, but preferred his nom de plume, Voltaire. I spent a lot of time reading about him, once I heard that quote. The guy was way ahead of his time, believing in separation of church and state, and... Well, anyway, look him up some time. I think you would like reading about him, too. You are only eleven, and you knew what was happening was wrong. Because no one convinced you that something absurd was real. Brian, no one living has the answers to God. There are many religions—and the major religions of the world share one thing in common. They teach us to be good to our fellow man. They teach kindness and decency. When someone tries to tell you God wants you to commit murder, it’s time to take a long look at the person and know you’re being told something that is absurd.”
Brian nodded miserably. “Will they be okay?” he asked anxiously. “My folks. They really aren’t bad people. They did believe what was...absurd. They believe in our souls, in immortality—and that by doing what they were doing, they would make the girl go to Heaven.”
“I think they will be okay,” Hunter said, glancing over at Brian. “Especially if...well, if they help us understand who else is involved in...murdering people.” He hesitated and then said, “Brian, I was a kid like you once. And my parents were good people. They wanted people to be good to other people, and they thought they found the right way. But when it got bad. They saw they were being played.”
“Being played,” Brian repeated.
“Here’s the thing, Brian. I don’t think Mateus believed anything he was trying to get others to believe. He knew what he was saying was a lie—but he has something he wants for himself and getting other people to believe and to listen to him was a way of getting what he wanted.”
“What did he want?”
“That’s what we have to figure out,” Hunter told him.
Brian nodded. Hunter realized the boy was quietly crying. “What will happen to me?” he asked.
“Do you have close relatives who...someone close who would like to take care of you for a while?”
“Aunt Violet...maybe. I haven’t seen her in...months. She...she told my mom she couldn’t see her as long as she was...listening to crazy stuff about the Apocalypse.”
“Where is she? What does she do?”
“She’s in Denver. She’s a professor at the college. She and my mom were close...and she was the best aunt to me until...until we just kind of stopped seeing her. She used to take me to museums and parks and bookstores and...all kinds of game places and arcades.”
“We’ll call her. I can’t make promises or guarantees, Brian, except for this—I will watch out for whatever is going to happen. I promise you I will be there if you call me.”
Brian was looking at him, his face tearstained.
“Is my mom going to die?”
“Brian, I swear to you, I don’t think so. But we’ll check in at the hospital as soon as she’s gotten there and the doctors have had a chance to see her.”
The kid tried to smile. “I am going to read up on that Voltage guy.”
Hunter grinned at him. “Voltaire. Yeah. I saw a young reader book about him once at one of the bookstores. I’ll find it for you.”
“Really?”
“You bet.”
Hunter thought dryly that a “young reader” book would be best, one that would teach more about the man’s philosophy than his personal life since he’d had a married lover for years and years. Yeah. Young reader book—that was best.
They were nearing headquarters, and Hunter put a quick call through to Andy Mason so he could get the ball rolling with children’s services and maybe find Brian’s Aunt Violet. Being with the boy, he hadn’t yet called Amy at the hospital, and he was anxious to hear about the welfare of the girl who had nearly died up on the high cliff.
He was careful not to put the phone on speaker.
“I know one of the kindest people in children’s services,” Andy told him. “I will talk to her when we hang up. Crandon has given me a brief preliminary report. Your boy’s parents are Peggy and Bret Johnston. They belonged to a Unitarian church just outside Denver until recently. She’s a homemaker, he’s a banker.”
Hunter glanced quickly at Brian.
“And have we heard...”
“Nothing on the mother yet, I’m afraid. The ambulance has barely reached the hospital. Same hospital where the victim was taken by the way. I’m having agents posted there.”
“Good call. Thanks.”
“Be there in ten.”
He ended the call. Brian watched him, still anxious. He wiped his face with his sleeve. “My mom got shot trying to save me.”
“Your mom loves you,” Hunter said.
“But it’s my fault.”
“Don’t you ever say that and don’t you think it,” Hunter said firmly. “Brian, someone awful is out there causing a lot of really bad things. If you had been shot...your mom wouldn’t have wanted to live. But you’re okay, and I really believe she will be, too.”
Brian nodded. “If she is all right...will I be able to live with her again? And my dad?”
“I believe they will face charges. And if they help investigators...well, they may not do much time, or... Brian, I don’t know. The attorneys will sort it all out.”
Hunter wondered about that himself. Today, they had been part of a crowd that intended to watch a man stab a woman to death, dig out her heart, and share her blood and flesh like a group of vampiric cannibals. But if they cooperated and helped agents and police find out what was behind it all, there was a chance.
If they could realize just how badly they’d been brainwashed.
“What if there is an apocalypse?” Brian asked.
“An apocalypse can be many things to many people. We’ve always had things we fear—war, death, famine, plague. You name it—humanity has faced it. But here’s the thing, Brian, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t our right to decide someone isn’t living up to our moral code. It isn’t our right to take the life of another, to torture and kill them because we believe something bad is coming. Okay, think about this—do you believe in witches?”
“Like flying on brooms and cackling and stuff?” Brian asked.
“Witches—who can cast curses on cows.”
“I don’t have a cow.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Only on Halloween,” Brian said, and he almost smiled.
“Okay, so, go back a little over three hundred years ago in Salem, Massachusetts. They hanged people for being witches. But they never had any proof against them—they just believed there were such things as witches. You know about that, right?”
“Sure. We studied it in school.”
“Well, they didn’t just hang witches in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. They hanged Quakers—for worshipping a little bit differently. Thankfully, it all stopped and we entered what we call our Age of Enlightenment. Several of our Founding Fathers, born Puritans, became part of that Age of Enlightenment and wanted to make sure no one ever had a fight, or got a little scared, or even wanted someone else’s land and claimed they were a witch. That’s why we have a separation of church and state and—”
“The inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!”
“Yep, that’s it,” Hunter said.
Brian smiled just as they pulled into headquarters. Then he looked at the building apprehensively.
“It’s going to be okay,” Hunter told him.
The boy nodded and opened his car door. He stood tall and straightened his jacket. He looked back at Hunter.
“I’m going to help in any way I can. And I’m going to make my mom and dad help. I mean, if my mom...”
“We’re going to go on faith right now,” Hunter said. “As far as your mom and dad, we’ll work on them and do the very best we can.”
They started walking toward the entry when Brian suddenly stopped and turned to Hunter.
“What is it?”
“I—I heard people talking. Your people. And they were talking about Mateus. They were saying he had been shot—”
“Yes, he was shot.”
“But...” Brian paused, wincing. “They couldn’t find him. His—his body.”
“Not yet. We will.”
“I just realized... I think I know where they may have put Mateus!”
7
“We’re still doing tests,” Dr. Linda Barton told Amy. Barton was a no-nonsense woman. Her hair was neatly clipped short, hugging her face, and if she was wearing makeup, it was minimal. She was an attractive woman with a dignified manner, probably close to fifty and not at all the kind to shrink from age, but rather a woman who would always accept it with determination and growth.
“Blood tests?” Amy asked. “She is going to be all right?”
She hadn’t gotten much out of the young woman on the way to the hospital as she sat by her side in the ambulance, holding her hand and trying to keep her calm. Magda had sworn again and again she wasn’t evil; why had people thought she was evil? Yes, she was a stripper. But the club was legitimate. They did not sell the girls! Dancing was getting her through college.
Dr. Barton nodded. “Blood tests, urine tests. Right now, I believe a drug was slipped into her drink. We hear date-rape drugs a lot, but technically a date-rape drug is anything that makes a person more pliable and unable to defend themselves against sexual assault. Alcohol can be considered such a potion, and we all know that human behavior under the influence of too much alcohol can change. But I believe this woman was hit with either Rohypnol, a tranquilizer, and/or GHB, gamma-hydroxybutyric acid—also known by its street name of easy lay—just before she left the club where she works.” She paused and shrugged. “I know the place where Magda dances. I picked my husband up there after a bachelor party for another of our physicians here. He said it was fun and totally aboveboard, and that’s the general perception. Yes, girls dance to excite and please men—but the place is owned by a couple, and the wife is an ex-stripper who made her way through to a law degree by stripping and married a customer. They wanted a legit club. Anyway, whoever did this must have been at the club. Magda is doing well now. I’m more worried about her physical response to the mental pressure she’s suffering now, rather than what was in her drink and what was done to her. I understand her would-be murderer was shot just seconds before the knife fell. Anyway, she wants to talk with you again—she seems to need you. And I believe she will be fine physically and sure as hell won’t forget this. But with the help of some good therapy, she can get by it. Whatever the combo of drugs, we’ll flush them out of her tonight. Of course, I know it’s important you speak with her further, and... I’ve heard more about her vitals than what happened, but I watch and read the news. I’ve been hearing about the horrible events occurring, and you need to get out there and catch the monsters doing all these awful things.” She hesitated briefly again and then rushed on with, “Mike Adler—Doctor Adler, the medical examiner—is a friend. And he’s told me about some of the victims discovered in the pits. I have to say, I am so grateful this girl has come to me—and not Mike.”
“We’re grateful, too,” Amy said.
“You saved her. You shot and killed a man. You’re a heroine.”
“Dr. Barton, I’m sorry, I shot a man before he could kill someone else, but I’m never happy about taking a human life.”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to infer... I’m not a bloodthirsty person, quite the opposite, of course, but Magda has been doing a lot of murmuring...ranting, really. They intended to kill her and cut out her heart and eat her flesh?”
“That’s what we’re hearing,” Amy said. “Agents are out there scouring the area now for the rest of the group. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
She was confident and determined. And she believed her own words. She knew they would get to the bottom of it because neither she nor Hunter nor many others would stop until they did.
She just didn’t know how long it would take. Or how many more might die before they stopped the “horsemen” from running rampant against them.
“May I see her now?” Amy asked.
“Yes—” Dr. Barton began, breaking off and frowning as she heard her name over the hospital’s PA system. “Yes, yes, of course, and thank you. I’ve been told an officer will be arriving soon to keep watch. I have an emergency downstairs—”
“Go, go! I’ll be here until I know Magda is safe,” Amy assured her. She watched the doctor rush down the hallway and then Amy turned to the single-bed room near the nurse’s station where Magda had been brought after triage in the ER.
Magda was leaning back, fingers working the bedsheets, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. She saw Amy and sat up, still a little unsteady but quickly realizing she could push a button on the bed control and raise the bed to a sitting position.
“Special Agent Larson! You’re here. Thank you,” she said.
“No, thank you,” Amy told her. “You need to be resting. According to Dr. Barton, you’re going to be just fine, but you need to get your system cleaned out—”
“I am so careful!” Magda said, shaking her head. “I mean, I know what happens in bars. In any bar—and no matter how good our security is or how great our bartenders can be—bad things can still happen. And we all have drinks during the night! Honestly—mostly water in bottles we bring ourselves. But it’s okay to be friendly. Honestly, management never makes us have sex. Even lap dances are strictly monitored. But Lydia—the owner—warns us all the time we’re adults, and we have to be responsible. But when people are being normal, we want to be friendly and talkative. Believe it or not, what many people need is someone who talks. We do sit with them, have a drink, and laugh and—mainly—listen. I was fine. Everything was fine. It was just a usual night.”
“But the doctor believes you were drugged. And it would have had to have been near to the time when you were leaving your job,” Amy said.
Magda winced, closed her eyes, and shook her head. “I was at the bar, I had a soda. But Vinnie was the bartender...he’s a great guy. He would never do something like drug a girl and he wouldn’t stand for it from anyone else.”
“If he saw it done,” Amy said. “Did you go anywhere after you got your drink?”
“I—no. I don’t think so. Oh...”
“Oh?”
“I walked away from the stage to call Allison. She was going to try to get off early, and if she did, we were going to share a ride home. But she decided she was working another couple of hours because another girl called in sick, so... I finished my soda, thanked Vinnie, and left,” Magda said, wincing again as she saw in her own mind where her innocent mistake had been made. “But Vinnie watches out for us!” she said.
