They (47 page)

“
Because I can’t
” he’d bellowed at her. He’d flinched as she drew back at the ferocity of his voice. He’d told her the same thing the afternoon he handed her the plane tickets—and the doctored identities he wanted her and the children to live under. That had been three weeks ago, when he told her that he and Mike had stumbled onto something big, something that could very well threaten their lives. “The people my parents were involved in weren’t just another hippie cult; they’re
fanatics
. I think the things I was exposed to as a kid weren’t unintentional. I think it meant something, and I’m going to find out what it is, and who they are.” That was all he would tell her. As much as she’d begged and pleaded for him to tell him everything, as much as she’d tried to get him to tell her exactly
why
they were in danger, he’d insisted on sending her away to New England.

Thinking about Brandy and the kids now made him miss them more than ever. He felt his chest ache, his throat constrict. A tear ran down his cheek as he tried to keep his pain from spilling out. He could very well join them. He’d created his own new identity back then, too, in the event he had to slip away. That new identity was now waiting for him in a safe deposit box in New Hampshire.

When they reached Mike’s development, Frank cruised slowly, keeping a steady watch for anything suspicious—police activity, people sitting in vehicles parked at the curb. Mike was on the lookout too; he seemed more alert, more aware of his surroundings than he’d been since last night.

They approached the street Mike lived on and drove slowly. “Look okay?” Frank asked.

“So far, so good,” Mike answered.

They drove past Mike’s house. Mike’s car was still parked in the dri
veway. The front door was still shut. To all intents and purposes, everything looked okay.

Frank drove around the block, still keeping with a steady speed so they wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. “Do you know what you want to get out of the house?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Upstairs, in my bedroom.”

“What is it?”

“My wedding album and the scrapbooks Carol made. Jimmy and Doug’s baby albums. And Kimberly’s baby album too.”

“Okay.” Frank couldn’t fault the man for wanting family heirlooms like that. “But you’re going to make it quick. I’ll go in with you.”

“Don’t you think you should stand guard outside?”

Mike had a point. “I’ll walk you to the front door and make sure you get inside. I’ll leave the car running. Anybody comes to the house, I’ll take care of them.”

“What if it’s the police?”

“I’ll take care of them.”

“You’ll shoot them?”

Frank shot a quick glance at Mike. “If that’s what it takes.”

Mike remained silent as they drove around the block and began heading back up the street his house resided on, in the center of the quiet, middle-class, tree-lined residential neighborhood.

Frank pulled the car into the driveway next to Mike’s car. He took one more quick look around, and then opened the driver’s side door. “Let’s do this.”

Both men exited the car and headed to the house. Frank drew his weapon as they approached the door. Mike fished inside his pockets for the keys. He inserted the key in the lock, gripped the doorknob, turned it.

Then they both stepped inside.

WHEN THEY ENTERED the house, Frank stepped in front of Mike, gripping the handgun in front of him in classic shooter’s stance. Mike hesitated a moment, the destruction of the house bringing him back to last night when he’d first encountered the sudden horror of what had happened. He took a deep breath, feeling his adrenaline rise as Frank quickly made a sweep of the living room and kitchen. He hustled back to Mike and looked up the stairs.
Go
!

Mike headed for the stairs and was startled when his cell phone rang.

He stopped halfway up, glancing at Frank, who ushered him to keep going. Mike held a hand up and unclipped his cell phone from his belt. He gasped. “It’s Jimmy,” he said. He answered the phone and began heading up the stairs. “Jimmy?”

“Dad!” It was Jimmy. He sounded frantic. “Thank God! I’ve been trying to call you for the past couple of hours and—”

“What’s the matter?” Mike said, his alarm rising.

“Kimberly’s missing,” Jimmy said, and then his voice broke. Mike felt his heart freeze up. Kimberly was his and Carol’s only granddaughter; she was three years old. “Cathy left the office and went by the daycare to pick her up for her doctor’s appointment and one of the aides turned white. She said that Cathy had been in an hour earlier to pick Kimberly up and now she’s
gone
!”

“
What are you talking about
!” Mike had yelled into the phone. His heart was racing.

From the foyer, Frank: “Mike, let’s get going!”

“Somebody took Kimberly!” Jimmy was yelling, his voice panicked. “They took her and we can’t find her!”

“Oh my God,” Mike said, and he felt the world spin. The air seemed to thicken, he felt his limbs grow heavy as the nightmare crashed down. He was at the top of the stairs and he leaned against the hallway, unable to continue any further.

Frank called out from downstairs. “Mike! What’s happening?”

“We’ve tried calling you, and we’ve been with the police since, oh I don’t know, since ten-thirty, eleven maybe,” Jimmy said, crying. “I even went by the house earlier and you weren’t home.”

“When were you by the house?” Mike asked, feeling his throat constrict.

“Around noon maybe,” Jimmy said. “Dad, I don’t know what to do!”

“When did this happen?” Mike wasn’t thinking clearly as he resumed his walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. From behind him, he dimly heard Frank tell him to hurry it up, to get back down here
now
.

“Cathy…Cathy tried to pick Kimberly up at a little after ten,” Jimmy stammered, “and…and they said that Cathy had been in at nine and gotten Kimberly. They said that Cathy had already
been
there! How could she have already been there? She was in a meeting at that time!”

“I don’t know, son,” Mike said, feeling his heart freeze up as he suddenly stopped just shy of the master bedroom—

—where there was a large splash of fresh blood staining the carpet.

From downstairs, Frank called up to him. “Mike! You okay? Talk to me or I’m coming up.”

“No,” Mike said as he took another step closer to the master bedroom, Jimmy forgotten, everything else forgotten now, even Frank as he stepped to the threshold of the bedroom he’d shared with Carol. From behind him and down the stairs, he dimly heard Frank say, “No, what?”

There was a light on in the master bedroom.

He heard Jimmy’s voice coming through the cell phone as he stepped into the master bedroom, his muscles tense. The blood spatters became more pronounced, more evident in its coppery scent as he entered the master bedroom and when he saw the new destruction in the bedroom his mind rebelled. It was so sudden, so ugly, so
wrong
, that his mind took it in as jumbled images: melted candles, still lit; the crude symbols written on the wall, painted on the carpeted floor, the bloody piece of meat in the center of the symbol that was strangely satanic in look and design but which did not resemble anything remotely satanic in any of the research he’d uncovered. Then he saw who was there and the shock was so great that Mike thought he was going to scream.

At first he didn’t recognize them. There were six of them, three standing around the strange symbol, the other three seated on the floor. They all turned around at the sound of his entering and smiled at him, as if awaiting a long lost friend. Mike stood frozen in shock, trying to force his voice to unlock from the grip of fear.
Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my house
? he wanted to say. What came out was a parched hiss.

Then one of them stood up. He was tall, with black hair that was turning gray. He was dressed in tan slacks and a white polo shirt, and looked trim, muscular, and powerful, like he might be a banker or a corporate CEO. He had that aura of power. He smiled, his green eyes a blaze of fire. “Mike! So good of you to join us.”

Recognition set in and Mike felt paralyzed. He hadn’t heard that voice or seen that face in over twenty-six years. “Tom,” he said.

From below, dimly, he heard Frank Black yell that he was coming up the stairs.

Tom Black smiled. “Yes, Mike, it’s me. Remember Gladys?”

Mike’s eyes rested on the woman seated next to him. She was middle-aged, but she wore it well. She was dressed in a tan business suit, her stylish hair settled on her shoulders in a perfect wave. She nodded at him, her make-up expertly applied. Mike noticed a gold necklace around her neck that glimmered. “Gladys.”

“Dad…
dad
?” Jimmy’s voice sounded tinny, far away. The connections fell into place as he cast his eyes around the room and when it was made he thought he was going to scream.

Kimberly Peterson, three years old, the perfect age, innocent, pure, just what they used, the blood was so pure, so thick, so sweet, they used the blood of children in their most important rituals, he knew that, it was in all the research he’d done on them, it was in all the interviews he’d conducted with the few witnesses that had gotten away and were locked up in mental institutions or were homeless, just another crazy living on the outskirts of society and they all said the same thing. They used the blood of children, of innocents, and the sweetest sacrifice was one in which the child came from your own blood
.

His eyes locked with Carol Peterson’s from across the room. The Carol Peterson that looked across at him looked the same, but she was not the same woman he’d known and loved for almost forty years. She smiled at him. “How could you have guessed?”

Mike started, confused. “Carol?”
Did she just read my mind
?

“You’re right,” she said, as the others rose in unison and took a step forward. “The sweetest sacrifice, and the most powerful, is one where the child comes from your own blood.”

From behind him, he felt Frank Black approach, heard Frank’s voice. “What the fuck?” Felt the rush of air as Frank stormed into the room, gun drawn.

Mike didn’t even have time to scream before they swarmed over him and the shooting began.

VINCE WALTERS AND Tracy Harris waited at a little café on Venice Beach for almost three hours.

They spent most of that time talking, looking out at the boardwalk and the ocean. The boardwalk was crammed with joggers, roller-bladers, people walking dogs. There were street vendors hawking everything from bootleg designer clothing and perfumes, to ice cream and hot dogs. On the beach, sunbathers caught the last rays of the sun, and scratch volleyball games were underway. The cry of seagulls blended in with the hum of traffic, and the steady bass thumping of rap music that boomed from large boom boxes carried on tattooed shoulders. Vince and Tracy sat at their table and talked, their eyes hidden by dark sunglasses as they finally ate a light dinner of salads and chicken sandwiches.

Vince tried to call Mike at two-thirty with his cellular phone. He got no answer. “Try Frank,” Tracy suggested. They had ordered drinks and were nursing them in the warm afternoon sun.

Vince tried Frank and got a busy signal.

“Well?” Vince said, pushing the antennae down.

“Well,” Tracy said, looking out at the ocean.

“What do you think we should do?”

“You can’t get in touch with them?”

“Nope.” Vince shook his head.

Tracy frowned. “Hmm. Well…they
did
tell us to get a room nearby.”

“And we have one,” Vince said. Before they stopped at the café, they’d secured a room at a Best Western half a block away.

“We could go back to the room and keep calling,” Tracy suggested.

Vince felt nervous. “What if we still can’t get in touch with them?”

Tracy pursed her lips, thinking. “Mike did say that if we don’t hear from them, we should drop out of sight.”

“Drop out of sight?”

“Or we can go home.”

Vince couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Aren’t you afraid of…of what might happen?”

“What might happen, Vince?” Tracy looked at him. “You tell me. We’ve come here at Mike’s request, now he and Frank don’t show up. They fed us this bullshit that this spooky devil cult is on to us, and they can’t even so much as show up and—”

“Suppose they got them?

“And who is
they
?”

Vince looked at Tracy as if she’d gone crazy. He didn’t know what to say; his mind was a jumble of emotions, all fighting to the surface. “You bug the shit out of me last night to get you involved and…and…”

“Listen,” Tracy rested her hand on his forearm, her features softened. “I’m sorry. I know I was a pest last night, and I really was angry at being left out. I really did want to be included. But…what else can we do? We were given explicit instructions. Now things haven’t gone according to plan. They may have gotten to Frank and Mike, and if that’s happened we have to know about it. And the only way to know is to go back and—”

“
No
!” Vince was adamant. He wasn’t going back to his home.

Tracy’s grip on his wrist tightened. “Hear me out for a minute, okay?” She glanced around quickly and Vince looked around, too. Nobody was paying attention and he felt the tension slacken.

Tracy leaned forward, her voice lowered to a whisper. “If they’ve gotten to Mike and Frank, we don’t know about it, right? So we go to our places and get our stuff, okay? We tell Brian we’re taking time off from work and we go into hiding. We go somewhere we know they won’t even
think
of looking for us. Montana or something. Hell, we’ll go to Alaska. Surely you’ve got to have enough money in savings to tide you over for a few years, right?”

Vince nodded. Along with stock options, he was worth a couple of million dollars if he cashed out on everything.

“Then we shack up together, live under a different name, whatever it takes to be far away from this place,” Tracy continued. “Maybe we’ll learn the truth and find out that Mike and Frank really just decided to drop out of the investigation.”