J. Gonzalez - They

The first thing Mike did was to set up another identity. He found a book in an odd little bookstore in Hollywood called How to Disappear Successfully . This book gave detailed tips on dropping completely out of sight and avoiding creditors, former employers, friends, families, lovers. It also gave detailed information on how to hide from the IRS and the government, which was what Mike was especially interested in. If The Children of the Night were as sophisticated as he thought, they most likely had an intelligence system that ranked with the FBI’s. Mike read the book, and over the next six months he began setting up a second identity.

It was fairly easy. He set up a mailbox at Mail Boxes Etc. Then he answered an ad in the back of a magazine that promised authentic-looking state issued identification cards. The book suggested going through one of these services rather than a street hustler. Mike sent the firm his information and a photograph he had taken at a photo booth along with the requested fee. A month later he received a very authentic looking California Driver’s License identifying himself as David J. Connelly. Using the Connelly name, he was able to get a Social Security number from the Social Security Office, being careful to bring another set of documents that he had another outfit prepare for him certifying that he was a victim of amnesia. With no recollection of his full name or previous life, he needed to start over. Social Security provided him with a new number and he was on his way.

The next thing he did was to rent a small office in Huntington Beach. He bought an old desk and chair from a goodwill store and installed a phone in the building. And it was from this little office that he conducted all of his investigations into the group known as The Children of the Night.

“I also picked up a pretty nice tracking device that attaches to your phone line,” he explained. This tracking device alerted you if your phone was being tapped, or if the line was being traced. He also bought a computer and had a second line hooked up for a modem. He began doing his research on-line and by making phone calls when necessary.

“I found out a lot that first year,” he said. “I found out where Gladys and Tom live. I scoped the placed out myself. I obtained background information on them, found out that they’re living very legitimate, respectable lives on the outside. Tom is CEO of Metropolitan Inc., a large offshore company. Gladys is an executive at Digitalis, a computer hardware firm in Newport Beach. They live in Newport Beach in a gated community, Tom drives a Mercedes, and she drives a BMW. The perfect picture of a nice life, right?”

Vince nodded.

Mike found out everything about the companies they worked at. How many employees worked there, how long the companies had been in existence, their ranking in their respective industry, who the stockholders were. From there, Mike began investigating the corporate angle, keeping an eye peeled out for anything about the respective companies in the trade journals. As far as the information John had found, it didn’t help him much. The most John had been able to get on that was that somebody in the organization was very high up with a firm called Corporate Financial. Using that information, Mike researched Corporate Financial.

Because Mike wanted to assume as normal a profile to his wife as possible, he was only able to devote a few hours a week to his research. When he left the house for his office, he told Carol he was going to the library or the mall. He paid the rent and utilities from a checking account he opened under the David Connelly name. All bills came to the mailbox he had set up for David Connelly.

“Diane called me at the end of ’97 out of the blue, told me about Frank and where he was living,” Mike said. “I made a note of it, but didn’t contact him immediately.” He glanced at Frank and grinned. “He’s still a little pissed about me for this.”

“He thought I was like my fucking psycho bitch mother,” Frank said.

Vince couldn’t help but chuckle. Another thing he had in common with Frank; not only did they grow up together, they both hated their mothers.

“I didn’t want to take chances, that’s for sure,” Mike said. He took a sip of iced coffee and launched into the rest of it. His investigation of Corporate Financial led to a man on the board of directors who also sat on the board of a major computer firm as well as several other firms. He got the man’s name, ran it through the computer, and the background that spit out was promising indeed. It seemed to link a billionaire businessman named Samuel F. Garrison with the shadowy figure said to be the leader of The Children of the Night. Their backgrounds were similar. A trip to the library and an afternoon rifling through business journals yielded a few photographs of Mr. Garrison. When Mike finally did contact Frank and showed him the picture of Sam Garrison, Frank’s face had turned white.

“I checked Frank out before I contacted him,” Mike finished the long narrative. “I made double sure he wasn’t involved and it turned out he was having the dreams we spoke of earlier. He’d already started his own investigation, and with my help we tracked you down at his suggestion.”

“It was also around this time that a woman claiming to be my father’s wife contacted my aunt Diane,” Frank said from his spot on the easy chair. He sat up from his slouched position, leaning forward. “She claims she was married to my father in Miami, that they were alcoholics who spent a lot of time on the streets. She’d sobered up, found God, and tracked my aunt down. She told Diane that my dad had witnessed something… pretty bad in California back in the sixties. Even she never learned what it was. The most he ever told her was that he’d seen the Devil himself do vile things to infants, to women and children. She was very vague, but apparently felt compelled by my father’s story to believe it. She contacted Diane because she wanted to… offer belated condolences of his death, I suppose.” He chortled. “She said that whatever it was my dad had experienced in California, that’s what drove him to drink, what drove him out of his mind. She wanted to know what it was.”

Vince paused. “Your aunt didn’t tell her?”

“No,” Frank said. “She gave the woman some excuse. Told her dad had a history of mental illness, that she should put whatever it was my father told her out of her mind. To forget it.” He sighed. “The problem is, how can anybody put something so terrible out of their mind?”

Which was something Vince was trying to do now as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a warm night and even with the air conditioning on he still felt warm. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was what Frank and Mike had told him. His mother involved in a satanic cult; human sacrifices, ritual murder, a secret organization with stealth, cunning, and predatory skill. Vince closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but those images kept pushing at the forefront of his mind, like waves breaking on the shore of a rocky beach.

Indeed, how do you wipe something so terrible out of your mind?

Somehow, Vince wound up doing just that. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point in the night, he fell asleep.

MIKE PETERSON PROVED to be an exquisite cook. He prepared Denver omelets the next morning as Frank sat at the dining room table hunched over a cup of coffee and Vince perched on the sofa making his morning calls. They’d had a great talk last night and he’d learned a lot about what was happening. He still didn’t understand where he fit into all this—and indeed, Mike and Frank were still trying to figure out why this shadowy organization would want to kill him—but now he wanted to help them get to the bottom of this. But first he had to tie up some last minute business deals, then he had to call Brian Saunders to tell him he had to take a few weeks of vacation time. He was still formulating in his mind how he was going to broach this to his friend when Mike called out to him. “Breakfast’s ready. Dig in, boys.”