J. Gonzalez - They

“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.”