J. Gonzalez - They

“Who were these guys?” Mike asked.

“I’m gettin’ to that,” Tom Hoffman said. He took a sip of coffee. “Well, Clint said these guys gained their confidence by telling them they were into the same thing they were into: heavy metal music, drugs, sex, all that shit. Even told them they knew a lot about the occult. Naturally, Clint and David ate it up. Clint and his buddies started bitching to them about Lititz, about the church, telling them they felt that they were outsiders and their new friends exploited that. They asked Clint if he and his friends wanted to get back at the people that were persecuting them. Clint said he did. Then the guys started asking them questions about certain people in the community, nothing too personal, just stuff like, who has a lot of land, where they could get certain things—”

“Did Clint give you names?” Mike asked.

Tom Hoffman looked irritated at being asked this question a second time. “Yes, he did. Said the names they gave him were Mark Lancaster and Glenn Wilson. That they were in their early twenties and looked pretty normal, like your average jock-type guy. The Glenn Wilson fella had some tribal tattoos on his arms and a diamond studded earring, and the other guy, Mark Lancaster, he looked pretty normal. No discerning marks.”

Mike and Frank nodded, absorbed in the story. Vince and Hank Powell leaned closer.

“A few nights later Mark Lancaster asked Clint where they could get pure-bred German Shepherds,” Tom continued. “Clint told him there was a breeder in Manheim and gave him directions. Apparently Glenn checked it out. Then a few nights later they held some sort of satanic ritual in their motel room.”

Hank Powell gasped. Vince held his breath in anticipation. Frank and Mike looked like they’d heard the story before. Mike nodded, encouraging Tom Hoffman to continue.

“That’s how Clint described it, a satanic ritual,” Tom Hoffman said, licking his lips. He said these guys used some kind of white powder to make a pentagram on the carpet, then they burnt some candles.”

“What color?” Frank asked.

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. The kid didn’t say.”

“Does it matter?” Reverend Hoffman asked Frank.

“It might.” Frank nodded for Tom to continue.

“Clint said that he and his friends had an informal coven, but that they’d only held one ritual.” He took a sip of coffee, his voice low. “He said… well, basically he sounded embarrassed when he told me about it. Said that they kinda fumbled through the ritual and that they were stoned out of their minds on weed. He and David and the other kids they hung out with weren’t that serious about it, and he also admitted that they didn’t know what they were doing. Clint wound up improvising to make it sound authentic. But when they held this ritual with these guys, it was different. It was like… they were in the presence of somebody who… who actually knew what they were doing. And that they… were actually harnessing… c onjuring a power.”

Reverend Powell looked grave. Vince felt his heart pounding. Tom Hoffman continued. “So they held this ritual, which basically consisted of this Mark Lancaster character calling a benediction to Satan, then instructing Clint and David to invoke their loyalty to the devil. Then they were asked if they wanted to go further. When Clint asked what they would have to do, Mark said they would have to sign a piece of paper in blood, giving up their souls. Well, David and Clint were scared, but Clint is a sharp kid. He may be a screwed up kid, but he knows right from wrong even if he has gotten into trouble before. And he thinks fast. So what he did was he shook his head and told these guys that he wanted to think about it before he made such a big decision of faith, and he asked if they could respect that. And Mark and Glenn said, yeah, they could respect that. And they concluded the ritual.”

“What happened then?” Mike asked.

“They hung out, did some partying,” Tom Hoffman drained his coffee cup. “Clint told me that even though he felt better about declining the offer, he still felt that he had taken a part in something that was both big and dangerous. He said that David later told him he felt the same way. They actually left the motel early that night but before they left, Mark pulled them aside, said that they would be coming to town later this year and he’d give them a call. Well, Clint and David hadn’t given these guys any clue as to where they lived. The only places they’d gone to together were the motel, Nino’s, and driving around various parts of Lititz, mostly by the town square or the library. Clint started rattling off a fake phone number when Mark kinda grinned at him and said, ‘you can’t fool me, Clint. Your number’s 626-7367.’ And Clint, he said he couldn’t help it, but he felt himself go faint. Said he probably looked as pale as a ghost. He said Dave was literally quivering beside him with fear.

“They kinda stood there for a minute, facing each other. Then Clint somehow got his composure and said, ‘yeah, that’s right. What was I thinking?’ And he and David started backing out of the motel. Mark just kinda stood there grinning at them and told them that when they came back he would know where to find them. And then he rattled off their addresses and Clint and David just kinda nodded along and said, ‘yeah, come look us up,’ and then they got out of there.”

“So in a very subtle way, these two characters were threatening Clint and David,” Reverend Powell mused.

“Yes,” Tom Hoffman said. He looked at Mike, some of the hardness in his features creeping back. “Clint said he and David left the room and wouldn’t speak about the incident again. Clint tried to bring it up to David when word got out that those skinned dogs were found, but David refused to speak of it. He said he didn’t want to hear about it again. Said he was waiting for school to end so he could get out of Lititz for good.”

“Did he?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, in a way,” Tom Hoffman said. “Two weeks ago he got picked up in Lancaster on a B&E. His family hasn’t been able to raise bail, so he’s sitting in Lancaster County Jail.”

“And Clint?” Mike asked.

“He’s gone,” Tom Hoffman said. His lips were pressed together in a thin, bloodless grimace. “For a while there after I questioned him, I thought he’d skipped town, but I stopped by his house and checked on him a few days after I talked to him. He hadn’t left his house. And he refused to talk to me. I had to talk to his father through the screen door. His father actually sounded pleased at Clint’s behavior and saw no cause for alarm. He seemed to think his son has turned over a new leaf.” His lips turned upward in a slight smile. “Says all the boy does is sit in his room and read the Bible.”

“The Lord is working on him,” Reverend Powell said. “May He protect Clint in His loving grace.”

“He’s afraid to run into these characters again,” Frank said.

Tom Hoffman nodded. “That’s what I think.”

“Did the behavior get worse with the news of Maggie Walter’s death?” Mike asked.

“I asked Mr. Jackson that a few days after Maggie’s body was found,” Tom Hoffman said. “Don’t ask me why, but I had a hunch. Ben Jackson said that when Clint heard about Maggie’s death he went straight to his room and closed the door. He said he heard his son in there talking to himself, like he was crying or pleading with somebody. He said he tried knocking on Clint’s door to see what the trouble was but Clint wouldn’t come out. Said he was too scared. When Ben asked what he was scared of, Clint mumbled something. Ben thought what Clint mumbled was, ‘all my fault.’ ”

“Would Ben Jackson be the type of man to think this to mean that his son was implicating himself in Maggie Walter’s murder?” Mike Peterson asked.