Do Unto Others
Author: J.F. Gonzalez
Date: 2010-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: Jim Cornell used to believe in God. But when things went bad - his daughter getting cancer, his layoff from his well-paying job, the strain of his marriage - he began to have no use for God anymore. When Jim's forced into a situation that will require his participation in another man's murder, his faith will be tested. Because while Jim used to believe in God, he'd never given that much thought to the Devil. Now he's going to have to. Because, like it or not, Jim is involved with people who have a deep religious faith, too. Jim is about to discover that where there is light, there must be dark
Publisher: Midnight Library

Jim Cornell used to believe in God.

But when things went bad - his daughter getting cancer, his layoff from his well-paying job, the strain of his marriage - he began to have no use for God anymore.

When Jim’s forced into a situation that will require his participation in another man’s murder, his faith will be tested. Because while Jim used to believe in God, he’d never given that much thought to the Devil.

Now he’s going to have to. Because, like it or not, Jim is involved with people who have a deep religious faith, too.

Jim is about to discover that where there is light, there must be darkness. There’s more than one kind of religious faith, and his is about to be put to the ultimate test.

Praise for J. F. Gonzalez

“In an era of horror fiction that's often reckless and overboard, Gonzalez brings intellect and a studied, consummate craft to the table, creating tales the right way: with deft characterization, riveting plotwork, and imagery sharper than a carpet razor. This is a rare type of writer indeed, tackling even hardcore and taboo subjects with brains and creative brawn. If you haven't heard of this guy yet, believe me, you will. It won't be long before Gonzalez is taking big bites out of the field of horror fiction” - Edward Lee, author of Ghouls, Incubi, and The Bighead.

"J. F. Gonzalez is a writer to watch." - Bentley Little, Author of The Store.

"One of my must-read authors" - The Horror Fiction Review

"Gonzalez gives his audience what they crave in spades." - Cemetery Dance

"J.F. Gonzalez is one of my favorite writers and I will gladly buy and quickly read anything he publishes." - Horror Drive-In

"Forces the kind of visceral relationship between writer and reader that the best horror writing can produce." The New York Times Book Review

"...places a great deal of personal responsibility onto the reader...It's not enough simply to ask why anyone would commit such horrors; we also have to wonder why we're so fascinated by the details." - Fangoria

Table of Contents

Do Unto Others

Also by J. F. Gonzalez

About J. F. Gonzalez

Do Unto Others

No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored into or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other means now known or yet to be invented) without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events and individuals is coincidental. This book is sold as is and neither the publisher, nor the author, will be responsible for any direct or consequential damages that may arise from the misuse of the information within.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Do Unto Others © 2010 by J. F. Gonzalez

Cover Illustration © 2010 by Daniele Serra

All rights reserved

Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9830265-3-2

Midnight Library

Lititz, PA

Monday, 7 PM.

“What’ll it be, ma’am?”

“Scotch on the rocks, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Jim Cornell moved to the other side of the bar where the scotch was kept. He pulled a bottle of The Macallan off the shelf, extracted a glass from the overhanging compartment and set it on the counter. Then he opened the ice chest, scooped some ice in the glass, and filled it with scotch. He put a plastic stirrer in, pulled a napkin out of the dispenser, and moved back to the other end of the bar where the patron was waiting. He smiled as he placed the drink in front of her and she smiled back, her gray eyes penetrating and inviting. “That’ll be seven-fifty.”

She laid a ten on the bar. “Keep the change,” she said, smiling invitingly.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“How many times have I asked you to stop calling me ma’am? It makes me feel older than I am. I’m Julie. Not ma’am.” Her tone of voice was jovial, and Jim grinned. “How long have I been coming here, Jim?”

“Longer than I’ve been working here,” Jim said. He met her gaze this time and she smiled at him. She was older, by how much he wasn’t sure, maybe enough to pass for his mother, but barely. Her dark hair was shoulder-length and swept back across her forehead stylishly, the streaks of gray slight and peppered within the fullness of it. Her features were regal, with an aquiline nose and full sensuous lips that were now highlighted by red lipstick. Her makeup in general was applied tastefully and very erotically for her age; it looked both seductive and classy. To Jim, she reminded him of a Raquel Welch or a Sophia Loren. The clothes Julie wore were also stylish and sexy, showing a bare hint of a shapely thigh, the enticing swell of a full breast. A body like that spelled “personal trainer”. If she frequented the Polo Club she certainly had the money to afford one.

“How long have we known each other now, Jim?”

“Six months, maybe more.”

“And we’ve had excellent conversations in those six months, have we not?”

Jim nodded, trying to hide the grin. Julie was one of five or six of his regular customers who he’d gotten to know pretty well. While they were in no way close personal friends, they’d talked enough over the past six months that Jim felt comfortable around her. He could sense that she felt the same way. They’d talked about everything from world events and politics, to trading anecdotes about friends and family, to sharing various travel stories with each other. Last month, when she learned he’d just celebrated a birthday, she’d slipped him an envelope with a crisp one hundred dollar bill inside. “Happy Birthday,” she’d said with a smile. Not many customers would do that, but Julie was one that would.

“I agree,” Jim said. “We’ve had many excellent conversations.”

“We have a modicum of trust with one another.”

“Absolutely.”

“And I told you from the first few times you served me that you can dispel with what the management of this place commands you to do,” Julie said. She took a sip of her drink and set the glass down in front of her. Her nails were long and red; her hands and fingers were tanned and slender. “You can address the other ladies in this establishment by calling them ma’am or Ms., but you are to call me by my given name; Julie Montenelli. Sans last name to make it more formal, of course.”

“Yes, Julie.”

She chuckled. Her gray eyes sparkled invitingly, never wavering from his face. “For a minute there I thought you were going to say ‘yes, ma’am.’”

Jim laughed. “No, Julie.” He picked up a towel from behind the bar and began wiping the counter down in front of her. “I’ll call you by your name. It’s just...well—”

“I know. Martin is your boss and he’s at the other end of the bar.” She took another sip of her scotch and folded her hands in front of her. Jim continued wiping down the bar, looking at her as they talked. “But you don’t need to worry about him. I know Martin very well. I know his boss even better. They’re both firm believers in the adage ‘the customer is always right’. In this case, the customer is requesting that you address her by her first name.”

“And so I shall,” Jim said, smiling.

Julie smiled back.

Another customer approached the bar a few stools down from Julie and signaled to Jim. “Duty calls,” he said, and moved over to take the new patron's order.

Jim Cornell had been tending bar at the Polo Club for nine months. It was the tenth job he’d held since he was laid off from Lockheed, where he’d been employed as a software developer. Despite the fact that he was still relatively young at thirty-five, he hadn’t been able to land a professional job since his layoff. His professional career had been strictly in the field of software development and Information Technology, and with the advent of the downward spiral of the US economy and the outsourcing of IT jobs to India, where the labor was much cheaper, Jim had been one of the hundreds of thousands who received their walking papers.

It was seven p.m. and the Polo Club, which rested adjacent to the Ritz Carlton in San Marino, was one of the busiest upscale lounges in Los Angeles. It was a private club and catered to the wealthy. It was frequently filled with men and women who looked refined, healthy, and fit; men and women who arrived in Jaguars, Mercedes Benz’s, Corvettes, Lexus’s; men and women who dressed in the latest tailor-made Armani suits and fashion designs; men and women who sat on the Board of Directors at Hospitals, Corporations, Universities; men and women who were business tycoons, entrepreneurs, CEOs, high-level corporate executives, physicians, and lawyers. A few of the men and women who frequented the Polo Club hailed from the entertainment industry; motion picture movers and shakers, directors, producers, record industry moguls. It was a place where the elite could relax with a drink and unwind with their peers, maybe strike a deal, and perhaps trade in gossip of their respective trade. It was a place that required those that worked at the club to be on their best behavior and maintain an air of professionalism in appearance.

Jim didn’t mind. It certainly paid better than any of the dead end moron jobs he’d been able to snag since his layoff. And while the rich seemed to be stingier with their money when it came to tips, the few he received that were beyond the norm made up for the minimal ones. On a good night he could bring in two hundred dollars in tips.

It was with this reason that he requested the night shift, from six p.m to two a.m. It was between those times the majority of the movers and shakers seemed to get the urge to go to the Polo Club and do their thing. It also permitted him to stay at home with his daughter, Sarah, while his wife Nancy taught immigrant children, crackheads, and gangbangers at Yonker’s Junior High in South Central Los Angeles. Both of them had been crushed when they learned her first year of teaching remedial English to disinterested students would only net her $32,000 a year before taxes.

Their combined income was barely enough to keep their heads above water. Much less Sarah’s.

Two years ago Sarah was diagnosed with bone cancer. She’d been under the care of their HMO’s pediatrician and the disease had gone into remission. They thought they were in the free and clear but the cancer came back full blown. It affected her lymph nodes and her spleen. They’d been able to get her basic care, yet the HMO balked when they proposed taking her to a physician Nancy had heard about who’d been treating pediatric cancer patients with great success, a physician who, thank God, practiced locally. The HMO balked on the principle of the physician's specialized practice and the fact that he fell out of their network and his treatment didn’t fall into the narrow umbrella of approved treatments. Despite the fact that the success rate of children who had the amount of cancer that Sarah was currently afflicted with usually beat it while under the care of this Dr. Andrew Goldsmith, the man whom they wanted so desperately to take their little girl to, the HMO refused to cover his services.

Jim had been furious when he initially received the letter of denial from the HMO. Nancy had been equally as mad, too. They decided to take Sarah to Dr. Goldsmith themselves. Just to have an honest medical opinion would be worth the effort and out-of-pocket expense.

They took Sarah to see Dr. Goldsmith seven months ago. They liked him immediately; he was middle-aged, kind, and very fatherly looking. He made an immediate rapport with Sarah. Nancy had brought their daughter’s medical records with them, and after his examination he sat both parents in his office to render his verdict. “Your daughter’s cancer will spread throughout the rest of her system if the lymph nodes under her arms and in her abdomen are not removed immediately. You say that your HMO has refused to treat her?”

“They refuse to pay for the operation because they consider it too expensive,” Jim had said. He and Nancy had sat holding hands in the comfy setting of Dr. Goldsmith’s office. Sarah was being cared for by one of Dr. Goldsmith’s nurses, in the little playroom set adjacent to the waiting room.

“Blood suckers,” Dr. Goldsmith muttered. He looked at them. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it upsets me greatly when I hear stories like this. It’s so frustrating when businessmen and insurance people make medical decisions that threaten the lives of so many patients.”

“Could you perform the operation for us, Dr. Goldsmith?” Jim asked.

“I could, but your HMO wouldn’t pay for it.”

“How much would an operation like this cost?”

Dr. Goldsmith had shrugged. “To be honest, you’d have to talk to Lisa in the front office. But roughly speaking, I’d say in the twenty to twenty five thousand dollar range.”

Jim and Nancy had looked at each other, and later they realized they were both thinking the same thing. They could second mortgage the house; throw whatever savings they had left into the treatment. As a family unit, they were tight. They’d grown closer since the birth of their daughter, and now that things were going bad and there were signs of fractures, they were doing everything in their power to keep their family unit together. “It’s you and me against the world,” Jim once told Nancy early on in their relationship. That comment had brought a smile to Nancy. In the years that passed, it had become their unofficial motto, rarely referred to aloud but understood implicitly between them.

They’d left the doctor’s office with the promise that once they secured the loan against the house, they would call to make the necessary appointment. What they hadn’t counted on was the abrupt cancellation of their health insurance policy by Good Life, their HMO.

Dear Policy Holder, the letter began. We regret to inform you that because of your breach of contract (see Article 1, section 2, paragraph 4 of your health insurance policy) we are canceling your policy effective ten days from the date of this letter. Should you request a hearing on the matter, please contact us at the phone number above upon receipt of this letter.

Jim didn’t know what Nancy had felt when she read it, but he knew what he felt; betrayal. It felt like all the weight of the world was suddenly crashing down on his shoulders. For a moment he thought he was going to faint. Then Nancy’s voice had cut into the din, tear stricken. “How could they? How—”

And then she’d broken down in sobs. He’d held her, whispering words of comfort.

They’d tried to appeal, but to no avail. Because they’d consulted with Dr. Goldsmith, a physician outside Good Life’s realm of limited medical groups it conducted business with, and because of their strict prohibition of the treatment they were seeking was against the contract they’d entered into when Nancy signed the insurance paperwork, their policy was cause for immediate cancellation. The appeals board seconded the motion. Ten days after they sought Dr. Goldsmith’s help they were without medical coverage.

They’d tried applying for other health plans. But when it came time to filling out the section for Sarah under the question, “does this patient have any pre-existing conditions that are considered terminal or life threatening?” he could already see they were doomed. They were rejected by ten health plans on the basis of Sarah’s pre-existing condition. And even though the two of them could have easily gotten coverage for themselves, it wasn’t worth it to get medical coverage without having their daughter adequately covered.

The Polo Club filled up and Jim worked making Long Island Ice Teas, Manhattans, Fuzzy Navels, Tom Collins’, Bourbon and Cokes, Gin and Tonics, and other drinks. He poured beer on tap into frosty mugs, served up imported beers, and on two occasions went into the back storeroom to retrieve bottles of Blackened Voodoo beer from New Orleans for two businessmen who requested it on an almost weekly basis. The clientele of the Polo Club kept him busy although Sarah and Nancy were constantly on his mind.

In the end they’d decided to take the plunge and second mortgage the house to pay for Sarah’s surgery. The loan went through, and Sarah underwent surgery two weeks later. Nancy took a second job as a cocktail waitress at a pub called Moose Migillacuddy’s in Old Town Pasadena to help make ends meet; Sarah stayed at a friend of Jim and Nancy’s for the six-hour interval that neither parent could be available to care for her. The stress of worrying about Sarah took its toll on Jim and Nancy physically and mentally; things they never would have argued about before were bickered over continuously; he began snapping at her over little things, she began carping at him for things equally as petty. And to make matters worse, a new tumor was discovered during Sarah’s second checkup following her surgery. It was in the beginning growth stages within her abdominal cavity. The good news was that this new tumor’s growth rate was very slow. The bad news was that without a second surgery and chemotherapy, she would be dead within a year.

It was at that point that Jim thought he was going to go mad. With no money left to pay for further treatments, he was at a loss. Jim and Nancy had another talk with Dr. Goldsmith when the news was broken. “I know what you both went through to start treatment with Sarah,” Dr. Goldsmith said. His features were heavy with guilt.

“What can we do to help Sarah?” Jim had asked. “There must be something.”

Dr. Goldsmith had opened his desk and pulled out a card. He turned it over and jotted a phone number on the back of it. “A friend of mine from medical school is the Medical Director of a clinic in Inglewood that specializes in helping families that are unable to pay for medical care. They have a cancer treatment center. Call him. I’ll let him know you’ll be in touch.”

And that had been that. Unfortunately, the most the clinic could do was put Sarah on the prerequisite chemotherapy treatments that only made her sicker. Within the past two months she’d gone from a fifty-five pound rag-tag of childhood spunk to a thirty-eight pound wraith with a pink scalp, pipe stream arms, and sores along her mouth.

At least it was shrinking the cancer in her belly. That was a very good sign.

And through it all, he and Nancy spiraled further to financial destruction.

He’d become so involved with serving the customers along the bar and filling the waitresses orders that he’d forgotten Julie Montenelli until she signaled him again. A middle-aged businessman with a balding pate and an oversized dark blue suit coat had found a spot next to her and was trying to pick her up. She held her scotch glass out to Jim again. “Another Scotch on the rocks, love.”

“Coming up.” He refilled her glass and brought it back to her.

She made eye contact with him again as the guy next to her continued talking to her. “So when we reached sixty percent in our sales force I just told Harvey,' listen pal, either get your shit together or...’”

“Thanks, Jim,” She pushed another ten his way and mouthed the words Keep the change. He nodded and grinned, his eyes going from the suit trying to put the make on her, to Julie’s obviously irritated demeanor. “How’d you like to make a little extra money, Jim?” She asked, totally ignoring the suit.

He was wiping the counter in front of her again. “Sure. What you got in mind?” He’d made under-the-table money from some of the other Polo Club clients before; an entrepreneur who owned two shipping firms once hired him to do some computer programming for his firms’ network systems; another business owner had hired him for a similar job. Others hired him to act as a bartender for private parties on their estates. Julie probably had a similar job lined up. He thought he’d heard Martin tell him that she owned a multi-media company.

She smiled again, oblivious to the suit next to her as he finally got the hint he was being spurned and turned away. “Meet me in the parking lot when you get off work. We can talk when it’s less busy for you.”

“Sounds good to me.” Another customer beckoned down at the other end of the bar. He turned to her and smiled. “Duty calls.”

She smiled back as he went back to work.

*

Tuesday, 2:35 AM

He’d forgotten entirely about Julie’s job proposition by the time last call rang out. Those that were still in the bar bellied up to order their last drinks while Jim and the other bartender, a blonde surfer-boy college kid named Neil Greenspon, hustled the drinks. Julie disappeared from the bar and Jim was thinking about what he was going to do to get through this weekend while Nancy pulled in her double shift at Moose’s. He had Sarah all weekend and wasn’t slated to work at all, and he hoped to get in about twenty pages of reading the latest James Patterson novel.

It wasn’t until he was exiting the Polo Club and making his way toward his car that he remembered Julie’s job offer. And with the remembrance came his name being called. “Jim!”

He turned, craning his neck around the parking lot until he saw her. She was sitting in a sleek black Mercedes. The driver’s side window was down and she waved him over. He raised his hand in greeting and walked over to her. When he approached the driver’s side door she motioned to the passenger side. “Get in. We’ll talk.”

He moved to the passenger’s side, opened the door, and got in. The interior of the car smelled like new polished leather with the faint tinge of cherry. The metallic whirring of the power window on the passenger side purred as the window went up and smiled at him. The dashboard lights were on, the radio turned to a soft jazz station. “Glad you could make it,” she said.

“I almost forgot,” Jim said sheepishly. “I was thinking about my first two days off in a row in almost four months.”

“Ah! A big weekend then?”

“For me it is.”

“Plans?”

Jim smiled. “Just spending it with my little girl.”

Julie smiled back. “That’s nice.”

“So...Julie,” Jim began. “What kind of job opportunity for me do you have in mind?”

Julie’s red lacquered fingernails drummed on the steering wheel. Jim could smell her perfume; he wondered what it was. White Diamonds? He’d bought Nancy a bottle of White Diamonds last Christmas and put it on the VISA card along with everything else they’d been putting on it for the past year, everything from the new washer and dryer, to Sarah’s Christmas presents, to the occasional dinner out of the house, to the flowers Jim had bought Nancy on Valentine’s and Mother’s Day.

“You’re still interested then?”

“If it’s a job, I’m there.”

“Okay.” Julie seemed to consider this. She looked out at the parking lot. She seemed to be contemplating what she was going to say and that made a flutter rise in Jim’s stomach. Then, before the flutter could become full blown butterflies, she turned to him. “I’ll tell you what I need done in very simple terms. I will pay you three million dollars in cash to befriend somebody from your church who you will lure to a location where he or she will be sacrificed in a Satanic Black Mass.”

What? Jim thought. He met her gaze, the flutter in his stomach now gone as he realized it had to be a joke. Surely a woman who wanted some kind of part-time help wouldn’t pull such a joke on a prospective employee. But then he read the look in those remarkable gray eyes and saw they hadn’t lost that glimmer, that staunch conviction. Her features hadn’t broken into a smile; she hadn’t laughed aloud and said she was kidding.

She was serious.

And she was waiting for an answer.

He finally found his voice. “You’ve got to be kidding. Right?” His lips turned up slightly into a smile, the notion that it was a joke beginning to breed in his system. His smile quickly evaporated, though, as she remained serious.

She wasn’t joking.

*

For a minute he was stunned. He leaned back in his seat staring out at the parking lot, which was completely empty now. Julie moved to retrieve a bag that was nestled between the front bucket seats. He could hear her rummaging through it as a multitude of thoughts raced through his mind. She obviously wasn’t kidding; she was serious about her proposition. And who was he to judge that it was a joke? He knew the kind of money that walked in at the Polo Club. He’d heard about the deals made, the way money was thrown around on things as insignificant as bathroom towels or silverware that cost thousands of dollars, to dates with high class call girls that ran into the tens of thousands, to the tabs spent for private parties. Three million dollars? Most of the people that frequented the Polo Club saw a million dollars the way he saw a twenty-dollar bill.

Julie’s entire demeanor was different from the pleasant woman he’d come to know on a casual basis for the past several months. “I see that you’re interested, but I also detect hesitation.”

He turned to her, feeling less overwhelmed now and more determined to see what made her tick. She hadn’t brought him this far to play an elaborate joke on him, that was for sure. “Let me see if I get this straight. You’ll pay me three million dollars to befriend a somebody from my church,” —he almost said, I stopped going to church two years ago, when Sarah got cancer, but didn’t—“and lure them to a sacrifice?”

“What’s so hard to understand?” She asked.

“A sacrifice? Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know you well enough to tell. I thought I did, but—”

“Well, I’m not kidding. I’m dead serious.”

At this, Jim felt his heart rate speed up. The urge to get as far away as possible from Julie Montenelli overrode his curiosity. “Why do you need me?”

“I’m a member of a very powerful, world-wide, secret Satanic organization that has been working for years in a series of rituals to bring about Satan’s rule on earth and ensure his triumph in the final battle–what many Christians call Armageddon. The ritual you will be participating in requires a believer in God to lead another believer to their sacrifice to the Dark Father.”

Jim almost said, You’ve got to be kidding me? He kept his mouth shut. It was obvious Julie was not only deranged, but also very serious. Wasn’t the Manson family deadly serious about Helter Skelter?

“You don’t believe me.”

“It is a little hard to swallow.”

“You believe in God, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Jim was a Christian in name only. Had he ever mentioned his spiritual beliefs to Julie in the past? He was pretty sure they’d discussed religion at one point, and if they had, he most likely would have admitted that he was a Christian, attended church, and then left it at that. The truth was, he used to be very devout in his beliefs and attended church weekly. However, thanks to the events of the last two years he was beginning to have some doubts, but he wasn’t going to tell her that now.

“So why don’t you believe me?”

“You want to pay me three million dollars to lead another person to their murder?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no catch?”

“No catch at all.”

“And you’re not a cop? This isn’t some kind of—”

Julie burst out laughing. “No, Jim, I’m not a cop. This isn’t a sting or a setup.”

Jim felt nervous. He couldn’t help it. The request was just so whacked. “How do I know you won’t change your mind and decide to use me in your sacrifice instead.”

“The ritual is very specific. It requires a believer in Christ to willingly lead a fellow believer in Christ to that person’s ritual sacrifice.”

Jim thought very carefully about his next question, and then decided to ask it anyway. Despite knowing Julie was bad news, he didn’t feel immediately threatened by her. He felt nervous, under scrutiny, like he was walking a thin line between getting out of this car alive or being devoured. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?”

Another smile cracked her features, as if she’d treaded similar ground before. She opened the file folder in her lap and took out the top sheet of paper. “You want to know if I’m for real. Is that it?”

Jim nodded.

She smiled, as if expecting this. “Then I’ll show you.” She began to read from the paper in her hands. “Your name is James Douglas Cornell, your date of birth is April 15, 1974. Hawthorne, California was the lucky city that first welcomed you into the world. You live on 393 East Lambert Avenue, in Pasadena, California. Your mortgage is with Bank of America, you’re second mortgage is with them as well. Your phone number is 555-4811, your social security number is—”

“What the hell is this?” Jim yelled. He’d almost burst out screaming when she first began to read, and as she continued on, that fluttery feeling in his stomach began again, this time accompanied by one of dread. It was similar to the feeling he used to get as a child on a long trip to the dentist.

Julie continued as if she hadn’t heard his outburst. “—45-9729, your wife’s name is Nancy, maiden name Caprio, your daughter’s name is Sarah; she has lymph cancer that has rapidly spread through her–”

“What are you trying to do to me?”

“—body and your health insurance carrier dropped you because you went out of their range and sought the services of a specialist.” She paused from that. “Those goddamned HMOs.”

“You bitch,” Jim breathed, his teeth gritted in rage. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this.

Julie continued again as if she hadn’t heard him. “You had a promising career as a software developer but were laid off last year. Your wife is a teacher for the LA Unified School District and is on the verge of being laid off due to budget cutbacks.”

“Stop it,” Jim breathed. This was the first he’d heard about a potential layoff. But if everything else was true—

“—you were expelled from high school for smoking pot on campus—”

Jim started. “How the hell—”

“—your crowning academic achievement was in the fifth grade when an essay you wrote took first place in a district contest—”

“—did you know that?”

“—and,” She shuffled through some more papers, finding what she was seeking as her gray eyes met his over the paper grimly. “...the last time you were with another woman was the one night stand you had five years ago with Karen Hetfield. You remember her, I’m sure.”

At the mention of Karen Hetfield’s name Jim grew cold. He felt his limbs turn to ice. Who the hell was Karen Hetfield? The name drew a blank, and then he suddenly remembered. She’d been a computer technician in the compensation department at Lockheed where he’d worked. He remembered her as an attractive woman, with long curly blonde hair that cascaded down her back. She'd had a flawless figure. In short, a real beauty. She’d been married to a guy in payroll and they had a three-year-old son. And she also had one hell of a crush on Jim; he could tell from the vibes that emanated from her whenever they ran into each other in the hall. They would usually make small talk—how’s the job going? that sort of thing—and she would flirt. He would find himself flirting back, but then would realize what he was doing and kill it. It had gone no further than that. They’d never gone out, never did lunch together, never partaken in a quickie in an abandoned conference room after work or stole a quick lunch hour at a motel room. Hell, nothing between them had ever happened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he began, his throat choking up as his rage struggled to burst forth.

Julie put the papers back in the manila folder and replaced it in her purse. She regarded him pensively. “Yes, you do, Jim. Karen was very eager to work for me. All she needs to do is place a call to your wife when I give her the word and mention a few...intimate, but vague details. You may never have slept with her, but it won’t make any difference. The mere thought of you having a brief fling with a woman at the office will be more than enough for Nancy to file for divorce even if what Karen tells her is a bold-faced lie. It’s the possibility that it could have happened, plus the stress Nancy is going through now, that will send her over the edge.”

“And what does Karen get out of this?” Jim asked breathlessly, already knowing the answer.

“She gets...a tidy sum.”

Now as the implication of the blackmail threat floated before him all he could think about was how she could have known about Karen. For Julie to conduct such a thorough background check on him would have been easy; for her to find out that the woman from his former place of employment who worked down the hall had a desire to fuck his brains out and that she’d sensed the feeling had been mutual was nothing short of genius. He’d never cheated on Nancy, not once in their seven-year marriage, not even in the ten years they’d been together. He may have had the occasional fantasy about another woman, but then what guy hadn’t?

“I don’t blame you for whatever you may be feeling,” Julie said softly. She was regarding him calmly. “I can see you’re shocked. Go home and think about what we talked about tonight and then meet me at the Rivera in Arcadia on Thursday night. I promise that what passed between us tonight will go no further. We’ll talk then.”

“I don’t think so,” Jim said. He was reaching for the door handle, fumbling for the catch. “I’m not meeting you anywhere.”

Julie’s expression remained the same. “You’ll show up or your wife finds out about Karen.”

“She won’t believe you,” Jim sneered. “I never slept with her and Karen knows that. You’ll never be able to prove anything. Nancy won’t believe it.”

“I think she will,” Julie said. “She’s under a lot of pressure now from work, worrying about your daughter, your marriage. This little...bit of information...whether she believes it to be true or not, will surely push her over the edge. There’s no telling how she’ll react.”

Jim found the door handle and flung the door open, almost spilling himself out. He slammed the door and began to storm away, dimly aware of Julie’s voice calling after him: “Thursday night, eight o’clock, the Rivera Club.”

“Fuck you!” He yelled back. He reached his Datsun, fumbled for the keys and was so angry that he dropped them twice. He wasn’t even aware of the sound of the Mercedes’ engine starting, or the purr of the car as it pulled out of the parking lot. It wasn’t until he got the door of his own car open and collapsed into the front bucket seat that he realized how tense he was.

She’s insane, he thought. She has to be. There’s no way I’m going to meet her Thursday night. If she shows up during my shift the best course of action is to ignore her. Pretend this didn’t happen.

And if she follows through with her threat about Karen...well, I’ll think about that if it happens.

Later, when he composed himself, he started the car and drove home.

That night, Jim found it very hard to get to sleep.

*

Tuesday.

He did a pretty good job of keeping what happened from Nancy. He devoted his full attention to Sarah, taking care of her, taking her to her chemotherapy treatments in Inglewood during the day and watching cartoons with her in the afternoon. When Nancy called during her break or lunch periods he kept the conversations to a minimum; everything was fine, Sarah was doing well—she ate half a hamburger today! —and he was pretty sure that new software company was going to call back for a second interview. How was her day? And then she’d go off into an almost endless litany of her stupid, arrogant students, the mindlessness of the school system bureaucracy and the fear she felt when she walked through the metal detector when she reported to work everyday. There were members from thirty different gangs that attended Yonker’s Junior High School, and each one of them had members willing to kill for as little as lunch money. The faculty was not immune to the problems its students and teachers faced when it came to the gangs.

When it was time to report to his job, he’d pack Sarah off and drive her to the babysitter, a younger woman who taught with Nancy. Then he’d go to work and wait on the upper class for eight hours, all the while thinking about what Julie had told him. And he would think about how ineffectual he felt as a father for not being able to do more for Sarah and Nancy, and how he’d failed her in their marriage and how much he still loved her and how much he didn’t want it to end; she and Sarah were his whole world, and how the hell could Julie have found out about Karen? How could he have been so stupid to flirt with Karen in the first place? And before he knew it the club was closing and he was wiping down the bartop and assisting in cleanup and then he was walking out to his car, almost expecting to see Julie in her black Mercedes waiting for him, and he would banish the thought from his mind and drive home. And when he got home he would let himself in carefully because Nancy and Sarah would be asleep. He’d make his way through the darkened house to the living room and disrobe there, then creep down the hall to the bathroom where he would shower, then go to bed. Nancy would be fast asleep and would hardly awaken when he joined her in bed because she would have put in close to a sixteen-hour workday herself. And when the alarm clock woke them both up at six o’clock they would start the whole process over again.

The strain in his marriage had been slowly building since the layoff, but it was getting worse since the re-emergence of Sarah’s cancer. The chasm had been widening for the past three months, so much that they’d lost that sense of them against the world mentality they’d once shared. As Jim made his daughter a bowl of cereal while Nancy got ready for her day, he realized it was all crumbling down even faster. Something had to turn around, something had to—

“We got another letter from Bank of America,” Nancy said, startling him out of his thoughts. He spilled a dollop of milk on the table and Sarah managed a small laugh. Nancy was standing at the kitchen doorway dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe, toweling her brown curly hair.

“Great,” he muttered, turning his attention to the mess he’d made with the milk. “How nasty were they?”

“We have thirty days to bring the account up to date and pay back the late fees.”

“Okay,” he said, mentally tallying up the figures. They had fallen a month behind on their mortgage payments the last time he was between jobs; Nancy’s paycheck that month had gone toward Sarah’s medical bills. They needed to pay three thousand dollars to bring the account up to date. They didn’t have it.

“Citibank and Sears called me at work yesterday,” Nancy continued, looking at him wearily. “They’re threatening to sue us in small claims court.”

“Um hmm.” He put two pieces of bread in the toaster for Sarah.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Nancy suddenly shouted. He whirled toward her and saw how upset she was; her face was drawn tight, the circles under her eyes had grown darker. Her eyes looked heavy from little sleep. Her hair was in disarray. As suddenly as she’d shouted at him she seemed to collapse, as if all the weight of the problems that had been resting on her shoulders suddenly proved to be too much for her. Her shoulders sagged and she leaned against the doorway that led to the kitchen and cried hoarsely. “I can’t take this anymore, Jim, I just can’t take it.”

Sarah looked up from her cereal, her once smiling face now frozen in an ‘O’ of astonishment as she waited out the storm that was threatening to come.

“Hey, hey,” Jim said, moving toward Nancy to take her in his arms.

She pushed him away and sobbed louder. Her face was red but no tears fell from her eyes. “Just leave me alone, Jim. Please...”

“Nancy...” Jim began, making another half-hearted attempt to comfort her.

“Just leave me alone!” she cried.

Behind them at the kitchen table, Sarah started to cry.

Nancy looked at her daughter, her eyes red, mouth trembling, and then back at Jim. “I’ve got to get ready for work.” She turned and began heading toward the bedroom.

Jim’s first impulse was to dart after his wife to make amends, to say he was sorry, but Sarah’s cries stopped him. He scooted over to her and picked her up, cradling her small frame against him. He felt her hot tears on his cheek. He stroked the wispy hair that still clung to her balding skull. She felt papery thin in his arms. “It’s okay, baby,” he crooned. “It’s okay. Mommy and Daddy just had a little argument. It’s okay.”

He kept crooning to her, kept holding her until her sobs quieted down. By the time she was herself again he promised they would visit the LA Zoo today—there was a special five dollar entrance today and kids under ten could get in for free. He could hear the shower going in the master bathroom. He put Sarah back down in her chair and headed toward the bedroom, intending to make amends. He stopped outside the half-closed bathroom door, thinking of what he was going to say when he heard it. Just over the din of the running shower.

Nancy. Still crying.

He stepped back from the bathroom. Now wasn’t the time for any half-assed attempts at apology. He knew that would simply start her up again and she would yell at him to just shut up and leave her alone. Whatever pain and sorrow she was going through, she would have to go through it alone.

Jim went back into the kitchen to finish making Sarah’s breakfast.

*

Thursday, 7:30 PM.

He sat across from Julie in a private back booth at the Rivera nursing his first drink of the evening—a Gin and Tonic—while she started on hers. He normally had Thursday nights off, but he told Nancy that he was filling in for another bartender and she believed it. Since their heated argument two days ago Nancy had been quiet. She hadn’t spoken to him much the following morning as they set about getting ready for the day, she showering and dressing for work and he getting Sarah’s breakfast ready. The last two nights she hadn’t waited up for him to talk either; instead, she’d been asleep, which troubled Jim. Usually when an argument commenced, she would make some attempt within the first day or so to talk about it, to bring her feelings out in the open for them to discuss. But this time she closed herself off even further, which Jim didn’t like. It was like she was retreating from their problems, from their marriage. She was giving up.

So last night he decided to play this game Julie’s way and see where it took him. If he didn’t show up at the Rivera, Nancy would get the phone call from Karen, probably the next day during class. If he showed up at the Rivera ready to bargain with her, he might be able to head this thing off at the pass, or at least stall the inevitable until he had a chance to talk to Nancy and tell her what was happening. He would surely have a better chance at talking to her about the blackmail attempt and what Julie was planning to do to shatter their marriage.

When he arrived at the Rivera he gave the Maitre’d his name and asked if anybody was waiting for him. He was directed to the back of the club where Julie was already seated, looking immaculate in black slacks and a white blouse. As usual, her hair and features were flawless. She managed a small smile as Jim approached the table. “I’m happy to see you made it.”

“Not as happy as I am,” Jim said. A waiter approached and took his order.

As he waited for his drink, Julie regarded him over her own cocktail. “I sense things haven’t been so great at home.”

“My, you are a genius, you know that?” So what if he was sarcastic? The bitch had put him up to it.

His sarcasm didn’t penetrate her veneer. “Just an observation.”

“I’m sure you’re great at that.”

“I am.”

“Of course. How else would you know which sucker at the bar to pick?”

She smiled and took a sip of her drink. “It took a little more than that.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll see when I explain.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The waiter reappeared with Jim’s drink, then whisked away. Jim didn’t even pay attention to the fact that he didn’t ask for payment. His attention was riveted on Julie. She surely didn’t look like a devil-worshipper; that was his other tactic, to see what was so different about her. Didn’t devil-worshippers wear inverted crucifixes? Or pentagrams? Julie wasn’t sporting anything that indicated she was a Satanist. “Okay. Let me hear it.”

“I admire that in a man,” Julie said.

“What’s that?”

“The fact that you get right down to business.”

Jim didn’t share her enthusiasm for his seriousness. “Cut the shit, Julie. Tell me what the hell you have in mind.”

“Fine.” Julie took a sip of her drink. “Your layoff is a result of an economic downturn that doesn’t even exist. At least not in the traditional sense that economists have come to recognize as a true recession. Yet despite that, you and millions of people are being affected by job layoffs. Outsourcing plays a big part in it, but other factors weigh very heavily, too. Among them are shareholder’s desire to maximize profits, CEO’s desire for higher wages and better benefits packages. Inflation is a big factor, too. In fact—”

“What does this have to do with your proposal?” Jim interrupted.

“It has everything to do with it. Bear with me.” Julie paused for a moment, then continued. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the standard cost of living has not kept pace with inflation during the past thirty years? Haven’t you ever wondered about the rise of religious fundamentalism in the last thirty years despite the incredible advance science has made in explaining everything from the geological history of the planet to the advances in medical science? Mankind continues to cling to outmoded concepts of a god that has been dying since the Middle Ages. But then I suppose a lengthy dissertation on the dying of the Christian god would not bode so well for you, being a Christian man.”

Jim said nothing to contradict her. He was by no means a devout Christian, and indeed he had his doubts, especially lately. Those doubts had led to him leaving the church he and Nancy had been attending since their marriage.

“To get straight to the point, ritual magic has been used to assist in the harnessing and direction of these seemingly random and natural occurrences. It has been used to cloud the minds of people who would otherwise be intelligent and rational. It has been used to affect Earth’s natural cycle as well: the warming of the planet, seismic activity, the weather.”

“You’re trying to tell me that global warming is the result of black magic?” Now he really knew she was off her rocker.

“It isn’t the cause,” Julie explained. “What our spells and rituals have resulted in is the clouding of minds to speed up the warming process. Without carbon dioxide emissions and the erosion of the ozone layer, the planet would have gradually heated up on its own anyway. The earth has gone through numerous heating and cooling cycles during its billions of years circling the sun. What we’ve done is accelerated the process by spreading chaos and confusion through various members of society, most notably by pitting the scientific and religious communities against each other. We’ve also utilized rituals in making sure most of the population remains under the influence of most organized religious leaders.”

“So where do I come in?”

“Part of what I’ve just described to you will result in the arrival of the Dark Father. Additional rituals are also being utilized to bring about His emergence into this sphere of existence. To give you some background, much of the formula we’re following was thwarted back in the 1940’s by various forces. Our current group resurrected the original cult and began work at harnessing what was left over. It’s taken the better part of the past thirty years to get to where we are now, but I can guarantee you that the rituals we’re working on will bring about sudden, more dramatic results.”

“And that’s where I come in?” Despite the outlandish claims, Jim found this fascinating.

“The ritual you will be participating in serves many purposes.” Julie took a sip of her drink. “For your willing participation, you will be paid handsomely. Three million dollars in cash. This payment serves as part of the ritual, too.”

“How so?”

“Your selection was not random. A willing person is needed, one who is not only a believer in Christ, but somebody who will be more prone to act on their base needs that will conflict with their religious beliefs. Your background, and your immediate family health and financial needs were prime factors in your selection.”

Jim nodded. If he hadn’t been unemployed, and their finances in such dire straights, he probably wouldn’t be having this conversation with Julie now.

“If you participate in the ritual you will be just one key in a series of rituals that we have been undertaking for thirty years. In addition to playing a part in our overall goals, the ritual you will participate in will also serve as a great slap in the face of the adversary, who always extols piety and self-sacrifice at the expense of the self. You won’t be laying your life on the line to save another; you will be betraying one of your own faith. And you will be feeding on your own self interest—to save your daughter and your marriage.”

It all made a sick sort of sense. Refuse her offer and suffer. Go to the police and what?

“Once the ritual is complete, you will be paid and then you and your family will never hear from me or the group ever again, provided you say nothing about what you did or give any hint to anybody of the group and its purpose.”

“And what if I decline?” Jim asked. He hadn’t touched his drink.

“We can control the outcome of your daughter’s illness.” Julie’s voice was cool, emotionless as she regarded him from across the table. “She will be dead in less than twelve months. She can go much quicker if you fail to cooperate.”

Jim could barely speak, he was so angry. “You heartless bitch!”

Julie ignored him. “You’ll never get the money fast enough to help her if you don’t go through your part in the ritual.”

“You’re actually saying you can speed up my daughter’s cancer?”

“Yes. Would you like a demonstration?” Julie held his gaze, daring him.

Jim glared at her silently.

“If you don’t go through with the offer, your daughter’s cancer will quickly worsen. Likewise, if you decide to go through with it and you later turn against the group by alerting the police, it will be as if the cancer has miraculously returned.”

“Have other people like myself been made similar offers?”

“Before you, I’ve made sixteen over the last seven years. Eleven took me up on it. They are now handsomely rich.”

“And the other five?”

“Keep in mind that the others faced dire straits in their lives that were far different from yours.” Julie leaned back and counted them on her fingers. “One is now in jail on embezzlement charges, two others are divorced and in total financial ruin, another has lost his home and business from bankruptcy, and the fifth is dead.” She smiled, as if proud of her track record. “Their families haven’t fared much better. In fact, there have been accidents...deaths.” She cast a dark look at Jim and he got the message. Jim looked away from her, back down at the rest of his drink, which he gulped down. He found what she’d just said horrifying.

“You had them killed?”

Her smile was wry. “No. Their foolishness led to their deaths.”

“And the ones that took you up on it...they led innocent people to their deaths?”

“Yes.”

“And they were paid three million bucks.”

“Actually, because you’re the first man with a family and a sick child to consider, you’re the first to receive a higher sum. The other parties in question received a million dollars in cash.”

“In cash.”

“Yep.”

“And you haven’t...interfered with their lives in any way?”

“They haven’t been harmed in any way, nor have their families.”

“And you know that because you keep track of them. Somehow you know if they talk.”

“Only one talked. It’s a shame. The IRS still doesn’t know where he came into the money they found stuffed in his freezer. As a result, his heirs likely won’t receive any of it.”

“Nice. And you left his children alone even though he told somebody.”

“Not at all. His children were dealt with. Adult children, I might add. They were visited by a demon one of our members conjured, who silenced them. In fact, one of them is still missing.” Julie smiled.

Jim thought about this. “So only one of your takers talked, and he and his family were dealt with. The others though...they haven’t talked and they’re okay?”

“They’re fine, happy, and rich.”

Jim almost asked, are you sure they’re happy? but decided not to. He looked at his empty glass before him. “Three million...”

“We offer it because we realize the risks. We offer it because it is part of our belief system. Your participation plays a very vital role in our goals.” She leaned back and regarded him the way a snake sizes up a mouse before it strikes. “Think of how much the money will help you. Surely you can use that kind of cash now, don’t you think?”

He mused over this, examining all angles. “Who is it I lead to their death?”

“We will reveal the identity of the sacrifice to you no later than the morning the ritual is to be performed.”

“And then what? Do I have to be present for it?”

“You will be briefed on what will happen the morning of the sacrifice. You won’t be required to participate directly in the actual hands-on of the sacrifice, but you will be required to be present. Once the ceremony is concluded, you will be free to go.”

“And when will I be paid?”

“You will be escorted home after the ceremony and given a card and a set of keys. On the card will be the phone number of several financial institutions. The money will be in safe deposit boxes at each institution. The keys will fit the locks. That will conclude our business arrangement.”

The waiter appeared to deliver another round of drinks. He drank and drummed his fingers on the table, thinking this thing out; if he didn’t go through with it, what was the minimal amount of damage that could happen? Nancy divorcing him? He couldn’t bear the thought of Nancy leaving him and taking Sarah. He would be devastated. Plus, since California was a community property state, she’d be legally entitled to half of everything, including his pension. He would be financially ruined. If he thought of the worst possible scenario there was no telling what else Julie might have up her sleeve. If what she told him about the five men who had refused her offer was true, then there could be more to pay than just his wife divorcing him. The mental anguish that would follow would surely be unbearable.

‘They were visited by a demon one of our members conjured, who silenced them. In fact, one of them is still missing—’

Did Julie and her friends really have that kind of power?

Despite Jim’s recent loss of his Christian faith, much less his growing disbelief in the supernatural, that simple statement held him, kept him centered. What if what she’s saying is true?

Did he really believe that?

He opened his eyes and looked at Julie’s uncompromising features. There was no turning back.

“I just have three simple questions for you,” he said.

She nodded.

“How do I know you’ll pay me? How do I know that...the people you told me about, who participated in the same things....how do I know they even exist?”

“I’m obligated not to talk about the prior eleven parties,” she said, “due to the nature of the deals we made. As far as how you can trust I will pay you, I can advance a small portion of your fee very shortly.”

He turned this over in his mind. He would simply have to wade in as things progressed. He plunged on to his next question. “Suppose I get caught? Suppose...something happens along the way, something that isn’t my fault—”

“You won’t get caught,” Julie interjected. “If you do, it will be your fault. The consequences for getting caught are the same as going to the authorities or talking to anybody about our arrangement.”

He took another sip of his Gin and Tonic. “I can’t win, can I?”

She tried to warm things up with a smile. “Sure you can, Jim. Simply do the job you’re being hired to do and do it well. If you do that, we both win.”

Jim paused, the third question on the tip of his tongue. Julie smiled at him. “You have a third question?”

Jim shook his head. “No.”

“Sure you do.” Julie leaned forward ever so slightly. “Your third question is, ‘how would I know if the supernatural elements of what I’ve told you are true?’” She leaned back, her smile pensive.

Jim tried not to let his surprise show. That had been his third question, verbatim.

How did she know what I was thinking?

“I think I’ve just answered that question for you, Mr. Cornell.” Julie raised her drink. “Do you have any further questions?”

He didn’t. Instead, all Jim Cornell had now was a world of concern.

And fear.

*

Thursday, 10:30 PM.

Nancy was watching TV when he came home that evening. She looked up from the television. “You’re home early.”

“I got off early,” he said, taking off his jacket and draping it on the coat rack near the door. “I didn’t feel so hot.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Just...aches,” he said, moving into the kitchen.

Nancy turned her attention back to the show she was watching. “What kind of aches?”

“Headaches...nausea...” He did feel bad, but it wasn’t anything physical. The empty feeling in his stomach he’d been feeling since Julie outlaid the plans for the deal had grown to resemble one huge pit nestled deep in his belly. It basically spelled out one thing: there was no way out of this.

He dry swallowed two Anacin's and walked through the living room toward the bedroom. “How’s Sarah?”

“Sleeping,” Nancy said. She was dressed in a pair of baggy shorts and a tank top with no bra; her sleepwear.

“Good.” He yawned. “I’m going to bed, too. Goodnight.”

“’Night.” No goodnight kiss, no I love you. Not even a how was your day?. She’d barely acknowledged him when he came in and hardly looked up from that goddamned TV when he was there. She was beginning to slip further away. He thought she was at the brink, teetering between the comfort of family and the desire to run away from it all.

But there may be a way out, his mind whispered. If what Julie says is right...

He brushed his teeth and washed his face, battling the voice down. He undressed, slipping into his sweat pants. He peeked in on Sarah before he entered her room, noting the soft rise and fall of her breathing as she slept. He was almost struck with a numbing grief of shame for not doing more to help her, but he squelched that quickly. That was a sign of weakness. He would see them through this, as horrible as Julie’s offer was...

He went to bed that night and fell asleep instantly. He didn’t remember hearing Nancy come to bed—a fact that troubled him.

She always woke him for a kiss goodnight.

*

Friday, 2:30 PM.

“Daddy, when are we going home?” Sarah asked. She’d quickly grown bored of paging through Where the Wild Things Are and put the book aside.

“In just a minute, hon,” Jim said, looking up from Satanism: An Anthropological Study by Arthur Meadows, a book that he was perusing at a table in the Pasadena Public Library.

“You said that an hour ago!” Sarah pouted.

“I know,” Jim said. He smiled down at her. “And I’m sorry, baby, I really am. Daddy is just really into this book right now, okay? I’m almost done, and as soon as I’m done making these notes, we’ll go.”

“Will we be home by the time Hannah Montana comes on?”

“We’ll be home before Hannah Montana comes on, pumpkin.”

“Okay.”

Jim smiled at her and turned back to the book he was interested in. He and Sarah had come to the library shortly after twelve and it was now almost two. He’d gotten an armload of children’s books for Sarah and asked the librarian for assistance in books on true crimes that had occult overtones; the librarian had been able to help him find five titles that Jim thought were sufficient. She’d helped him take all the books to a corner where he could do his research in peace and keep Sarah amused without disturbing the other patrons. Thankfully, Sarah had a fondness for books, but after only one hour of perusing the twenty-five children’s volumes they’d picked out, she grew bored. He had to keep her age in factor whenever he thought to bring her to places like the library; she was only six.

He’d promised that if she was good they could go to the La Brea Tar Pits the next morning. She’d stopped fidgeting and for a while was behaving quite nicely, reading quietly, sketching pictures in the notepad he’d brought along for her to draw in. But now she was restless again. She rocked back and forth in her chair, turning the pages of Where the Wild Things Are like it was a brochure. “Honey, don’t bend the pages of the book like that.”

Sarah stopped and gave him that little kid look; pouty bottom lip, sad Keane dog eyes. He turned back to his book, flipping through it for one more thing. He’d found most of the information he was interested in within this particular volume, but there was one more little bit of information he needed.

He’d started out that morning at home, researching on the Internet. There were thousands of websites on the occult, especially when it came to the dark side of the occult like Satanism. There’d been so much it was overwhelming. Jim had restricted his research to a few search terms: ‘Satanic rituals and human sacrifice’ and ‘Satanic related true crime’. The search engine had spit back thousands of websites at him. Jim had clicked through as many as he could, quickly dismissing the sites that were obvious frauds and, eventually, he also navigated away from sites that were about the Church of Satan. Pretty much all the experts claimed the Church of Satan disavowed human sacrifice and were more or less an atheistic group that didn’t believe in a literal devil. Julie Montenelli didn’t seem like that kind of Satanist, though.

Several of the websites he read mentioned several cults. The most commonly named were The Four P Movement and The Children of the Night. There were vague links to various crimes between both groups—Charles Manson, the serial killings of Edwin Groose in the Midwest, and the killings perpetrated by Archibald Lasher in 1920’s Los Angeles, among others. Jim jotted down names and dates, as well as the titles of books that were purported to contain more information. By then, Sarah was getting anxious to go to the library, so he’d closed down the internet connection, pocketed his notes, and they left the house.

The information he found in the books was very helpful, but only served to scare him more. According to what he’d read, the more sinister of the organizations, The Children of the Night, seemed more like urban legend than a bona-fide documented cult of loonies. Supposedly in operation since the early part of the twentieth century, the cult had origins in Europe and had spread to America in the 1920’s. Cult activity had risen in the 1940’s during World War II and it was suggested that Hitler and several of his key henchmen in the SS were secret members. Regardless, the cult was all but extinguished, scaled back to a mere skeleton crew of scattered members by the close of the war, and it was largely silent for the next twenty years.

By 1969 it was obvious to many investigators that the cult was back. Apparently resurrected by an unknown wealthy businessman from the San Francisco Bay area, the cult boasted a thousand members across the U.S., most of them recruited through personal referral. It was also suggested that older members simply handed their belief system down to their children, who took the reins of leadership in the late 1960’s. The man who supposedly led them from the late 1960’s to the present was only identified in the books as “The Grand Chingon”. Chingon was Spanish slang for “bad ass”.

Over the next twenty years various crime organizations and serial killers reportedly rubbed shoulders with the cult—Charles Manson and his Family, members of the Japanese Yakuza, various Islamic splinter groups from the Middle East, Jim Jones, Reverend Sun Moon, Henry Lee Lucas, Richard Ramirez, the Son of Sam...the list went on. It was suggested human sacrifice was practiced, that the group maintained large compounds where rituals were held, and properties where cult activity flourished were protected by armed guards.

And through it all, the real-life crime organizations that were said to have rubbed shoulders with the group all shared one common trait—members who’d hinted at The Children of the Night wound up dying mysteriously.

In Jim Jones’ case, hundreds of them had died.

And in various individual unsolved true crime cases involving murder in which the group was hinted at being a part of, law enforcement always remained tight-lipped about the details. Witnesses who went to the police usually wound up dead, missing, or insane. The few cases that made it to trial in which the cult was mentioned were always dismissed, the defendant disappearing into obscurity. Arthur Meadows even went so far as to reprint photos from crime scenes in his book that showed suspicious artifacts in the background.

It was in the Meadows volume that he stumbled on a reference to an ancient occult ritual that was said to be practiced by the Yazidis, a secret cult of devil-worshippers that lived in the mountains bordering Iran and Syria. The ritual called for the manipulation of a Christian to lead a fellow Christian to their sacrifice. At 1500 years old, it was one of the oldest occult rituals known, and also the most obscure. Meadows explained that several Children of the Night members he’d talked to made vague references to the ritual, and witnesses he’d interviewed (before mysteriously disappearing) suggested that the group engaged in the practice. That would explain why brazen abductions by the group were so rare. It also dovetailed with everything Julie Montenelli told him.

Jim closed the book. He looked down at Sarah, who was finished with Where the Wild Things Are again. She looked up at him. “Are we going to go now, Daddy?”

“Yes, pumpkin,” Jim said, trying to hide the nervousness from his voice. “We’re going.”

Witnesses who went to the police usually wound up dead, missing, or driven insane.

If you refuse the job, you will be ruined. Your wife will divorce you, your child won’t get the care she needs and she’ll die.

But if I say yes I’ll be leading an innocent person to their slaughter.

What were his options?

“Daddy?” He snapped out of his thoughts. Sarah was standing at the table, the books she’d been reading stacked on the table in a neat pile. She was ready to go.

Jim smiled and rose, squeezing her thin shoulder reassuringly. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry I took so long. Let’s go home.”

“Can we still go to the Tar Pits tomorrow?”

“You bet!”

As he and Sarah left the library, walking toward the car, Jim realized that the situation he was in was do or die. Either he would have to commit to it now and get the deed over with as soon as possible, or he wasn’t going to have the will power to go through with it at all. The more time that went by, the more he would think about the odds, about what might or might not happen, and the more he would want to back out of the deal.

He headed to work early that evening, hoping to get a chance to talk to Julie.

*

Friday evening.

He got lucky. Julie was seated at the bar when he showed up to work. He arrived ten minutes early, and after waving to his partner for that evening, Todd Peckham, he planted himself on the stool next to her. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said.

She turned to him, that look of disappointment coming over her features. Jim cut in before the wrong impression could infiltrate her brain. “I’ve changed my mind about when I’m available for the job. I’m available as soon as possible. As soon as you want.”

She smiled. “Why the sudden change?”

“Let’s just say that the longer the wait, the more I’ll lose my nerve.”

“Understandable.”

“When can I have a portion of the advance?”

She blinked at the sudden outward aggressiveness and took a sip of her drink. “I’ll make arrangements.”

“Good. Thank you.” He rose, still hating himself for what he was planning to do, for knowing what he was entering into and hating Julie even more, but feeling the situation was beyond his control. He’d thought about his plight long and hard; surely he could have alerted the authorities, and even though she hadn’t brought the subject up during their initial meeting, he knew she’d covered that angle just in case. If the authorities were alerted he might be safe for awhile...there was always the chance he could escape somewhere with Nancy and Sarah, somewhere Julie and her powerful cult family would never find them. Surely he could do the noble thing and refuse the job, alert the police and have Julie arrested.

But in the end he decided he couldn’t do that. And that was why he hated that one little part of himself.

Because...let’s face it—he didn’t want to lose what he had.

He didn’t want Sarah to die.

And it was that part that gave in to the proposal, that part that ruled over his heart and head, that part that whispered maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Besides, Julie had forced him into it, the circumstances were grave, the threat was very real, and Sarah’s life hung in the balance. It wasn’t like he was actually killing somebody. He was just supposed to trick somebody into showing up at a place where they’d be killed by Julie’s cult. That wasn’t so bad.

All he had to do was go through with that, then quickly forget about it. Collect the money, correct the ailments that were plaguing his family.

And then, hopefully later, try to deal with the moral issue of what he’d done.

It was those thoughts that kept him working all through the night.

*

Saturday morning.

He had second thoughts the following morning as he woke up to a beautiful morning. Nancy made a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee, and the three of them sat at the kitchen table, laughing and chatting as if none of the events of the past year had ever occurred. They laughed and chatted as if they were in the midst of the best part of their lives.

Jim felt it was all an act the entire morning, but he was giving Nancy the benefit of the doubt. It had been so long since he’d heard her laugh that he was content just to sit and watch her be joyful, wallow in it, revel in it, welcome it. After breakfast the three of them had sat down for a viewing of Aladdin – one of Sarah’s favorite movies. As they watched it together, Jim and Nancy seated on the couch while their daughter romped on the floor in front of the television, Jim felt the doors were opening. They hadn’t been this close in months. All the previous anger, doubt, and worry that had been present in her had seemed to fade overnight. She seemed to be her old self.

After their morning showers, they took a drive to the beach. As Sarah played within the incoming tide, building sand castles and digging for sand crabs, Jim and Nancy sat on beach chairs looking out at the ocean. Nancy had brought a Kay Hooper paperback but wasn’t reading it. She was looking out at the ocean, and Jim found his own gaze drawn toward the ocean as well. A moment later Nancy’s hand found his, her fingers intertwining with his. He held her hand and looked at her. She was smiling. “I love you, Jim.”

Jim smiled back. “I love you, too, Nancy.”

Her face tilted close to him. He leaned close to her. He was barely aware of the oncoming touch of her lips when everything dissolved and his head was awash in a mild, pulsing pain.

He blinked and looked up, raising himself from the bed. Nancy was asleep beside him on her stomach. His body was dotted lightly with sweat, and his head ached. The mid-morning sun streamed through the curtains and he could dimly make out the sound of the television from the den; Sarah was up. He glanced at the clock—it read ten thirty-five. He’d been dreaming.

Careful, so as not to disturb Nancy, Jim got out of bed and went into the den to tend to his daughter. Nancy didn’t wake up until nearly two p.m. Everything that happened in his dream had been a reversed image of the general mood that pervaded the rest of the weekend.

*

Sunday afternoon.

He was on hold for five minutes before he was transferred to Detective Gerald A. Pearce.

“Jim Cornell?”

“Speaking.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Cornell? The desk clerk said you wanted to talk to a detective rather than have a squad car dispatched to your house.”

“That’s right,” Jim said, suddenly feeling nervous about the phone call now.

It was Sunday afternoon and the girls had gone to the grocery store. Jim had been debating all weekend whether he should call the police and at least try to see if he could make a criminal case out of Julie’s threats. The more he thought about it, the more he didn’t want to go through with Julie’s offer despite the risks. What would it hurt if he called the police and talked to them? Julie’s threat now rang false in his ears. He’d stolen more time away from the house Saturday afternoon after Nancy woke up for a quick trip to the library where he’d done some research on a few unsolved murders in the Los Angeles area that were referenced in Arthur Meadows’s book. None of the cases he found in the Los Angeles Times microfilm gave any indication that they were occult related. He was now convinced Julie’s threats were simply that—threats to scare him into obedience.

“Somebody’s been threatening you?” Detective Pearce asked.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Jim said. He gave Detective Pearce a quick run-down on Julie’s blackmail attempt. The detective was silent as Jim spun the narrative out, interrupting occasionally to ask questions. When Jim was finished he felt a sudden pit of fear in his belly. Am I doing the right thing? Of course I am. That bitch threatened to have me killed. She threatened my child, for God’s sakes. She’s done this shit before, so of course I’m doing the right thing.

“I have to admit, your story sounds intriguing,” Detective Pearce said. There was a short pause. “I’ll have to follow up on this.”

“She won’t find out, will she?” Jim blurted, suddenly scared.

“Long as you don’t tell her,” Gerald said. “And I doubt you’re going to do that.”

“No...no, of course not.” Jim wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and glanced at the clock in the living room. He probably had another fifteen minutes before Nancy and Sarah were home. “I just...I don’t want her to know I called the police or talked to them. I’m scared for my family.”

“I know,” Detective Pearce said. “The important thing is to stay calm. Is your family home now?”

“No, they’re at the store.”

“Keep them at the house until you hear back from me.”

Cold steel tickled Jim’s spine. “Do they have to know about this?”

There was a short pause. “Mr. Cornell, how serious are you about us wanting to follow up on your complaint?”

Jim didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to just give the police free reign and haul Julie’s ass into jail and tell Nancy everything, but another part was so terrified of Julie that—

There was an echo on the line.

He paused. Listened.

“Mr. Cornell?”

“Yes?”

“This is a serious matter, sir. What you’ve just described is not only a felony, but it can be construed as a terrorist act.”

“Terrorist act?”

“The threat of physical violence constitutes a terrorist act,” Detective Pearce explained. “If your neighbor threatens to beat you up and you’re seriously in fear for your life and physical well-being, he could be arrested for it. That’s a terrorist act. Ms. Montenelli made this threat in more subtle tones, but it means the same thing. Plus, she extended the threat to your family. That’s two more counts.

That echo on the line...so faint...

The realization of what he was hearing hit him and Jim felt his face go pale.

Seven years ago an old high school buddy of his had moved to Texas. His friend had always been a bit of a pothead, but he’d cleaned himself up a bit, gotten engaged, and started a business. He lived in a small town in West Texas and it wasn’t long before he started complaining to Jim about the government-mandated pesticide programs that were wreaking havoc in his area. “Goddamn pesticide planes fly over three times a day spraying fields with this shit,” Bill said one day. “And they end up spraying the whole town. We’ve got people sick all over, people’s animals are dying, and the more we complain to the State, the more those dickheads tell us it ain’t their problem. They’re just following orders from the Feds.” Bill had become something of a fanatical activist against the pesticide sprayings to the extent that, he confided in Jim one day, the Feds were watching him. “They’ve even got my phone tapped,” he’d said during another conversation. “Know how I can tell?”

“How?” Jim had asked.

“Hear that echo on the line?”

At first Jim hadn’t heard anything. He’d assumed Bill was just being paranoid. but the more he talked to Bill and strained to listen, the more he heard the echo. He’d told Bill what he was hearing. “Yep, that’s it. That’s those fuckhead FBI dicks listening in on our conversation.”

The echo he was hearing on his line now while speaking to Detective Pearce was the same one he’d heard seven years ago talking to his old friend.

He gripped the receiver hard. “Listen, I gotta go.”

“Mr. Cornell—” Detective Pearce said, but Jim hung up on him.

He sat on the sofa holding the cordless phone in his hand, worry spiking his veins. Oh my God, is my phone tapped? Was somebody else listening in to our conversation?

When the phone rang he nearly shot to the ceiling.

He answered on the third ring. “Yeah?”

It was Detective Pearce. “Mr. Cornell...I think we were disconnected.”

Jim closed his eyes, regretting he’d even called the police. He tried listening for the echoing sound, but didn’t hear it. Maybe he was imagining it. “I know...sorry...sometimes my line acts up and...”

He continued babbling his excuse and heard the echo again; faint, persistent. “Listen, my wife just got home,” he said. “How about if I meet you later?”

“Sure.” Detective Pearce gave him an address and phone number and Jim jotted them down. “You can come to my office.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jim said. “Thanks.”

When he hung up he heaved a sigh of relief. He glanced at the clock. He’d only been on the phone for ten minutes, and Nancy and Sarah had been gone for nearly thirty minutes, but it felt like hours had passed.

He spent the rest of the day in constant worry, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

*

Sunday night.

That evening he couldn’t get to sleep. He lay awake in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, letting his imagination run, trying to think about the different scenarios that could happen. He thought about calling Julie and confessing his mistake immediately, telling her he was not going to go through with filing his criminal complaint, but he was afraid to do that.

Before he went to bed, which was long after Nancy and Sarah retired, he double-checked that all the doors and windows were locked.

He lay in bed listening for every sound, feeling his heart race as his mind kept him awake with worry.

*

Monday afternoon and evening.

Despite his nervous state, things went fine the following afternoon. He called Detective Pearce from a phone booth after dropping Sarah off at her sitter’s an hour early (and he instructed Wendy, the woman that took care of Sarah, to keep a close watch on her, to not let her play outside even in her own fenced-in backyard because Sarah was sick the night before and he and Nancy were trying to keep her indoors—he didn’t want to tell Wendy the real reason he was being so paranoid, and hoped this ruse would work). He told Detective Pearce he wanted to cancel everything. “Are you sure?” Detective Pearce asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Jim said, feeling nervous.

“Listen, Mr. Cornell...I ran a preliminary check on Julie Montenelli and it came back clean. She has no criminal record and I think even if we were to pursue this, we’d have a hard time. She’s got a lot of friends in high places, if you know what I mean.”

“I know.” Jim sighed and closed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that wanted to rage through his skull. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to think about this,” he finally said. “Let me call you in a few days.”

Detective Pearce agreed and Jim went to work, trying to keep his mind off what he was now coming to think was a colossal fuck up, but hoping it wouldn’t boil down to that.

The day turned out to be almost perfect.

He was so busy at the Polo Club that he didn’t have time to let his mind wander and dwell on his problems. Instead he had to focus on pouring and mixing drinks, washing glasses, filling the orders for the waitresses and restocking the liquor cabinets. When evening rolled around—the busiest time of the day—he scanned the club quickly and saw no sign of Julie. By the end of the evening he felt better; during his breaks he’d spoken to Nancy, who reported that her day had been normal (“the goddamn bill collectors are calling, but what else is new?”) and that Sarah was doing fine (“she asked me why she couldn’t go outside today and Wendy said you told her Sarah was sick last night. What’s that all about?”). Jim had made up a story about not wanting Sarah outside because she’d been sniffling earlier and he’d simply told Wendy not to let her outside because he felt the woman wouldn’t take a case of the sniffles seriously. Nancy knew immediately what he was talking about and didn’t press the issue. Sarah was still building up her white cell count from the chemo, and keeping her from getting sick was imperative.

So when he finally stepped outside to leave for home he decided he was going to face this problem like a man: call Julie, tell her he screwed up and that he wouldn’t do it again. He wasn’t going to follow up on any kind of criminal complaint. Hell, she didn’t even have to pay him to lead their next human sacrifice to their ceremony; he’d do it for free. He was thinking these thoughts, wondering if he should even tell her this (because, after all, maybe that echo you heard wasn’t a tap on the line. Maybe it was something else) when he was suddenly conked on the head from behind.

He crashed to the ground, barely able to put his hands out to break the fall, when he was kicked in the stomach. His breath let out in a sudden whoosh and then he felt a hand grip his hair and pull his head back. The attack happened so fast that he wasn’t able to collect his bearings. He couldn’t see his assailant, and just as he was thinking, oh shit, he’s going to hit me in the face, I’m going to be beaten to shit, a rough arm encircled his throat and a guy he’d never seen before stepped in front of him and slapped a strip of duct tape over his mouth. He caught a quick glimpse of the guy before another slap of duct tape was placed over his eyes—swarthy features, an ugly sneer, a thick swatch of dark hair—and then a second pair of hands was pulling his arms behind his back and lashing them together with duct tape as he was shoved into a vehicle. He knew it would be useless to put up a fight, knew he’d be hurt even worse, and the only thing he could think of as the car pulled away from the Polo Club’s parking lot and he was driven away was Nancy and Sarah and how he was going to miss them and how much he loved them.

*

Tuesday, 2:50 AM.

Wherever it was they took him, it wasn’t too far.

They were on the road for perhaps fifteen minutes before the car pulled to a stop and the doors were opened. Jim felt rough hands grab him by the shoulders and pull him out. He stood on wobbly feet and was pushed forward. He didn’t know where he was and he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he was scared out of his mind.

“Sit.” The man that uttered the command forced him into a stiff wooden chair and Jim sat down. Jim was breathing heavily, not even feeling the pain from the blows to his head and stomach, not even sure where his captors were now. Not a word was spoken except that one command, but Jim felt the presence of somebody else close by. And some sixth sense told him it was Julie.

Then there was a sudden punch to his abdomen and Jim doubled over in pain. A second blow blasted across the small of his back and he almost stumbled to the ground on his face, but he was held up, pushed back into the chair and then a fist crashed into his stomach. He gasped in pain, his cries muffled through the duct-taped gag. Another blow crashed into his ribs and this time he did fall to the ground only to be kicked and stomped about the back, abdomen, and chest. He rolled around on the cement with each kick and blow, trying to avoid them, yelling desperately through the gag for help, knowing it wasn’t going to come, knowing he was going to be stomped to death and then as suddenly as the beating began it stopped and he was hauled to his feet and the blindfold and gags were ripped away. He yelped in response to the trauma to his skin and for a moment he was blinded by a pair of sodium lights glaring from a spot on the wall. He squinted, unable to see, and then a voice said, “Sit him down. I want to talk to him.”

At first he didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but when the fourth person stepped in front of him, partially blinding the harsh glare of the fluorescents, he saw it was Julie Montenelli.

She didn’t look pleased to see him.

Oh Christ, Jim thought, his mind working in overdrive. Oh God, I’m fucked—

“What did I tell you when we had our first meeting, Jim?” Julie asked. She was direct, her voice tinged with anger.

“I-I-I know I fucked up,” Jim stammered, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage. In the few seconds it took his eyes to adjust to the harsh lights, he saw that he was inside what appeared to be a warehouse. The walls were high, bare concrete and he could make out a small office to his right. “I’m not going through with it, though. I’m not—”

He didn’t see the slap coming. It rocked the left side of his face, snapping his head around. His face stung. He heard her breath heaving from the exertion of the blow and he closed his eyes as the pain washed over him in waves. Please get me out of this, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill my family, I’ll do anything you want—

“I so don’t want to have to do this,” Julie said, the glare in her eyes pure anger.

“Then please don’t hurt her!” Jim said. “Please don’t kill me, I didn’t mean it, I’ll do anything you want! Anything! Just don’t kill me!”

“A detective paid me a visit today,” Julie said, unmindful of his pleadings. She leaned toward him. “I knew he was coming, and you better be thankful I was prepared because I was able to charm him and refer him to my attorney. Right now my attorney is working with the Pasadena Police Department in cleaning up this mess and when its all over they will have it on record that you’re a crank, that you’re financially desperate and that you tried to blackmail me.”

Jim heard her but what she said didn’t register at first. He was afraid his last few minutes alive would be in vain. He was afraid that if he was killed he wouldn’t be able to save Nancy and Sarah, that once Julie was finished with him she would carry out her threats to his family and he had no way to warn them. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Jim.”

He tried to calm his breathing, afraid to look at Julie.

“Jim. Look at me.”

He slowly raised his head. Julie stood before him, her face still bearing a countenance of anger. “How often do I have to remind you of how long my reach is?”

Jim didn’t know what to say. He could only look at her.

Julie reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small digital recorder. She pressed a button and voices emanated from it. At first Jim didn’t recognize them, but then he made them out clearly. His voice was clear as was that of Detective Pearce. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but hearing the conversation he’d had with Detective Pearce yesterday still turned his stomach over, making him feel light-headed. Julie stopped the tape and pressed another button and there was a whirring sound. She didn’t say anything, just kept her smoldering gaze on him as she fast-forwarded the tape and stopped it, then pressed the play button. More voices, then he made them out clearly. It was Wendy Bergan, Sarah’s babysitter, chatting on the phone with her mother. “Mom, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. Hank and I have enough going on this weekend with our own plans and I just don’t know if—”

“If you can make the drive, please try to come up,” Wendy’s mother said. “Your father isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

“Mom, you don’t have to guilt-trip me. I have a difficult enough time trying to arrange time off with one of the couples I sit for that it’s hard to get weekends off.”

“Are you still watching that little girl? The one who had cancer?”

“Yes. She’s such a sweet child, and I usually have her at some point every weekend, but sometimes her parents get the weekend off. It’s so unpredictable with their work schedule. So—”

Julie stopped the tape. Her expression didn’t change.

Jim looked up at her, the dread solidifying in his gut like molten lead.

“I have my reasons for not wanting to carry my threats out at this stage,” Julie said, her voice low. “Don’t delude yourself in thinking I want to spare the life of your child.”

“Then please don’t.” Jim said.

“What choice do I have? It’s too close to the day of the ritual to change our plans. I’m very confident Jack will take care of things if the police get too nosy. He’s been successful in the past with similar incidents. Do you know how many genuinely false accusations police departments receive a year, Mr. Cornell?”

Julie was pacing the floor in front of him now and Jim felt more scared. He could dimly sense the presence of her three goons behind him in the shadows, as if waiting for her command to finish him off.

“Well?”

“No,” he said suddenly, hating the way his voice sounded; weak, afraid.

“Some jurisdictions have entire departments fielding such calls. Entire departments! We’re talking a staff of anywhere from two to ten people. Just to verify fraudulent criminal complaints. Can you believe that?”

“I...” Jim didn’t know what to say and let the sentence trail off.

“Be thankful this is the case, Jim,” Julie continued, stopping in front of him. “Be gracious for all the loonies out there who see the need to call the police on their neighbors because they think they live next to Al-Qaeda spies, or they have reason to believe they’re involved with Internet pornography, or believe the government is controlled by aliens from outer space. Thank your lucky stars for people like them, Jim.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. He wanted to beg, wanted to plead with her not to do what he was afraid most of, but he was afraid that would somehow make the situation worse. His only choice now was to listen to her and then, if he saw it, take the opportunity to try to reason with her, to fight for his life if he had the opportunity.

“If Detective Pearce is nosy, he might start trouble. It’s never happened before, but there’s always a first time. If he digs deeper he’ll find no bodies, no physical evidence, no circumstantial evidence and no witnesses.”

“Please,” Jim said. “I’m not going through with it. I’ve told the detective I didn’t want to pursue anything. Let’s just...forget about this and move on.”

“I have no choice. You see that, don’t you?”

The fear took over. His eyes darted around the room, trying to seek an escape route. Could he fight the men that had kidnapped him? He could try, but they’d already roughed him up pretty bad. Still, he could try, anything was better than doing nothing. “If you hurt my family—” he began.

“Ah! We get to my dilemma in all this!” Julie reached into her coat pocket and brought something out that, at first, Jim couldn’t identify. When she brought it closer to his face he saw it for what it was: Sarah’s kindergarten picture.

How did she get Sarah’s school picture? was the first thought that flashed through his brain but was quickly replaced by this: What is she going to do with my family?

Julie held the photo in front of Jim for a moment before finally making it disappear inside her coat.

Jim felt himself quiver in rage and fear. “Please don’t hurt her. She’s all I’ve got.”

Julie knelt in front of him, her face inches from his own. “I know,” she said, her voice lowered. He could feel her breath on his face as she spoke. “I know she’s special to you. She’s a beautiful little girl, so full of life and hope despite her sickness. You can just see the courage she displays. When I look at her I can’t help but think she’s going to be a good, strong person when she grows up. She’s going through so much at such a young age, but she has you and Nancy, she has your love, and the love of her grandparents and other relatives, and that does wonders for a sick child. She has such an innocence about her, yet she’s strong and committed to you and Nancy.”

“If you lay one finger on her I’ll kill you!”

Julie smiled at him when he said that, but he didn’t care. He’d never felt such blind hatred for another human being in his life. He wanted nothing more than to leap out of that chair and rip Julie’s throat out with his teeth. His hate was so evident, he was barely aware of the three men who’d kidnapped him as they moved closer to him.

Julie turned back to them with a stern look. The men hovered nearby, like well-trained attack dogs awaiting word from their master to strike.

Julie turned back to Jim. For a minute he thought she was going to say, Sorry, Jim. But you leave me no choice.

Instead, what she whispered to him was, “Listen to me carefully, Jim.”

Jim nodded.

“Believe me when I tell you that I’ve had men killed.” Julie’s face was close to his. “I’ve had their families destroyed—not their children, though. You’re the first man I’ve propositioned who has a small child to care for. But the others...the two others...their wives left them, they’ve gone through financial ruin and the men themselves...they’re gone. You needn’t concern yourself with how, just that I made it happen. I have the ability to make it happen. Do you understand?”

Jim nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

“The last two times this happened I did the same thing that’s happening to you right now,” Julie continued in her whisper. “Only the men in question did not walk out of this building alive. Do you understand?”

She’s going to kill me! Jim felt his body thrum with adrenaline.

“You love your daughter, but I don’t,” Julie continued. “My only consideration is having my ritual done correctly, and for that I need you to follow my directions. This is important, Jim. You don’t know how close you’ve come to dying tonight, but a suitable candidate has just come to my attention, somebody you know very well.” She smiled. “We need you now more than ever. If we didn’t need you, believe me, your blood would be running out on the floor right now and your child would grow up fatherless.”

And then he understood what she was trying to tell him. He also understood why she was whispering to him. She didn’t want her goons to hear what she was saying.

He nodded stiffly, still not knowing if he was going to be killed tonight or not. Julie kept her grip on his face, still whispering to him. “It is now very early on Tuesday morning. I would like you to be ready for the job this weekend. Is that going to conflict with your schedule at home?”

Stunned, Jim shook his head slowly. His mind was racing, wondering about the sudden about-face.

“I am not doing this for you, Mr. Cornell. You’ve made me very angry tonight. Don’t think you’re out of the woods yet, because you aren’t. Jack is still trying to salvage things as we speak. But I also need you to complete your part in the ritual.” She paused again. “Do you understand?”

Jim nodded, feeling the relief spread through him. He was going to live! “Yeah,” he said softly.

“The men behind you aren’t going to approve of me sending them away,” Julie said. “But they will. The bottom line is that they will do what I say, even if they don’t agree with it.”

Jim nodded, hardly believing the sudden turnaround of his good fortune.

“In our observance of your activities, I’ve settled on our sacrifice. You know this person very well, Jim. This should make what we need you to do much easier. Do you understand?”

Jim nodded. He wondered who it was she’d settled on. Was it a loved one? It couldn’t be Nancy. God, it couldn’t be Sarah, please don’t let it be—

“Stephen Golding is the man you are to bring to a location I will provide for you the morning of the sacrifice.” Julie looked at him, waiting for a reaction. Jim didn’t know how to react. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the name. Stephen Golding?

As if she could read his mind, Julie continued. “Stephen worked in the cubicle across from you at Lockheed. You spent a lot of time with him on breaks, doing lunch, you even went to his home a few times and he to yours. He was what one might call a ‘work acquaintance.’”

“Why Stephen?” Jim managed to ask. He remembered Stephen very well, and as his mind tracked back to the days they worked together he tried to remember details. All he could remember was the simple things: Stephen was a software programmer, and for the most part was pretty quiet and kept to himself. The only personal things Jim knew about him were that he was in his mid-forties, had never married, kept a cozy little bungalow in La Canada, enjoyed cooking, and was a devout churchgoer. “I don’t understand, I thought you wanted—”

“A female? Not necessarily,” Julie said, grinning slightly. “It’s a misconception that we require nubile young female virgins for ritual sacrifice. Men will do just fine.”

“But Stephen...” Jim didn’t know quite how to say what he wanted to say; he was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

“Is a devout Christian man,” Julie finished for him. “He’s done many good things. He donates his time and money to various charities, he lives by your Savior’s example in that he is accepting of others, is kind, and turns the other cheek. He is a true believer. He’s also a virgin.” Julie’s smile grew wider. “Hard to believe in this day and age, but Stephen has never been in an intimate relationship with a woman.”

It was hard to believe, and the information was quickly lost on Jim as his brain worked at the simple concept of what he was now going to allow to happen. Instead of being killed for calling the police, Julie was letting him live in order for Jim to cross another path—lead a person you know and like, a person who you know in your heart doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, to his murder.

Julie cocked her head at him. “I see you understand.”

Jim nodded.

“Good.” Julie paused and motioned slightly to the men behind her. “After I send them away I’m going to untie you and help you clean up a little. Then I’m going to drive you back to the Polo Club to get your car. You’re going to drive straight home. If your wife asks how you were injured, tell her you stepped between a pair of drunks while you were at work and got clobbered. It’s the hazards of the trade, even at upscale places like the Polo Club.”

“Yeah.” Jim nodded. That was a good idea. Nancy would believe that.

“I have an envelope I’m going to give you when you get to your car,” Julie continued. “My promised cash advance to you.”

Jim nodded.

“Make arrangements to be away this weekend,” Julie said. “Do whatever you have to do at home. Establish contact with Stephen and make plans to see him. The sooner we can get this over with, the better for both of us.”

“Okay.” Although Jim was still scared, he was not as terrified as he was earlier.

Julie gave him a slight smile. “Good.” She stood up and looked at the three men. “You can go,” she said.

One of the men asked, “Are you sure, Ms. Montenelli?” The man sounded surprised.

“Yes, Marcello. Go.”

Another man stepped forward slightly. “This isn’t advisable Ms. —”

“Are you questioning me, Ricardo?” Julie’s voice was stern, authorative.

The man stopped. Jim felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise.

“No, Ms. Montenelli, but—”

“You’re questioning me. Don’t question me, Ricardo. I don’t question you, you don’t question me. I have everything under control! Now, please, go!”

Jim detected their hesitation and he cringed, expecting one final blow in defiance. Julie stood over him protectively. Her right hand had gone into her right coat pocket, was probably caressing her own weapon, priming herself to bring it out if she had to.

“What about the rest of it?” Another man asked.

“No,” Julie said.

“No?”

“Are you deaf?”

Another moment of hesitation. Jim’s gut churned. What other part of the plan were they discussing? The murder of his family?

Ricardo tried another vain attempt at talking to Julie. “Ms. Montenelli, please...we mean you no disrespect. But...we’re only looking out for you. We have our orders too—”

“I understand, and I thank you,” Julie said, her voice not dropping its stern register. “But trust me when I say I have everything under control, including what the Grand Chingon commanded of you. We just have a change in plans, that’s all.”

“But—” Ricardo sputtered.

“No buts, Ricardo! Just leave! Go back to the house and wait for me. Do not, I repeat, do not continue with the rest of it. Do I make myself clear?”

The Grand Chingon? Did I hear that right? I read about him, the Children of the Night, oh shit—

Julie stood slightly to Jim’s right, watching as her bodyguards got into the car they’d driven Jim in. Julie called out to them one more time. “When you get to the house I want the rest of the material you collected for this job. Gather it all and have it on the dining room table when I arrive. And I want to speak to you, Ricardo. Alone.”

“Yes, Ms. Montenelli.” Ricardo sounded terrified.

The sound of the car doors closing and the engine starting crumbled through Jim’s fear and he heaved a sigh of relief when the car backed out of the loading bay of the warehouse. Julie watched the car back up and pull out of the industrial park. When the taillights receded she turned to Jim and knelt behind him, untying his hands. “Remember one thing, Mr. Cornell. You still aren’t off the hook. We still need to make this problem you caused with the Pasadena City Police go away, but I’m confident Jack has already taken care of it. I’m also still angry with you. I’ll get over it, but just so you know...” Jim felt a sharp pain as the duct tape was yanked off his wrists. He winced slightly as the hairs were torn and he brought his arms around, rubbing them. Julie stepped in front of him. “If Jack is successful in convincing Detective Pearce you’re just an overworked, overstressed man with a very sick daughter, and that the only reason you pressed false charges of extortion against me was for her welfare, then we’re in the free and clear.”

“But I’ll be arrested!” Jim said, the notion crossing his mind quickly. The threat of being arrested didn’t bother him. He was more concerned with being a free man and staying alive until the following Monday when this job with Julie was over so he could turn the money over to Nancy for Sarah’s treatment. He could go to jail then if he had to. Nancy could file for divorce if she wanted to. He didn’t care. As long as Sarah was taken care of.

“Jack will do what he can to avoid having that happen,” Julie said. “He’ll tell them that I’ve learned of your situation, that I don’t wish for you to be arrested. If Detective Pearce is overzealous and charges are filed, call me or Jack.” She quickly produced a business card from her coat pocket and handed it to him. Jim took it and pocketed it as he rose on wobbly legs, feeling slightly dizzy. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” Despite all that had happened, Jim felt calm.

“If Detective Pearce calls you again, avoid him,” Julie continued. “I’m sure that after Jack has had his meetings with the Pasadena City Police it won’t come to that. One of the things he’s going to tell them is that due to the stress, you are under the care of a psychologist and are under great mental strain.”

Jim nodded. He didn’t care if this was a false statement. As long as it kept him out of jail, he would agree that he was Osama Bin Ladin if that’s what it took.

“How do you feel?” Julie asked.

“Okay, but I’m going to be in pain tomorrow.”

Julie inspected his face. “You’re going to have a bruise along the side of your head where I hit you.”

Jim gingerly touched the side of his face where she’d slapped him openhanded. “Like you said...I got between two drunks at the Polo Club. Hazards of the trade.”

Julie didn’t apologize for hitting him. “How about your ribs...your abdomen?”

Jim lightly touched his ribcage and winced. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said, poking and prodding his torso. He felt a roll of nausea as his fingers explored his stomach. “My stomach muscles are tight.”

“You’ll want to monitor your urine and bowel movements for the next day or so. First sign of bleeding or extreme pain, call me. I can make arrangements for you to see a physician. What about your back?”

“It hurts.”

Julie ran her hands along his back and sides quickly. “I think you’ll be fine. Come. I’ll drive you back to the club.”

They were silent on the drive over. Jim sat on the far side of his seat, looking out the window at the passing buildings. He saw that he’d been driven to an industrial park in Monrovia. Julie found the 210 freeway and they were heading toward familiar territory in no time.

Jim felt awkward. He wanted to talk, wanted to break the uneasy silence between he and Julie, but he didn’t know what to say. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind—fear, anger at himself for falling back on the old standbys society taught him, hoping Nancy wouldn’t question him too much. Most of all, he just wanted this to be over with.

When they arrived at the Polo Club, Julie pulled into the parking lot beside Jim’s lone, battered Datsun. She reached into her coat and pulled the envelope she’d mentioned earlier and handed it to him. “Just to demonstrate I not only keep my promises, but that I’m for real and so is the deal.”

Jim took the envelope and tried to meet her gaze. “Thanks. And...I’m sorry for what happened today.”

Julie regarded him silently for a moment. No, I’m sorry too, or that’s okay. Her gaze still held a hint of the smoldering anger he’d seen earlier but its flames had been dampened somewhat. “I’ll let you know where we stand regarding Detective Pearce and what Jack is able to accomplish.”

“Okay.” Jim opened the passenger door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stepped out of the car and was just about to close the door when Julie called out to him. “I hope we don’t have to go through this again, Jim. If you pull another stunt, I’ll go to a higher power. Do you understand?”

Jim nodded. A power higher than her. The Grand Chingon? The leader of the Children of the Night? “Yes,” he said. “I do. And it won’t happen again. I swear to God.”

“Good.” Julie nodded at him and Jim shut the door to her car. She pulled away, leaving him standing alone in the parking lot.

Jim stood by his car for a moment, half expecting to be conked on the head again and dragged away by Ricardo and the rest of Julie’s goons. He looked around the parking lot, rubbed his bruised face, disengaged the alarm on the Datsun and got in the car.

He started the car, and as he waited for it to warm up, he took a peak inside the envelope. There were a bundle of hundred dollar bills inside. It was hard to tell how much money she’d given him, but as he flipped through them he realized it was more than a thousand bucks. In fact, it appeared to be several thousand dollars. A drop in the bucket to the final payout, but this appeared to be a tidy sum. It would be enough to take care of some of their immediate financial problems.

He slipped the money back in the envelope and stuck it inside the inner pocket of his jacket. When he got home he would find a safe place for it.

He drove home, his mind already formulating what he was going to tell Nancy if she was up waiting for him.

*

Tuesday,4:00 AM.

When he got home he saw that all the lights were off. Unless Nancy was up sitting on the sofa in the darkened living waiting for him, everybody was asleep.

He let himself in quietly, being careful to close the door softly behind him and lock it. He slowly and carefully walked through the living room to the kitchen and turned on the light over the stove. He paused, listening for any sounds in the house.

It was silent.

As far as he could tell, Nancy was in bed fast asleep, as was Sarah.

At least they should be.

He felt a trickle of fear weave through him as he made his way through the house toward the bedrooms, being careful not to make too much noise. An ugly thought was rising to the surface, one that told him Ricardo and his posse had ignored Julie’s orders and come straight to his house after leaving the warehouse. They’d come straight here and grabbed Nancy and Sarah, spiriting them away. They were holed up somewhere, being tortured, being hurt terribly, and they knew Jim would call the police once he realized they were kidnapped because that would justify their actions to Julie. Then she’d be forced to carry out the rest of her plans and have his entire family wiped out and that’s what they really hungered for. It was the reason they were in her employment, to hurt other people. They liked it; it’s what they did. And right now they were somewhere waiting for the phone call that would give them the final word and then–

Jim stepped into the hall and peeked into Sarah’s open bedroom and released the breath he was holding as he saw his daughter’s sleeping form under the blankets, her head resting on the pillow. Jim stepped back and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling the pain from the various blows his body had taken. Thank God Sarah is all right, he thought. Thank God.

He took a quick few steps toward the master bedroom and was relieved when he heard Nancy’s snoring. Satisfied, he stepped back down the hall toward the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light.

A stranger stared out at him from the bathroom mirror. His hair was dirty and mussed. A large purple bruise had sprouted up along his left cheek and that side of his face was puffy. The bruising extended to his temple. He winced as he removed his coat, being careful not to let the envelope containing the cash spill out on the floor. He removed his shirt carefully and hissed in pain as he looked over the bruising along his abdomen. His body bore bruises across chest and back. There was no bruising on his stomach but it felt tender and painful when he pressed his fingers to it. It actually wasn’t as bad as he feared it would look.

He picked up his jacket and pulled out the envelope hidden in the inner pocket. He looked around the bathroom, debating where to stash it temporarily. He looked at the bathroom sink and the cabinets beneath and then, crouching down with a wince, he stashed the envelope in the back of the cabinet, directly behind a box of cleanser where it was dry. He closed the cabinet door and stood up. Tomorrow he would find a more permanent space for it. On second thought, tomorrow he would go to the bank and deposit the money. Depending on the exact dollar amount, he might have to open a second account at another bank if he had more than ten thousand dollars. He didn’t want to answer to the IRS for that much money suddenly appearing in his bank account.

Leaving the bathroom, he turned the light off and stepped carefully into the hall and stood for a moment looking in at his sleeping daughter again. He looked in at his wife; she was in a deep sleep. The sadness overwhelmed him suddenly. His throat burned. He stumbled to the living room, the images of his wife and daughter so peaceful in sleep burned in his mind. He sat down on the sofa in the darkened living room, trying to calm himself down. He could not let anything happen to them.

When he felt better he rose to his feet and quietly went to the bedroom where he skimmed down to his underwear and slid under the thin white sheet beside Nancy. He lay in bed for a while, his thoughts racing over what he’d done and how he was going to save his family, and then before he knew it his fatigue took over and he was asleep.

*

Tuesday, 11:30 PM.

“Jim! What are we going to do about Citibank?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? They’ve just filed suit against us and you’re saying you don’t know?”

Jim sighed. It was eleven-thirty the evening following his abduction. Sarah had been put to bed two hours before and Jim and Nancy had been silently watching TV, not really paying attention to the programming. Their minds were on other things. That morning a county clerk from the Pasadena Courthouse woke him up at six-thirty with a summons to court for a lawsuit being levied against them by Sears. Ten minutes later, a similar summons had arrived from Citibank.

Jim was able to keep the news of the summonses from Nancy for most of the day; she’d been in the shower when the County Clerks arrived bearing the bad news and he’d signed them wordlessly. He wanted to tell her it was taken care of. Shortly after nine a.m., well after Nancy left for work that morning, he and Sarah went to the bank. Jim had counted the money in the envelope while Sarah was in the bathroom and saw that it was, indeed, ten thousand dollars. Nancy had asked him what happened to his face that morning and the lie slipped out easily. “A couple of drunks got into it near my station and I got caught in the middle of it. I’m okay.” Nancy had been concerned, asked if he’d seen a doctor and he’d brushed it aside. “I’m fine, really.” She’d let the matter drop and left for work and that’s when Jim sprang into action.

Once at the bank he’d quickly deposited five thousand dollars into his personal checking account (he and Nancy always maintained the same checking accounts they’d held from before their marriage), then went to another bank—First Union on Lake Street—where Sarah played with a teddy bear while Jim filled out the appropriate paperwork to open a safe deposit box. He deposited the remaining five thousand dollars inside an envelope, placed it into the box. Then they went home.

While Sarah ate lunch—tuna salad sandwich and carrots with ranch dressing—Jim called Sears and Citibank and tried to convince them to accept payments of two thousand dollars to dismiss the lawsuits. He was met by refusal. In fact, both of them demanded that the only way to avoid going to court was to immediately remit the full balance of their accounts, which was $14,874 for Citibank and $5,687 for Sears. No amount of pleading with them to accept $2,000 each would placate them. Not even $2,000 with the swift promise that the remainder would be paid off in full within a week. No, they wanted the full amounts now. Jim lost his temper, told the representatives from both companies to fuck themselves, and hung up on them.

But even that wasn’t the worst of it...

That morning, Sarah had been complaining of stomach pains. This happened occasionally due to the medication she was taking. Today, however, she seemed more cranky than usual. Her skin was pale, her face looked more fatigued than normal. Then, right before lunch, she’d thrown up unexpectedly and then cried that the pain in her belly was really bad!

The pain had been so bad, he wound up taking Sarah to the closest emergency room. He’d called Nancy on the way, trying to stay calm on the drive over. Nancy had met him at the hospital, and after filling out reams of paperwork and waiting two hours in the waiting room, they’d finally seen an ER physician who, upon learning of Sarah’s medical history, immediately ordered a CT scan.

It wasn’t until their ordeal was drawing to a close that he realized he’d left both court summonses on the kitchen table where Nancy would see them. Not wanting to have her come across them when she got home without some sort of explanation, he mentioned them to her when they were getting Sarah’s prescription filled. “And you didn’t tell me?” She’d said, surprised and angry.

“I didn’t want to upset you before you left for work,” Jim said, the excuse sounding lame.

“So it’s okay to upset me now?”

“I didn’t want you to walk in and—”

“I can’t believe you would—”

“Listen, I’ll take care of it,” Jim said quickly. “I have a job coming up this weekend. The money I earn from it will be used to settle this. Everything will be okay.”

It was the first attempt at telling her about this job. He’d been debating on what to reveal, what kind of excuse to give her for an absence this weekend, and he’d been working something up in his mind off and on all day. The mention of more work didn’t register with her. “Forget it. We’ll talk about it later.”

He wound up arriving late for work, catering to Sarah’s condition, which, in his mind, had turned for the worse. The ER doctor who’d treated Sarah told them he would call tomorrow morning with the results of the CT scan. The vibe Jim had picked up from him was evident: the sudden pain in her abdomen, the vomiting, the pale skin, all pointed to one thing: the cancerous tumor in Sarah’s belly that had been shrinking had suddenly started growing again.

Julie Montenelli showed up around five, sat at the bar casually and ordered a martini. When Jim brought it to her she slipped him a ten and said, “Jack says everything is taken care of.”

Jim nodded. “Great.”

Julie offered him a smile and sipped her martini as Jim continued on with work.

When he arrived home shortly before eight-thirty Sarah was still up, watching TV in her pajamas. Nancy shot him a venomous glare as he walked in, which he ignored. His attention was riveted on Sarah, who definitely looked worse than she did yesterday. Jim managed to give Sarah a smile as he entered the house and he headed for the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. Nancy pounced on him the minute he entered the kitchen.

Their argument scared Sarah, who started crying and ran into her bedroom. Jim stopped arguing with Nancy, who didn’t want to let the matter rest. Jim ignored her as he went into their daughter’s room and attempted to soothe her. Nancy said, “Fine, keep ignoring me, you fucking bastard!”

She went into the bathroom where he could hear her begin to lose control. He held Sarah, who cried for a while. When he was sure his daughter was calmed down, he kissed her and went back into the living room where he sat on the LA-ZY Boy. A moment later he heard the shower running. Jim settled back in the chair, wishing for a drink. When the stress became unbearable, Nancy took showers and volunteered for more overtime at the restaurant; with Jim, he wished for a drink and he volunteered overtime at the Polo Club.

After awhile Sarah came out of her bedroom. She played quietly on the floor. Despite her pale appearance, despite the fact that she looked sicker, she still wanted to play. Nancy came out of the shower. They took Sarah to bed, tucked her in, and she fell asleep. Jim took a shower, put on pajamas and entered the living room and sat on the sofa beside Nancy, who was silently watching TV.

Until eleven-thirty that night.

Now as Nancy’s words hung in the air between them like a heavy accusation, Jim struggled to come up with a solution that would satisfy her. Something, anything that would shut her up. Because he already knew what he was going to do to get them out of this mess but he couldn’t very well tell Nancy. Well, Nancy, to tell you the truth, I do have a way out of this. A very rich woman who is one of the patrons at the Polo Club gave me a job offer. It turns out she’s a devil worshipper, belongs to this big, powerful, secret Satanic organization that has ties with underground crime figures, serial killers, and other shady characters. She wants me to lead an innocent man to his murder as part of a black magic ritual. I don’t believe in the validity of their religious beliefs myself, but she’s serious about it and she’s serious about my participation. Claims it’s all part of the ritual. Anyway, get this...if I refuse to do it she claims to have power of the outcome of Sarah’s cancer, almost as if she could make it all go away if I do what she wants. Anyway, long story short, if I go through with it I’ll get three million bucks in cash. More than enough to get us out of this shithole we’re in and hire the best doctors to care for Sarah. If I don’t go through with it, Sarah gets sicker and we lose her. It's really a pretty easy gig if you think about it. I just have to lead this poor sucker somewhere and let the rest of the cult members take over. That’s it; I don’t even have to lay a hand on the guy. So what do you think? Pretty simple, right? I think it’s a no brainer. Sarah’s already taken a turn for the worse today, and I have to wonder if this is their doing. Sarah was doing well, the way this cancer came back seems like, oh, I don’t know...unholy intervention. I know I haven’t given much credence to God lately, that I’ve been in this struggle with my faith ever since all this bad shit started happening to us, but this lady...the powers she has...it’s made me a believer again. It’s taken the power of the devil, the power of black magic that has made our child sicker, to make me a believer again. How fucked up is that?

No. To do that wouldn’t work. It would make matters worse.

Instead, he just let the words tumble out of his mouth, anything to put her at temporary ease. “Listen, Nancy, we can fight this thing. We can—”

“How?” She was raising her voice. “How are we going to fight this? We haven’t received any kind of assistance or anything. They don’t care that Sarah’s got a medical condition! They don’t care that we’ve been throwing everything we make into her healthcare. They could not care less! They want their money, and that’s why they’re suing us for it!”

“We can see a lawyer—”

“Where are we going to get the money to see a lawyer?”

“Well,” He ran a hand through his hair. He’d made the suggestion automatically, thanks to the cash he’d just received from Julie. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell her about that yet. He fumbled for an answer. “There are programs out there to help people like us. Consumer Credit counseling, people like that—”

“Organizations like that don’t help you in legal matters, Jim.”

“Well, then we can file for bankruptcy.”

“Oh, sure, that sounds great!” She threw up her hands and rose from the couch. “And lose the house while we’re at it and destroy everything we’ve worked for. What a brilliant idea!”

Jim took a deep breath. She was being a smart ass now, not even bothering to consider his suggestions. To bring this up would be to initiate a fight, something he couldn’t have right now. He tried to steer around the subject. “Well, we have thirty days or so before we’re due in court. We can at least talk to a lawyer, one that specializes in cases like this.”

Nancy turned on him, face flushed. “And where are we going to get the money to talk to one?”

“Some of them have free consultations,” Jim said. “One might be able to help us pro bono. I’ll find one tomorrow and make an appointment.”

Nancy threw her hands up in frustration. “Excuses, excuses. And meanwhile you work that shitty bartending job and – “

“You think I like slaving all night for a bunch of rich assholes?” Jim’s voice rose, his rising anger unexpected.

“You tell me! You haven’t done shit in trying to get anything that pays better.”

“Like hell, I haven’t! If all you care about is getting enough money to take care of our problems, I can have that taken care of. I just don’t want you asking me where I got it from.”

“I don’t give a fuck where you get the money. I don’t care what you have to do to get us out of this. Just do it!”

“Fine! I will.” Damn, but she was pushing his buttons.

As suddenly as Nancy’s fury overtook her, she started crying again. It broke Jim’s heart to see her like that; she looked so broken, so defeated. Far from the woman he’d met twelve years ago and fallen in love with. Now that woman was gone, leaving only a shell of the woman that stood in front of him crumbling before his eyes. Nancy covered her face in her hands and sobbed loudly, a soul-shattering cry that signified the death of her spirit.

“Nancy...” Jim dry swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. He tried to move toward her, to take her in his arms. “Nancy...”

“No!” She cried, pulling away from him. “Just...get away from me, Jim. Just leave me alone!”

“But Nancy...” Jim could feel the heat of his own tears building up. His body felt hot and flush. “...everything’s going to be okay...”

“No it’s not!” Nancy cried. She uncovered her face and now he saw just how bad it was; her face was screwed up in the same kind of look Sarah got when she cried. For a second Jim was struck by how eerie it was that Sarah and Nancy resembled each other so closely when they were at their lowest emotionally. “It’s not going to be okay! Everything’s over! It’s finished! And I’m...tired of it! I’m so sick and tired of it and of you telling me that everything’s going to be fine and then not doing squat to do anything about it!”

“Nancy...” Jim faltered, the anger he’d felt earlier now gone completely.

“Just stay away from me, okay?” Nancy said, her voice more in control now. Through the tears in her eyes, Jim could see the blaze of anger. “Just stay away from me, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me. Just...leave me alone.”

The sound of another cry broke Jim’s train of thought. They turned toward the sound and saw Sarah standing at the threshold to the hallway. She was crying openly, standing so frail in her pjs, one hand clutching her favorite stuffed animal to her chest. In the dim light she looked sicker than she ever did, her frail hair like dried grass floating around her bald skull, pipe stream arms and legs poking out of the pjs. She was sobbing hoarsely, her chest rising and falling, looking out at them as she cried. “Mommy why are you crying! Daddy why are you and Mommy fighting? Why?”

Nancy went to her immediately and scooped her up in her arms, soothing her. Jim took a step toward Sarah and Nancy, the venom in his wife’s voice still ringing in his head, her screams to just leave her alone still reverberating through his mind. But he went past that and entered into the fragile circle that was fragmenting around them even as he joined Nancy in comforting Sarah. He put his arms around Nancy, enfolding them in his embrace. She stiffened at first, but relented reluctantly. And as they stood there in that rapidly disintegrating circle of the family unit Jim realized that for the sake of their sanity, for their lives, he had to go through with Julie Montenelli’s offer.

*

Wednesday, 8:04 PM.

The next time Jim spoke to Nancy, really spoke to her, was the following evening, Wednesday.

After coming off the worst fight of their marriage, they’d arrived home late that evening. Nancy had swung by the babysitter’s to pick up Sarah. Per the agreement they’d made earlier that afternoon, neither of them mentioned anything to Sarah when they received the test results. Jim had taken the initial call at home. He’d quickly composed himself, then called Nancy at work and told her. “What did they say we should do?” she’d asked through tears.

Frankly, there wasn’t much they could do. Even the oncologist he’d spoken to sounded stunned by the sudden, unexpected change. This isn’t supposed to happen, the oncologist had said on the phone. Reliving that conversation now, Jim could only think that a future article in the New England Journal of Medicine would probably be written on his daughter’s case. What the author of the article and its readers wouldn’t know was that the reasons behind such a drastic case was not the cause of some biological or medical mystery; it was the result of supernatural powers.

A social worker had spoken to Jim after he’d talked to the oncologist at the hospital, and presented them with some options. There were services available for children with debilitating illnesses, programs designed to help them. Jim had quickly agreed to apply for the aid. What else could they do? The test results had been devastating.

But there was still hope...with the right care, with the appropriate funds, they could afford the best care that would dramatically increase Sarah’s chances for survival. But without it...

They’d scheduled an appointment with a doctor who practiced with one of the charity organizations their social worker had put them in touch with. He and Nancy had had to fax a bunch of documents outlining their financial destitution in order to qualify for the program.

All they had to do now was wait.

They arrived home within minutes of each other, and as Nancy was getting Sarah ready for bed, Jim told her rather nonchalantly that he’d landed a weekend job. “It pays very good money,” he said, as she busied herself in the bathroom with Sarah. “So good that I think it can help us.”

Nancy nodded, listening to him but not answering. Since last night their relationship had been strained even further to say the least. After calming Sarah down and putting her back to bed, they’d retreated to the kitchen. There, in hushed whispers that occasionally threatened to raise back to sleep-piercing decibel levels, they had talked, argued, and stalked around the subject of their daughter’s declining health and their own impending financial and marital death. Jim told her he was paying a visit to a lawyer in the morning and that if worse came to worse he’d ask his parents for a loan to help at least pay off the past due amounts, plus finance charges on their Sears and Citibank accounts. “At least it will satisfy them,” he reasoned. In addition to the Sears and Citibank accounts, their mortgage was seriously overdue, with the bank making daily threats to take the house. So far that hadn’t happened yet, but with the way things were going they couldn’t wait around for it to materialize.

The strain of their problems had grown too much for them, especially Nancy. She threw in the towel early on in the argument after she casually asked him what kind of job he had this weekend and he fumbled for an answer. “This isn’t some bullshit pyramid scheme, is it?” she’d asked.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he’d said, clearly nervous. “It’s just...”

“Just what? You can tell me, Jim. We’ve been through hell and back together, and the least you can do is be honest with me. What kind of fucking job do you have this weekend, and how much money are you going to be making?”

Jim had clammed up, frozen with fear. He was afraid to tell her. She watched him for a moment, searching his face. “We used to stick up for each other, you know. Remember that saying we had? Us against the world? Whatever happened to that?”

And Jim’s fear had taken over, urging him not to tell her anything for her own safety. Nancy never took her eyes off his face as he’d shuffled awkwardly and came up with a lame excuse that she cut off mid-way through. “Whatever,” she said, holding her hand up. “Whatever the hell you think you can do to get us out of this, just do it. Do whatever it takes. I don’t care what it is. I can’t take this anymore.”

She stormed away while Jim stood at the kitchen counter for a while, staring out the window into the backyard.

Do whatever it takes. I don’t care what it is. I can’t take this anymore.

He’d gone to sleep an hour later, on the couch, when the silence of the house settled around him.

He did not make an appointment with a lawyer as he promised. He took Sarah to her babysitter’s early that afternoon around two-thirty, telling her he was going in to work early because he was swinging by to see a lawyer on his way to work. The little girl listened, playing with her stuffed animal with very little reaction. She looked frailer than ever now. She seemed to pick up on the stress. At one point on the drive to the sitter’s she’d asked him point blank: “Am I going to die, daddy?”

“No, honey, you’re not going to die,” Jim had told her, fighting to keep his emotion down. “You...your disease just took an unexpected turn and we have to have it taken care of, okay? We’re going to set up a doctor appointment for you today. You’re going to be just fine.”

Sarah didn’t say anything else as he drove them to the babysitter’s. It was almost as if she sensed that his answer was just something to placate her. To make her feel better.

He dropped Sarah off and drove to work. On the way, Julie called him on his cell phone. “Everything’s set for Saturday. At three o’clock on Saturday, you will get a call with further instructions. Follow them to their exact detail.”

“I will,” He said, and hung up. Next, he’d called Stephen from his cell phone on the drive, and after the initial greetings (Hey! Good to hear from you! How are you doing? How’s the job hunt going?), Jim casually asked if Stephen was busy Saturday night. When Stephen indicated he had nothing special planned, Jim asked if he wanted to do dinner. When Stephen expressed interest, Jim sealed the deal by telling Stephen he knew of a great steakhouse that had just opened up—The Roadhouse in Pasadena—and that he would pick him up at seven. That seemed to convince Stephen.

Now as he and Nancy talked, he felt a tingling in his nerves. “The job I told you about last night? It’s still on. I should be back sometime Sunday,” he said.

Nancy nodded as she stepped into the bathroom. She looked in the mirror as he stood in the hallway. He could see her looking at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked defeated, wrung-out, devastated.

“It’ll be a lot of money,” he said again.

Nancy said nothing as she leaned against the sink, her gaze still directed at her reflection. He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him.

Jim took a step forward. “Nancy...did you hear me?”

Nancy looked at him from the mirror. “I heard you.”

Jim paused, unsure of what to think. She never even questioned what he’d be doing, or how much money was at stake. “You’re okay with my being away for the weekend?”

“No, I’m not okay with you being away for the weekend,” she said. “I’d rather you not be gone all weekend. I don’t know why you feel you need to withhold information about this alleged job you’ve got, but –”

“Nancy—” Jim began.

“—but at this point, I don’t care anymore,” she said. “Whatever you have to do...just do it. Especially if the money will help us.”

With that in mind, he was able to move forward with his plans.

Yet despite that, Stephen Golding remained at the back of his mind.

Could he really go through with it?

You can do the right thing, pick up your cell phone and call that detective. Or better yet, drop him a note at the station. Julie’s given you a time and date for the ritual. When you find out where you’re supposed to take Stephen, tell them, and they’ll be there to make the bust.

As solid a plan that sounded good, but it wouldn’t work. Somehow, Julie would know and would make good on her threat from last week.

Nancy turned on the faucet and began splashing water on her face. The subject of this weekend was closed.

*

Friday, 10:30 PM

Jim didn’t know how Detective Pearce got his cell phone number, but obtain it he did. When the detective called Jim shortly after ten-thirty PM on Friday evening, Jim didn’t recognize the voice. “Mr. Cornell?”

“Yes?” Jim felt instantly suspicious.

“It’s Detective Pearce.”

Jim felt his stomach clench. He was heading north on Lake Street. Traffic was light, but he pulled to the curb to take the call. He started trembling as he put the vehicle in park. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk now—”

“Listen to me. This is very important.”

“—got to go.” Jim started to hang up the phone.

“Your story checked out!”

Jim started, the fear settling in the pit of his stomach. He brought the phone up to his ear. “What did you say?” He glanced around at his surroundings.

“You were right about everything,” Detective Pearce said. “I mentioned your story by one of our veteran detectives. I admit, I mentioned it in passing. Told him I’d gotten a crank complaint about some occult bullshit. If he hadn’t pressed me for more details I probably wouldn’t have told him the specifics. Even then, when I told him I made it clear that your complaint wasn’t valid, that you were a whacko. But when I mentioned the name of the cult, he looked surprised. He started taking me seriously and I told him everything else I knew.”

Jim listened with bated breath, not believing what he was hearing.

“He told me he investigated the Children of the Night back in the early seventies,” Detective Pearce continued. “Several members were suspected in ritual murders he could never pin to them. He went into records and brought me a couple of files, all from the seventies and eighties. I went through them all. The Children of the Night isn’t mentioned by name in any of the files, but the detectives who investigated these crimes all made passing reference to a satanic cult. Some of the crimes were later solved.”

“So the people who were convicted were cult members?” Jim asked.

“No. The cult references always came up in the preliminary investigation. The perpetrators were always connected to the victim in some way, and they were attributed to the usual. Crimes of passion, arguments over money, that sort of thing.”

Jim said nothing, turning all this over in his mind.

“I have to admit, I still found the connections dubious at best. But my colleague, Martin...I’d really spiked his interest in this. He’s been with the force for forty years. Some of those old cases were his. He developed an interest in the occult overtones of those cases and did some research on his own time, which he was only too eager to share with me. There was a case back in the 1920’s involving a serial killer, Archibald Lasher, which is a matter of public record. Archibald killed a dozen people in the late twenties. While this information never made it into his trial, he was heavily into the occult. Claimed he got into it after attending a lecture by Aleister Crowley. Martin talked to an investigative journalist in the late seventies, a guy named Arthur Meadows, who wrote a book—”

“I’m familiar with it,” Jim said quickly.

“Then you know what Arthur said about the cult being formed in the early 1900’s, then?” Detective Pearce asked. “And how they seemed to die off in the forties?”

“Yeah,” Jim said.

“My friend Martin was one of Arthur’s unnamed sources for his book,” Detective Pearce said. “Martin’s been quietly researching the cult for years, always at a distance. Chasing down story leads from magazine articles on the occult, entries in true crime books, stuff on the internet.”

“I did a little of that myself,” Jim admitted.

“Anyway, to make a long story short,” Detective Pearce continued. “Martin has a good friend at the FBI. We went to him with our findings and he agreed to help. He can pull the right strings to get you into a witness protection program.”

Jim felt tense. “If they can tap my LAN line, you can bet they have a way of intercepting a cellular connection. I’m hanging up on you.”

“Witness protection for you and your family, starting immediately!”

That stopped him. Jim brought the phone back to his ear. “You calling me with this offer is putting my daughter’s life in danger,” Jim began. “They gave me explicit instructions. If the police are involved in any way, my daughter will die, and there’s no telling what will happen to my wife and I. My daughter’s already taken an unexpected turn for the worse. Do you understand?”

Detective Pearce sighed. “Just hear me out, will you?”

Jim hesitated. Traffic was light on Lake Avenue. A pedestrian was on the other side of the street, heading in Jim’s direction. “Hold on,” he said. “I’m going to drive to a more secure location.”

Jim set the phone down on the passenger seat, checked for traffic, and swung back onto Lake Avenue. He made a right on Del Mar Avenue and cruised slowly, looking for a secluded side street. He finally found one behind Pasadena City College. A quiet neighborhood of bungalows and apartment buildings. He pulled to the curb and killed the engine. The street was deserted. “Okay,” he said, bringing the phone to his ear again. “Talk to me.”

“You said the cult wants you to lead a victim to the place where they’re going to sacrifice him,” Detective Pearce began. “You should know that by admitting this to me, if you go through with it you can be charged with murder. Leading a person to their death can bring first degree murder charges, especially in this case.”

“Duly noted,” Jim said. “But who said anything about me going through it?”

“I’m just warning you of the— ”

“I have no intention of going through with it, and I’m not going to help you catch these people. Don’t you understand? If I lead them to you, they’ll make things worse for my daughter and my family.”

“We have every reason to believe that this thing is big!” Detective Pearce’s voice took on a slight edge of hysteria. “It’s possible they’re involved in murders that go back thirty years, as well as kidnappings, drug and human trafficking, all kinds of shit all over the country. Our FBI contact looked into some of their old files on their end and he’s the one that extended the offer of witness protection.”

“Witness protection,” Jim mused. “What does that involve?”

Detective Pearce gave him a brief rundown. New identities in the form of name, social security number, past history. They would be set up in a new home, in a new location, under the new names. They would be given enough money to live on until they were able to find employment under their new identities.

“What about my daughter’s cancer?” Jim asked. “She needs treatment now! She’s...” His voice caught slightly as an image of Sarah’s face swam to the surface. “...she’s taken a turn for the worse and...” Thinking about the test results that had come back, reliving the memory of how he’d felt when he’d listened to the diagnosis, how Nancy reacted when he’d told her—

The pause on Detective Pearce’s end of the line spoke volumes. It told Jim all he needed to know about what the Feds could do as far as helping them get expert medical treatment for his daughter.

Nancy’s admonition from a few nights ago: I don’t care what you have to do to get us out of this. Just do it.

“You know, why don’t we forget about that initial phone call I made to you, Detective Pearce,” Jim said. “I’ve been under a lot of stress due to my family health situation and my finances, I just...snapped.”

Detective Pearce’s voice was low. “That woman’s lawyer got involved. A guy named Jack Bierce. They got in touch with my superior and he arranged to not have you arrested for filing a false police report. When I later ran a query on your original criminal complaint, I couldn’t find it. The entire file had been wiped from the system!”

“I don’t want to be involved,” Jim said.

Pearce continued as if he didn’t even hear Jim. His voice had taken on a slightly panicked tinge. “I tried running a check on Jack Bierce, to see what firm he worked for, and couldn’t find one. I asked my superior about this and I was told to drop it. I came home from work – I’m calling you from home, on a secure LAN line – and did some research on Jack Bierce utilizing my sources and as far as I can tell, the guy doesn’t exist. My superior, the desk clerks, they all claim to have spoken to him, even met with him in person when he dropped in to persuade my boss to not pursue charges with you...but there’s no record of a Jack Bierce in the California Bar or any other legal association.”

“I said, I don’t want to be involved!”

“I understand your fear, Mr. Cornell. Believe me, I do. But with your cooperation, we could move on this and get protection for your family.”

“I don’t think so—”

“If you don’t help, you can be arrested for obstruction of justice and aiding and abetting.”

If his situation wasn’t already perilous, the thought of being arrested would have been enough for him to cave in. Detective Pearce’s threat of arrest paled by comparison. “How is that possible? From what you’re telling me, you’ve been operating on a hunch. There’s no record of my original complaint. It also sounds like your FBI contact is investigating on an unofficial basis, too.”

Detective Pearce sounded flustered. “Yeah, but with your cooperation we can make it official!”

Jim felt his resolve crumbling as his fear took over. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t talk to you now.”

“Jim, we can help!”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said. He pulled the phone away from him, preparing to hang up.

“You can call me back at this number. It’s a secure line.”

Jim snapped the phone shut, hanging up on Detective Pearce. He sat in his car for a moment, staring ahead at the dark street in front of him and waited for his heart rate to subside.

He looked in the rear and side view mirrors, trying to see if anybody was walking the deserted street. Nobody was out.

When he felt better, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He watched his rearview mirror on the drive home. Nobody followed him.

Detective Pearce’s phone call kept him up all night as he pondered what to do about his offer.

The following day, he made his decision.

And made a phone call.

*

Saturday, 7:00 PM.

Under normal circumstances, the evening couldn’t have gone better.

The day had started on pins and needles. He’d woken up with Nancy’s words from a few nights ago in his ears. We used to stick up for each other. It was us against the world. Remember? Realizing the mistake he’d made, he’d made it a priority to have a talk with Nancy before she and Sarah left for the weekend—they were going to visit her parents, who lived in Newport Beach. They would return Sunday afternoon. He quickly told her a summation of the solution he had to help them and she listened silently. He wasn’t sure if she believed everything he told her in its entirety, but he had a pretty good feeling that she believed some of it.

Stephen Golding was a chatterbox. He talked endlessly about everything that had occurred in his life since Jim Cornell’s layoff. What was going on at the company since Jim’s departure, the work he’d done on his house, the recent activities he’d been involved in with his church group, and his recent hobby of collecting comic books. “Comic books?” Jim asked, surprised.

“Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing,” Stephen said. They’d just finished their meals and were waiting for the check. They were at the steakhouse and Jim had managed to stay calm so far. The conversations he’d had with Detective Pearce last night and this morning were still on the forefront of his mind. “I had a great collection when I was a kid. I was into Spiderman, X-Men, The Thing, Howard the Duck, and The Avengers. I was big into collecting and kind of lost interest when I went to college. But lately I got the bug again. I was at my parents, just visiting, and my father mentioned the collection. He was telling me I could probably get some good money for it, and I went to the spare room where I’d stored them in the closet and basically carted five boxes of comics home. I just went through them and relived my childhood and teenaged years. Fell in love with them all over again.” He’d grinned. Through the middle-aged lines on Stephen’s face, the thinning hair, the twinkle in his hazel eyes behind the glasses he wore, Jim could still see the kid in there. “I guess that’s what helped ignite the old fire.”

The rest of the dinner went amazingly well.

But as it drew to a close, Jim began to get nervous for what was to follow.

*

Saturday, 9:30 PM.

As Jim Cornell led Stephen Golding through the heavily wooded area of the Lower Devil’s Canyon, which was high in the hills of the San Gabriel Valley, that conversation ran through his mind again, along with the separate conversations he’d had with Detective Pearce and Julie Montenelli this morning. And thinking about those conversations brought the turmoil back again.

Please God, I hope I’m doing the right thing, Jim thought. I just want to do the right thing.

Stephen didn’t even raise a fuss when Jim suggested he drive them up into the San Gabriel Mountains so he could show off the land he’d inherited. “Talk about weird things,” he’d said in the car after he’d broached the subject. “My grandfather left me with this land up in the hills. I want to build a house on it, but I’m not sure if it's even feasible. And I figure with, you know, since you built that place in Big Bear, you could take a look at the land and give me some pointers.”

“I’d be glad to!” Stephen exclaimed. Stephen had inherited land in Big Bear years earlier and had a cabin built on it. “And I’d love to see the land. Lead the way!”

So Jim had driven them up the winding hills of the San Gabriel Mountains, and when he reached the turnoff Julie had mentioned in her instructions to him this morning, he pulled over and shut off the engine. “Here we are.” He had a small flashlight, which he turned on and used to help light their way down the path that led into the arroyo Jim had talked up during their drive. “It’s a narrow canyon, it’s very beautiful and people have built similar homes along its ridges. Nearest neighbor would be about a mile downhill and—”

There was no discernable path to walk on. Jim led the way, his feelings conflicted as he led Stephen calmly over the chaparral. The only way he could keep some kind of semblance of normalcy was to keep the conversation going. Stephen listened, making comments as Jim made note of the terrain. “I know it’s remote up here, but that’s part of the appeal,” he said. “There’s a road about two miles east that will serve as the official road the cabin will be built from. The road I took you down is the back way. It’s easier to gain access to the area I plan to build on.”

Stephen was looking at the hills and the sky, as if searching for something. “I know they have power lines that run to the top of the mountain, but I don’t see any in this section.”

“I’m looking into what it will take to get power on up here,” Jim said.

This morning’s arrangements with Julie had been nerve-wracking. When he called her he came right out and told her about Detective Pearce’s phone call from last night. He didn’t want her to think he was going behind her back. She’d thanked him, and assured him his honesty was being taken into consideration. Then she’d given him instructions for tonight. “This is what you will tell Stephen,” she’d said, relating the story he’d just told his old friend earlier at dinner and on the walk up the hill. “I will call you with directions on your way to Stephen’s home. Don’t divert from them.” She then gave him another set of instructions. Jim assured her he wouldn’t divert from the directions to the location, and that her instructions would be carried out. He’d hung up, then immediately called Detective Pearce and told him he was ready to cooperate.

“I’ve always wanted to have a place in the middle of nowhere,” Stephen said. “But this is kinda crazy. I mean, you’d be way out in the middle of rattlesnake country. And what about the schools? How would your daughter get to school?”

“School bus,” Jim said, feeling a nervous pit of fear settle into his belly. His limbs were shaking the deeper they walked into the canyon. Jim hoped it was too dark for Stephen to see his nervousness.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s a handful of families that live in these hills. The school district has a bus system that provides transportation for the kids that live up here.”

Nancy’s voice continued to echo in his mind. I don’t care what you have to do to get us out of this. Just do it.

Detective Pearce, from last night. If you don’t help, you can be arrested for obstruction of justice and aiding and abetting

Julie Montenelli’s words to him two weeks ago. We can control the outcome of your daughter’s illness. She will be dead in less than twelve months. She can go much quicker if you fail to cooperate.

I don’t care what you have to do—

—if you don’t help, you can be arrested—

—just do it—

—will be dead in less than twelve months—

And as the voices chased each other in Jim’s mind, the night seemed darker than ever despite the abundance of stars in the evening sky.

*

Sunday, 5:30 PM

He heard Nancy's car pull up in the driveway the following afternoon, Sunday. He thought about what he’d done today to set their lives right. So far, all was okay. Eventually, though, they might face some repercussions.

But not if he could help it.

When the front door opened, Jim was ready. They spilled in, Nancy shutting the door behind them. “Go on and put your things away,” Nancy told Sarah, “and I'll get supper ready.” He heard the patter of his daughter's feet scamper down the hall to the bedrooms and then Nancy was rounding the corner to the living room, stopping in surprise at Jim standing there. She almost dropped the overnight bags she was carrying. One hand flew to her mouth in surprise. “Jim!”

“Nancy.”

“My God, you scared the living daylights out of me! Why—” The expression on her face changed from surprise to concern. “Jim! What—”

“Daddy!” Sarah’s squeal interrupted Nancy as Sarah leaped into Jim’s arms. “Daddy! Daddy! We're home!”

“Yes, so I see,” Jim said, laughing as he hoisted his daughter up and kissed her. Holding Sarah tugged at his heartstrings as he held her.

Nancy had looked tired when she and Sarah walked in. Jim caught her gaze briefly and nodded. In a jovial tone, he said, “Hey, how ‘bout dinner gang! I’ve got some stir fry all ready.”

“Yeah! I’m hungry!” Sarah ran into the kitchen as Jim followed her. Nancy trailed after him.

He had the table set and he served them up hearty portions of the Oriental Chicken Stir Fry he’d started preparing an hour ago. He’d been quite a chef when he and Nancy were dating, and in the years they were married before Sarah was born he’d put those skills to use in the creation of their meals. As they ate he asked them questions on how their weekend was. Sarah offered most of the answers: she’d had a great time going to the beach and collecting sand crabs and building castles and playing with the Baumgartner twins up the street from her grandparents. Nancy said she had a good time as well; she’d caught up on her sleep and had mostly lain around. Jim smiled and nodded, in command of the situation and the dinner conversation, doing pretty well at putting the weekend behind him. As they ate, he noted that Nancy picked at her food with less enthusiasm than she would normally have. Her eyes were dark, her expression worried.

When Sarah was finished she set her utensils on the table. “I’m done. Can I go play in my room?”

“Of course honey,” Jim said. He rose from the table. “Come on, I'll take your stuff to your room.”

When he returned to the kitchen, Nancy was clearing the table. The tension in the room had gotten thick again. “Everything went well this weekend,” Jim said.

“Did it?” Nancy’s features were still dark, heavy with contemplation, but he could tell that she was nervous now.

“First things first,” Jim began. “Even though everything went well this weekend, we’re going to need to make some changes, like we’d talked about. Get out of California as quickly as possible. Get Sarah the best care. Everything’s set. I made the necessary arrangements with Julie Montenelli and Detective Pearce in two separate phone calls before I started. We’ll be long gone before anybody pays us a visit.”

Nancy could only look at him, a sense of relief in her features that seemed to have turned cold and calculating to Jim in the past twenty-four hours. “Did Stephen...see it coming?”

Jim sighed. “No.

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other. “Then it’s done then.”

“It’s done.”

“Sarah will get better.”

“Of course she will.”

“When should we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, if possible.”

Nancy nodded in agreement. “The police?”

“Taken care of.”

“And Julie?”

“Likewise.”

“Everything else is set then?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

And as they went about the task of collecting the things they would need, doing it in a casual matter to ensure Sarah didn’t get too curious, Jim hoped he’d done the right thing.

###

Also by J. F. Gonzalez

Clickers

(Co-written with Mark Williams)

Click Click Click Click

Phillipsport, Maine is a quaint and peaceful seaside village. But when hundreds of creatures pour out of the ocean and attack, its residents must take up arms to drive the beasts back.

They are the Clickers, giant venomous blood-thirsty crabs from the depths of the sea. The only warning to their rampage of dismemberment and death is the terrible clicking of their claws. But these monsters aren’t merely here to ravage and pillage. They are being driven onto land by fear. Something is hunting the Clickers. Something ancient and without mercy.

Clickers II: The Next Wave

(Co-written with Brian Keene)

The first wave was just the beginning...

The United States is in ruins. It has just suffered one of the worst hurricanes in history, the people are demoralized, and the president is a religious fanatic. Then things get really bad - the Clickers return.

Thousands of the monsters swarm across the entire nation and march inland, slaughtering anyone and anything they come across. But this time the Clickers aren’t blindly rushing onto land - they are being led by an intelligence older than civilization itself. A force that wants to take dry land away from the mammals.

Those left alive soon realize that they must do everything and anything they can to protect humanity no matter the cost.

This isn’t war, this is extermination.

Clickers III: Dagon Rising

(Co-written with Brian Keene)

They thought it was over, but the second wave was only the beginning. In the aftermath of the Clickers and Dark Ones’s siege and a coup against an insane President, America rebuilds. Change has come, and a better future is promised to all. But promises can be broken and there may be no future at all because deep beneath the ocean a new terror awaits. Dagon, god of the Dark Ones, is waking up...and if humanity doesn’t stop him, then mankind will face extinction.

Trapped on a South Pacific Island, the cast of Clickers and Clickers II: The Next Wave join forces with a mysterious group of occult agents to face off against the Clickers, the Dark Ones, Dagon, and an all-new threat - the deadly obsidian Clickers. The stakes have never been higher. Dagon is rising...and humanity will fall.

Survivor

Author’s Preferred Edition

Before Hostel...before Saw...there was Survivor.

It was supposed to be a romantic weekend getaway. Lisa was looking forward to spending time alone with her husband, Brad, and telling him that they are going to have a baby. Instead, it becomes a nightmare when Brad is arrested and Lisa is kidnapped. But the kidnappers aren’t asking for ransom. They want Lisa herself. They’re going to make her a star - in a snuff film.

What they have in mind for Lisa is unspeakable. They plan to torture and murder her as graphically and brutally as possible, and to capture it all on film. If they have their way, Lisa’s death will be truly horrifying...but even more horrifying is what Lisa will do to survive...

It Drinks Blood

New Castle, Pennsylvania, during the tail end of the Great Depression.

Robert Brennan has never completely forgotten those days, even though he has tried to forget them. But when the nursing home he lives in receives a patient he remembers from those dark darks, it takes his mind back to a period marked by terrible, blood-soaked violence...the very kind marked by the twisted perversity of the stories he used to write for the weird-menace pulps...the kind marked by the real-life fiend that stalked the hobo jungles in search of fresh blood!

Primitive

It began as just another day for David Spires and his wife Tracy: coffee, breakfast, and getting the kids ready for school. Then the bottom dropped out of civilization.

The world ends not with a bang or a whimper, but with a dizzying downward spiral. Instead of the rat race of commuters scurrying to beat the clock, humans are now packs of animals reduced to snarling primitives.

David, Tracy and their daughter Emily, along with fellow survivors, leave Los Angeles for the safety of the country where fewer people means fewer primitives. But as they venture farther away from the city, they realize an unnatural force is at work. Civilization didn’t just fall apart...it was overtaken by an ancient evil that was present before the first cave paintings. Human history has no formal record of it, but the dark presence that’s fueled nightmares since time began has crept out of the shadows...and its influence is growing.

The Summoning and Other Eldritch Tales

The Summoning contains seven collected tales of Lovecraftian-inspired nightmares from J. F. Gonzalez. Featured in this collection are two original pieces: "Holes" and "The Summoning" (co-authored with Mike Baker).

This exclusive digital collection of stories includes:

Opening The Way: An Introduction

Tattoos

Going Home

The Revenge of Cthulhu

Holes

The Man Who Had a Death Wish

The Summoning

The Watcher From the Grave

Each story contains special story notes penned by the author!

Back From the Dead

Tim Gaines was the town pariah. Mocked and teased continuously since he was in the sixth grade, he approaches his senior year of high school with a sense of cautious trepidation. Years before, when he was in the sixth grade, a group of boys led by Scott Bradfield - a popular, well-liked kid from well-to-do parents - spread a vicious rumor that he was a devil-worshipper. The rumor stuck, and is believed by most of the students and even a few of the teachers and administrators. It’s a rumor Tim can’t beat, and one he sometimes feels he’s brought on to himself due to his love of horror novels and movies.

Now Tim has become friends with a loose-knit group of kids who have also become social outcasts thanks to other rumors about them by the student elite. With their mutual support, Tim has begun to come out of his shell. He’s going out with them, being invited to parties, and even begins to have a romantic interest in a girl, something he never thought would happen to him in high school.

But all that will change when Scott Bradfield and his friends set their sights on Tim again. Only this time, they need his help. Like most of the student body of Spring Valley High School, they sincerely believe Tim Gaines is a devil-worshipper. And they believe he has a dark power. Now they want to use him and that power for their own sinister plight...

...To bring back the dead homeless man they’d kidnapped and brutally beaten to a pulp in the guesthouse that resides on the Bradfield residence.

They want him brought back not because they're scared of getting caught for his murder, but so they can savagely beat and murder him again...

...and again...

Fetish

Something is in search of human prey in the gang-ridden communities of Los Angeles...

When the member of a notorious street gang is found decapitated and dismembered at the bottom of the LA River, it quickly becomes apparent something is amiss. Detective Daryl Garcia connects it with the murders of six other gang members killed in the same way. It looks like the work of a serial killer, but the gang members don’t think so. They believe the murders are the work of rival gang members.

Someone has a dark desire of the most depraved fetish...

Detective Garcia becomes determined to find the killer at any cost. Together with Rachael Pearce, a journalist he falls in love with, he searches for the killer through the gang underground and the world of prostitution and drugs. And as suspect after suspect is released with no solid evidence to connect them to the crimes, the search for the killer becomes more urgent as the gang-infested areas of the city reach a boiling point to the brink of rioting. In a community of gang members – who are killers themselves – how does Detective Garcia find the most monstrous killer he has ever encountered?

Madness wears many faces...

About J. F. Gonzalez

J. F. Gonzalez is the author of over fifteen novels of horror and dark suspense including Back From the Dead, Primitive, Bully, The Beloved, Survivor, and is co-author of Clickers series (with Mark Williams and Brian Keene respectively). His short fiction is collected in four volumes, of which the latest, The Summoning and Other Eldritch Tales, is available as an exclusive digital title. He also works in other media including film, the technology sector, and other areas of publishing. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania and is currently working on his next novel. For more information, visit him on the web at www.jfgonzalez.com.

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Table of Contents

- Also by J. F. Gonzalez

- About J. F. Gonzalez