Dance For The Devil (32 page)

The girls returned to the cell grudgingly, and Jason, dressed in the ill-gotten cape, turned to them. “Everyone clear on the plan? Okay, I’ll be back soon.” He left, retracing his steps upstairs.

“Hey,” he said softly to the first cultist he saw. “Want to head downstairs for some real fun?”

The voice was slurred. “
Whattcha got in mind?”

“A fling with Vandercamp’s private stock, if you get my drift.”

The cape shivered eloquently. “Private stock? Aren’t they off limits?”

“Yes, but I’ve got the key. And while the cat’s away...”

“The mice will play.”

Jason could see he w
as stoned enough to take the bait.

“Hey, can I bring some more mice?”

Jason clapped him on the back. “I was hoping you’d ask, because more-the-merrier, right? After all, it’s a party. But only invite three, okay? We want enough
cheese
to go around.”

A few minutes later, Jason let them into the cell, where the girls lay huddled in a corner. “Gentlemen, remove your capes and let the games begin.”

Capes were dropped frantically and Jason collected them. The cultists leered drunkenly on one side of the cell, the girls on the other, like a bizarre high school dance.

“Ladies,” Jason prompted.

The girls stood, en masse, and strode across the room. Before the cultists could figure out what was happening, the girls slipped out the door and slammed it shut.

“Hey,” someone yelled from inside. “Let us out.” But their cries were muffled in the soundproof room, and th
eir captors, wearing purloined capes, joined the throng above.

**

It was like a nightmare where he couldn’t wake up. How, Jake wondered, could everything go so wrong? Not only had they overslept, which was unfathomable in itself, but everything following was a horrific comedy of errors. Jake stumbled over Daisy in his rush to put on his jacket, striking his shin painfully on the glass coffee table and placing an eighteen-inch tear in the dark fabric of his hooded cape, which was trailing over one arm. “I’ll sew it in the car,” Cari offered, frantically searching for the car keys. “Where are they, Jake? I’m sure I left them on the counter.”

Five minutes of intensive searching found a spare set, and as they shut the locked house door behind them, they realized Daisy was still underfoot. “Bring her,” Jake said tersely. “Put her in the back seat.”

The fuel gauge read empty, although he’d filled the tank earlier in the day. “Someone has stolen our gasoline,” he said, swearing under his breath. “So much for the security of a gated-community.”

Eight valuable minutes wasted refueling at the service station, and then, after they’d left the city lights behind and embarked on the long, winding road which took them to the desolate
west coast of Vancouver Island, the front tire blew out, leaving Jake struggling to pull the car to safety.

“It’s like we’ve been cursed,” Jake said, thumping his fist on the car as he discovered the spare tire was absent.

“Yes,” Cari answered darkly. “That’s exactly what it’s like.” She could feel the power in the night, a dank, swirling eddy conspiring to impede their progress. “Seems I’m not the only sorcerer casting spells.”

The seconds ticked into minutes. Cari focused calmly, then looked at Jake. “I’ve got an idea. Wait here.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“You’ll see.” She untied her long hair a
nd ran nimble fingers through until it hung in loose waves around her shoulders. Daisy woofed softly. Cari stepped from the car, deftly wiggling out of her denims, then strode until she stood at the side of the road, blouse hanging mid-thigh, shapely legs bared, breasts thrust forward.

Jake felt his loins twinge. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting us a ride.” A set of lights appeared in the distance, rising and falling like wavery beacons. Cari waved seductively, her thumb turned up.

“You’re hitchhiking?” Jake’s voice was incredulous. “You’re standing out there, practically naked, hitchhiking?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you were going to do something else, cast a spell or something. Use your witchcraft.”

“I am, in a manner. My religion encourages me to embrace my femininity and use it for my own gain.”

“Get back in the car.”

“If you’ve got a better idea to attract a driver on this dark, deserted highway, I’m all ears.”

“Yeah, and they’re just as naked as the rest of you. Come on, Cari, we’ll think of something else.”

“There’s no time.”

“At least put your pants back on.”

“Trust me, bare legs will work better than magic. Now, hush, he’s getting closer. I mean it, Jake, hunch your head down and stay hidden – no one will stop if they see your scowling face mooning about. Quickly now – this might be our only chance.”

He shot her a nasty look and slouched down.

“Ah, here we go, come on baby, slow down. That’s right, come to Mama.”

The headlights crested the hill and Jake heard the grinding, downshifting of gears as the vehicle came to a halt. He peeked over the hood. “Oh, Christ, Cari,” he called. “It’s a semitrailer. Think Vandercamp won’t notice us arriving in that?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

She sauntered up to the
cab door. “Car trouble?” a husky voice asked.

“Uh huh. Darn tire just blew out. Mind if we catch a lift up the road?”

The voice hesitated. “We?”

“Yes, my boyfriend and me.”

The voice turned gruff. “Sorry, I don’t pick up men. Against company policy.”

“So is this,” Jake said, coming up beside her, brandishing his gun. Daisy joined him, wagging her tail enthusiastically. “Sorry mister, but this is an emergency.”

“Oh, fuck.” The trucker put his hands up. “Okay, whatever you say, just don’t shoot me.”

They climbed into the cab. “Sorry,” Jake apologized again. “We’re desperate. My daughter is being held captive by a cult group and we need to save her.”

“Right, and I’m Lady Gaga waiting to be picked up by aliens.”

Jake waved the gun. “Look, it’s been a lousy night and we can do without
the sarcasm. You got a radio in this rig? I need to call the Victoria police station.”

The trucker looked at him in disbelief. “Why? You want to report a hijacking?”

“No, I want to call in the cavalry.”

**

“We knew,” Gil said, his voice rising loud and clear, reaching every member with his persuasive charm, “we knew this day would come. We’ve been planning for it, waiting for it,
welcoming it
. Our day of reckoning. Our day to cross over to the other side.”

A murmur passed through the crowd. Only a few nodded their heads in assent – but it was a start. Gil looked down from his altar, into the sea of covered faces. His followers, his flock. He felt the love flow from him to the others in the room.

The median age was mid-twenties. He had a few seniors, a handful of middle-agers, but the bulk was teenagers and young adults. A group of people searching for answers not offered by mass conformity. A group of people dissatisfied with the status quo, for reasons as myriad and complex as the group themselves. A group of people believing in Gil’s version of a promised eternity.

“
Death is a lie, spoon-fed to the masses for mind control. If you listen to the ancient philosophers, you’ll agree that life is an endless cycle. Our physical bodies are mere vessels for our souls, limited in function, prone to injury and disease. Our physical bodies mean nothing, only a showcase of flesh and bone which will turn to dust. Yet our
atoms
, our
essence
, will remain free to circulate in the universe until they recreate into new forms, perpetuating infinitely. Death is a portal – the doorway to eternity.

“Our Dark Lord is calling us home. By joining him now, by crossing over to his domain, we gain power for our next lives, we become his treasured soldiers. We must rid ourselves of these worthless, fragile containers we call our bodies. We must free our souls to achieve perfect freedom.” Gil surveyed the congregation, measuring the effects of his words. The group remained still, absorbing the impact.

His true followers would pose no problems. They’d been working toward this mass goal, the culmination of their deep beliefs for many years. They would follow him to the grave and beyond. It was the fringe members who concerned him – to ensure their cooperation in the crossover, he’d offered liberal amounts of alcohol and drugs before the meeting started. With enough juice in their systems, they too would follow him anywhere.

The trickiest members would be those who had children. People who thought nothing of taking a lethal-cocktail themselves frequently balked at the prospect of doping their little ones. For this reason, Suzanne had already slipped out to minister to the children in the nursery. By the time parents finished hearing the sermon, their children would already be with Seth.

Gil smiled, feeling the power and greatness course through him. This was the apex his entire life was geared toward. This was his final, most perfect accomplishment. This was the reason he’d been born, to lead these people to Satan.
I’m not,
he thought,
unlike Jesus Christ.
Had he lived in a more tolerant era, he might have been able to achieve more, to lead more people away from Christian hypocrisy and toward the true purpose of mankind: unlimited freedom where natural laws reigned instead of manmade rules, where personal pleasure and gratification were encouraged instead of punished. A world where mankind was God.

Satan beckoned with all the seduction of a lush mistress, with all the power of a Supreme Being. Gil licked his lips. His reward would be eternal.

**

“Let me get this straight,” the trucker said, shaking his head. “Your daughter was kidnapped
by a bunch of Satan-loving wing nuts, and you think they’re throwing some nasty shindig which involves human sacrifices?”

“Exactly.”

“So you hijacked me to save your little girl, not ’cause you’re a couple of psycho-terrorists?”

Jake nodded. “You’ve got the picture.” He’d put the gun away minutes ago, when it became apparent that Bobby-Dean Jensen was not a threat.

Bobby-Dean chewed his gum and thought. “Well, I knew you weren’t all bad when you loaded your dog into the cab. I mean, who the hell takes a dog with them to commit a crime? Yep, I can sympathise with your predicament – stuck in the shitter with no ass-wipe in sight.”

“During a major bout of diarrhea,” Cari added primly.

Jake blinked, but Bobby-Dean grinned. “You got a way with words, little lady. Here’s what I’m a’thinkin’. I got a couple of kids myself and it would make me madder than snake-piss if someone messed with them. So I’m gonna give you a hand, but seeing that I have fifteen-grand worth of perishables in the back of my rig, I can’t linger too long.”

“What exactly are you hauling?” Jake inquired.

“Dairy products, mostly. Lots of ice cream, little bit of produce, couple sides of beef. Got a midnight delivery, but I can stretch it for a few hours. So, whaddya want me to do?”

“Step on it, for one thing,” Jake suggested.

The trucker punched the gas pedal and the big rig accelerated rapidly, handling surprisingly gracefully on the winding road. “How far?”

“Another
forty kilometres, at least.”

“It’ll take too long,” Cari fretted. The power she had sensed earlier was growing stronger, darker. It loomed like a caustic-smoke cloud smouldering over the entire horizon. She tried relaxing and concentrating, on projecting her consciousness ahead, but all feelers were blocked by its solid mass.

“And those cop-fellows won’t be much help?” Bobby-Dean remarked.

“No, you heard them. They’ll send some officers from th
e nearest detachment, but they’re even farther away than us.” It was a miracle Jake had even gotten through to Benny Carmichael. The police sergeant had received information that a large cult-gathering was assembling on the eastern part of the island, a hundred kilometres away from Vandercamp’s locale, and he was dispatching his team in that direction. “How sure are you?” Carmichael asked.

“Only a hunch,” Jake admitted, “but a strong one. We stole the address from a Marvelworks employee.” He sighed. “I don’t have concrete evidence that Amy, or even Vandercamp, is there. But it
feels
right.”

Carmichael thought rapidly. “I’m going to stick with my original plan, Jake. I’ve got everyone in place, and it would take too long to disassemble them for what could amount to another
false lead. I’ll speak to the Sooke detachment and have them cooperate. You’ll get good backup from those boys, and then we’ll be covered on all ends.”

Bobby-Dean was exceeding the speed limit by more than half, and he chewed
his huge wad of gum determinedly as he navigated the large rig along the winding road. “We’re going to need some more help,” he said suddenly. “I’m gonna call up some fellow truckers on the radio. Don’t know how many will be in this neck of the woods, but they’ll come if they can. Truckers are tough sons-of-bitches. You can always count on ‘em.”