The House on Black Lake (28 page)

“I was told they took innocent children.”

“All children are innocent. Anyway it is never a good idea to discuss religion, particularly if you do not have the same beliefs. At least we agree that our life on this planet is a brief adventure and we will all travel to another realm.

“Look at this meat; it has perfect marblization,” he says, taking a platter of beef filets from the refrigerator. “A farmer in St. Joseph slaughters his own cows and gets the meat to us the same day. It is as sweet and juicy as you will ever taste.”

He sets down the platter, walks to where I sit at the kitchen table and leans down to kiss me.

“Let’s take a little break,” he says, and leads me to the daybed. He settles me against a pillow and sits next to me, nuzzling his face in my neck. “I had forgotten how good you smell,” he says. “How often did you think about me?”

“You’re always somewhere in my mind,” I say and return his kisses while drawing my hand through his hair.

“I have a present for you, Alexandra.”

“Is it a gift for my new closet?”

“It is an ornament for your new home.”

“But first let me prepare the pomme frites and the meat sauce. You can help me cut up the potatoes.”

“André, what do you know about the men’s club? The group that sometimes meets at the building with the animal heads on its eaves. Ruth informed me they are gathering there tonight. I overheard Roger talking after one of their meetings at a feast I attended at his estate. It sounded like they were planning something with questionable intentions.”

“It is a private club, only open to the old English-speaking families of Montreal.” He rattles around the kitchen, taking out pots, pans, and utensils from the cabinets. “Memberships are handed down from generation to generation. One of our leaders defected from the group; that is how I came to learn about it.”

“What is their purpose?”

“Intellectual enlightenment—or at least that is what they profess. They study the works of ancient philosophers, writers, scientists, and research modern technological discoveries for the benefit of their future endeavors. I also heard they follow many of the rituals of ancient cultures, particularly the Egyptians, Greeks, and Sumerians. They seek sources of power that can be used to manipulate, control, and exploit others. Pagan rituals and animal sacrifice are performed to unlock the vitality of nature at their meetings and celebrations.

“Those are almost perfect potato slices. Now we need to drop them in the oil for a few minutes, place them into ice water to cool, take them out to drain, and then back into the steaming oil. The mussels are almost ready, so let’s set the table and begin our first course. I have opened a French Bordeaux.”

“It will be a nice change from the champagne,” I answer, and move to the counter to help him drop the slices into the hot oil.

“What animals do they kill?”

“It would be a small one, a rabbit perhaps. Rituals of this kind were common in ancient society. Christianity changed everything. The native tribes also had fertility rituals that worked for them for centuries. Some people believe these rites are effective and essential to the earth and the society of man. I believe Christianity has put a blanket on our instincts and inner powers. We no longer have the tribe elders, sages, and soothsayers to guide us and teach us how to use our innate strengths.”

“How do you like the mussels?” he asks, and offers me one between butter-coated lips.

“Delicious.”

“I am going to cook the steaks. The pomme frites are almost ready,” he says, and places the meat in a frying pan.

“I was told they occasionally make human sacrifice.”

“You’re joking.”

“Every ten years. I heard the last one took place on the island.”

“André...”

“It’s true, my love. My master was once a high-ranking officer. He defected to start the Solar Temple. I was told Egan Schlotter lured the woman.”

“He belonged to the club?”

“Schlotter was a member of a very old and influential family. It wasn’t a difficult task for someone like him. The man had power and influence. I was told he often paid women to make the trip to the island. He knew the network, how to find the right specimen. The ritual requires she have proven fertility, that is, she must have given birth.”

“I thought virgins were usually victims of sacrifice.”

He draws back his hair and smiles at me with glimmering dark eyes. “Don’t believe everything you read in your schoolbooks.

“Perfect,” he declares, and scoops a serving of the mussels into a ceramic bowl. “Here my love, they are best piping hot. Take these to the table,” he says, while adding extra broth.

“I was told the woman was drugged and tied to a tree on the property. Each member took their turn and then Schlotter stabbed her through the heart. After her blood saturated the ground, he cut out the organ, burned it as an offering and incinerated her body in the fire pit. For the ritual to work its strongest magic one of the men would have impregnated the woman that night—an offering to the gods of mother
and
child. It was at the summer solstice, I was told.”

He removes the cork from the wine bottle and pours a small amount of wine into a glass.

“You take the first taste.”

I swirl the liquid in the glass, take a whiff, and taste the fruity wine. “Very smooth.”

“Hand me your glass and I will fill it.”

“If your crazy story is true, then why didn’t you contact the police when you were told a woman had been murdered on the island?”

“Alexandra, my love, you are not eating your mussels.” André bustles around the table setting out the prepared food. “The information was confidential and second hand. And there was no body.”

“Isn’t there a missing person?”

“It was not publicized.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but this cult of yours has some pretty sketchy characters as members.”

“It is not a cult,” he replies with a flash of anger.

“It’s too outrageous. I don’t believe Ramey Sandeley, or any of them, for that matter, would risk everything for a men’s club ritual.”

He lights tapered candles, igniting shards of light in the prisms of the candelabrum centered on the table.

“Perhaps you do not understand—these fraternal organizations are not social; they are ancient and sacred.”

“Yet they must answer to the laws of society. They are not free from prosecution.”

He brings a sizzling platter of meat to the table, along with the potatos and French bread. The smell of the boiling oil and seared meat fills the room with a rich, pungent odor.

“I was told an anointed young man is not allowed to join the men’s club until he is twenty-five years old, although he is groomed as an apprentice from the age of puberty. Once initiated, he must pass many tests of character and ten years of training to be allowed into the private ceremonies. Another decade must pass before he can participate in the sacred rituals. The men in this revered circle are his grandfather, father, his uncles and their closest friends. They are wealthy, powerful men he has known and admired his entire life. By the time he is allowed to witness their sacred practices, he has been fully indoctrinated and has worked long and hard for the privilege of joining this esteemed group of men.”

“
Bon Appetite.”
André raises his glass to mine and we drink simultaneously to the toast.

“The defector told me at Ramey Sandeley’s initiation ceremony they could not break him. You cannot be sworn into the society until your vulnerability has been revealed and you have been broken. The group must have power over you, to trust that you will not betray the secrets handed down for generations. This is especially true of a man who is being groomed to take the leader’s role. I was told they tortured him in every way possible, beat him, covered him in insects and rodents, and locked him in a casket for half the night. They even had male prostitutes work him over. But he wouldn’t crack. So finally, at daybreak, at the end of the initiation, they told him he had failed. By not breaking, he had failed. That is when he broke, when he learned he had failed and would not be allowed admittance into the fraternity. Failure is his vulnerability, his fatal flaw. He was marked at the end of the initiation with the tattoo he wears. That is what I was told by my master. Failure is worse than death to him.”

“If a person has never known failure, I imagine it would be terrifying.”

“If one does not know failure, one cannot appreciate success,” André says and rises to return to the kitchen.

“I would imagine it is Sandeley who must now take over from Schlotter.” He carries a glass dish filled with cherries to the table and ignites the mixture.

“You mean Roger?”

“No.”

“Ramey?”

“He now owns the island.”

“How did you know that?”

“As I told you, my master was a high-ranking officer in the club. He still has connections.”

He takes a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and scoops in onto the cherry mixture.

“It has been ten years since the last sacrifice. I was informed it was performed before the vote for separatism. The English won, but the margin was very tight. Undoubtedly, the group believes their sacrifice made the difference between success and failure. The winds are blowing to another ballot. English businesses are leaving Montreal and re-establishing themselves. The remaining English businessmen are losing control. French is now the national language.”

“Eat your dessert,” he says, and sits back down at the table.

“The island is secure and safe. Perhaps that is why Sandeley brought you to the island. In fact, he might have planned for you to be sacrificed tonight. It is a full moon and the longest day of the year, the night of the summer solstice.”

“Your imagination fascinates me.”

I bring my glass to the edge of my lips, return his seductive smile, and accept his lingering kiss. He follows it with a drink of wine and wipes his lips with the back of his hand.

“He almost killed my sister.”

“Who?”

“Sandeley... Ramey.

“She cut open both wrists after their affair ended. Luckily, she called my mother before going into the bathroom and slicing herself to the bone. My mother found her lying in a tub of bloody water.” He tears a piece of bread from a crusty loaf and stuffs it in his mouth.

“I’m sorry...” I say, and reach out to stroke his heavily veined forearm. “There seem to be no end to the betrayals of Ramey Sandeley.”

“Now that we have finished our dinner, I want to give you your present. Sit with your eyes closed. Don’t open them until I instruct you.” André bustles around the room and I hear the sound of crumpling paper.

“Now?”

“I’m not quite ready.”

“I can’t wait any longer.”

“All right. You may open your eyes.”

An oil painting of a dark haired man and a fair woman walking hand in hand away from a house is positioned on an easel in front of me. The couple is viewed from above, as though being watched through a second-story window. The sky is clear and the limbs of the trees on the property are covered in ice. A neglected fence surrounds the grounds, with a gate opening to a pristine landscape covered in a blanket of freshly fallen snow. On the horizon, there is a shadowed opening into a heavy grove of evergreen trees.

“Beautiful.”

“I painted it for you.”

“It’s the most precious gift I have ever received.”

“An artist does not walk alone.”

He carries the painting to the back of the room.

“The light is better here to see the detail.” He turns the easel to catch the diffused glow from a stretched cowhide lamp. The illumination changes the mood. It now appears the couple is taking more than a leisurely stroll. There is a compelling urgency, a hint of the ominous.

“Where are they going?”

“Every viewer must ask that question and each response will be different.” He rotates the canvas so that it is covered in partial shadow. Now the twosome move deliberately from daylight into darkness.”

“Art is the expression of human passion. There are many ways for art to express primal need and there are many benefits of its manifestation. But the foremost function is not to inspire, entertain, or educate. It is to monitor our society. Without art, society has no conscience, no method for reflection, revelation, or change. When it is suppressed or denied in a culture, a society becomes cruel and evil and will eventually self-destruct.

“If you transform one human being through your perceptions, you may eventually change the evolution of the world. When you convey what is inside yourself, the subconsciousness of humanity shifts. It is true of all forms of artistic expression.”

He pours the last drops of Bordeaux into my glass.

“Never surrender your passions.”

“How do I survive?”

“Your art will inform you; if you believe in its truth.”

“The path is not always so clear.”

He stands up from the daybed and reaches out to take my hand. He draws me close, looks deeply into my eyes, and lets out a melancholy sigh.

“What’s wrong, André?”

“I want to take you on a little adventure,” he says in a somber tone and turns away.

“Another surprise?”

“I will wrap the painting and put it in your car.”

“Where are we going?”

“The purpose of an adventure is to not know where you are headed,” André tells me and moves to a kitchen drawer where he removes butcher paper and string and begins to wrap my gift.