Maggie O'Dell Collection, Volume 1: A Perfect Evil ; Split Second ; The Soul Catcher

by Alex Kava

  “What should I call you?” Maggie asked, since she’d been given only the woman’s initials.

  “You can call me…” She hesitated, took another sip of water and glanced at the bottle. “Call me Eve,” she said.

  Maggie caught a glimpse of the bottle’s label: Evian. This was ridiculous. But names didn’t matter as long as she answered her questions.

  “Okay, Eve.” She waited. No one was within earshot, and the game of tag was drawing everyone’s attention. “What can you tell me about Everett and his so-called church?”

  “Well.” She crunched several chips, offering the bag to Maggie. Maggie accepted. “The church is a ruse to get donations and stockpile money and arms. But he’s not interested in taking over the world or the government. He preaches the word of the Lord only to get what he wants.”

  “So if it’s not to overtake the government or even terrorize the government, what is it he wants?”

  “Power, of course. Power over his own little world.”

  “So he doesn’t even believe?”

  “Oh, he believes.” Eve set aside her sandwich and dug in her backpack until she found another bottle of Evian water and handed it to Maggie. “He believes he is God.” She hesitated, picking up her own bottle, wrapping both hands around it, cradling it as if looking for something to hang on to. “He preys on those of us who have no clue who we are, those who are weak and searching and have nowhere else to go. He tells us what to eat, what to wear, who we can and can’t talk to, what we should believe.

  “He convinces us that no one outside the church understands or loves us and that those who are not with us are against us and only want to hurt us. We’re told we must forsake family and friends and all worldly materialistic things in order to find true peace and be worthy of his love. And by this time, he’s stripped us of every single individual thing that defined us, until we are absolutely nothing without him and without his church.”

  Maggie listened quietly. None of this was news. It only followed the same profile of every other cult she had read about. It simply confirmed their beliefs that Everett’s church was a bogus organization, a smoke screen for his own power-hungry maneuvers. But there was something she didn’t understand. Something she needed to ask. A hint of impatience seeped out in her question. “Why in the world does anyone join?”

  “In the beginning,” Eve said in a calm voice, taking her time, appearing to be neither insulted nor intimidated by the question, “you want to believe that you’ve found a place where you finally belong. Where you’re a part of something bigger than you. In not so different ways, we’re all lost souls, looking and searching for something that’s missing in our lives. Self-identity or self-esteem—whatever you want to call it—it’s such a fragile commodity. When you have no idea who you are to begin with, it’s so easy and tempting to become your surroundings. When you feel lost and alone, sometimes you’re willing to give anything to belong. Sometimes you’re even willing to give your soul.”

  Maggie fidgeted, growing weary and suspicious of the woman’s overly calm manner. It seemed too well rehearsed. Was this meeting a ploy, maybe even orchestrated by Everett to convince her the organization, though definitely screwed up, was not dangerous? Maggie was looking for a murderer, and this woman was talking like Everett’s only crime was snatching souls.

  “It doesn’t sound so bad,” she told Eve, and took a sip of her water, watching the woman from the corner of her eye. “Everett takes good care of you, feeds and clothes you, makes all your decisions and gives you a place to stay free of charge. All he asks for in return is for you to indulge in his delusions of grandeur. Nope. Doesn’t sound bad to me. And quite honestly, no one can really take away your soul without your permission, can they?”

  She waited out the silence, helping herself to the bag of chips left on the bench between them. Finally, the woman looked over at her, pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and examined Maggie, holding her gaze as if searching for something hidden within her. She looked older than Maggie had guessed. Now without the dark glasses, Maggie could see the wrinkles at Eve’s eyes and lines around her mouth. There was another smile, again just a twist at the corner of her mouth. It occurred to Maggie that this woman was used to keeping her expressions and emotions in check. Even her eyes refused to show any hint of feeling, though they were not cold, just empty.

  Eve looked away suddenly, as if she had exposed too much, and flipped the dark glasses back down into place.

  “You look a lot like her,” she said in that same even tone.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Kathleen. She’s your mother, isn’t she?”

  “You know my mother?”

  “She joined just before I escaped.”

  Maggie felt herself wince at Eve’s use of the word escape, though she had said it as casually as if they were talking about going home after a day at work.

  “Don’t think for a minute—” Eve began unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of her shirt as if suddenly too warm “—that there is anything harmless about Everett. He saves you, builds you up, tells you he loves you, trusts you, that you are special, a favor to him from God. Then he turns on you and rips you to shreds. He discovers your weaknesses and your fears, then uses them to humiliate you and to destroy any last piece of self-respect you think you deserve.”

  With her shirtsleeves now rolled up, she held out her wrists in front of her for Maggie to see.

  “He calls it being sent to the Well,” she said, her voice still annoyingly calm and level. Red welts circled both her wrists where the skin had flayed and bled from rope or handcuffs cutting into the flesh. The wounds looked recent. Eve’s head pivoted around, and she pulled the sleeves back in place, picking up her sandwich and unwrapping it to continue her lunch as though there had been no interruptions.

  Again Maggie waited, this time out of respect and not impatience. She followed Eve’s lead and sipped at her own water and managed a few more chips.

  “It’s an actual well,” Eve said. “Though I doubt he ever intended to use it for anything more than a punishment chamber. He knew I was terrified of the dark, closed places, so it was a perfect punishment.”

  She stared out at the teenagers up on the hill, though Maggie wondered what the woman really saw. Her voice remained calm but now almost disconnected. “He had them tie me by the wrists and lower me into the well. When I kicked and clawed and tried to climb out, he had them spill buckets of spiders down on top of me. At least that’s what I think they were. It was too dark to see them. But I could feel them. I could feel them all over me. Every inch of my hair and face and skin seemed to be crawling. I couldn’t even scream anymore because I was afraid they’d crawl inside my mouth. I closed my eyes and tried to stay still, so they wouldn’t bite me as much. And for hours I tried to retreat to somewhere else inside my mind. I remember reciting an old Emily Dickinson poem over and over again in my head. It was probably the one thing that saved me from losing my mind. ‘I’m nobody. Who are you?’ Do you know it?”

  “‘Are you nobody, too?’” Maggie answered with the next line of the poem.

  “‘Then there’s a pair of us,’” Eve continued. “‘Don’t tell. They’d banish us.’”

  “The mind’s a powerful tool,” Maggie said, thinking of her own childhood and how many times she had resorted to going away—far, far away inside her own mind.

  “Everett took everything away from me but still wasn’t able to take away my mind.” Eve looked over at her and this time when she spoke there was a spark of anger. “Don’t let anyone tell you Everett is harmless. He makes them believe he only wants to take care of them while he has them sign over their homes and property, their social security and pension and child support checks. He rewards them with fear. Fear of the real world. Fear of being hunted down if they betray him. Fear of the FBI. So much fear that they’re more willing to go through his suicide drills than be captured alive.”

  “Suicide drills?” Despite
Eve’s story, Maggie couldn’t help thinking this didn’t sound like the man who had gotten her mother to stop drinking. All the changes she’d seen in her mother seemed so positive. “My mother doesn’t seem frightened,” she told Eve.

  “He may still be looking for ways to use her. Is she living at the compound yet?”

  “No. She has an apartment in Richmond and has made no mention of leaving it.” Only now did that realization bring relief to Maggie. Perhaps her mother wasn’t in too deep. She couldn’t possibly be in as much danger as this woman had been. “She loves her apartment. I doubt very much she’ll be willing to move to the compound.”

  The woman shook her head and there was that smile again. “She’s more valuable to him on the outside,” she said, without looking at Maggie. “He’s hoping to find a way to use you.”

  “Me?”

  “Believe me, he knows Kathleen has a daughter who is an FBI agent. He knows all about you. He knows everything. It could be why he’s been so good to her. But if he finds out you’re of no use to him, or if he finds out you’re trying to hurt him…Well, just be careful. For your mother’s sake.”

  “I just need to convince my mother to stay the hell away from him.”

  “And, of course, she’ll listen to you because the two of you are so close.”

  Maggie felt the sting of Eve’s sarcasm, despite Eve’s calm, friendly tone.

  “I need to go,” the woman said, suddenly packing up her things and getting to her feet.

  “But wait. There’s got to be something you can tell me that could help me bring down Everett.”

  “Bring him down?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “You’ll never get him. Most of what he does is legit, and what he does that isn’t…Well, you don’t see any of us lining up to press charges, do you?”

  “Only because you’re still afraid of him. Why let him control your life? We can protect you.”

  “We? You mean the government?” She laughed, a true, genuine laugh. Then she slung her backpack over her shoulder. “You can’t protect me until you get Everett. And you’ll never get him. Even if you try, he’ll know. He’ll have them all lined up for their cyanide capsules and dead before you step foot inside the compound.” She hesitated, glancing around the park as if making certain it was safe. As if she expected Everett to appear from behind a monument or a tree.

  “What did you do?” Maggie asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What was it that you did to deserve the Well?”

  “I wouldn’t stop trying to take care of my mom. She was the only reason I was there. And she was sick. I kept sneaking her my food. The breaking point was when I stole some of her heart medicine to give to her. It was her own medicine that had been confiscated from her, because, of course, Father’s love is the only medicine anyone needs.”

  “Where is your mom now?”

  Maggie watched Eve disconnect as she stared out over her head. It was like turning an on-off switch.

  “She died the day after he put me in the Well. I think she felt so guilty, she had a heart attack. I’ll never know for sure.” She looked at Maggie through her dark glasses, reflecting back the Wall. “In the end, he always wins. Just be careful for yourself and especially for your mom.”

  Then she turned and left.

  CHAPTER 48

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Maria Leonetti took a shortcut through Boston Common, wishing she had brought a pair of running shoes. But she hated wearing them with her expensive suits and thought the other women at the brokerage firm gave up a piece of their credibility as soon as they put on their Nikes and Reeboks at the end of the day. After all, none of the male brokers changed their shoes just to walk home. Why couldn’t women simply buy comfortable shoes? And why the hell couldn’t shoe designers create something both stylish and comfortable?

  She noticed a crowd at the fountain and wondered what kind of celebration could be taking place on a Tuesday afternoon. The day had been unseasonably warm, bringing out inline skaters, joggers and all sorts of riffraff, too. This group of rowdy young guys looked like a fraternity party. Maybe college kids were out already for the Thanksgiving holiday. She probably should have taken another trail, but she was exhausted. Her feet hurt. All she wanted to do was get home, snuggle with Izzy, her calico cat, and veg out. Maybe put on an old Cary Grant movie and make popcorn. That was as much of a party as she wanted.

  Suddenly, she felt someone grab her elbow.

  “Hey,” she yelled, and jerked away. Before she could turn around, two men were on either side of her, each grabbing an arm. One of them pulled at her purse, ripping the strap and tossing it to the ground. Jesus! They weren’t interested in robbing her. A fresh panic took hold.

  “Hey! Look what we found,” one of them shouted to the others.

  “Get your fucking hands off me,” Maria screamed, pulling and tugging as they dragged her into the crowd.

  Arms and hands and faces came at her from all directions. They were laughing and egging one another on, chanting, “Bitch, bitch.”

  She screamed and kicked, losing a shoe but connecting with one groin. It only infuriated them into holding her feet as well as her arms. Someone sprayed her with beer, dousing her face and blouse. Then she heard the rips of her clothing, and she screamed louder. No one seemed to care—or could they just not hear over the laughter and yelling? Hands squeezed her breasts and ran up her thighs. Fingers poked and prodded into her underpants, and soon they were being ripped off her, too. She could see a glint of a camera lens and then saw its owner, pushing between shoulders to get a better view.

  Oh, dear God. They were going to kill her. They were going to rape her and then they were going to kill her. And it would all be on film for someone’s entertainment.

  She clawed at their faces and got slapped so hard, blood trickled down her mouth. She managed to pull one hand free, and clung to her bra as the rest of her blouse was ripped away. Her shoes were gone. She could feel her panty hose shredded around her ankles, where they were using them to hold her down. They gripped her so tight she could already feel the bruises and her skin rubbed raw.

  “Hey, here comes another bitch.”

  One by one, they let go. They left her as suddenly as they had attacked, rising up and moving like a swarm. She lay heaped on the grass in only her bra and her skirt, which was slit up the side seam, hanging together only by the waistband. Her underpants were gone. She hurt everywhere and couldn’t see through the tears. She wanted to curl up and die. Then she heard the woman’s scream and realized they had found another victim. Her stomach knotted up and she felt dizzy, but she knew she needed to leave before they decided to come back to her.

  She tried to stand, but her knees collapsed as her head began to spin. Another hand grabbed her arm, and she jerked away, falling back on the grass.

  “No, wait. I just want to help.”

  She stared up at the young man, but the spinning in her head wouldn’t let her eyes focus. All she could see was that he wore a blue baseball cap, jeans and a T-shirt that smelled of beer. Oh, God! He was one of them. She tried to crawl away, but he took her by the arm and lifted her to her feet.

  “We need to get you away from here.” He was holding her up and wrapping her in a scratchy jacket.

  She had no energy left to fight him. She walked as best she could as he led her up the trail and away from the crowd, away from the laughter and that continuous scream for help that made her sick to her stomach. They barely got to the edge of the park before she pulled away from him, retching and vomiting behind a nearby bush. When she turned around, he was gone.

  Maria sat down, safely hidden behind the trees, trying to calm her stomach and catch her breath. The rumble of nearby traffic seemed to soothe her, as if reminding her that civilization was, indeed, close by. That she hadn’t fallen off the edge of the world. A breeze chilled her wet body, and she could smell the stale beer that had doused her skin. It made her gag
again, but she was able to contain the urge to vomit. She hugged herself, listening to the sound of car horns and the hydraulic screech of brakes, listening for anything that would help shut out the sounds of laughter, the chants of “bitch, bitch” and the poor woman’s stifled cries. Why couldn’t anyone else hear that? Why wasn’t anyone stopping them? Had the whole world suddenly gone mad?

  She pushed her arms into the jacket sleeves and discovered most of the buttons were missing. Still it was better than nothing. It smelled of peppermint. She dug into the pockets and found two quarters, a McDonald’s napkin and half a roll of peppermint Life Savers. God, her fingers were still shaking so bad, it took a concentrated effort to unwrap one of the mints and pop it into her mouth. Hopefully it would settle her stomach. As soon as her knees were strong enough, she’d get out of the park, onto the street, and find a cop. Where the hell were the cops, anyway? It was getting dark. There was usually at least one hanging around in the evenings.

  Then from behind her, something came over her head and around her neck. Maria clawed at it. It dug into the skin of her throat. She gasped for air, kicking and twisting her body. Her fingers tried to get hold of the cord. God! It was so tight. It was already embedded into her neck, so deep that her fingernails were ripping at her own skin as she tried to dig it out.

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t pull away. My God, he was strong. And now he was pulling her back farther into the trees, dragging her, because her feet wouldn’t work. She had no energy left.

  Air. She needed air. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t even see straight. Her head was spinning again, a blur of trees and grass and sky. She felt herself slipping away. She could no longer hear the chants or the laughter or even the woman’s screams. Where were the sounds of traffic? Why did everything sound so muffled? So far away? The cord drew tighter, and soon she couldn’t hear anything at all.