The Devil's Lullaby

by Chris Scalise

  “Oh yeah, it’s horrifying to watch,” Aren said. “It’s even more heartbreaking when you understand the mind games that are behind it. What Dominic Maffiore does is a combination of hypnosis, manipulative psychology, cold reading, and hot reading. It’s really sinister shit.”

  Dustin nodded. “But my understanding of hypnosis is that you can’t make anyone do anything that they wouldn’t agree to do on, like, a conscious level. Like, it’s just power of suggestion. It’s not mind control.”

  “And you’re absolutely right,” Aren replied, “but power of suggestion often happens on a subconscious level, and it can really fuck with your head. Let me give you guys a personal example. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen years old.”

  Laughter and a few enthusiastic shouts echoed from the audience.

  Aren smiled widely, revealing a youthful, boyish grin that belied the stubble on his face. “Hold on. I’m going somewhere with this.”

  More laughter.

  “So when I was fifteen, I lost my virginity to a girl at a party that I barely knew. It should have been the best night of my life, and it was, for about thirty seconds. Once the whole thing was over, though, the guilt set in. Okay, so I went to a very conservative Christian school and church, both of which used the threat of AIDS to try and scare kids away from having sex. So when I went home from that party, I instantly started having panic attacks.

  “I went on the internet and researched HIV symptoms. Turns out that a lot of people start getting flu-like symptoms when the virus sets in. Well, you can probably guess what happened next. I woke up the next morning with the worst head cold and respiratory pain I had ever felt in my whole life. I just knew I was dying of AIDS.

  “Over the next year, I probably got like twenty HIV tests. It was ridiculous. Everyone at the free clinic greeted me by name the second I walked in the door. They must have thought I was getting laid more than George Clooney. The point is, I was fine, but my fear and guilt had caused me to manifest physical symptoms, and I was certain that I was dying of this disease based on a stupid internet article and a childhood fear. And mind you, this was back in the AOL dial-up days.” More laughter.

  “So,” Dustin interjected, “you think that the people who start manifesting possession symptoms at these sermons are experiencing the same kind of thing?”

  “The process is basically the same. First, something works as a trigger. In my case, it was teen sex. In their case, it might be a physical trauma, a mental illness, an addiction, PTSD, whatever. Next, the person turns to the internet for answers. Sadly, many of them stumble on the website of Mr. Dominic Maffiore, the good old ‘Las Vegas Exorcist.’” Aren raised his hands to make air quotes with his fingers.

  “Usually, these people already have some religious inclinations or curiosities, so they search for terms like ‘deliverance’ or ‘redemption.’ That often takes them right to Dominic’s website, where they see videos of people experiencing demonic manifestations. These videos are all narrated with Dominic’s manipulative commentary, which is specifically designed to make people think that everyone struggling with a chronic issue is actually demon-possessed.

  “So it gets into their heads. They see how the people in the videos are behaving, and then they start to feel the same way. Power of suggestion. Dominic convinces these scared, desperate people that they can only be delivered with his help.”

  “Now, you’ve gone to a few of these sermons,” Dustin said. “You’ve talked to the victims. You’ve watched the exorcisms. What are some of the things you’ve noticed?”

  “Well, for one thing, almost every single person who attends these services is an intelligent, good-hearted, amazing human being who’s battling some kind of addiction or trauma. That makes Dominic’s ministry all the more disgusting to me. He preys on people who are at their lowest, and he makes quite a handsome profit in the process.”

  “How does he make his profit?” Dustin asked. “From what I’ve read, these services are free to attend.”

  “Of course they are,” Aren agreed. “And down the street at the Luxor, someone’s giving a free timeshare presentation as we speak.” The audience laughed.

  “The services are just to lure you into his trap,” Aren continued. “From the moment you walk in the door, the guy is selling books, DVDs, and even magical crucifixes that cost like seventy-five dollars. And if your exorcism isn’t completely successful, he tries to rope you into a private one-on-one deliverance session where he can spend hours addressing just your issue. These sessions can run hundreds of dollars. Sometimes thousands.”

  “Wow,” said Dustin. “How much did you end up spending?”

  “Well, I bought the three-thousand-dollar ultimate deliverance package, but my demons have informed me that they’re not going anywhere.”

  Laughter and cheers from the audience.

  Dustin continued after his own laughter ceased. “Now, earlier you mentioned that he uses cold reading and hot reading techniques. For those who don’t know those terms, can you elaborate?”

  “Yeah, sure. These are the techniques used by phony psychics and sometimes even mentalists like myself.”

  Allison cringed upon hearing the term “phony psychics.” Was it guilt? General annoyance? She wasn’t entirely sure.

  “Cold reading is when the person has no prior information about you but is able to learn about you just based on your body language, behaviors, reactions, responses, and all that. One thing I noticed about Dominic is that he always scans the audience for the most scared, fragile person, and then he goes right for them. He’ll usually ask them questions about why they’re there, and he'll pay very close attention to their body language and just how they interact. You can learn a lot about someone in a very short time if you understand how people sub-communicate.

  “And then there's hot reading. That's when the person actually knows something about you ahead of time, but you don’t realize it. So they use that to make you think they have some kind of divine power. So, like, if you go online and RSVP to one of Dominic’s services, you have to answer a series of questions. Most of them are pretty basic: name, age, zip code. But the last field on the questionnaire is for prayer requests.

  “So, basically, you’re giving him everything he needs to know. ‘Hi, my name is Bill. Please pray for my chronic depression.’ So then you show up to the service a couple nights later, and Dominic walks right up to you and says, ‘Hey, Bill, I sense that you’re being tormented by a demon of depression,’ like he just came up with that on his own, like through divine providence. Instantly, everyone is amazed.”

  The camera panned back to Dustin. “And you've seen him use all of these techniques?”

  “Every one of them.”

  “Is that why you've dedicated so much of your time and energy to debunking this guy?” Dustin asked. “I mean, you've gone after tons of psychics, faith healers, snake oil salesmen, even the CEOs of pyramid schemes. But you seem to have a special place in your heart for the Las Vegas Exorcist.”

  Aren laughed warmly as the audience chuckled. “I guess that's one way of putting it,” he said. “And yeah, I have spent a lot of time railing against this guy, and it's because I believe he's actually dangerous. Not just in a ‘hey, you're messing with people's heads’ kind of way, but actually…”

  He paused. “Well, let's see. How can I say this in a way my lawyer would approve of? Let's just say that there's been an odd correlation between Dominic's ministry and several high-profile missing-person cases in this town. I think I can say it like that.”

  “You mean that certain people who have disappeared are known to have been regulars at his services,” Dustin added.

  “Yes. And again, I'm not suggesting that correlation equals causation. Dominic's own lawyers have made that very clear to me.” He smiled suggestively, and the audience laughed.

  “All I'm suggesting is that real trouble seems to follow this guy, and I'm worried that horned demons have nothing to do with it
. That's why I've spent so much time investigating him. I admit, I'm still looking for the smoking gun.”

  Dustin nodded. “But, without getting too specific, have you found any potentially damning evidence on this guy?”

  “Nothing that would hold up in a court of law, at least not yet. But I've definitely got some stories about this guy that would sicken you to your core. I believe this is an extremely dangerous man who poses a real threat to the people who trust him.”

  “I don't suppose you can share any of these stories?”

  “Well, what the hell?” Aren said. “Let's just say that everything I'm about to tell you is ‘alleged’ at this point. That should cover my ass well enough, right?

  “About a year ago, my girlfriend and I went to one of Dominic’s services. I was wearing some dumb disguise, and my girlfriend did her best to look like some scared, broken woman, just the way Dominic likes it. While we were there, we met this woman named Cindy. She was really sweet, really eager to meet Dominic. A true believer.”

  Suddenly, the video faded to black and a text-based message appeared on Allison's screen. “Due to a recent injunction, the remainder of this video has been redacted. Sadly, this was not the decision of the Las Vegas Skeptic Society. We have no choice but to comply with the injunction until justice is served. We offer our sincerest apologies.”

  The video ended, and Allison closed her laptop. “Fuck!” she shouted, probably loud enough for all of her neighbors to hear. “I have to meet this guy.”

  8

  “Where are we going?” Kristen asked as she adjusted her unruly seat belt.

  From the driver’s seat, Allison was fixated on the traffic that occupied every lane of the southbound i-15. This was the worst kind of traffic: densely packed but fast-moving. As commuters weaved from one lane to the next, anything could happen. The sun was setting, and they were just passing the Sahara Ave. exit. Off to their left, Kristen observed the lights of the Vegas Strip. Towering hotels like the Wynn and the Encore were clearly visible. A bit farther off in the distance were other monumental resorts like the Cosmopolitan and the Aria, both of which shimmered brilliantly in blue. This was the Vegas that people traveled thousands of miles to see, but to locals like Allison and Kristen, it was just a big, beautiful tourist trap.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” Allison said as she merged cautiously to the right. “Are you familiar with a guy who calls himself the Las Vegas Exorcist?”

  “No,” Kristen replied.

  “Well, he’s a really bad guy. He tricks people into thinking that they’re possessed by demons so that he can make a lot of money.”

  “Oh,” Kristen said. Then, after a brief pause, she turned to Allison. “Aunt Allison?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t believe in God, do you?”

  Oh boy, Allison thought. She had had this conversation with Laura more times than she could count, and it always led to frustration and resentment on both sides. She wasn’t sure she was ready to have this dialogue with Kristen.

  “I think God means different things to different people,” Allison replied. “I don’t believe that a two-thousand-year-old book has all the answers, but I do think that Jesus taught some pretty good things.”

  Kristen nodded. “But Aunt Allison, Jesus said he was the son of God. So if you believe that he existed, then you have to believe that he was either crazy or a liar. Or that he was telling the truth.”

  Allison sighed. “Okay, but the gospels were written decades after Jesus’ death, and a lot of the Jesus story was already legend at that point. All that stuff about divine authority and the resurrection, that was the work of guys who definitely had an agenda and who were writing a long time after Jesus’ death.”

  “But Aunt Allison, people who saw the resurrection were willing to die to defend him. They were killed because they wouldn’t deny him. Why would they do that if they didn’t actually see it for themselves? You wouldn’t die for something that was just a legend.”

  “How do you know that happened, though?” Allison asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, who are these witnesses that died?”

  “Well, there’s Paul.”

  “Paul didn’t see the resurrection. He didn’t come into the picture until years after Jesus’ death. His whole ministry was based on some vision he had.”

  “What about Peter?” Kristen asked, fidgeting in her seat. “He was crucified upside-down for his beliefs, and he definitely saw the resurrection.”

  “How do you know he was crucified upside-down?” Allison asked.

  Kristen thought for a moment. “I mean, that’s the history.”

  “Is it?” Allison asked. “‘Cause you won’t find it in any history books. I mean, we’ve all heard the story about St. Peter being crucified upside-down because he didn’t think he was worthy to be crucified like Jesus or some shit. Hell, your grandma used to tell us that as a bedtime story growing up. It’s a great story, but there’s no reliable record of it actually happening, just some oral tradition and sermons by early Church Fathers, and this was all way after the fact. I mean, that’s fine, but I guess I need more than that if I’m going to devote my life to something. You know what I mean?”

  Kristen was silent.

  “Look,” Allison said, “don’t feel bad. I had this exact discussion with your mom and your grandmother a hundred times over the years, so I had to do a lot of thinking and reading. I practically have this debate memorized.”

  “It sounds like you’re just choosing not to believe,” Kristen mumbled. “The evidence is there. I mean, just think how crazy and unlikely it is that we even exist. There has to be a creator.”

  “Why?” Allison asked.

  “Because you can’t have creation without a creator, Aunt Allison. Someone had to start the universe. It takes a lot more faith to think that the universe randomly created itself.”

  Allison flipped on her left turn signal to merge toward the Tropicana Ave. exit. “But if you want to take it to its lowest common denominator, who created God, then?”

  “But that’s just it. If God created the universe, then he created all the laws in the universe. God doesn’t need a creator. God just is.”

  “That’s an awfully big ‘if.’ And even if it’s true, isn’t it a pretty huge leap to go from ‘there must be a creator’ to ‘Jesus must be the way to salvation.’ You have to make an awful lot of assumptions to get from Point A to Point B. That’s why I can’t put my faith in that stuff. It doesn’t mean I’m hostile to the idea of a creator. It just means that I’m not going to accept anyone’s far-fetched beliefs without empirical evidence. Like I used to tell your mom, you’ve got a pretty big burden of proof on your hands.”

  “Well, if there’s a creator, wouldn’t he want us to know that he’s out there? That he loves us? Plus, there’s no other book like the Bible that’s ever been written. Like, Pastor Scott was saying that the Bible has more than 2,000 prophecies that came true. Including the Jews returning to Israel. That’s a miracle right there.”

  “Wouldn’t that be more of a case for Judaism than Christianity?” Allison asked as she turned right onto Las Vegas Boulevard, passing the famous castle-shaped Excalibur Hotel & Casino.

  “But a lot of these prophecies were fulfilled in the New Testament,” Kristen said, “and we know it’s reliable because we know that it was written not that long after Jesus’s resurrection. Like, some of Paul’s writings are from just a couple of decades later. There are no other religious books that were written that soon after it happened.”

  As Allison passed the southern tip of the Vegas Strip, its bright lights reflecting off of her rear-view mirror, she looked ahead and saw miles of hazy dirt road. On the left side of the street, off in the distance, she could make out the faint silhouette of Dominic’s chapel.

  “Look,” Allison said, “I can tell you’ve done your homework on this, and I really respect that. Most people will just believe whateve
r’s spoon-fed to them. But everything you’ve given me is either circumstantial or self-fulfilling prophecy. This planet is over four billion years old, and humans have only been on it for like two hundred thousand years. We know for certain that we weren’t dropped in a garden with a forbidden apple tree. We’re the product of billions of years of complicated evolution. But I suppose next you’re going to tell me that evolution is a lie.” That last sentence came off snarkier than she had intended, and she felt slightly guilty.

  “I don’t know,” Kristen said. “I don’t really worry about that because the Bible says that one day is like a thousand to God. So what’s a billion years, then? Nothing. If God created the universe in seven days, maybe that’s billions of years to a human. Maybe Adam and Eve’s story is just a parable. Maybe not. Creation could be a process and not just an instant thing. The Bible even says that man was created from the dust of the ground. I read this one book that said Genesis might have been referring to a single-celled organism.”

  “Well, at least you’re not trying to convince me that the universe is six thousand years old. I guess that’s progress.”

  Kristen turned to Allison. “I'm not trying to start a fight,” she said. “I love you, Aunt Allison. I don’t want you to go to Hell.”

  Allison could almost feel her heart breaking with those words. Laura had said something very similar to her in the months before her death. It was the one argument Allison had no rebuttal for. How could you dispute someone who sincerely loved you and wanted to save you from an eternity of unspeakable torment—even if, in Allison's mind, there was no logical basis for such a position?

  Allison turned to Kristen, getting somewhat choked up. “Kristen, I think you’re an amazing person, and I hope you never lose that compassion that you have. Fuck, I love you like crazy, and I’d do anything for you. Seriously. I hope you know that.”