The Devil's Lullaby

by Chris Scalise

  “By the way,” Aren continued, “just between us, what’s the story on that Las Vegas Exorcist guy? He couldn’t be less like you.”

  Pastor Doug nodded. “Well, Dominic never practiced exorcism when he was here. That’s just not something we do.”

  “So how did Dominic get wrapped up in it? Completely off the record, of course. This has nothing to do with the documentary, just my own morbid curiosity.”

  “Honestly, that’s a question you’d have to ask him. He never expressed any interest in spiritual warfare or demonic possession when he was working here. As far as I know, that all happened after he moved to Las Vegas.”

  “Oh really?” Aren asked. “That’s interesting. I guess I’d just assumed that that’s why he was excommunicated.”

  “Dominic was never asked to leave,” Pastor Doug said, rising to his feet and gathering his large hardcover Bible from the desk. “There were some internal issues with his leadership, and he had disagreements with myself and the other church elders. But leaving was entirely his decision.” He made his way toward the door. “Please stay for the service if you have no other plans tonight. I’ll be covering five important takeaways from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and I think it has some important universal lessons for believers and non-believers alike. It’s been a pleasure meeting both of you.” He opened the door, stepped out into the hall, and gestured for his guests to join him.

  Allison and Aren followed him into the hall and down the long, tiled walkway back to the reception area.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Aren asked, “why did Dominic leave?”

  Pastor Doug stopped and turned to Aren. “I can’t help but wonder, did you come here tonight to talk about a documentary, or to talk about Dominic Maffiore?”

  Aren stammered for a moment while gathering his thoughts.

  “The documentary is definitely real,” Allison cut in, “and we’d love for you to be a part of it. But one of the subjects we want to cover is how some people become atheists because of Christians who make your religion look bad. That’s why we’re curious about Dominic. He’s doing some really bad things in Las Vegas, and we just want to know how a guy like that turns sour.”

  Aren shot her a relieved glance as if to say, “Good save.”

  Pastor Doug checked his watch. “Look, I have to get going, but all I can say about Dominic Maffiore is that I don’t know what’s inside his heart. He used to be the music director here; he actually plays something like twelve different instruments. After a while, he started expressing an interest in other leadership roles. A lot of his suggestions, though, were a bit concerning to the church leaders.”

  “Concerning?” Aren asked.

  “Well, most of his suggestions for the church were about collecting more money: keeping track of how much money each member was tithing, charging for special small-group church services, that sort of thing. He even insisted that we should charge money for our weekly sermon podcast. I explained to him that the podcast is part of our ministry and will never be a paid service, but he didn’t agree. Finally, he just left and started his own ministry in Las Vegas. He said he had found an investor to partner with him, some Christian heavy metal singer. That’s the last we ever heard from him.”

  Pastor Doug guided his guests back to the reception area and then disappeared through a different door, presumably to enter the sanctuary from backstage. Most of the congregation members had already cleared the main lobby of the building, and acoustic praise-and-worship music could be heard from inside the sanctuary.

  When Allison and Aren stepped back into the courtyard, Aren was already searching social media for Christian heavy metal bands based in Riverside and Las Vegas.

  “This might be the piece we’ve been missing,” he said as they speed-walked back toward the parking lot. “Maybe the reason why we haven’t been able to trace anything back to Dominic is because his partner is doing all of the dirty work.”

  “Maybe,” Allison said. “By the way, remind me about all that stuff you were saying before. You know, how conning people is immoral and someone always gets hurt and all that shit.”

  Aren turned to her. “I was desperate. I can’t even tell you how long I’ve been trying to get that guy on the phone, and I wasn’t about to get turned away by some desk jockey when I was finally so close. So fuckin’ sue me.”

  Allison laughed. “I mean, clearly you’re no better than people who trick cancer patients into using turmeric instead of chemo. I mean, that is your logic.”

  Aren shook his head. “Look, when I said all that stuff, I just didn’t want you to get hurt, or get one of your loved ones hurt.”

  “Oh, so you did it for my benefit. My knight in shining armor! And you’re welcome, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  “For me saving your ass when he called you out on your weak-ass con.”

  Aren was once again staring down at his phone. “I was handling it.”

  “Oh, please. You were about as subtle as an army tank.”

  “Dammit,” Aren said. “There are dozens of Christian metal bands in this area alone.”

  “If you’d like,” Allison said, ignoring his comment, “I can give you some pointers on how to pull off a more convincing con.”

  Aren lowered his phone and smiled at her. “You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Oh, I’ve only just begun.”

  When they arrived back at the hotel, they had expensive cocktails in the Presidential Lounge and then returned to Aren’s room, where they argued about their next move and tried to come up with a solid game plan.

  Allison changed into her most comfortable silk Nike shorts and tank top while Aren obsessively continued to research Christian heavy metal bands based in California and Nevada. He looked for singers with criminal pasts, singers with an interest in exorcism, and singers connected to Dominic Maffiore, but nothing came up.

  As they sat on the long couch in Aren’s presidential suite, half drunk and completely exhausted, Aren typed away furiously on his laptop. He grew increasingly frustrated with each new web search.

  “Look for ones that are wealthy,” Allison said, leaning back on the edge of the soft couch with her eyes closed. “He said that the partner was like an investor, so he’s probably loaded. I hardly doubt that he got that money from singing shitty metal songs about Jesus for a bunch of high school youth groups.” Allison considered her use of the words ‘hardly doubt’ and realized that she was drunker than she had previously realized.

  “You’d be surprised,” Aren said, still typing. “There’s serious fucking money in Christian rock. If you can draw a crowd, you can make bank. Like, regular bands have to buy a rickety van and travel around the country playing shitty clubs and dive bars for beer money, all the while begging for their next gig.

  “The Christian scene doesn’t work like that. When churches book a band, they look at it like a ministry cost. So they can pay good money, and a lot of times they even pay for travel and hotels. If you’re good enough or popular enough that a lot of places want to book you, you can seriously make a fortune. It’s ridiculous.”

  Allison rolled her eyes. “Says the man who works in the same hotel every night and makes a shit-ton of money for turning two ropes into one rope.” She laughed.

  Aren continued to type. “The closest thing I can find is the singer of As I Lay Dying. He spent some time in prison for trying to hire a hitman to kill his wife. I really don’t think he’s connected to this, though. He was still in prison when Cindy disappeared, and he doesn’t seem to have any association with Dominic whatsoever.”

  Noticing his distraction and frustration, Allison stretched her bare foot across the couch and brushed her toes against the front of his jeans, toying with his zipper.

  Aren turned to her and gave her a somewhat sarcastic smile. “Am I boring you?” he asked.

  “No,” Allison said, “but I’m fucking exhausted. I think we need to call it
a night.”

  Aren closed his laptop and placed it on the hand-carved coffee table in front of the couch. He then gently ran his hand up and down her bare leg, growing visibly aroused with each stroke. Each time he guided his hand up the length of her leg, he allowed himself to touch just a bit more of her thigh. Allison shivered with excitement.

  She brushed her foot against his jeans a second time. Now his cock was rock hard, clearly ready for action. Her eyes still closed, she smiled at the satisfaction it gave her. It wasn’t so much the sexual satisfaction, though she was definitely aroused. It was more the satisfaction in sensing his desperate need for her.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he whispered as he continued to tease her leg with his touch.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I think the effects have pretty much worn off because I’m suddenly remembering how much I hate the world.” She set her feet on the floor, scooted next to him, and gently kissed him on the mouth, teasing his lower lip as she pressed her chest against his own and felt the rapid pace of his heartbeat. Both of their hearts were beating out of control.

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her a second time. “The world’s not so bad,” he whispered, running his fingers through her long hair. “It’s the people that are shit.”

  She laughed and kissed him a third time, this time sliding her tongue over his own and moaning softly as his hands descended the small of her back and cupped her ass. In response, she hoisted herself onto his lap and felt the weight of his throbbing erection. Clearly, it was ready to burst right through his jeans.

  She continued to kiss him as she ran her fingers over the massive swelling between his legs. Now he was starting to shiver.

  He slid his fingers beneath her loose tank top and slowly guided them along her stomach. Just before he reached her breasts, she kissed him one more time and gently guided his hands back down to his sides. Then she rose to her feet.

  “I should probably get some sleep,” she said. “It’s been a long day, and I haven’t even seen my room yet.”

  She was amused by the look of confusion and exasperation on Aren’s face as she collected her belongings from the floor and slipped into her shoes. “We should probably get back on the road pretty early if we’re going to be back in Vegas in time for your show,” she said. Aren didn’t say a word.

  She stepped over to the couch and kissed him again, this time on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  Then she left the room with a smile and made her way along the fourth-story pathway, feeling sexually unfulfilled but personally gratified.

  21

  It took nearly three hours and five buses for Kristen to get from her home in North Las Vegas to Aunt Allison’s shop at Tropicana and Valley View—near the south end of the Vegas Strip. It had been ten days since Aunt Allison had texted her the message: “Sorry for delay. Change of plans. Don’t do anything, I’ll handle it. Have fun @ Disney.”

  That was the last time Kristen had heard from her aunt, and she was beginning to worry. What was more worrisome was the fact that Aunt Allison’s shop in the slightly decrepit brown strip mall was now closed and empty in the middle of the afternoon, even though the sign listed Saturday hours. It wasn’t like Aunt Allison to just disappear and go off the radar.

  Kristen pressed her face against the glass and gazed into the dark shop. As she observed the shelves full of books and crystals and the countertops stacked with cardboard boxes, a car pulled up behind her and came to a stop in the middle of the mostly desolate parking lot.

  “Excuse me,” said a woman’s voice.

  Kristen turned and saw a middle-aged woman behind the wheel of a black Chevy Silverado pickup. Her passenger-side window was down, and she was looking directly at Kristen through a large pair of drug store sunglasses.

  “Yeah?” Kristen called to her.

  “Do you know when the store’s going to open again?” she asked.

  Kristen turned and approached the side of the truck, shaking her head. “No. I was just wondering that.”

  The woman looked irritated. “I had an appointment with the medium for Thursday, but the store was closed. And yesterday it was closed too. What the heck is going on?”

  “When did you make your appointment?” Kristen asked, growing even more concerned.

  “Like two weeks ago.”

  Kristen turned and raced back to the bus stop. Aunt Allison’s apartment was two bus rides away: one bus eastbound on Tropicana to Maryland Parkway, and one bus northbound on Maryland Parkway to Flamingo. From there, it would just be a short walk to the apartment. Her heart was pounding as she raced along the crosswalk to the eastbound bus stop. Aunt Allison, where are you?

  She caught the next bus out and reached Allison’s high-rise apartment complex about an hour later. It was now after three o’clock, and her phone was still devoid of notifications from Aunt Allison. She stood by the building’s closed entrance gate and waited for a car to enter so she could slip inside. Then she entered the tiled lobby and took the elevator to the seventh floor.

  The closer she got to Aunt Allison’s apartment, the faster her heart raced. From the beginning, she understood that there could be danger involved in her aunt’s investigation, but now she was starting to fear the worst.

  When the elevator doors slid open on the seventh floor, she walked down the gray, unadorned corridor, sweating profusely from both the warm temperature in the hallway and her own apprehension.

  She stopped at Aunt Allison’s door and knocked several times, as loudly as she could. “Aunt Allison,” she called out. “Are you in there? Aunt Allison.” She knocked again.

  No response.

  She groaned and then knocked several more times. “Aunt Allison.”

  To her surprise and relief, the door opened. Standing on the other side was her aunt dressed in sweatpants and a faded Reebok T-shirt, her hair matted and disheveled, her eyelids heavy with dark-colored bags.

  Before Aunt Allison could even say anything, Kristen threw her arms around her. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Aunt Allison awkwardly patted her on the back. “Kristen, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was worried about you! You never answer your phone and your store was closed. I thought something bad might have happened.”

  “I’m fine, Kristen. I just need a little break.”

  “Why?”

  “Because...just...how did you even get here?”

  “I took the bus,” Kristen replied.

  Aunt Allison sighed. “That’s crazy.” She slowly opened the door the rest of the way, revealing a living room that was now cluttered with boxes of inventory for her store. “Just come inside. Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes, please,” Kristen said, stepping into the apartment. As Allison hobbled listlessly to her refrigerator, Kristen stepped across the room and approached the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. Through the glass she could see the Vegas Strip off in the distance. From this height, it was almost completely unobstructed.

  “Do you want orange juice?” Aunt Allison called out from the fridge. “Coke? Water?” The kitchen area was located in the corner of the main room, just a few feet away. There were no walls separating it from the living room. It was distinguished only by its tiled floor, granite countertop, and electronic appliances.

  “Water is fine,” Kristen said, still looking out at the city.

  Aunt Allison approached her and handed her a bottle of Aquafina. “I also have stronger drinks, if you want.”

  Kristen frowned. “I’m fifteen.”

  “Right, sorry. I keep forgetting, you’re much better than I was at fifteen.”

  Kristen looked her over. Aunt Allison clearly hadn’t showered in a few days, and the puffy bags under her eyes gave the impression that she had been crying. Kristen had never seen her aunt like this before.

  “Is everything okay?” Kristen asked.

  “Yeah,” Aunt Allison replied with a slight shake in he
r voice. “It’s been a long week. I’m just fucking exhausted.”

  “Oh,” Kristen said, not wanting to push the matter any further.

  Aunt Allison took a seat on the leather couch. “So...how’s school?”

  “Fine,” Kristen replied, slowly taking a seat on the other end of the couch. She rambled briefly about how her math teacher had left in the middle of the school year to have a baby and how everyone in the class hated the new teacher. Aunt Allison occasionally smiled and looked up at her, but it was obvious that she wasn’t really invested in the conversation.

  As Kristen lamented her difficulty understanding the new teacher’s German accent, she looked up and saw that Aunt Allison was now staring out at the Strip. At that point, Kristen decided to switch gears and address a topic that would definitely be of interest to her aunt.

  “So, I went back to Dominic Maffiore’s church last Tuesday,” she said.

  Aunt Allison immediately snapped out of her trance and shot Kristen a horrified look. “You did what?”

  “He invited me, and you wouldn’t answer the phone, so I had Grandma give me a ride. It was just like you said. When we talked after that first—”

  “Kristen, I told you to stay away from him.”

  “I know, but I can do this. I promise not to mess it up again!”

  Aunt Allison rushed to the other side of the couch and grabbed Kristen by both shoulders, squeezing tightly. “That’s not what this is about. I need you to stay away from him because he’s a very, very dangerous man and I don’t want you to get hurt. Promise me you won’t have any more contact with him. Fucking promise me!” Her hands were shaking, and Kristen was growing very tense in response.

  “Yeah, okay. I promise. Aunt Allison, are you okay?”

  Aunt Allison wiped the sweat from her face and slowly took a seat on the couch beside Kristen. “You want to know the truth? The reason I’ve been sitting in this apartment decaying for the last week?”

  “Yeah…”

  Aunt Allison leaned forward, pressing her hands against her forehead. For several moments, she said nothing. Finally, she leaned back and looked at Kristen. “Remember that girl at Dominic’s service? The one I was supposed to be looking after?”