The Devil's Lullaby

by Chris Scalise

  “Yes!” Kristen shouted into the phone. “She went there to look for the Las Vegas Exorcist because he said he would be there. But now he says he’s not there and that he never said that, and I think it’s some kind of trap. My aunt is going to that house right now and you need to send the police really quick.”

  “I’m sorry, can you slow down?” the befuddled dispatcher replied. “Sweetie, I’m having a hard time following what you’re saying. Do you know that your aunt is in danger?”

  “Yes!” Kristen stomped her foot on the kitchen floor as she uttered the exclamation. “The Las Vegas Exorcist killed a bunch of girls and now my aunt’s going right to his house. I was supposed to meet him there, but I think he figured out that I was lying and now I don’t know what he’s going to do or who’s really at that house right now. Please hurry!”

  “Wait, who killed a bunch of girls?”

  “Can you please just send the cops?” Kristen shouted. “There isn’t a lot of time.”

  “Okay, ma’am. I’m going to send an officer to make sure everything’s okay. I need you to stay on the line with me, though, okay? Go back to what you said before. About—”

  Kristen abruptly ended the call. She knew she had to get to her aunt as quickly as possible. For all she knew, it would take two hours for police to arrive and “make sure everything’s okay.”

  Right now, Kristen didn’t trust the police to arrive in time. Aunt Allison had called the police immediately upon receiving her friend’s distress call, and that friend was now dead. Kristen wasn’t about to let the same thing happen to Aunt Allison.

  She pocketed both smartphones, threw on her baby blue down jacket, and raced out of the apartment. She took the rickety old elevator to the ground floor, jogged through the empty tiled lobby, and made her way outside and through the pedestrian door connected to the perimeter gate.

  When she reached the busy sidewalk along Flamingo, she retrieved her aunt’s phone and used the Uber app to hail a ride. She would have to apologize for this expense later, but the most important thing right now was getting to that house by seven o’clock and stopping her aunt from going inside. In the “Destination” field of the rideshare request form, she entered the address that she had been provided in the email—by Dominic or whomever.

  Her Uber was a white 2014 Toyota Camry. When it pulled up along the sidewalk, she hopped into the backseat and thanked the driver for picking her up.

  “No problem,” he said, drifting effortlessly back into the busy traffic. He was a svelte young Asian man who wore athletic apparel and the biggest Apple Watch that Kristen had ever seen. “You look different in your photo,” he said, referring to the profile photo on Aunt Allison’s Uber account.

  “Oh, yeah,” Kristen said. “I dyed my hair blonde. I wanted to try something different.” She was once again overcome with that sense of guilt that always accompanied her dishonesty. “Is there any way you can drive fast?”

  According to Uber’s estimated duration, they would arrive at the house at 7:07; that wasn’t nearly good enough. A lot could happen in seven minutes. Kristen didn’t even want to think about all the things that could happen in seven minutes.

  “Sorry,” the driver said. “Traffic is crazy this time of night. It’ll ease up once we get to Henderson.”

  He turned right onto Eastern and headed southbound toward the city of Henderson. As he moved further and further away from Flamingo, the traffic did ease slightly, but it wasn’t enough. Kristen closed her eyes and prayed, terrified that this night would change her life forever.

  24

  Allison and Aren arrived at 14621 Oasis Crossing at exactly 6:55 p.m. They parked along the street three houses away and studied their destination. There were no cars in front of the house, and no lights on.

  “Something seems...off,” Aren said, studying the house from a distance.

  “Yeah,” Allison replied. “The house looks as abandoned as it was the day we ransacked it.”

  They sat in the car and waited another five minutes, but nothing changed. No cars pulled up. No lights turned on. Finally, they decided to go and investigate. They slowly exited the vehicle and made their way toward the house, monitoring their surroundings with each step.

  They ventured up the cobblestone path leading to the front porch, and Allison rang the doorbell. The police tape had been removed from the premises, apparently because the police couldn’t find one shred of evidence that a crime had occurred there.

  Allison’s heart pounded as she stood beside Aren in the dark, waiting for the slightest indication of human life. She wondered what she would do if Dominic actually answered the door. Would she play stupid and explain that Kristen wasn’t able to make it? Perhaps buy some time while she waited for Officer Jacobs to arrive? That seemed like the most feasible solution, but she couldn’t be certain of what she would actually do on impulse if she came face to face with Dominic at this house.

  After about a minute, she heard movement coming from inside. It sounded like creaking floorboards, but the sounds were muffled so she couldn’t be certain. She held her breath for several seconds, waiting for the door to open, but nothing happened. She turned to Aren.

  “Did you hear anything inside?” she asked.

  Aren nodded. “I’m pretty sure I heard someone moving around.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Allison said, pressing her ear to the door. Once again, everything was silent. Silent and dark. She rang the doorbell a second time, her ear still pressed to the door. Silence.

  “I had a feeling I’d catch you guys here,” said a deep voice from behind.

  Startled, Allison whipped around and saw Officer Jacobs standing behind her on the porch, dressed in his police uniform.

  “Jesus,” she said. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  “You people just aren’t gonna let me do my job, are you?” he said, approaching the door and banging several times on the wood. “Police,” he bellowed. “Open up.”

  No response.

  “I just want to make sure that Dominic is brought to justice,” Allison said.

  “Same here,” Aren said.

  “Hmm…” Officer Jacobs replied. “If only there was some kind of professional organization of people responsible for capturing criminals and bringing them to justice.” He banged on the door again. “Police. This is your last warning. I have a warrant to enter this home.”

  “How did you get a warrant?” Allison asked.

  Officer Jacobs turned the broken knob on the splintered front door and pushed the door open effortlessly. The interior of the home was eclipsed in total darkness. “Never mind that. You play by your own rules, and sometimes I play by mine.” He stepped onto the tiled entryway just inside the house, and Allison and Aren followed close behind.

  Aren flipped on the light switch, illuminating the foyer and the lower section of the staircase. A second light switch activated the hall light at the top of the stairs.

  “You’re sure he said it was tonight?” Aren asked, leaning toward Allison’s ear.

  “Yes,” Allison replied as she began ascending the stairs.

  When she reached the top, she slowly tiptoed past each room, gazing inside and turning on the lights as she passed them. Before long, the entire upstairs was illuminated. She looked under beds, inside the showers, and even behind curtains, but she found no signs of life. Everything was completely unchanged since her last visit. She even searched for an entrance that might lead into an attic, but the dated popcorn ceiling was perfectly solid from one end of the house to the other.

  Downstairs, she could hear Aren and Officer Jacobs opening doors, rummaging through drawers, and moving furniture, seemingly to no avail. While they combed through the lower level of the house, Allison dropped to her knees and studied every inch of the upstairs carpet in search of loose fibers, gaps, or anything that might lead to a previously unseen floorboard. Despite having previously scanned every square inch of the home in vain, she was still obse
ssed with finding the diary that Cassidy had told her about. Perhaps it was her way of trying to bring closure to the situation and put some of her own agony to rest. Once again, her search came up dry.

  As she crawled on her hands and knees across the bedroom floor, she heard the familiar creak once again. Was it a footstep? A gust of wind acting on a flimsily constructed home? She looked up. It sounded like it was coming from directly above her head, but there was no way a human being could have gotten up there. She had carefully examined the entire ceiling from inside the hallway, every bedroom, and both bathrooms. She feared her paranoia was getting the best of her.

  When her search for the diary once again left her empty-handed, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, where Aren and Officer Jacobs were rummaging through piles of junk mail and assorted paperwork that they had placed on the table.

  She looked at Aren, who was dressed in tight jeans and a T-shirt that bared the words “Sonata Arctica.” He was intently studying some sort of gray business flyer.

  Then she looked at Officer Jacobs, who was clearly deep in thought. Suddenly, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. As the reality of the situation set in, she felt her knees grow weak and she gripped the counter for support. Her mind was racing, and her heart followed suit.

  It only took a few seconds for Aren to look over and notice her obvious unrest. He rose to his feet. “Allison, are you okay?”

  Allison shook her head. “No,” she said in a near-whisper. She stared at the off-white kitchen wall for a few moments. “Something is really bugging me. Obviously, Dominic was tipped off by somebody. Thing is, I only told two people he was going to be here tonight, and they’re both standing in this room.” She turned her head toward Officer Jacobs and Aren, both of whom appeared more annoyed than offended.

  “Like you,” she said, gesturing toward Aren. “You’re more obsessed with Dominic than anyone I’ve ever known. How do I know you’re not actually on his side?” She turned toward Officer Jacobs. “And you...Every single time I’ve come to this house, you’ve been lurking around.”

  “You mean doing my job?” Officer Jacobs shot back. “You’re the one who made the 911 call, remember?”

  “And you’re the one who keeps bringing me here,” said Aren, scowling at her. “What’s your role in all of this?”

  “Fuck you!” Allison spat, not loudly but with tremendous conviction. “Do you think I asked to be pulled into all this shit? I was totally fucking happy with my boring life in my boring shop, and then people started dying. Now I want everyone responsible to fucking pay for it, and I’m sick of these dead ends. I want fucking answers, and it starts right here in this room.”

  Officer Jacobs shook his head. “I’m out. Next time you get a hot tip, don’t call me. Bunch of grown-ass children.” He then marched out of the kitchen shaking his head. “And you guys need to go,” he shouted from the foyer. “You’re trespassing on private property.” The front door opened and then slammed shut.

  Aren took a step toward Allison. “We’re all just looking for answers,” he said softly. “And look, I might have actually found something.” He raised his hand toward her, extending the gray flyer that he had been studying.

  Allison stepped forward and took it from him, unfolding it. At the top was a blue logo featuring a half sunrise and the words “Sonrise Vacation Properties.” Beneath the logo was a web address and a few lines of generic marketing copy about affordable rates, spacious properties, and full amenities.

  “What is this?” Allison asked.

  “I found a stack of these in one of the drawers. I checked the website address, and it looks legit, until you click on the house listings. This is the only house listed in the Las Vegas area, and the few other listings are all hundreds of miles away and copied word-for-word from TripAdvisor and other sites. Whoever built this website probably doesn’t even own those houses. They just wanted to make it look like a real property rental site.” He retrieved his phone from the kitchen table and handed it to her.

  Allison looked at the web page on the screen. It was a pretty simple white layout, but it certainly looked like a legitimate vacation rental site. The house in which they were standing was the first house that appeared in the rental listings. Only seven other houses were listed, and most were located on the East Coast.

  She tapped the listing for the Henderson house. The description read: “4 beds; 2.5 baths. Sleeps 10. A steal at just $50 a day! Fully stocked kitchen with range, microwave, freezer/fridge, dishwasher. Amenities include flatscreen TV in every room, DIRECTV, WiFi, AC/heating, full security system. Pet-friendly. Great neighborhood. 15 min from Strip!”

  Following the description were several high-resolution photographs of the house.

  “I don’t get it,” Allison said. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Think of it like magic,” Aren said. “When we get up on stage and ask you to pick a card, the trick is making you think you’re in control, but we’ve already sorted the deck to make sure you do exactly what we wanted you to do. This website is just a trick deck. Dominic hands his flyer to vulnerable young victims and says, ‘You need to get away from your toxic home life for a while. I know this great service. Pick a house, any house.’ But the magician already picked the house for you. And once you’re here, he can isolate you, manipulate you, and ultimately get rid of you.”

  Allison shook her head. She frantically scanned the site looking for an “About Us” or “Contact” page, or even a footer with the name of a parent company. There was nothing.

  Aren held out his hand, and Allison returned the phone to him.

  He raised the phone to chest level and began typing away. A few seconds later, he nodded. “Just like I thought.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m looking at the source code. Every page on this website has a noindex tag. Whoever designed this website was hell-bent on making sure it wouldn’t be picked up by search engines. The only way to even access this website is by manually typing in the address that appears on the flyer. Now, if you were running a real vacation rental site, why would you hide it from search engines?”

  Allison took a seat at the kitchen table. “You say all this shit like it’s some amazing bombshell, but we already knew that Dominic was manipulating these girls. Tell me something that can actually bring his ass down.”

  Aren set the phone on the table and sat across from her. “I’m getting to that. Now that we’ve found the website he’s using, we might be able to trace it back to him. You wanted to come here tonight to prove that this is Dominic’s house. This website might be able to do just that.”

  “How?”

  Aren picked up the phone and began typing again. “Whenever someone buys a website domain, there’s a record of it. Any dumbass can easily search the records online in the WHOIS database and find out everything there is to know about the domain owner.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Allison said. “When I set up the website for my shop, I set it to keep me anonymous because I didn’t want a bunch of weirdos finding my home address on the internet.”

  “Yeah, but even if you register anonymously, it’s pretty easy to get the hosting provider to give up the information if you threaten legal action or mention a possible crime. Plus, my guess is that Dominic paid someone to make the website for him. Web designers like to keep their contact information public, because, who knows? Maybe someone will see my beautifully designed website and say, ‘I want that genius to build a website for me.’”

  Aren typed for a few more seconds, and then a smile slowly spread across his face. “Well, look at that. We have a name and an address right here in Las Vegas. Arthur Glen. East Desert Inn Rd. It’s actually pretty close by. Want to take a ride?”

  “What do we have to lose?” Allison said, feeling pessimistic. “But I need to call Kristen and make sure everything’s okay at home.” She walked over to the counter and dug through her handbag. “Fu
ck, I must have left my phone at home.”

  Aren held out his phone. “Use mine.”

  “I don’t fucking know anyone’s phone number by heart. I remember my home phone number from when I was a kid. That’s about it. And my mom dropped her landline years ago.”

  “We can stop at your apartment after we swing by this guy’s house,” Aren said. “Let’s go put an end to all this.”

  They took the flyer, exited the home, and drove off in Aren’s Tesla. As they turned southbound onto Eastern, they passed a white Toyota Camry with a passenger who looked oddly like Kristen. Allison loathed how her mind played tricks on her, exploiting her greatest fears.

  If anything were to happen to Kristen…

  25

  “Here we are,” the Uber driver said as he pulled up in front of the dark house. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home, though.”

  Kristen peered out the car window and studied the two-story house. She had no idea what Aren’s car looked like, but it didn’t matter; there were no cars parked in front of the house. How could this be possible? It was 7:12. There was no way they could have arrived before Aren and Aunt Allison.

  “Can you just wait here?” Kristen said. “I’m going to go peek inside real quick.”

  “No problem,” the driver said. “I have to pick up my wife from work, though, so don’t be too long.”

  “I’ll be quick,” Kristen said as she pushed the door open and stepped out of the car.

  She made her way up the cobbled path, onto the dark porch, and up to the damaged front door, which appeared to have been kicked in. She froze. This definitely didn’t look right. She stood, uneasy, for nearly a minute, and then turned around to ensure that the driver still had his eye on her.

  She knocked on the door, softly at first, then louder. The door was so warped that the latch bolt didn’t even make contact with the strike. The hardware responsible for keeping the door closed was no longer aligned with its corresponding slot in the door frame. So when Kristen knocked firmly, the door simply bounced off the doorjamb and opened slowly toward her, creaking all the while like a scene from a horror movie.