The Snake and the Spider

by Karen Kingsbury

  Bob had told him to infiltrate whichever cult responded the most aggressively in trying to recruit him. He would be paid one hundred dollars a day to go undercover as a new cult member and search for Jim and Daryl. If he found them, he was to leave the compound immediately and find the nearest pay phone where he would call for help.

  Jeff knew these instructions by heart, but something about riding in the bus with the robed men made him feel very uneasy.

  Suddenly, the bus stopped and turned off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. They made their way through a hundred yards of dense brush and when it cleared, Jeff could see a series of brick buildings spread out on several acres of flat land. It looked almost like a campus, but Jeff could see that everyone wore robes and all of them had shaved heads.

  Jeff ran his fingers through his shoulder-length honey-colored hair. Going undercover was one thing, but there was no way he was going to let them cut his hair.

  “No women out here, huh?” he asked the man who had brought him to the bus. There had been no conversation since the ride started and now the man stared at Jeff in confusion.

  “Women?”

  Jeff laughed nervously. “Yeah, you know, women. Girls, babes, chicks.” He held up his hands and drew an invisible hour glass in the air.

  Finally, the man nodded in understanding. “This is not a place for men and women. We are one in all things.”

  “So there’s no women, then?”

  “The females and males all look the same, all dress the same. Share everything and everything will be shared with you. This is our belief. It is the best way, the only way. You will see.”

  Jeff began to feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on his hands and forehead. “Hey, man,” he said. “I’m just checking this out. I’m not so sure it’s for me.”

  “There is no other way. We are all one, all together. It is the only way to truly live. You will see.”

  Jeff stared at the man in horror. It was almost as if someone had systematically removed his brain and replaced it with a computer program. He sounded as if he no longer had the ability to think for himself. He shuddered. Whoever the missing teenagers were, he hoped they hadn’t gotten involved with this group. If they had, there really might be no way out.

  When the bus stopped, two men escorted Jeff into what appeared to be the main building. They walked into a room off a center hallway and inside were four other teens like himself. Their faces bore confused expressions, their eyes wide with concern. But they still wore beach clothes and so far each of them still had his hair, so Jeff knew they hadn’t been at the compound for long.

  Jeff was placed alongside the others and all five were directed to face the front of the room. At that instant, a dozen robed men walked into the room and began to stare at the newcomers. Finally, when ten minutes of uncomfortable silence had passed, a tall man with some kind of cloth hat walked into the room.

  “I am your leader. You will repeat after me,” he said. It was not a question and as he spoke, the other robed men moved closer to the new recruits. They broke into groups of two and three and surrounded the newcomers, staring directly into their eyes.

  Suddenly, as if on cue, the robed people began whispering in unison, “You will obey, you will obey, you will obey.”

  While they continued this quiet chant, the tall man in the front of the room began to speak loudly. “I am nothing.”

  When the teenagers did not respond immediately, his voice rose several degrees. “Repeat after me! I am nothing.”

  Hesitantly, the boys responded. “I am nothing.”

  “I am nothing.” His voice filled the room.

  “I am nothing,” they repeated.

  “I own nothing.”

  “I own nothing.”

  After ten minutes of this, Jeff was feeling as if he might go berserk at any moment. While he was busy repeating the words of the leader, the other robed men continued to stare at him, their faces not more than ten inches from his. Their whispers had grown deafening. “You will obey, you will obey, you will obey.”

  It was one thing to play detective for a day. But Jeff was certain that this was something altogether different. He had the frightening feeling that these people did not mess around with new recruits. If one of the newcomers didn’t agree with what was happening, Jeff suspected no one was going to hop in the bus and take dissenters back to the beach.

  The whispers continued and Jeff was aware of what was happening. They were being brainwashed so that they would all think the same, act the same, and most of all, obey the leader.

  “I own nothing.” His voice boomed through the tiny, windowless room.

  “I own nothing,” they repeated. Already, Jeff could hear the voices of the newcomers changing. It was as if they could do nothing but go along with the tide of suggestion.

  “I belong here.”

  “I belong here.”

  “I am nothing.”

  “I am nothing.”

  “I own nothing.”

  “I own nothing.”

  Jeff kept up with the others, repeating the words and appearing to be falling under the control of the leader. But he began to scan the eyes and faces of the dozen members who faced them. It was impossible to ignore their whispered commands. “You will obey, you will obey, you will obey.”

  He finished examining their faces and determined that none of them was Jim or Daryl.

  Then, suddenly, the leader said something that Jeff did not understand. The robed members continued their whispers but they began to part to the side. Suddenly the leader came closer, standing directly in front of the newcomers.

  “You will obey,” he said, his voice clear and distinct over the constant whispers.

  Each of the boys nodded in agreement. Then, the leader directed the boys into another room where there were separate changing areas. He handed them white robes and instructed them to remove all their clothing and personal belongings.

  Jeff took the robe and went into a tiny curtained stall. How did I get into this? he asked himself. He decided to obey because he needed to get past this initiation phase if he was ever to mingle with the others and look for Jim and Daryl. He pulled off his clothes and put on the robe.

  At about the same time, he and the others walked hesitantly out of the stalls. Then they were led into another room where they were told to sit in folding chairs. Suddenly, Jeff heard the distinct sound of an electric shaver.

  Just as he was about to scream for them to stop, he felt the blades against his skull and saw thick clumps of his hair fall to the ground around him. There was no turning back now, Jeff knew. He was undercover.

  For the next three hours the new recruits were forced to repeat basic sentences in what Jeff knew was more brainwashing. No wonder the man on the bus had sounded programmed. The cult leaders did not want new members to be able to think for themselves. It was a terrifying thing to watch and Jeff had to hold himself back from bolting out of the building and running for the highway.

  Finally, at dinnertime, he and the others were led into a dining room. Jeff estimated there were more than two hundred teenagers and young adults seated at picnic tables. The man on the bus had been right. There seemed to be no males and no females. Everyone looked and acted and even sounded exactly the same.

  “Eat for strength, eat for strength, eat for strength.” The soft, seductive sound of a female voice was piped into the room stating the same three words again and again. Jeff forced himself to block out the sound as he took a plate of mushy food and began to search the eating area for Jim and Daryl.

  No one seemed to be talking but across from him he overheard one teenager whispering to another.

  “The ritual is next,” he said. “The ritual is next.”

  Jeff’s eyes widened in horror. He had heard enough. He needed to escape before the ritual took place, whatever it was. He finished scanning the room and decided that if any of the boys were Jim and Daryl, they h
ad changed so much they were no longer the people they had once been. He stood up to take his plate back to the kitchen.

  He approached the same robed hairless woman who had served him. “Where are the bathrooms?” he asked.

  “Down the hall. Take a leader with you,” she warned. Everything was said in a monotone and just the sound of her voice was enough to send fear coursing through Jeff’s body.

  “Yes.” He wanted to appear as if he was going along with the program. “My leader is over there.”

  He turned around and walked in that direction until he was certain the woman was no longer watching him. Then he walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. He had lost his sense of direction, but he could see light in the distance. He knew if he followed the hallway he would probably wind up back in the main lobby of the building.

  Walking quickly but not so fast as to attract attention, Jeff moved toward the light. Suddenly, a leader wearing a white robe and cloth hat turned the corner and stared him in the face.

  “Where is your leader?” he asked, his eyes cold and calculating.

  “I am running an errand. Getting information for my leader,” he said, sounding as much like a robot as he could, considering his racing heart.

  “Very well. Hurry.” The man moved past Jeff and continued up the hallway.

  Jeff began to sweat profusely. He needed to get out before something terrible happened. There was no telling what the ritual was and where it took place. He picked up his pace and turned the corner. There was the front door, just as he had hoped.

  Ignoring the robed man at the front desk, Jeff pushed through the double doors and once outside, broke into a full-speed run. When he had gone fifty yards and was closing in on the dirt trail, he glanced over his shoulder. An army of robed people were walking toward him. Every one of them walking. Like robots. Jeff picked up his pace, running as fast as he could. He knew they were behind him, walking steadily toward him with that empty look in their eyes. But it seemed that no matter how fast he ran they were gaining ground on him.

  He had only boxer shorts on underneath the white robe but the garment was beginning to trip him. He stopped only as long as it took to rip it off his body. Then, barefoot, bald headed, and wearing only lightweight boxer shorts, he entered the brush-covered trail. Running even faster than before, he headed for the highway. He had seen a gas station down the road a ways. If only he could get on the main highway he would be safe once again.

  Finally, when his lungs felt as if they might burst, he saw the highway up ahead. He glanced over his shoulder once more but this time he couldn’t see anyone. The brush was so dense alongside the trail that he did not have to worry about seeing white robes in the bushes. And since no one was directly behind him he slowed down so he could catch his breath.

  Two minutes later he was on the highway. Although he received several strange looks from passersby, he jogged another fifteen minutes until he had reached the gas station and a telephone. He dialed Investigative Services.

  “Bob?”

  “Yes, is this Jeff?” Bob had been working weekends at the office since taking on the Michigan case. He was driven to solve it and the only way he could keep up with his other cases was by working seven days a week.

  “It’s me, Bob, I didn’t find them.” He was out of breath and his words came in short bursts as he gave Bob the address of the gas station.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll need you to bring me some clothes and a baseball cap,” he said.

  “You bald?”

  “You guessed it.”

  Bob could only imagine what must have happened to Jeff inside the compound of a cult and he felt the urge to chuckle. But the young man wasn’t laughing and he didn’t want to make light of his ordeal.

  “Sorry it didn’t go so well.”

  Jeff ran his hand over his smooth head. “Well, look, Bob. I appreciate the job and all. But next time don’t call me, okay?”

  “Giving up so soon?” Bob smiled knowingly. Undercover work was never easy and infiltrating a cult was especially hard. But he had figured the young man should know what he was up against before devoting his life to being a private investigator.

  “It’s not my thing, man,” Jeff said. “I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime.”

  “Well, in that case I have some good news for you.”

  “What?”

  “The boys aren’t in a cult after all. We got a big break in the case today. I’ll tell you all about it when I pick you up.”

  CHAPTER 21

  If it weren’t for the speed limit, Bob would have flown to the Daytona Beach Police Department that Monday morning. This was the most exciting news he’d received since starting the investigation.

  The break had come Sunday afternoon with Detective Mikelson’s telephone call. Two days earlier, as soon as he’d purchased the information, Bob had notified Mikelson about Spider’s real name. Thrilled that Bob was making headway on the case, the detective had promised to run Earl Smith’s name in the computer and see if he had a record or if his whereabouts could be determined. Finally, by late Sunday afternoon Mikelson had found the information he was looking for.

  “I ran his name, Bob,” Mikelson had said. “You’re not going to believe this. We’ve got him in the pen.”

  “What?”

  “Spider Smith had a few too many weapons on him and just so happened to catch the attention of one of our officers. Seems he’s sitting pretty over at the Volusia County Jail even as we speak.”

  “Let’s get on it.”

  THEY HAD DECIDED TO MEET AT THE POLICE STATION Monday morning and go over a list of questions for Spider. Now, Bob couldn’t drive fast enough. At just before nine o’clock, he pulled up in front of the station and hurried inside.

  “Ready?” he asked as he took a chair near Mikelson’s desk.

  “Ready.”

  They decided that Mikelson would ask the questions and Brown would listen in. When they were no longer getting productive answers from Spider, they would show him pictures of the boys and watch for his reaction.

  Over the years, both men had learned to rely a great deal on the reaction of suspects. Typically, when a person was a suspect in a felony case he or she was not a very good actor. When they were angry, they broke the law; when they were frightened, it showed in their faces. For that reason, it was fair to assume that if Spider responded strangely to their questions and especially to the pictures of the teenagers, there was a good chance he knew something about their disappearance.

  This was their best chance yet at actually finding the missing boys. According to the trailer park couple Spider had once lived with Snake. Bob could only hope that Spider had seen the boys, too, and that he knew where they were now. The excitement had built throughout the morning, and now that they were at the jail, waiting to be ushered in to see Spider, Bob could hardly wait.

  Finally, a bailiff motioned for the two men to follow him. They walked down a series of corridors until they came to a small room. Inside, with his hands cuffed behind his back, was a long-haired, tattooed man so thin his bones poked through his skin. Bob couldn’t help but think the obvious. Earl Smith looked like a spider.

  “Smith, we got some questions for you.” Mikelson led the way, moving casually into the interview room and taking a chair on one side of Spider. Bob took the other and both men sat down. Spider remained silent.

  “You ready?” Mikelson grinned at the inmate and Bob thought he looked much the way a chess player does just before he’s about to announce, “Checkmate.”

  “What for?” Spider’s voice was rebellious. “This about the weapons charge, man?” Spider’s words spilled from the side of his mouth and he reeked of utter deceit. Bob felt his heart sink. Even if Spider talked he could never be sure he was telling the truth.

  “This has nothing to do with the weapons charge, Smith. Now we’re going to start with the easy quest
ions.” He paused a moment. “You know a man named Snake?”

  Spider’s eyes shifted nervously. “Yeah, I know Snake. What’s it to you?”

  “I’ll ask the questions. You seen Snake lately?”

  Moving his feet in small circles, Spider began to shift about in his seat. “Uhhhh . . .” He found a spot on the ceiling and stared at it.

  “I need an answer, Smith. You seen Snake lately?” Mikelson stood up and began to pace the room, making a tight trail around the chair where Spider sat.

  “No.” His answer was quick and to the point. “Ain’t seen him since August sometime.”

  “August when?”

  “I don’t know, man.” Spider was getting angry. “What’s the difference.”

  “I should think you know the difference, Smith,” Mikelson said, referring to the fact that inmates who answered police questions sometimes got a better deal in the long run. “You going to cooperate or not?”

  Spider shrugged, his bony shoulders moving up close to his neck. “Maybe around the middle of the month. Something like that.”

  “Okay, now you remember Snake driving a red-and-black Chevy Nova?”

  Suddenly Spider began swallowing nervously. It was as if he had choked on a cotton ball and now his throat was too dry to utter even a single sound.

  “I’m waiting, Smith. Not like I have all day.”

  Spider swallowed again, this time forcefully. “A uh, red, uh, Nova?”

  Mikelson nodded impatiently, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

  “Well, I think I remember seeing Snake with a red Nova.”

  “What about some traveler’s checks, remember anything about that?”

  Still swallowing every few seconds, Spider nodded his head emphatically. “Now that I do remember. Traveler’s checks. Snake had lots of traveler’s checks.”