Blackwater Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  “Seven,” Ray said.

  Mantu returned, pushing a cart. On top was a television and a beat-up DVD player. The entire ensemble looked like it had been stolen from a Sunday-school classroom. He dragged it to the foot of the bed, the wheels squeaking.

  “I’d like to show you something, Ray. A few years ago one of our brothers got his hands on some film footage. I think you’ll understand why we’re showing this to you. And our dear brother—he was in Uzbekistan—paid for this with his life.” He nodded to Mantu, who turned on the television. Static illuminated the screen. The speaker buzzed.

  “Mantu, show Ray what his good friend Kevin was brokering for Crawford’s customer in Bolivia.”

  Mantu pressed the Play button.

  “Don’t hide your eyes, Ray,” Micah said, grasping Ray’s wrists. “You need to see this. You need to understand what you’re up against.”

  Mantu stepped away from the television, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands, as if in prayer, in front of his face.

  The screen went black. Then, white block text: FOR PERSONAL, PRIVATE VIEWING ONLY. DO NOT COPY. DO NOT SHARE OR RESELL. DO NOT MARK OR OTHERWISE IDENTIFY THIS FILM. KEEP IN A SECURE LOCATION. DESTROY BEFORE DISCARDING.

  Ray’s throat tightened as the scene opened. A young man, squinty-eyed and grinning, sat on a metal folding chair in the middle of a concrete room. This footage looked recent. The young man had a buzz cut and wore a white T-shirt and khaki pants. Military. He seemed drunk or drugged. A young woman in a short skirt and sweater walked into the frame. She was maybe in her early twenties.

  “Sit on his lap.” A male voice from offscreen.

  She didn’t want to sit on his lap but did as she was told.

  “Kiss him.”

  The young man giggled. His head wobbled.

  The girl leaned close and kissed him on the lips. She turned to someone near the camera, terrified. The young man’s demeanor had changed. His smile grew tighter. “Kiss him. Kiss him for real.”

  The woman kissed him, her mouth pushing against his. Pressed herself against him. He moved his hands up to her waist. She turned to face him and locked her legs around his thighs, grinding her pelvis. His hands slid up her back, then under the front of her shirt.

  “Now,” the voice said.

  The girl turned to the offscreen voice. Her face changed. She lost all fear, and smiled. The young man looked off-camera, confused, as if he’d just realized he was being filmed. His smile vanished. The girl turned back to him, her eyes widening.

  “No,” Ray said.

  The girl sank her teeth into the young man’s neck. He screamed, but she pushed him backward. The chair flipped and she fell atop him. She pulled her head back and with a wet snap the man’s screams turned to a gurgle. Blood spurted up against her face, and she again dug into his neck with her teeth.

  Ray turned his head and covered his ears.

  “Fast-forward,” Micah said.

  Ray opened his eyes. The girl was standing, a lurid smile on her blood-soaked face, over the dying soldier, who lay twitching in an ever-spreading crimson pool. Two figures led her off-camera. They were wearing long red robes and animal heads—like papier-mâché costumes from a grade-school play. One had the head of a goat, the other a leering monkey.

  “Stop it,” Ray hissed.

  Mantu pressed Stop, and static again filled the screen. Ray exhaled—he’d been holding his breath the whole time. He slumped and looked at Micah through blurred eyes.

  Micah let go of Ray’s wrists. “This isn’t just for someone’s sick entertainment, although of course they find it entertaining. It’s a teaser, Ray. A trailer, in fact, for the real thing—a training course. Crawford teaches others the darkest of techniques for acquiring power. He has taken what he’s learned, and what the men who violated you learned … and turned it into a franchise.”

  Ray put his head in his hands.

  Micah stood up and walked to the other side of the room. “He specializes in creating alternate personalities. Multiples, if you will. He refined the process, but it’s a very old technology.”

  “Like what they did to me.”

  “Worse than what they did to you. You were part of a special project. They didn’t want to hurt you—they needed to return you to your families without suspicion. With others, the process is very simple and very crude. Enough psychological and physical stress, properly applied, will cause almost anyone to fragment. Then those who create them can work with those fragments—shape them for their own needs. In Crawford’s case, he wholesales what his clients want—sex slaves, couriers, toys for sadistic men to play with. His models are the very best.”

  Mantu cursed under his breath.

  “But what about the robes and animal heads? What the hell was that?”

  “The ritualistic elements? Part of the protocol. Let’s imagine that girl gets away and goes to the police. Her brain has been scrambled with drugs and psychological torture. Who’s going to believe her tales of talking monkeys and goats?

  “But there’s more to it. The rituals are designed to raise energy and to capture energy—in Crawford’s case, the energy of fear, of terror. And their ultimate kick, of course, is the energy they gain when someone is ritually or ceremonially murdered. It’s nothing new—the Aztecs and the Maya understood it a long time ago, as did many early cultures. Blood is power. Spilling it liberates that power.”

  Ray’s voice cracked. “This is too much. I feel sick. I can’t think about this anymore.”

  Micah returned to Ray’s side. “I understand, Ray. But you had to see it—you had to know. As painful as it is, now you understand what we’re up against. Why it’s crucial that we stop him—and her. If we don’t cut off the head of the beast—both of its heads—it will keep on torturing and murdering. And teaching others to do the same, all in the name of power. That’s what you need to understand.”

  Ray exhaled. “My head feels like it’s going to explode. I need to think. Or stop thinking. I need to rest.”

  Micah smiled. “Get some rest. You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Micah stood with a slight, serious Asian man. Dr. Qi.

  “Ray, Alan is going to hypnotize you and take you back to the night at Crawford’s. Do you understand?”

  Ray nodded. His palms were sticky with sweat. They’d taken him out of his recovery room in the church basement, and now he sat in a chair next to the altar. Early morning light filtered through the windows. Micah had convinced him to go through with the hypnosis. They might find some insight, some bit of information, he’d said, that would allow them to learn more about Crawford.

  Alan sat across from him. Their knees almost touched. “We’re going to go back to that night and ask you to remember things. Some of it may be frightening to you, but you’re going to see everything as if you were watching from outside yourself. You will be safe here, and if it gets too bad, I’ll bring you right back. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Good.” Alan passed his hand in front of Ray’s eyes and down his chest. Sweeping motions, as if he was brushing away cobwebs of invisible energy. “I’m going to count backward from twenty to one. When I say twenty, you will close your eyes. When I say nineteen, you will open them. Eighteen, you close them. And so forth. Do you understand?”

  Ray nodded.

  Alan’s face was soft, round, and friendly. His eyes, however, brimmed with confident, ferocious intelligence. “Twenty. Close your eyes.”

  Darkness.

  “Nineteen, open.”

  Alan’s face, those eyes, staring into the depths of his head.

  “Eighteen, closed. You’re going deeper.” Darkness.

  “Seventeen, open your eyes. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.”

  It was harder. Alan’s face blurred, splitting in two.

  “Sixteen, close them. It’s comforting and quiet, and you’re going deeper now.
Much deeper. Your eyes want to stay closed. You want to sleep, deep sleep.”

  Yes.

  “Fifteen, open.”

  He opened his eyes, but they drooped, and his eyeballs rolled back.

  “Fourteen, closed. Deeper, still deeper. You’re so sleepy, Ray. Yes. So very, very—”

  Darkness.

  Alan’s voice, from a distance, pulling him down, down, counting. His body dropped away, and he was floating, disembodied.

  Ray, we’re going back to that night. The night of the party. But you’re going to see yourself from a distance, so whatever you’re experiencing is not happening to you. It will be like watching TV.

  Like watching TV.

  Now we’re going to move to the part of the night where you are in the pool with Lily. When the two of you are swimming. Can you see yourself there, Ray?

  Yes.

  Tell me what’s happening. What do you see?

  She’s touching me. Playing with me. Pushing me away. Laughing.

  And how do you feel right now?

  I’m fucked up. On Ecstasy and 2C-B. I’m having a hard time focusing my eyes. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. I’ve never felt so alive.

  Let’s move forward. Do you get out of the pool with her?

  Yes.

  And what happens then?

  She’s telling me to follow her. Oh my God, I’m so messed up. She’s walking to the greenhouse and I’m walking behind her. Faces … in the trees. Faces everywhere. Staring at me. I don’t want to go in there.

  It’s okay, Ray. You’re fine. I want you to see yourself from a distance, okay? Like you’re watching yourself on TV. You’re safe, you’re here with me. Now tell me what happens next.

  She takes me inside. She makes me lie down in a circle of candles. The floor is grass. The grass is crawling all over me. I don’t like this.

  You’re fine. Remember, this isn’t happening to you. You’re watching it from a distance, so nothing can hurt you. So you’re in the circle of candles, and Lily is with you. What is happening next?

  She’s touching me. Playing with me. Rubbing herself on me.

  Are you aroused?

  Yes. Very much. Then she pours something in my mouth. It tastes like chemicals. And salty.

  And then? What happens?

  She moves away. Someone else comes into the circle. It’s not Lily anymore—it’s Crystal. The girl who came to see me at Kevin’s. Something flashes. There are other people now, but I can’t see them, and they’re singing. Or chanting. I can’t make out what they’re saying. More flashes—like someone’s taking pictures.

  Let’s move forward. What’s happening now?

  I can’t move. The others are still standing around, watching. Two guys are picking me up. They’re carrying me because I can’t walk. And the others—lots of them—they’re following us. We’re going back into the house. Everything is like a dream. I don’t like this.

  You’re fine, and we’re going to move along to where you go next. Where are you now? Where did they take you?

  A room. In the basement somewhere in the house. I can’t talk. I can’t move. They put me in a room. No rug, just a concrete floor. There are lights—bright lights. Like movie lights. And two guys with cameras. Lily’s laughing. Crawford, too. Oh, God. Oh, no.

  What? What’s happening?

  They’re making me get on top of Crystal. Lily’s whispering to me. She wants me to hold her down.

  Breathe deeply. There. You’re safe, you’re secure, and no one’s going to hurt you. What is the girl doing?

  Crawford is watching. I can’t talk. I’m doing what she’s telling me. Holding Crystal down. Against the floor.

  What’s happening?

  They’re … taking pictures. Crystal’s crying—oh, God. She’s crying. Doesn’t she know I can’t control myself?

  It’s okay. It’s all right. What happens next?

  They tie her up. With some kind of plastic cord. All I can do is watch. I can’t move. I’m afraid. I’m scared to death. I don’t know what they’re going to do to me next.

  Ray? What’s happening? What do you see?

  Ray?

  Ray?

  They taped her mouth shut.

  It’s okay. Relax.

  I can’t relax. They’re taking pictures. And I’m naked.

  What happens next?

  Lily hands me a knife. It’s a buck knife, like hunters use to gut deer. I don’t want it. I don’t fucking want it. But she puts it in my hand and I just hold it. It’s all a game to her. A big fucking joke. They keep taking pictures. The flash is making me dizzy. And now some guy comes in. Oh shit.

  Tell me about him.

  He’s wearing a raincoat. Bright yellow. With a hood. And yellow boots, too. And he takes the knife out of my hand. He’s wearing latex gloves, blue ones like doctors wear. He and another guy pick up Crystal. Drag her. Into another room, and they shut the door.

  What happens next?

  Lily comes up to me. God, I hate her. She looks right into my eyes. She’s doing that thing again with her eyes, and I can’t stop it because I can’t move. I can’t blink. She’s saying things into my head—not with her voice. She’s putting her words in my head.

  What is she saying, Ray? Tell me what she’s saying to you.

  She’s saying that I’m special. That I’m supposed to be with them—to be part of their family. And that they know they’re being watched by people in town. And that I’m supposed to find whoever is watching them and bring them to her. I have a special role to play—they need me. And I must do what she says. Oh, God, I can’t stand this anymore. I want it to stop. Please. I don’t want to see what happens next.

  You’re safe, Ray. Pull yourself back. Watch from a distance. You must tell me what happens next.

  Lily kisses me. On the lips. I want to scream, but I can’t. It’s like a horrible nightmare, like I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t wake up, and I just have to keep watching. She kisses Crawford. He tells them to turn the cameras off. And … Oh, no. Oh, fuck, oh God, no. Oh my God. Oh God.

  Relax. It’s not happening to you. It’s not—

  Yes it is. Oh, no. Please. Stop it. Stop it!

  Take a deep breath, Ray, and—

  Oh God. They didn’t. They couldn’t.

  What did they do? Tell me. It’s important that you tell me.

  They—he—the guy in the raincoat. He’s coming back in the room. I can’t see this anymore. I want it to stop. Please!

  Tell me. What do you see.

  He’s covered in blood. Splattered with it. And he has the knife in his hand. He didn’t do it. He didn’t hurt her. It’s a trick. They’re trying to fucking trick me.

  What is he doing with the knife?

  I don’t want it. Get it away from me.

  Ray, you’re moving away from the scene. You’re looking in a window, and you’re safe outside, and nothing can hurt you. What is he doing with the knife?

  He’s putting it in my hand. He’s wrapping my hands around it. My hands are covered in blood. Lily’s smiling, Crawford’s laughing, and then Lily says, Wipe some on his face. Give him a mustache. And the guy does it. He sticks his finger in my mouth. Taste what you did, he says. I want to scream. I want to die. Just make it stop. Make it go away. Just fucking make it stop!

  It’s okay. We’re leaving that scene now. It was a trick. They didn’t hurt that girl—it was just a way to fool you. It’s all over. You’re safe and not afraid anymore. You did nothing wrong. You’re here in the room with me, and everything is fine, and nothing from your past can hurt you. I’m going to bring you out slowly, and when I do, you’ll feel rested, relaxed, and you won’t remember anything you’ve just experienced from that night. Do you understand? Ray? Ray, do you understand?

  Ray?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You look better,” Micah said. He sat on a folding chair at the far end of the church. Behind him were children’s crayon drawings of biblical scenes—Noah’s
Ark, Adam and Eve, Jonah and the whale—taped to the wall. He gestured to the empty chair across from him.

  Ray sat. “I feel good. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure what you did to me, but I feel … lighter.”

  “You were carrying quite the burden,” Micah said. “How’s your leg?”

  Ray rubbed his knee. “Hardly hurts. I don’t understand—it’s almost like nothing happened to it.”

  Micah nodded. “The tea. Good medicine.”

  “What is the medicine? Not something I could pick up in my local pharmacy, I assume.”

  Micah smiled silently.

  “A secret. Right.”

  “A precise combination of plants you’ve never heard of, simmered and concentrated. A gift of the spirits of the jungle. So, yes, essentially. A secret.”

  Ray set his coffee on the floor and stood. He walked to one of the church windows. The lower windows were painted over—to keep out prying eyes, probably—but sun streamed through the higher windows onto the rows of pews. Sunlight bathed him, and for a moment he stood still, lost in the warmth.

  “Who are you?” Ray asked.

  Micah sat back in his chair, crossing his hands in his lap. “I promise I’ll answer your questions as clearly and honestly as possible. But there might not be answers that you can easily understand.”

  “Fine.” This was good. He was finally getting somewhere. “What is this church? It’s not a regular church. A Christian church.”

  Micah laughed. “What makes you think that?”

  Mantu laughed in the other room.

  “Well, I’ve never been to a church with magic teas and hypnotists. So what is it? Are you a real church? Some kind of native religion? Or some secret society like the Masons?”

  “It could be any one of those things, and more.”

  “Micah, you said you’d answer clearly.”

  Mantu laughed again.

  “I’m trying, I am. Mantu, mind your own business.” He drank some coffee and wiped his lips. “We are the carriers of a very ancient tradition. It predates religion, at least historical, organized religion. And we have been labeled a cult by those who work against us. We are a secret organization, bound by oaths. But anyone can leave at any time they wish.”