CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tuesday—4:28 P.M.
Bellingham
Laura sat there at the computer, uncertain what to do. She didn’t see the young blond man anywhere around the library’s reserves area, but she felt he was still close by. According to the other student, he’d been standing there and staring at her for at least twenty minutes. And he’d been watching her earlier at the cafeteria. Had he been following her since Mathes Hall? For all she knew, he might have come over with her on the ferry from Lopez Island.
Gathering her things, Laura got to her feet. As she headed through the lobby, she kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see him. There was no sign of the young man, but she still felt as if she was being watched. Out the library’s front windows, she noticed it was getting dark out. The lights along the campus walkways were already on. Laura stopped and waited by the front door. She flagged down two young women and a tall, stocky bearded man who were leaving the library together. “Excuse me, but could I walk out with you? I think there’s somebody following me . . .”
“Where?” asked the tall young man. He looked as if he was ready to take on the culprit—wherever he might be.
Laura glanced back toward the lobby. There was still no sign of her stalker. “I don’t see him now,” she said. “Anyway, I really don’t want to make a fuss. I’d just feel better if I left here with a group . . .”
“We’re only going as far as Mathes Hall,” said one of the girls. She was an attractive brunette with glasses. “Is that okay?”
“Mathes Hall is perfect. I’m parked right near there.”
“Well, c’mon,” said the young man. “Stick with us.”
Laura took one last look at the library lobby, and then headed outside with the trio of students. With all the other people walking around the grounds, she probably would have been fine on her own. But there were also a lot of trees, bushes, and shadowy areas to make her grateful for the company. They were polite kids. The brunette girl asked if she was taking adult continuing-education classes.
“No, I’m not a student,” Laura said. “I was just using the library for some research. In fact, maybe you guys could help me. Have you come across any students here who are ‘Messengers’ for the True Divine Light Church?”
The brunette girl stopped in her tracks. “Are you one of them?”
Laura shook her head. “No, I was just reading about them.”
The brunette and the tall man looked relieved. The other girl was looking at her smartphone.
“I understand the church gives scholarships to certain students who help recruit new members,” Laura said.
“Freaks,” muttered the other girl, still staring at her phone.
“They used to have a booth set up over there outside the union,” the young man explained, with a nod toward the Viking Union building to their right. “They handed out fliers about living up to your true potential and finding your spirituality and bullshit like that. The guys were these square-jawed jocks. The girls were really pretty. And every one of them was white, I mean Wonder Bread white. Yeah, the Messengers, that’s what they called themselves.”
“Are they connected to the university?” Laura asked the young man.
“God, no. We have all sorts of organizations here that aren’t affiliated with the university. The only connection is the church privately pays for some of those scholarships—like they do at a bunch of other universities. These True Divine Light freaks are on campuses all over the country. I think there are a few more here in the Pacific Northwest because their headquarters are here.”
“Back when the weather was nice, they were out here every day,” the dark-haired girl explained. “Then about a month ago, they kind of disappeared, thank God.”
“A bunch of fascists,” said the girl, still studying her phone.
The tall young man nodded. “Sometimes, they’d show up at parties in pairs or threes. Talk about a buzzkill. Or they’d be in coffeehouses, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting freshman.”
“My friend, Rachel Porter,” said the brunette, “she met this super-cute guy at a kegger, and he asked her out on a date. So she meets him at La Fiamma for pizza, and he ended up bringing along two friends who tried to recruit her. They like ambushed her. How creepy is that?”
“Anyway, like we said, they haven’t been around much anymore,” the young man remarked.
“Maybe we’ve seen the last of them now that their fascist leader is dead,” muttered the girl with the phone.
“That’s kind of harsh, Stacy,” the young man said, but he chuckled.
They stopped in front of Mathes Hall. “Well, this is us,” announced the brunette. “Do you want us to walk you to your car?”
Laura glanced back toward the Viking Commons and the Union. She didn’t see the Aryan-looking stranger amid all the students milling about. She smiled and shook her head at the girl. “That’s not necessary, but thanks. I’m just in the lot over there. I should be okay. You guys have been really nice. Thanks again.”
The tall young man glanced back at her as he headed into the dormitory with the two girls.
Laura waved and started toward the parking lot. She thought about what they’d just said. Eric Vetter had been the force behind these Messengers. Was his death last month the reason why the campus recruiters had vanished? She couldn’t figure out earlier why Doran Wiley had been so angry at her for bringing up Eric Vetter and the Singletons. If he’d been a Messenger, maybe he was embarrassed about it now and didn’t want anyone to know.
As Laura climbed inside the car, she wondered: What the hell does any of this have to do with Joe?
A shadow passed over her, and then someone tapped on the driver’s window.
Startled, she gaped out the window and gasped.
With one hand on the car roof, the blond man bent down toward the window to stare at her. “Did I hear you right back in the cafeteria?” he said loudly—so she could hear him through the glass. “Did you tell Doran that you’re a reporter?”
Laura glimpsed other students walking around nearby. She told herself she could scream or honk her horn if he tried anything. Close up, he really did look like some pretty-boy Aryan—a Hitler Youth extra out of Cabaret; all that was missing was a brown uniform and a swastika armband.
With uncertainly, Laura lowered the window a bit so she wouldn’t have to shout. “Who are you?” she asked.
His blue eyes narrowed at her. “You aren’t with the church, are you?”
Laura shook her head. “No, I’m not. Why are you following me?”
“Relax, lady, I’m not stalking you. In fact, to be completely honest, I was kind of stalking Doran Wiley.” He smiled. “But then I got fascinated with you—and the prospect of talking to a reporter.”
“Really?” Laura asked, still wary of him.
He nodded and drummed his fingers on the car roof. “I thought maybe you’d like to know why that son of a bitch freaked out on you back in the commons.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “As a matter of fact, I was just wondering about that.”
“Your big mistake was asking him about Scott Singleton and Eric Vetter there in front of his dipshit friends—while he was cold sober. Now, if you were alone with him while he was drunk and feeling a little sorry for himself, then he might have told you the whole sordid story, just like he told it to me . . .”
* * *
The young man’s name was Randall Meacham, and he was a freshman at WWU. For the price of a cup of coffee at the Viking Union, he was all too eager to tell Laura what his former friend, Doran Wiley, was hiding.
They found a café table in the atrium by the VU Market. Students focusing on their laptops or smartphones occupied most of the other tables. A big TV on the wall near some stairs was tuned to CNN, closed-captioned with the volume off.
“I overheard Doran say you were freelance?” Randall asked.
Laura nodded. “I’m trying to get a new angle on the Singlet
on murders. And I was told by someone on Lopez Island that Doran might have some useful information about Scott Singleton, something that might explain why he and his family were killed.”
“Well, whoever told you that isn’t too far off,” Randall remarked over his coffee cup. “Are you going to sell your story to the newspapers?”
“I’m hoping to,” Laura lied, “or maybe some online news publication.”
He grinned. “Either way, it’ll prove embarrassing as hell to Doran when it comes out, right?”
“I suppose,” Laura shrugged. “But I haven’t heard your story yet.”
Randall nodded pensively. “I wouldn’t mind one bit seeing him publicly humiliated when all this comes out . . .” His eyes met hers. “But you need to call me an ‘unnamed source’ or something like that, because what I have to tell you might piss off some of the higher-ups at the Church of the True Divine Light.”
“That’s fine with me,” Laura said. She dug a pen and some scratch paper from her purse.
“You don’t have a recorder?” he asked.
“I like the old-fashioned way. So—how long have you known Doran Wiley?”
“I met him in September, down in the laundry room at Mathes Hall. It was late on a weeknight—and still pretty warm out. He was wearing a tank top and track shorts with these slits up the sides, and I was like—wow. He needed quarters for the dryer, and we started talking . . .”
Laura nodded attentively. She hadn’t gotten any gay vibe from Doran. She wondered where this story was going.
“Anyway, he invited me to dinner that coming Thursday,” Randall continued. “I couldn’t believe my luck. I mean, here I was, in college for like two weeks, and this tan Greek god asked me out. I was pinching myself. The night of our big date, I was so nervous. Well, the joke was on me. You know what happened?”
Laura shook her head. She hadn’t taken any notes yet.
Randall sipped his coffee and then frowned at her. “Doran took me here for Panda Express . . .” He nodded to indicate they’d come here to the union. “And we met this buddy of his, Ben. At first, I thought this dude was his boyfriend, because he was really good-looking, too. But then, over pot stickers, I realized they’re both straight—or at least, that’s how they wanted to come off. But I could see some gay potential in both of them—especially Doran. You know, the closeted frat-boy type: I was so drunk last night, dude, I can’t believe we did that. So I was still hopeful, still stringing myself along. Plus they were friendly as hell to me . . .”
“Because they were trying to recruit you for the church,” Laura interjected.
He nodded. “I should’ve figured that out by the time we ate our fortune cookies. But they hadn’t mentioned a thing about the church, and I was really infatuated with Doran. They asked if I wanted to go ‘rough it’ with them that weekend at their friend’s cabin near La Conner.”
“Eric Vetter’s cabin?” Laura asked.
“Bingo. Anyway, I agreed, and they hit me up for twenty bucks in advance for gas and food. I must have had sucker written on my forehead. So Friday afternoon, I was supposed to meet them in front of Mathes Hall and Ben showed up—alone. He said Doran would meet us at the cabin later. Anyway, Ben drove there, and I met Eric Vetter. In him, I could definitely see major gay potential, not that I was interested, because he was like fifty or something. But the other guy, who was Eric’s guest for the weekend, he was about a year older than me and kind of hot. I can’t remember his name. I wasn’t all that interested in him. I was still waiting for Doran to show up. After dinner, Eric announced that Doran wasn’t coming until the next day. Then he said he was turning in early, which I guess was a cue for the three of us to go to the guest quarters. It was attached to the cabin, and had an indoor bathroom, thank God. There were also two sets of bunk beds, and a mini-fridge stocked with beer. Now, mind you, so far, nobody had said a thing about the church. Anyway, it was like only nine o’clock, but Ben opened a beer, stripped down to his tighty-whiteys, and climbed into one of the bunks. And I figured that was going to be my big thrill for the dismal night. But then he started telling us this story about skinny-dipping in a creek with this girl and another guy the last time he was in the woods there—and how it turned into a regular orgy. He went into a lot of detail, and I have to admit, it kind of made me horny. The whole thing became this discussion with him asking this other guy and me about the weirdest places we’d had sex or jacked off. He kept handing out the beers and asking questions about our fantasies, and the things we’ve done that we were the most ashamed of. Well, I came out in high school, so I didn’t mind them knowing I was gay. Also I was pretty drunk, so I admitted I was hot for Doran. At this, Ben dared me to get into bed with the other guy and make out with him. By that time, the other guy—why can’t I remember his name? Well, the other guy was totally wasted, and both of us were pretty horny. Anyway, cut to the chase. Ben put on his pants and went down the hall to Eric’s, so the other guy and I could be alone. And then the two of us messed around.” He shrugged. “I hope I’m not shocking you . . .”
“No, please, go on,” Laura said.
She still hadn’t jotted down any notes yet. She wondered if he’d ever get back to Doran Wiley. She had a feeling Randall had wanted to tell this story to someone for a long time. Maybe he regarded her as a sort of mother confessor.
He finished off his coffee. “So—the next day, guess what?”
“What?”
“Doran didn’t show. Eric said he’d texted that he couldn’t make it after all. The four of us went hiking, hung out, and ate a big breakfast. It was kind of fun, but I was hung over and disappointed about Doran pulling a no-show. Oh, also, this is when Eric started talking about the church, and the scholarships they offered. He indicated that Doran and Ben were getting a free ride from the church. But I was too stupid to realize they were getting this sweet deal because they were recruiting people like me to become new church members.”
“So they were Messengers,” Laura said.
“You did your homework, I see,” Randall said. “I don’t know where they found Ben, but Eric discovered Doran playing football for Mt. Spokane High School. I found out later that Doran hadn’t been good enough to get a regular football scholarship. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Where was I?”
“Day two at Eric Vetter’s cabin in La Conner.”
“Yeah, well, that afternoon, the other guy had to leave, which was fine with me, because he was so damn uptight around me most of the morning. Ben drove him back to wherever. He wasn’t at Western. Later, Ben returned with this girl. And after dinner, they wanted to be alone, so Eric told me I could stay in the cabin with him for the night. And well, I suppose you know where I’m going with this . . .”
“You and Eric . . .” Laura asked, raising her eyebrows.
With a sigh, he nodded. “And leading up to it, we talked. He asked me about my family and my relationship with my parents—the things I didn’t like about them, my resentments, and all sorts of crap like that. He was good. He didn’t even need beer to get me to open up. Eric, he was a great listener, too. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life, and he really seemed to care . . .” Randall slowly shook his head. “God, I fell for it. I really did.
“On Sunday, Ben drove me back to school, and Doran met me and he was all, ‘So sorry I missed you, bro,’ and shit like that. He asked if I wanted to drive back there with him the following weekend.”
“And you went?”
He nodded. “I went—with Doran. When we got to the cabin, six other people were there—a mix of guys and girls, all college age. Plus Eric. He had a bunch of games he wanted us to play. One had us sitting in a circle and tossing around a truth ball. When you caught it, you’d have to tell some secret about yourself. There was a whole bunch of other truth-or-dare type of games. And then we were supposed to write down stuff. ‘You have five minutes to write down everything you hate about yourself’ and ‘You have five minutes to write everything you
love about yourself,’ shit like that.”
“They wanted to see if you were a good candidate for the church,” Laura said.
“Exactly,” he frowned. “We didn’t know it at the time, but we were being recorded. It was all personal stuff they could use to get inside our heads and manipulate us. And later, if we wanted to leave the church or bad-mouth them online or on TV, they could use this same information to keep us quiet. They had another secret weapon to keep us in line. But I’m getting ahead of myself again, aren’t I? The thing about these games and everything that went on that weekend is that I ended up bonding with all the people there. They were like my new family, because we shared this experience together. It was sort of like a hazing. They wouldn’t let us eat—or sleep. All of us had these meltdowns and breakdowns, all of us except Eric and Doran. They spelled each other and got these little breaks: food, coffee, or naps. Doran told me later. By Sunday afternoon, we were all like—euphoric. I don’t know how else to describe it. We would have done anything for Eric. One weekend, and we’d become these brainwashed converts. It was crazy . . .”
Laura had had a vague inkling something like this had been going on from the news stories lately about disgruntled ex-members of Scott Singleton’s church. She wondered if Scott and his family—and possibly Eric Vetter—might have been murdered by an angry former church member. It was quite possible Joe had nothing to do with those killings and was guilty only of having slept through them.
But so far, Randall hadn’t told her anything that actually helped Joe’s case. And he still hadn’t talked about Doran Wiley’s stint as the Singletons’ caretaker. Laura stole a glance at her watch: 4:50. She’d have to leave in fifteen minutes if she hoped to catch the six o’clock ferry.
“So—I was walking on air,” he continued. “I had this new family—with Doran, Ben, and the rest of them. There were about twenty of us on campus—and this senior, Courtney Furst, she was in charge, like the queen bee. She was Eric’s right-hand girl. She was always working the church table we set up outside the union. We all looked up to her. Anyway, after about ten days of me being in this bliss state, Doran and Courtney sat me down and said they needed two hundred bucks from me—so the church could invest in my spiritual future. It was like insurance for my soul. Have you ever heard such garbage?”
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