Devil's Playground

by D P Lyle

  He suddenly stopped, center stage, and impaled each member of the audience with his pale blue eyes. “But the book of Saint Matthew shows you the way. The path from this horror that has gripped your lives. The road to your salvation. Chapter 12.”

  He opened the Bible and read.

  “‘Then was brought unto Him one possessed with the devil and He healed him. And all the people were amazed and said ‘Is not this the son of David?’”

  He raised his gaze and scanned the congregation. The silence that fell over the gathering lay as heavy as a damp woolen blanket.

  Billy continued. “But the enemies of Jesus accused Him of being in the service of Satan. They said, ‘He doth not cast out devils but by Beelzebub the prince of the devils’.”

  Beelzebub? The name hit Sam like a left hook. Garrett’s name for himself. When Garrett professed that Beelzebub was his Satan given name, Sam assumed he got it from Milton’s “Paradise Lost.” She had remembered the name from high school literature, mainly because she could never pronounce it. Now, here it was. From the mouth of Reverend Billy. From the Bible.

  “But Jesus understood their ploy,” Billy continued, “and replied to them, ‘Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation and if Satan cast out Satan, he is divided against himself; how shall his kingdom stand? But, if I cast out devils by the spirit of God, then the kingdom of God is come unto you.’”

  Billy held the Bible in his outstretched hand as if blessing the congregation, his voice rising to a crescendo.

  “You must come to God and give him your hearts. Do not rely on the secular world for they are as Satan and cannot cast out themselves, their own kind. Your police, your judges, cannot expel Lucifer and his supplicants. Only you, through the power of God, can accomplish this task. Richard Earl Garrett and his disciples, who gather in the heart of your town, mocking your God, threatening your community, and killing your neighbors, must be expelled. Their hatred of God must be expunged.”

  He walked to the front of the stage, spread his arms, and looked down on the wide-eyed audience. His voice rumbled up from his thick chest and cascaded over them. “Come to the Lord. Give to God and to Jesus and to me your hearts and your souls and ye shall be saved. I will annul Satan’s power. I will root out Beelzebub’s legions. I will return the kingdom of God to you. Join with me. Pray with me.”

  The choir burst into the “Hallelujah Chorus” once again. Electric excitement sizzled through the crowd as Reverend Billy descended from the stage like Moses from Mount Sinai. The crowd surged forward, engulfing him. They eagerly tried to touch his hand, his clothing, anything for contact with the man who was surely God’s messenger.

  “Hell, I almost believe him,” Sam said.

  “They do.” Nathan nodded toward the commotion that surrounded Reverend Billy.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Sam exhaled audibly.

  Billy glanced at them, altered his course through the throng and approached.

  “Deputy Cody, so nice of you to come.”

  “Quite a show, Reverend.”

  “Thank you.” He turned his high beam smile on her, his blue eyes alive. She half-expected a twinkle or two to appear. He turned to Nathan. “Mister Klimek. What a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Really? I didn’t think you were one of my fans.”

  “The Hobart incident? All in the past. The Lord has great capacity for forgiveness.”

  “I know He forgives. Do you?”

  “Mister Klimek, I won’t let you bait me into a disagreement. Not tonight. Tonight belongs to the Lord. There are serious matters afoot and the very life of this community depends upon what we do here. The Lord has called upon me to save these people and I will not be deterred nor deflected from that task.”

  “Do you preach all the time?” Sam asked. “Or can you have a normal conversation?”

  His eyes became twin icebergs, his jaw tightened. “I assure you, Deputy Cody, I can converse in any manner you wish.”

  “Great. After you finish counting your money, why don’t we have a chat? Say a half hour. Your place.”

  “I would be delighted.”

  He turned and plowed into the crowd, his smile erupting again.

  “I don’t like that son-of-a-bitch,” Sam said.

  “I’d say the feeling is mutual,” Nathan said. “Want me to go with you?”

  “Are you going to protect me from Reverend Billy?” Sam teased.

  “It’s not Billy that I’d worry about. Carl Angelo, his bodyguard, is a different story.”

  “I think I’ve seen him. Black beard? Built like a brick shit house?”

  “That’s him. And he doesn’t have a sense of humor, either.”

  “Oh?”

  “He trashed a camera and a cameraman in Hobart.”

  “That’s what this is for,” Sam said, patting the .357 that lay against then small of her back. “I’ll be OK. But thanks for the offer.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’d better do this alone. Besides, if I shoot the bastard, I’d hate to drag you into it as witness.”

  “OK.” Nathan shook his head, smiling. “I’ll wait for you, anyway. Maybe we could have coffee afterward.”

  Chapter 27

  “Strive ever for souls, for the Domain of Lucifer is forever.”

  “Hail, Lucifer.”

  “Love nothing so strongly that you cannot watch it die.”

  “Hail, Lucifer.”

  “All that is worthy is built on a bed of sorrow and pain.”

  “Hail, Lucifer, Prince of Darkness.”

  The nightly ritual completed, Penelope sat cross-legged on the rock from which she had led the ceremony. She faced the nearly full moon, which hung high in the clear night sky and cast a pearlescent glow over the valley. While the others huddled around a campfire, talking, laughing, sharing joints, Penelope watched from her perch. Melissa mounted the rock and sat next to her.

  She handed Penelope a joint and Penelope took a deep hit, holding the smoke in her lungs for a minute, then releasing it in a cloud. She took another hit and passed the joint back to Melissa. The marijuana’s soothing warmth flowed through her, creating a familiar numbing of the senses.

  Melissa lay her head against Penelope’s breast and Penelope stroked the younger girl’s hair. They swayed gently, sinking deeper into tranquility.

  Penelope watched the others as they hugged and caressed one another. She loved them. They were her family. How she had become the head of their family, their leader, their high priestess, she didn’t know. Others had been with the group longer or were better versed in the Satanic rituals, but somehow they seemed to gravitate to her.

  She accepted the mantle of high priestess reluctantly. She had never seen herself as a leader, especially a spiritual leader, but with time the role became more comfortable. Now, she relished it. She could be the mother she had wanted her mother to be.

  Melissa kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

  Penelope smiled at her. “I love you, too.”

  Penelope had been with every member of the group at one time or another, but she and Melissa bonded in a way she had never experienced. They became inseparable. The group tended to frown on long term relationships because of the obvious petty jealousies and conflicts that could develop. They preferred a more casual approach to sex. Yet, Penelope and Melissa were viewed differently and their pairing was not only accepted, but also encouraged.

  Penelope looked into Melissa’s eyes, their deep emerald color gilded by the campfire’s glow. She gently brushed a wisp of hair behind Melissa’s ear. “I’m so lucky to have you,” she said.

  Melissa smiled. “I thought I was the lucky one.”

  Their lips met and they held each other tightly, exploring with knowing hands, each welcoming the other’s touch. They stretched out on the rock, which still held the remnants of the day’s sun. They kissed and caressed each other with growing fervor. Melissa lifted Penelope’s black dress and skip
ped kisses and butterfly licks across her flat stomach, nipping at her soft curls, finding her moist recesses. Penelope inhaled with staccato whimpers as raw electric impulses flashed through her. She arched her back and entwined her fingers in Melissa’s hair, riding the vortex of pleasure that threatened to consume her.

  Once she had recovered her senses, Penelope stood and led Melissa to one of the vans, where they shed their clothes and lay spooned against each other. Penelope wrapped her arms around Melissa and they began a slow, sensuous undulation, body sliding against body. Penelope kissed her cheek and neck as her fingers trailed across Melissa’s breasts, taut belly, and lower. She parted the delicate lips and caressed the sensitive flesh within. Melissa gasped and clutched Penelope’s hand, pulling the probing fingers against her, within her. Their rhythmic dance gained intensity. Melissa’s breathing became heavy, thick, spasmodic as she rode wave after wave of pleasure. Unable to bear another orgasmic swell, she pushed Penelope’s hand away and turned to her.

  “You make me crazy,” she whispered, her voice husky with the remnants of passion.

  “I hope so.”

  Penelope cupped Melissa’s face in her hands and pulled her lips to hers. They kissed tenderly, then dissolved into each other’s embrace. Soon, their breathing synchronized and they drifted to sleep.

  Penelope descended into a velvety blackness. She dreamed she was adrift on a river of warm liquid that soothed and relaxed her. At first, she didn’t sense the bright colors that nipped at the edges of her dream world.

  Chapter 28

  Sam and Nathan sat with Charlie near the back of the tent and talked, occasionally breaking off their conversation to chat with people who stopped by. The choir continued to sing and the hum of conversation filled the arena, as did the buzz of free enterprise. People continued to purchase Bibles and trinkets and stuff money into the baskets pushed at them by Billy’s followers. Billy was going to make out like a bandit, Sam thought.

  She had checked her watch, which moved at a glacial pace, a half dozen times before thirty minutes finally elapsed. She stood. “I’m going to go have that little chat with Billy. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Better you than me,” Charlie said. “I’m out of here. This much religion makes me tired.” He waved as he headed toward the exit.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Nathan asked.

  “No. But, if you hear gunfire, call 911.”

  She stepped out of the tent into the night air. A northerly wind had kicked up, plunging the temperature into the low forties. A chill knifed into her, pushing her already foul mood further toward full-fledged anger. She yanked the zipper of her leather jacket high around her neck. Great, not only did she have to face God’s messenger, but God himself. She shoved her hands into her pockets and circled the tent toward Reverend Billy’s bus.

  Billy’s round, grinning face towered over her from the flank of his sleek, silvery, expensive motor coach. The images’ steel blue eyes seemed to follow her every step as she approached. She rapped on the door, which immediately swung open, revealing the woman who had introduced Billy earlier.

  “I’m Belinda Connerly, Reverend Billy’s personal secretary. Please. Come in.” Though she smiled sweetly, her voice carried a hostile edge. Probably from past run-ins with the law, Sam decided.

  Sam climbed up the two steps, brushing past Belinda, and entered, eying Billy’s “personal secretary.” She was obviously not an approachable woman, hiding behind a shell of arrogance and indifference. She wore the same gray slacks and white blouse she had on earlier and enough perfume to be flammable. Up close, it was obvious that she possessed parts that were not biodegradable, two of which protruded from her chest like Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade balloons.

  The bus was rich. It even smelled rich. Sam’s boots sank into the plush peach carpet that covered the floor. To her right, toward the front of the bus, a wall and a closed door separated the driver’s cockpit from the living quarters. To her left, a cream-colored three-cushion designer sofa sat against one wall and two matching over-stuffed chairs along the other. Beyond, a kitchen contained a stove, small refrigerator, sink, table, and two chairs. The human block of granite with the black beard sat in one of the chairs, reading the latest issue of “Guns and Ammo.” He didn’t look up. Further back, a closed door blocked entry to the rear one third of the bus. No doubt Billy’s private quarters.

  “This is Carl Angelo, Reverend Billy’s valet,” Melissa said.

  Carl nodded and glanced up. His gaze was cold and clinical. She envisioned him as a prison guard at Auschwitz. He returned to the magazine.

  “Where’s Reverend Billy?” Sam asked.

  “He’s cleaning up. He’ll be out in a minute. Have a seat.” She commanded, motioning toward the sofa.

  Sam sat down; the billowy cushions absorbed her.

  “Would you care for anything to drink?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Did you see Reverend Billy tonight?” Belinda asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t he wonderful?” When Sam didn’t respond, she continued. “He’s an incredible man. Always teaching and helping others.”

  “Really?” Sam could not hide the sarcasm in her voice.

  “With his TV show, his church, his travel to help people like this...and of course his books, he works twenty hours a day.”

  “Seems to pay well.”

  Belinda’s eyes narrowed. “He works very hard and needs certain comforts when he is able to rest.”

  “I see.”

  “Listen, Deputy Cody...”

  “Why, hello.” Billy’s voice filled the room, startling Sam. She turned as he came through the doorway at the rear of the bus, barefoot, clad in a Hugh Hefner-like silver-gray silk robe. As the door drifted shut, Sam caught a glimpse of Blue Eyes, clad in only powder blue panties, stretched out on the bed, her face reflecting the glow of a TV Sam couldn’t see from her vantage point. “Welcome to my home away from home.” He smiled broadly and flopped into one of the over-sized chairs, facing her. “What can I do for you?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  OK, he wanted it straight up, she thought. “What are you doing here?” Their eyes locked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Simple question. Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “To help, of course.”

  “And if we don’t need help?”

  The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth retreated, leaving a scowl in its wake. “Oh, but you do. This is way over your head.”

  “How so?”

  “Satan is here. He is in Richard Earl Garrett. And in his pathetic disciples who hang out on the corner near your office.”

  “Garrett may be Satan. I’ll buy that. But, those kids are harmless. Mixed up and confused.”

  “No. They are possessed of the devil. They are likely murderers just like Garrett.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Billy recoiled. Evidently he was not used to someone disagreeing with him. Recovering, he arranged his features into a look of contrived concern. “Are you religious, Deputy Cody?”

  “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Humor me. Are you?”

  “I grew up Catholic.”

  “Are you still active?”

  “I split from the program somewhere around puberty.”

  “Why?”

  “The catechisms, the Our Fathers and Hail Marys, all the puffed up pomp and circumstance. It was too much.”

  “Do you consider yourself an atheist?”

  “A realist. If there’s a God in the middle of all this, I don’t see him.”

  “You are a lost child aren’t you?” His lack of inflection betrayed his lack of sincerity.

  Jesus Christ, she thought, how did this happen? She was here to interrogate him and somehow he turned the whole thing around. She looked from Billy, to Belinda, to Carl, then back to Billy. She flashed on something her father frequently said: “I
f you can’t spot the pigeon in a poker game, you’re probably it.” She never understood it until now. The best defense is a good offense, she decided.

  “Look,” she said, “We aren’t here to talk about me. I want to know what your plans are? How do you propose to provide this help you think we need?”

  “Only God can help you. I am merely his servant.”

  This is what she always hated about preachers, men of the cloth. They talked in circles of nonsense. “OK. I’ll play. What does He want from His servant?”

  “I am his instrument. I have come to cut this cancer from your town.”

  “How?”

  “The Lord will guide me. He will show me the way.”

  “You sound like Garrett. Except, he blames everything on Satan.”

  “I assure you, Garrett and I have nothing in common.”

  “Not from where I sit.”

  “Deputy Cody, are you trying to anger me?”

  “Billy, as far as I can tell, you’re a parasitic bottom feeder who uses the Lord as a shill. You aren’t here to fight Satan or for any other altruistic reason. You’re here for publicity and your thirty pieces of silver.”

  Billy leaned toward her. His bulk seemed to increase. For the first time, Sam realized how big his head was. Not figuratively, literally. His body was huge, but his head was disproportionally large and his thick white mane served to magnify it further. His robe fell open slightly, revealing a mat of white chest hair and drooping fleshy breasts.

  Carl looked up from his magazine. His dark eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Sam shifted slightly on the sofa so that her .357 would be more accessible if necessary.

  A smile erupted on Billy’s face. “My, my, Darlin’,” Billy said. “Do you have a permit for that tongue of yours? It’s a lethal little thing, ain’t it?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You should have more faith in the Lord.”

  “My Lord, or yours? Mine would crash your little canvas temple around your ears. Yours is probably registered with the New York Stock Exchange.”

  Billy’s smile collapsed. The heat of their argument hung in the air between them. They stared at each other like two boxers in their separate corners, eying each other, anticipating the next move, assessing the damage.