First Circle Club

by Alex Siegel

  After he was done, Virgil took a peek around the tree. All the curtains were drawn across the windows of the house.

  He hurried away.

  * * *

  "Zachariah told me he was purifying himself so he could get into Heaven," Alfred said to the team, "but suicide is a sin, so he wants to be murdered. He needed the Prosphora for a purification ritual, just like Daniel. The coincidence was too great to ignore."

  Virgil looked down the street at the collection of white cars. He, Alfred, Sara, Lisa, and Haymaker had gathered at a safe distance from the house to discuss their strategy.

  "Still seems thin," Haymaker said. "This moron could have nothing to do with Daniel."

  "Did you check out any other places on Mei's list?" Virgil said.

  "A half-dozen, and they were all busts."

  "So we're stuck with this lead. Daniel could be hiding in there, so we have to be very careful. Judging from the cars, Zach certainly isn't alone. I think we should all go because there is safety in numbers. Alfred will do the talking, and Lisa will stick with him. Sara and I are the second line, and I'll have Furies' Bane. Haymaker, hang back."

  "You know," Haymaker said, "I'm not helpless."

  "We don't know Daniel's capabilities, but killing you is certainly one of them. Let us take the first hit. That's why we have these amazing bodies."

  Haymaker clenched his jaw but didn't respond.

  Lisa gave Furies' Bane to Virgil, and he took it out of its leather bag. Silver and gold gleamed in the sunlight. He cautiously looked down the flared barrel and saw a wad of black, fibrous material deep inside. The fibers glowed red in spots like hot embers. He ran his fingers along the bronze handle but couldn't find any kind of trigger. It was a solid piece.

  "I really wish I knew how to shoot this thing," Virgil said.

  "Barachiel didn't tell me." Sara shrugged.

  He took another look at the little pictures on the barrel. The image of the lion and the man were symmetric which had to mean something. Do I become a lion? he wondered. He couldn't afford to experiment because he only had one shot. He hoped inspiration would strike when it mattered. He put the gun back in the bag, but he kept his right hand near the opening so he could draw the gun quickly.

  The five of them walked to the front door of the brown house. One of the gutters was hanging off, and boards underneath were rotten.

  Alfred knocked politely.

  After a moment, the door opened, and a young man peered out. It wasn't Zach, but the guy had the same all-white clothes and hair. He had even spread a little talcum powder on his face.

  "May I help you?" he said in a low voice.

  "Yes." Alfred smiled. "I met your friend, Zachariah, at Charon's Ferry. He told me a little about your fascinating group, and I want to hear more. What's your name?"

  "Jeremiah. How did you find us?"

  "Zach accidently dropped his driver's license. May we come in?"

  Alfred's voice had its usual calming effect. Jeremiah mutely stepped aside.

  Everybody entered. Virgil looked for threats, but he didn't see any. The air inside was still and very warm. The house obviously lacked air conditioning.

  The front room couldn't have been any whiter. White paint on the walls, white curtains, and bare white lightbulbs made Virgil feel like he had walked into a cloud. A white sheet covered the carpet, allowing only a few brown strands to poke out along the edges. There were no couches or chairs.

  Five other white men stood around an altar in the center of the room. They were in the middle of a ceremony involving bells, a silver chalice, white wine, water, and gypsum sand. Virgil recognized ingredients from Daniel's ritual. Everybody was staring at the newcomers.

  "You again!" Zach pointed at Alfred. "You followed me!"

  "Relax," Alfred said. "We're all friends here."

  The cult relaxed.

  A door led to another room. Virgil hustled over and checked it. He saw a very clean, white kitchen with nobody in it. The house was quiet.

  "What are you guys doing?" Alfred said. "Is this your purification ceremony?"

  Jerimiah nodded. "We're preparing ourselves for the afterlife."

  Virgil noticed a white handkerchief covering a picture frame on the altar. He walked over and lifted the handkerchief. A modern photograph of Daniel Shipman was underneath.

  "You know this guy?" Virgil said in surprise.

  "Saint Daniel," Jerimiah said. "He is the one who will release our souls to Heaven. He taught us the ceremony."

  Virgil exchanged meaningful glances with the rest of his team. A questionable lead had just turned into a jackpot.

  "He came here?" Alfred asked in his soothing voice.

  Jerimiah nodded. "He told us he would come back for us when we were ready to ascend the Heavenly Staircase. He promised it would be soon. Until that glorious day, we are learning how to walk the path of good instead of evil. We are scrubbing the sin from our immortal souls so they may rise up into the light! Saint Daniel, free us!"

  His friends murmured, "Amen."

  Virgil sneered at the irony of the situation. Fools, he thought.

  "That sounds wonderful," Alfred said with no hint of sarcasm. "Do you have any way to contact Saint Daniel?"

  "No," Jerimiah said. "He met us just the one time to bestow his wisdom and teach us the ritual."

  Alfred frowned. "How unfortunate."

  "Only the high priest knows how to call Saint Daniel."

  "A priest?"

  "Reverend Megistias," Jerimiah said. "He is the leader of our order. He brought Saint Daniel down from Heaven."

  Virgil smiled a little. Now we're getting somewhere.

  "We would love to meet him," Alfred said. "He sounds very wise."

  "The Reverend comes when he pleases," Jerimiah said. "We do not call him, but he promised he would visit today."

  "Oh?"

  "But I don't know when."

  Virgil sighed in frustration.

  He pointed to Lisa. "Let's check the house for clues."

  "Sure," she said.

  Jerimiah moved to block them. "What are you doing? This is our home. You can't just look around."

  "Let them pass," Alfred said in his most soothing voice. "They mean no harm."

  Jerimiah hesitated and then stepped aside.

  Virgil and Lisa walked through the house which only had four rooms, all painted white. The bedroom was bare except for six white sleeping bags on the floor. A room in the back held a washer, a dryer, and ten big bottles of laundry bleach. Six mops stood in six white buckets.

  "This place is kind of creepy," Lisa said.

  "It's outright sick. I'm sure Alfred can give us a full psychological analysis."

  No clues were evident. On the way back through the house, Virgil checked the cabinets in the kitchen. He found white rice, bags of potatoes, mayonnaise, and white bread.

  He and Lisa returned to the front room.

  "Nothing of interest here," Virgil said. "Let's step outside for a private meeting."

  The team left the house and stood on the lawn outside. The grass was cut short enough to use as a putting surface.

  "I propose the same kind of stakeout as before," Virgil said. "Alfred hangs out with the idiots in the house, Lisa and Sara watch from the outside, and I'll wait in the car. When the reverend shows up, we close on him."

  "Once again," Haymaker said, "I don't have a job. I will not be sent off this time."

  "Then hang out with me in the car."

  "Sure, to start with."

  Alfred went back in the house. Virgil gave Furies' Bane to Lisa, and she went with Sara across the street. Instead of jumping onto a roof, the women climbed a tree and hid among the leaves.

  Haymaker and Virgil walked down the street and sat in the car. It was the blue Nissan Altima he had purchased a couple of days ago. The two men relaxed.

  After a moment, Haymaker said, "I guess this is the part where we start swapping stories. What was it like being a U.S
. Marshal fifty years ago?"

  "Probably less interesting than now. The only technology we had was a gun, a radio which worked half the time at best, and a fingerprint kit. I'd much rather hear your stories. I need to learn modern police techniques. Tell me about a high-tech case."

  "I've had a few." Haymaker paused. "I remember one where the perp murdered a prostitute who was blackmailing him. The key piece of evidence was an anonymous conversation on social media, but I'm getting ahead of myself. The case began in a hotel room...."

  Chapter Eleven

  Ken Walton was pacing back and forth in his office. He had work to do, but he was too restless. He had already run five miles and had lifted weights. Physical exhaustion had only taken the edge off his nervousness.

  The phone on his massive desk rang. He ran over and grabbed the handset.

  "Yes?" he said.

  "All the subjects are at the house in Rosemont," a deep male voice said, "just like you expected, sir."

  "What are they doing?"

  "One is inside. Two are across the street. Two are in a car."

  Walton nodded and exhaled with relief. "That's perfect. They're waiting for the reverend. Hopefully, that will keep them occupied for a few hours."

  "What are your orders?"

  "Do nothing. Stay out of sight. Call me if anything changes."

  "Yes, sir."

  Walton hung up. He almost couldn't believe how well the plan was going. The demons were following the script perfectly.

  He called Gadberry.

  Gadberry answered after two rings, "Hello?" The sounds of power tools were in the background.

  "This is Ken Walton. What's your status?"

  "You called two hours ago, sir. Not a lot has changed."

  "You're almost out of time."

  "I know," Gadberry said. "My people will be out of the building by 6 PM. That's the best I can do."

  Walton glanced at an antique clock on his desk. It showed two o'clock.

  "OK," he replied in a tense voice.

  "Please, let me get back to work."

  "Go." Walton slammed the handset into its cradle.

  * * *

  The sound of soft snoring made Virgil smile. Detective Haymaker had fallen asleep in the warm, quiet car.

  Virgil hadn't slept in thirty years, and he didn't expect to ever sleep again. It was a habit of the living. He wasn't tired or bored either. He had no needs whatsoever.

  Angels and demons were the same. They were just machines built to serve a purpose, and they could run forever. Virgil had met demons with tedious, unpleasant responsibilities, but he had never heard a single complaint. They were exactly intelligent enough to do their jobs and not ambitious enough to want anything better. Only humans had the power to dream and hope.

  Virgil was neither human nor demon at the moment. He suspected he and his teammates were the first of their kind. He wondered what God thought of the whole business.

  Virgil contemplated the story the cult had told him. Suicide cults were nothing new. The world was full of miserable people looking for good excuses to die. Having experienced death, Virgil knew better. The afterlife lasted forever and was basically pointless, so there was no reason to rush into it. Sara's comments indicated even Heaven wasn't very fulfilling.

  Some details of the story didn't make sense though. His many years as an investigator had taught Virgil that little questions often led to the biggest surprises. He decided to have another conversation with Zachariah and his friends.

  Virgil quietly got out of the car to allow Haymaker to continue sleeping. Virgil walked back to the house. He waved to Sara and Lisa who were still sitting in the tree across the street. He could just barely see them through the leaves.

  Virgil knocked on the door. After a moment, one of the cult members opened it. The young man's eyes were bloodshot.

  Virgil heard another man sobbing inside. When he walked into the house, he saw Alfred holding Zachariah in his arms.

  "My mother hated me!" Zachariah wailed. "She blamed me for my father leaving her!"

  Alfred patted him on the back. "Let go of the guilt. Your parents' mistakes are no reason for you to throw your life away."

  Virgil sighed impatiently. "I have some questions for them."

  "In a moment," Alfred murmured. "We just made a huge breakthrough."

  "We? You're part of the cult now?"

  "Hush." Alfred put his finger to his lips.

  Virgil was forced to wait while Zachariah blathered about his miserable childhood. It didn't sound so bad to Virgil. He had met many people who had grown up in worse homes and had turned out fine.

  The overheated emotions finally cooled off, and Virgil took his turn. "I'm a little confused about the chronology. When did you meet Daniel?"

  "A week and a half ago," Zachariah said.

  Right after he escaped from Hell, Virgil thought.

  "But Reverend Megistias told us about him a week before that," Zachariah added.

  Virgil narrowed his eyes. "So the reverend knew Daniel was on his way."

  "Yes. I told you. The reverend summoned Saint Daniel from Heaven."

  "And how long have you known the reverend?"

  "A month," Zachariah said.

  "Not long at all." Virgil looked around the white room. "Where did you get this house?"

  "The reverend told us to stay here."

  "Who owns it?"

  "I don't know," Zachariah said. "We moved in three weeks ago."

  Virgil smelled something fishy. "How did you meet the reverend?"

  "I was living on the streets. He bought lunch for me. We talked for a long time, and I liked what he had to say. It made a lot of sense."

  "Killing yourself makes sense?"

  "I'm not suicidal," Zachariah said.

  "But you want to be murdered."

  "That's very different."

  "I fail to see the subtle distinction," Virgil said.

  "If Daniel releases my soul, I'm guaranteed to go to Heaven. He wouldn't do it otherwise."

  Virgil raised his eyebrows at the twisted logic.

  "All of you were recruited in just the last month?" he asked the other members of the cult.

  All of them nodded.

  "It's almost like the reverend was working under a tight deadline," Virgil said. "He had to staff up in a hurry. And where is he? Cult leaders usually live with their followers. That's one of the perks."

  "We're not a cult!" Zachariah said indignantly.

  "My mistake. The strange ceremonies and odd clothing threw me off. Six young men sharing a bedroom also seems a bit... odd."

  "What are you implying?"

  "Nothing," Virgil said. "So let me get this straight. A self-appointed preacher recruits six homeless men for a brand new religion based on, uh, voluntary murder. He sticks you in a white house and walks away."

  "He visits most days," Zachariah said, "and we painted it white."

  "A detail."

  "And he brought Saint Daniel to us."

  "Your designated murderer," Virgil said, "who just happens to have a philosophy which blends perfectly with the reverend's shtick. And it all happened in a big hurry. Doesn't any of this strike you as suspicious?"

  The young men looked at each other, but Virgil's comment didn't elicit a reaction.

  "OK," Virgil said angrily, "I need to talk to Megistias. Where is he?"

  Zachariah shrugged. "We told you. We don't know."

  "You must have some idea."

  Zachariah shook his head.

  "Please," Alfred said in his special voice. "We're trying to help you. You might be in great danger."

  "Of course we are," Zachariah said. "That's what we want."

  Virgil wanted to punch him in the face.

  Virgil looked at the white walls of the room. Somebody owns this house, he thought. That's the next link in the chain.

  He walked out, jogged up the street, and returned to the car. Haymaker was still asleep.

  Vi
rgil knocked on the window, startling the detective. Haymaker rolled down the window.

  "Sorry," he said. "I must've dozed off. Is something happening?"

  "We're wasting precious time," Virgil said. "Can you figure out who owns the house?"

  "Sure. I can call county records."

  Haymaker took out his phone. He had a quick conversation which involved giving his badge number.

  Finally, he hung up and said, "It's owned by somebody named Gina Miller. I have her home address."

  "You and I are going there now. If she's not there, we'll track her down."

  "We could just call her," Haymaker said. "It would be faster."

  Virgil shook his head. "She might run. Let me tell the others. They can wait here for the reverend while we chase this other lead. We'll take your car."

  * * *

  Virgil and Haymaker walked into Flair Hair & Body Spa which was located on the north side of Chicago. The interior design reminded Virgil of a theatrical stage. Bright lights were mounted on metal pipes suspended from the ceiling. The interior walls were freestanding partitions arranged asymmetrically. The staff all wore black jumpsuits like grips on a stage. Gauzy curtains and fake vines added to the visual confusion.

  Haymaker showed his badge to the receptionist and asked for Gina Miller. The receptionist escorted the two men to a beautiful blonde woman who was getting her hair washed. Green skin cream covered her face. She was wearing a bathrobe, and her exposed legs were deeply tanned.

  "Can we have a minute alone?" Haymaker said.

  The spa staff left, but other customers were still around.

  "Gina Miller?" Virgil said in a low voice. "We're with the police."

  Gina's eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

  "We stopped by your home, and your maid told us you were here. You own a small house in Rosemont."

  "That's right. It's for sale."

  "You might want to check on it," he said. "A religious cult has moved in."

  "What?!"

  She stood up abruptly even though her hair was dripping wet. Her robe slipped, partially exposing a breast.

  "That's right," Haymaker said. "Do you know anything about them?"

  "No! I don't! Please evict this cult immediately."

  Virgil couldn't assume she was telling the truth. He used his gaze, and she shrank back in fear. Her whole body began to shiver.