Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  The Angels have already assembled in a rough circle in the center of the church. Megan counts eighteen. Eighteen girls taken from their homes. She follows Amy and sits beside her, completing the circle. An odd silence fills the church, only distant footsteps of the men in red jumpsuits patrolling around the circle interrupts the quiet.

  Megan catches Petal’s eye and asks, “So what are we supposed to do?”

  Petal whispers, “Stay quiet until Mother joins us. Then follow along. You don’t want to stand out.”

  Megan glances at Amy, but the girl doesn’t look her way. She keeps her eyes cast downward and twists her hands into knots.

  Time slips past slowly. Candles burn around the edge of the circle that add a pleasant fragrance to the air. Lilac blends with the smell of oak from the floors and ceiling beams.

  A door opens behind the cross. Mother enters. She strolls casually through the circle and stands in the center. Light beams through one of the windows and shimmers off her multi-colored robe. The faces on the Angels look at her with a combination of reverence and fear.

  Mother smiles and lifts her arms to her sides. “Welcome children. Are we not blessed with another day to serve Him?”

  All the Angels but Amy and Megan respond immediately. “Yes, Mother!”

  “I want you to welcome two new Angels who have joined our flock.” The Mother points to Amy and Megan. “Autumn and Spring.”

  The others in the room applaud. They all smile except Petal.

  Megan glares at them, but they don’t seem to notice or care. Why are they so happy we’ve been abducted? What’s happened to them?

  The applause ends, and four new people show up in brown jumpsuits, carrying food and drink.

  Mother ignores them and starts preaching, her face a combination of certainty and passion. “God has made each of us in his own image. That makes each one of us equal in His eyes, yet the world has been poisoned. Some have so much, while most of us have so little. It’s the work of the Devil. The Devil has punctured people’s hearts and perverted them. Has He told the same to any of you?”

  Ten Angels eagerly lift their hands and grin.

  God has spoken to them?

  Mother smiles and nods. “I thought so.”

  A brown-robed woman places a plate of food in front of Megan, and a man hands her a large plastic cup. Condensation covers the outside of the cup and it feels cool to the touch. Grilled squash, chicken, and rice fill the plate. It smells good and looks fresh. The squash and chicken are probably grown and raised on the farm.

  Mother continues preaching about their mission. “We will spread His word across the globe. As we speak, Angels fly to every continent, ready to be called upon.”

  On the metal plate rests a metal fork and knife. The knife is a dull butter knife, but it’s still a knife. Megan decides to keep it after the meal is over.

  Mother tells the Angels to partake in their bounty. Everyone starts eating and drinking. Megan pauses. The food smells good and she’s dehydrated, but...Buck was right. Starving herself is stupid. She’ll need strength to escape.

  She drinks from the cup—fruit punch. Sweet, but not too sweet and thirst quenching. The food tastes completely different from anything she’s eaten. She’s had chicken, squash, and rice before, but they’ve always been so processed and bland, like eating cardboard. This food explodes across her tongue and shocks her system. Taste buds she didn’t know existed awake from a long hibernation.

  She eats the entire plate with gusto, and a man refills her cup. Buck smiles at her. He’s not eating, and neither are the other guards, which seems weird.

  Megan focuses on Mother. She seems to glow in the light and her words start to twist as they float toward her. “We are the Sower of seeds. We...”

  It’s hard to concentrate on exactly what she’s saying, but Megan’s sure Mother is right. She’s sure God has touched Ivy. The other Angels repeat a response as Megan takes another large gulp and drains the rest of the punch from her cup.

  Maybe she’s been hasty. Maybe she needs to give this place a chance, like Buck said. She feels content and lightheaded. Thoughts of her own mother force their way into her mind. She must be sick with worry. She needs to find her, but then, those thoughts fade.

  Megan drains her cup a second time. When she looks at the knife still clutched in her hand, her head swims.

  Why am I holding this?

  Kate and I walk in a familiar pattern. She leads, and I follow. Most of the time while we dated, I found myself following her. She always seemed to know where we were going, and I went along for the ride. I’m not sure she wanted that responsibility back then, but she was so confident — much more so than I was —that it just felt natural. That’s probably one of the reasons she took it hard when I left. She never saw it coming. I can’t blame her. She didn’t know about the demons or the changes I was going through. I kept that part hidden from her because I didn’t understand them, and that frightened me. All these years later, I still don’t understand, and that scares me even more than it did back then.

  We stop outside a familiar place—an old diner called Grandma’s Pie Shop. We used to eat here back in the day, when we had a little scratch to spend. It can’t be a coincidence that she’s led me here now. There has to be a dozen other places she could have taken me. We passed an entire street of food stalls packed with cheese steak vendors, artificial sushi stalls, and noodle shops. Grandma’s isn’t even on our way back to her apartment.

  I was never great at reading her mind, but maybe she’s telling me something. Is it too much to hope that she missed me, or that she might give me another chance?

  I hold the door open for her. “Are the pies still terrible?”

  “The worst.”

  The place looks the same as it did sixteen years ago. Same cracked black and white tile floor, long wooden counter, a dozen tables and booths throughout. Not a small place, but not large either. An ancient woman sits behind a cash register by the door. It’s hard to believe that Grandma is still alive, but there she is, eyes as sharp and clear as ever. It might be my imagination, but she seems to look through me and isn’t happy at what she sees. Why would she be?

  A youngish, dark-skinned woman, with a full Afro, a pretty round face and an athletic body greets us with a smile. She wears a yellow apron that covers a blue, collared shirt, and faded jeans. “Just you two?”

  “Just us,” Kate answers in a voice that makes it clear we’re not on a date.

  The waitress grabs two menus and walks us to a booth along the far wall. We settle into our seats and order coffees. It’s a dead time for the diner, between breakfast and lunch. Only one other customer sits in a booth along the front windows.

  I check out the guy’s reflection in the mirror. He’s wearing a navy, Italian-made suit, crisp, white, cotton shirt, and a blue, silk tie. He’s in his thirties, has a light complexion, and a round face. Ridiculous blond frosted tips highlight his short brown hair. It’s feathered back in an expensive cut that, undoubtedly, cost him a bundle. Even his eyebrows have blond tips. An overpriced barber fleeced him and probably called it a “hair styling.” A trace amount of makeup conceals dark circles under his eyes.

  He looks up from the tablet he’s studying, and his eyes settle on Kate. An arrogant smile crosses his face as he winks at her.

  Kate rolls her eyes, and I grin. Funny how it doesn’t bother me when she’s rolling her eyes at someone else, but I suspect Mr. Frosty doesn’t even notice. He’s oblivious to others. Especially the lower classes. Not all rich people are like that, but he’s full on arrogant.

  Mr. Frosty tells me everything I need to know without saying a word: the flashy clothes, the arrogant body language, the rude gesture to Kate. Hate bubbles out of me. What’s he doing here anyway? He probably has a business deal in the lower district and stopped here to wait until he found the poor sap he’s about to rip off. He’s well built, but it’s a gym body with fake muscles. I’m sure he goes to an expensive
gym where he meets a personal trainer named Vick. Frosty Hair thinks Vick’s his friend even though he doesn’t tip Vick well, but in reality, Vick would smash a barbell into his frosty hair until it turned red if he could get away with it. I’m rooting for Vick.

  I tear my eyes from the creep. Kate should be my sole focus. Neither of us looks at the menu. We don’t have to. We always order the same things at Grandma’s. When we were dating, we’d check out the other couples in the place and make up stories about them. They’d be doctors who got lost and came to the wrong district, or a wife cheating on her husband, or a husband who was a serial killer, or...whatever.

  Some of our imaginary couples were in love, but none as much as we were. Kate’s stories were always the best. Her imagination had no end. We were sure we’d stay together forever, until one day we didn’t. I started training for the special operations unit with Caesar, and the voices started.

  The waitress returns with our coffees and a pleasant smile. When she places the mugs on the table, we order. A cheese omelet, white toast with butter, and bacon for Kate. And a pizza burger, medium rare, with fries for me. The perfect combination of my two favorite foods. The waitress scribbles our order on her handheld device and leaves.

  On her way to the kitchen, Frosty snaps his fingers and waves at her. From his obnoxious body gestures, he wants more coffee. The waitress smiles at him, turns, and mutters a curse when he can’t see her face.

  “Medium rare.” Kate smiles. “Why do you bother?”

  It’s a running joke. I always order the burger medium rare and it comes back well done. Once, I tried rare, and it came back well. Grandma’s grill, while not bad, always makes the burgers well.

  “You never know. Some things change.” I’m not exactly sure if I mean the burgers at Grandma’s, or me. Maybe I can change, drive away the demons to be with Kate? But that’s silly. I made that choice already. She’s putting up with me so she can get Megan back. After that, I’ll slink away, and she’ll be happy to be rid of me.

  “Do you really think I’m getting my Megan back?”

  “We have some strong leads. And whoever took her went to a lot of trouble to pick her out. That’s not something someone does lightly. This is bigger than just a run of the mill snatch. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  Kate looks into her coffee and stirs it slowly, as if it’s essential that the milk and sugar perfectly blend together. “What do you think…?”

  I know what she’s going to ask, and it’s a train wreck. Imagining what Megan’s going through will lead to complete catastrophe, twisted metal, broken pieces of track, dead bodies littered all over the place.

  I change the subject and cut her off before the train crashes. “So, what have you been up to?”

  Kate knows what I did, so she smirks. “Really? We’re going to play the catch-up game after all these years.”

  “We have time.”

  “Do you really want to know what my life was like with Ethan? How in love we were and what our favorite places were.”

  I do. I hope they were happy, full of love. And part of me wonders what it would have been like if I was braver and made a different decision, but Ethan’s a trap. A milder form of the what ifs that plague Kate, but still the same fundamental quagmire.

  My life with Kate wouldn’t have been the same as the one she shared with Ethan. We were explosive together. Incredible heat that often burned out of control. That life wouldn’t have produced Megan. Maybe another child, but not Megan. A child damaged by my genes, who might hear voices and see demons and have a thing for knives.

  I clear my head and start down another path. “How about we try something easy? What do you do for a living? Did you continue with your art?”

  “Art didn’t pay the bills. I used the money you left behind to become a nurse.”

  “A nurse. I can see that.” She’s probably a good nurse. She’s good at reading people, and she’s more than smart enough. She could have been a doctor if she’d gotten a chance.

  “What about you? Did you find someone special, get married, have kids?” She leans forward, pupils dilated, breath shallow.

  She wants to know, which is something, I guess. “I never got married, and I don’t have children. In my line of work those...entanglements are dangerous.”

  “Right,” Kate wrinkles her face and her lips bunch together in a cute way that means she’s not buying it. It’s the same face she’d make when we first met and she was angry at something I said or did, back when we were eight.

  “What’s with the face?”

  “You didn’t answer all my questions. So, by your non-answer, I can assume you did find someone special. Maybe not someone you married, but special anyway.”

  It’s foolish for me to think I can hide anything from her. She still sees through me like I’m a piece of Saran Wrap.

  “There was one woman.”

  Thankfully, the waitress brings our food. It’s hot and real, which is way better than the cheap vending stores and food stalls I’ve been eating at lately. Before she leaves, Frosty snaps his fingers again.

  I ask her, “What’s the deal with that creep?”

  “You mean my favorite customer. He’s a real peach, that one. His daddy owns half the buildings around here, so he comes slumming once or twice a month. He always orders the blackberry pie and drinks a boatload of coffee. Never tips.”

  “He actually likes the pie?” asks Kate.

  The waitress shrugs. “Hard to believe, huh? Grandma’s used the same recipe for better than fifty years and none of us can talk her out of it. I had better go find out what the prince wants. He won’t get any nicer if he has to wait.”

  I bite into the pizza burger and it’s pink inside. I show it to Kate, who grins.

  “I guess people can change,” she says. “There’s hope for you and me yet.”

  Hope is more than I can ask for; it’s more than I deserve. We give each other a little space while we eat. The pizza burger tastes damn good. Almost as good as when we were kids.

  My phone rings. It’s Mary. “What’s up?”

  “Brad Drudge is dirty. I hacked into the school databases. That’s easy. No one pays for top of the line encryption for schools. I found Drudge’s file, looked up his direct deposit bank account and hacked in from there. He has received a bunch of money lately.”

  “Let me guess. Five large deposits this school year.”

  “Close,” says Mary. “Four deposits of $30K each.”

  “Can you trace the source of the funds? Who paid this asshole off?”

  “It’s impossible to trace the wires. They come from a bank in the Caymans. That’s a dead end, but I’ve done some additional digging on Drudge. He’s recently divorced, no children. And he just bought a car.”

  My hand aches from clutching the phone so hard. “What bridge does this troll live under? He’s about to get some unexpected company.”

  “He just moved to a high-security building. It won’t be easy for you to get at him. I’ll send the address to your phone.”

  “Thanks, Mary. I don’t need easy. Consider me forewarned.”

  “I’m still looking up the other info for you. I’ll let you know when the facial rec hits, or when I know more about the van. Be safe.”

  Kate’s heard enough to know the gist of the conversation. She stabs the last forkful of eggs with murderous intent. “So that prick sold out Megan and the others?”

  “Looks that way.”

  She shovels eggs into her mouth, and for a moment, her eyes focus over my shoulder.

  A weird look crosses her face, like she’s seeing a naked man with a long beard and a cane walking across the street, so I glance at the mirror and see Frosty lick his spoon suggestively and point toward the men’s room. He gets up and strolls in that direction. Before he turns the corner, he glances at Kate and smiles.

  Kate’s knuckles are practically white from the pressure she’s using to choke out the fork. The slick suit-wearing, f
rosty-haired jackass has only made her angrier.

  “What do we do now?” She won’t tell me about Frosty. She knows I won’t take it well.

  “We visit Brad tonight. Mary said he’s moved to a new high-security building, which causes some problems. They have armed guards and sophisticated security software, but I’m working on a plan.”

  Kate rips into a piece of bacon, and I excuse myself. Grandma’s has a single bathroom for men, around back, out of the way, toward the kitchen. No one watches me as I move toward the back. I knock softly against the door.

  Frosty opens it with a sly smile on his face, which turns into a scowl when he sees me instead of Kate.

  “Expecting someone else, ass face?” I shove the door with my shoulder and bash it against his nose. He stumbles backward, and I push my way in and lock the door behind me. The bathroom is just big enough for both of us.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps. He flexes his arms and puffs out his chest in a primitive attempt to make him appear bigger than normal.

  I’m not impressed. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes look petrified. He’s probably never been in a real fight and doesn’t know what to do or expect. Unfortunately for him, I do. I punch him in the stomach. I put my weight behind the punch so that it takes all the air out of him, bending him over. Since I don’t want him screaming, I swing my elbow into his nose, hard enough to snap his head back. I can practically see the birds flying in front of his eyes.

  He moans and lifts his hands in the air in surrender. All the fake muscles he’s spent hours creating at the gym are lost on him now. He’ll probably fire Vick and never go back. I feel badly for Vick. Not that he lost a client, but he’ll never get the chance to smash Frosty’s head in with the barbell. Oh well, he had his chance. I’m sure he’s got other clients who deserve an equal fate.

  Frosty wheezes and sputters. “I-I-I have...money.”

  “This isn’t about money. Not everything is about money.” I slap him across the face. It’s the most disrespectful thing I can do to the punk besides spitting. And I hate spitting on people. It’s oddly intimate. I don’t want my spit on Frosty’s face, so I settle for a nice, hard slap.