Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  When they leave the office and enter the courtyard, Ivy points out different buildings and what they use them for. When she finishes, she says, “You’re probably wondering how we got this land in the first place.”

  “I figure God must have given it to you.” Megan says with a touch of snark in her voice.

  Ivy ignores her tone. “I guess you could say that. I’m sure He had a hand in it. On a more practical level, we have a wealthy benefactor who provided it to us. He’s been with us since the beginning.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll learn, but only later when we reach the End of Days.” Ivy continues along the side of her white office building away from the courtyard.

  “What do you mean by the End of Days?” asks Megan. “I didn’t know our days were running out.”

  “Oh, but they are,” says Ivy. “We see signs everywhere. Floods, earthquakes, diseases, great heat waves. Even the coming revolution here in America is a sign. The poor will rise up against the foolish Originalists. Blood will run in our streets.”

  Once Ivy passes the building, she starts along a paved road that cuts through a hemp field. The plants have already been harvested, so it looks barren and somewhat desolate.

  Megan’s mind spins logical reasons for the problems Ivy mentioned. “Global warming accounts for most of those changes and the revolution can be avoided. The new president can—”

  “The causes aren’t important, and it’s too late for the new president to change our path. We are headed for the End of Days. You don’t understand yet, but I don’t expect you to. It’s not a bad thing, the End of Days. It’s good, and we have such an important role to play.”

  The end of the world is a good thing? If Ivy didn’t sound so sure of herself, she’d seem nuts, but confidence fills her voice with certainty, and she looks like she’s glittering with forbidden knowledge as the sun sparkles off the silver flecks in her jumpsuit.

  “How is any of this good?”

  Ivy pauses and stares at Megan. She uses her eyes like a crowbar and wrenches open the girl’s heart.

  “The End of Days is inevitable. It’s been written down for thousands of years. We have nothing to fear. When the apocalypse happens, we will be given places of honor in the next life. We will have earned that honor. Our time on Earth is nothing but a speck of sand in a vast desert. What happens next is what truly matters.”

  “Everyone will die?” Megan asks.

  “Maybe. If He wins, some will survive and populate Earth. And those He favors will live on in glory. We are the chosen ones. We will live on until He calls us home.” Ivy starts walking again, leaving Megan no choice but to follow.

  “If He wins?”

  “Yes. The End of Days is the final war between light and darkness. We are to help bring it about. We are here to help Him win and in so doing we will be lifted above all others. You’ll see.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the cathedral.” Ivy points ahead at a massive steel industrial building. Soaring windows mark the entrance. Two men in black jumpsuits guard the front door. Both hold assault rifles, and another shadow lurks on the side of the building.

  “Black jumpsuits,” says Megan. “What do they mean?”

  “They’re my angels of death.”

  A shudder ripples though Megan’s body. Why would Ivy need angels of death when she has Frankie and Buck and all those others with red jumpsuits and electric sticks? And why would black-clad Angels guard a cathedral?

  Her blood turns to ice, and so much fear ripples through her, she can hardly breathe. It feels as if someone’s put a plastic bag over her head.

  If I interrogated Darleen alone, I would’ve grabbed Cindy and forced more information out of her. Caesar wanted me to do it. He thought she knew more than she was saying, and he’s almost always right. But Kate stood between Cindy and me like an impenetrable wall of motherhood. She wouldn’t let me harm the girl, even just a little bit to scare Darleen. Luckily for Cindy, the Fates tied some of Kate’s threads through mine.

  When Kate and I return to the Ford, Tina starts asking questions before we even get inside. “I don’t see any blood or body parts, and there’s no explosion this time. Is that good news or bad?”

  “Not good,” I say. “Frankie’s not in the apartment. Apparently, he’s estranged from his wife. She says she hasn’t seen him in six months. She did confirm that Frankie’s working for a cult, and that he’s an all-around snake in the grass.”

  “So, we got camel spit,” says Tina.

  “Basically,” I say. “But I think Darleen was holding something back. She’s a single mom, so how can she afford that apartment in District 11? It’s the nicest building on the block and there’s plenty of space for her and her young daughter.”

  Kate nods. “And her clothes were nicer than anything I can afford. The holographic TV looked expensive too.”

  Tina glares at me. “So, Darleen isn’t so estranged after all. Why didn’t you wring more information out of her? Use your medieval talents? As far as I can tell, that’s about all you’re good for.”

  “There were some…complications. She has a young daughter who interrupted us. There are other ways to get information. Let’s stake out the apartment. Maybe Frankie will show up or she’ll lead us to him. If she’s in contact with the creep, she’ll likely tell him we came calling. I can always grab her later, when she’s alone, if we want to go down that road.”

  “A stakeout,” says Tina. “I’ve never been on one of those. What shall we talk about?”

  “Oh, this will be a boatload of fun,” I say.

  When it comes to stakeouts, there are two types of people. Those who don’t mind silence, who look inward and pass the time thinking. That’s me. Stakeouts give me a chance to think, run down probabilities in my head, come up with possibilities that hadn’t occurred to me before.

  Then there’s the second type. They treat silence as an enemy they must vanquish at all costs. Nothing is worse than being stuck with one of those people. They think silence is some negative pronouncement on their own self-worth. They make it all about themselves, as if no one cares enough about them to engage.

  I once spent ten hours with a guy who wouldn’t shut up. He was determined to set a record for mindless chatter. Around hour nine, my entire body turned tense like a coiled spring. The sound of his voice felt like needles jabbing into my brain. I couldn’t take it and knocked him out with a right cross. I had no choice. It was self-defense. It was that, or my head would have exploded and sent little bits of skull and brain spraying all over the car. Our subject appeared within minutes after I clocked Mr. Annoying. Obviously, the Fates set up a test for me. I’m not sure if I passed.

  Kate has never had a problem with quiet, but Tina can’t stand it. Within seconds, she starts talking about random topics, stupid things to pass the time like favorite foods, or places we’ve visited, or weird people we’ve come across.

  I try ignoring her, but she pokes me in the back every time I don’t answer one of her idiotic questions, like “If I had one type of food to eat on a deserted island, what would it be?” Pizza is apparently a bad answer. Or, “What super power would you have if you could only have one?” Making people shut their traps was met with another poke.

  At least her babbling conversation keeps Kate occupied, so she doesn’t fully retreat into the land of what ifs. Unfortunately, last week Tina watched a documentary on aliens who visited the planet in ancient times, and she begins sharing. She starts a long dissertation about ancient aliens, rambling on for forty-five minutes about all the times aliens already visited Earth. She finishes explaining how the ancient Egyptian Gods with animal heads and human bodies were really alien visitors.

  I hope that will end the topic on a low note, but when she continues on about Mexico and pyramids, I almost lose my shit. It’s not that I don’t believe in alien visitors. Sure, why the hell not? Some things can’t be explained otherwise, but what’s the point in discu
ssing ancient pyramids? If aliens helped build them, awesome, but it has nothing to do with me, and I hope they never come back.

  Humans have enough problems dealing with the mess we’ve made of the planet. Add an advanced society capable of space travel into the mix, and we’re screwed. All of a sudden, we’re second on the food chain, and there’s a good chance we’re slaves or on the menu for some advanced species. We’d probably taste like chicken to them. After fifty-eight minutes about aliens, I grind my teeth until my jaw aches.

  Kate puts her hand on my knee and smiles at me, which settles me down. “So, what do you think about those pyramids in Mexico?” she asks me. “Are they evidence of alien life or just piles of well-placed stone?”

  I sigh and roll my eyes.

  That’s not good enough for Tina. She pokes me in the back for the eighth time. One more bloody poke and I’ll break her finger. I know there’ll be hell to pay, but sometimes you’ve got to act and damn the consequences.

  She barks, “Well, Stevo, what do you think?”

  “I didn’t know there were pyramids in Mexico,” I grumble, but that’s not true. Once, I spent three weeks with a Mexican operative name Marissa. She had the longest legs, which she used like a vice in the sack. She showed me pictures of the Mayan pyramids and explained much about them when we weren’t screwing. Most operations are boring. We had to do something to relieve the tedium, and there was nothing tedious about sex with Marissa.

  I wonder where she is now.

  Tina cuts my revelry short when she pokes me again and says, “He’s just a Neanderthal. No sense asking him what he thinks.”

  I check the rearview mirror and map out my path to her obnoxious poking digit when Kate jumps to my defense.

  “Steven has traveled all over the world. Where have you been—New Jersey?”

  Tina’s not about to let that go without a fight. She needs to prove she’s better than me in everything. “If you travel and don’t observe the culture around you, it doesn’t count. You know I watch the Travel Station all the...”

  I tune her out. After two hours and fifty-three minutes of virtual hell, Darleen leaves the apartment building with Cindy in tow.

  “There’s our target,” I say, interrupting Tina’s yammering mid-sentence.

  Darleen and Cindy jump into an old green coupe and speed away from the curb. We follow behind in the Ford. She doesn’t go far. Only about seven blocks and pulls into a spot. I park a block away and wait.

  A moment later she’s carrying Cindy and opens the door to a place called Otherworldly Experiences, one of those virtual reality shops. She flips on the lights, shuts the door, and locks it behind her.

  “Looks like she works there,” says Tina. “Probably cleaning up before it opens.”

  “How much do you think a place like that pays?” I ask. “Enough to pay rent for the apartment and buy nice clothes?”

  “No way,” says Kate. “A friend of mine works at a VR place that’s owned by a different outfit, but she makes two-thirds of what I do. Maybe the manager would make enough, but she doesn’t strike me as the managerial type.”

  “Interesting,” I say.

  When Darleen doesn’t show any signs she’s about to leave, I turn to Kate. “I’d like to return to Darleen’s apartment and search it. Maybe we’ll find something that will lead us to Frankie. If we see any evidence that he’s been there recently or that Darleen can contact him, then we know Darleen is keeping secrets from us. We’ll have to get more aggressive with her.”

  “Sounds right,” says Kate.

  “But, we should keep eyes on her here. That way, we’ll know if Frankie shows at the shop or if she leaves to head back home.” I cock my head at Tina and Kate grins.

  “You want me to stay here and watch the store while you go back,” says Tina. “Why shouldn’t Kate and I go to the apartment and you waste your time here by yourself?”

  I tick the reasons off with my fingers. “First, you don’t know how to pick the locks to get into the apartment. Second, I know how to conduct a proper search. And third, if you and I went together, only one of us would survive.”

  Kate interrupts Tina mid-huff with a hand on her shoulder. “Keep watch here. We’ll call you if we find anything helpful. Once we’re done, we’ll be right back. Promise.”

  Tina opens the door without looking at me and steps out. “I’ll let you know if Frankie shows or if Darleen leaves.”

  I lower my window. “And keep an eye out for aliens,” I say, which is totally unnecessary but makes me feel good. She deserves something for torturing me for almost three hours, and she’s lucky her obnoxious poking finger is still intact.

  Tina flips me the bird, and I drive away, heading back to where the day started.

  “Was that necessary?” asks Kate, but her voice sounds light, not at all like when she’s angry.

  “Better than running her over.”

  She chuckles. Her laugh sounds like music. It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. I’m getting Megan back and she’ll laugh again. A real laugh, even if I’m not with her to hear it.

  The sun blares off the cathedral’s steel and glass shell, and the light burns Megan’s eyes. “It’s so large.”

  Ivy doesn’t break her stride. “We’re growing, and this is only one farm.” She strolls through the door, which open automatically.

  Helpless, Megan follows without hesitation. She doesn’t want to appear weak or reveal the rubber that’s replaced the muscle in her legs.

  “One farm?” she asks.

  “Oh, yes,” Ivy says. “We have another one nearby that’s even larger. The cathedral serves both.”

  Even larger? How big are they, and what does she have planned for me?

  Ivy pauses in the entrance. A large oak cross, the height of three people, suspended by thick rope, hangs from the ceiling in the center of the open space. A star, also made of oak, circles the cross. Megan touches her pendant; the symbol is the same.

  Under the cross is a raised platform large enough for a dozen people. The ceiling shoots up five stories high. The high ceilings, the massive windows and the empty space makes the place feel otherworldly, similar to the church Megan goes to on holidays.

  “This is our cathedral,” says Ivy. “We gather here once a week and for special occasions. He hears us here. He’s listening now. This place acts as a special portal to Him. Nothing happens inside these sacred walls that He doesn’t know about.”

  “I thought God is always watching us?”

  “Yes, but this place is special. The distance between Him and us here is as thin as a razor blade. It makes it easier for us to communicate with Him.”

  Megan frowns. Although the gathering space is large, it’s not nearly as big as the outside of the structure. “What about the rest of the place?”

  Ivy smiles. “The rest are enclaves where we preach to individuals or small groups. And then there’s the sanctuary where we communicate directly with Him. You’ll see that soon enough. Come, we’re headed to one of the enclaves.”

  They walk around the cross and through another automatic door on the far side of the room. A long hallway stretches out before them, the tiles and walls white, the doors black. Each door has a letter on it. A woman steps out from a door marked B. She’s wearing a multi-color jumpsuit similar to Ivy’s but not quite as beautiful, and there are no silver sparkles to catch the light.

  Upon seeing Ivy, she stops and bows her head in a short nod. “Mother,” she says.

  “Megan, this is one of my priestesses. Her name is Rachel. She’s busy preaching to a small group, so we don’t want to interrupt her. On your way.”

  “Yes, Mother,” says the priestess before she turns and strides purposefully down the hallway.

  Ivy opens a door marked M and holds it open.

  Inside the room, half a dozen chairs form a circle. One is twice the size of the others and looks like a throne. The only adornment in the room, a poster of the cross and star symbol on the
wall behind the throne chair.

  Ivy sits in the large chair, and points to a simple one across from her. Light streams through the one window and reflects off Ivy’s jumpsuit, engulfing her in a surreal glow—a halo of light.

  Ivy lights the candle that sits on a small wooden table in the center of the circle of chairs. The smoke swirls around the room and gives off an earthy bouquet.

  “This is a place and a time to open your heart,” says Ivy. “We’re here so you can be closer to God. Haven’t you ever felt something is missing from your life?”

  “Yes.” The word slips from Megan’s lips. She breathes in the scented air and feels lightheaded.

  “That’s because you lacked purpose, and those around you lost contact with God.” Ivy smiles and her face is bathed in white light. She looks like an angel. “Do you want that to change?”

  Megan focuses all her concentration to follow Ivy’s words, but they’re hazy, like they turn to smoke and are hard to grab.

  “Yes, Mother,” she says without knowing what she’s doing.

  It’s harder to search a messy room than a neat one. Especially if you don’t want the subject to know. Some people see through the mess and will know instinctively if something’s moved and out of place. Darleen’s apartment offers challenges, but we work our way through the chaos.

  To conduct a proper search, we break up the apartment into a grid. Picking the most obvious spots will only waste time in the end. We search sections and cross them off when we finish. We start in the kitchen and check the cabinets, and the fridge. Find nothing and move on to the living room. After that, we go through the bedrooms.

  Her clothes are too good for her job and circumstances, and Kate finds half a dozen new, unworn dresses stuffed in the closet. Either Darleen’s a thief or she’s getting help paying the bills.

  After more than two hours, we find only one sign of Frankie other than the photo on Cindy’s night side table—a wrinkled picture of Frankie in uniform stuffed in the bottom drawer. Someone has crumpled it in a ball and then straightened it out later.