The Devil of Light

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  She took a deep breath and eased her head forward. Beyond the final corner, the track emptied into a wide clearing. A fire danced to one side of the large, roughly circular space, its light wavering against a wooden structure whose front porch stretched out toward the flames. A picnic table covered with white butcher paper squatted between the cabin and the fire pit, and aged logs were stacked neatly beneath one of the cabin’s dark windows. Several sealed buckets stood near large trees ringing the clearing; fishing rods leaned against another whose heavy limbs were draped with ropes and a crude pulley system. A weathered plank, the words ‘The Sanctuary’ burned into its surface, was nailed to a tree. She pulled her head back behind the hedge and cast a worried glance at Mitch. He motioned her along the path, and they stood face to face, whispering. Cass could smell Darla’s coffee on his breath.

  “Did you see the sign?” she asked.

  Mitch nodded.

  “Where are they?”

  “Must be inside the cabin.”

  “And their cars?”

  “Tire tracks run through the clearing. There’s a break on the other side. They must pull straight through and walk back.”

  Anticipation rose hot in her throat. “What now?”

  “Let’s get a look in the cabin. You take this side; I’ll circle around the other. Stay low, take quick glances through the windows. If you can’t see in, move on to the next. Keep off the front porch. The wood may creak. Meet me back here in three.”

  They crept forward again and Mitch eased around the bushes, checking the clearing. He motioned to Cass and both scurried forward, Mitch disappearing behind the cabin. The campfire flickered in a sudden breeze, tossing her shadow large against the building. She knelt quickly and shuffled beneath the rearmost window, gun at her cheek as she raised her head. A heavy blanket completely covered the opening and a blunted thunking came through the glass. Someone was inside. Her palms prickled with sweat.

  She dropped and, shoulder gently scraping the wall’s ancient, dried cladding, hurried to the next window. It too was covered, no light seeping from the edges, and all was silent. Easing forward, she reached the porch to peer around its side when the front door banged open, a rectangle of amber light spilling across the clearing’s dirt floor. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the raised wood. Cass froze, adrenaline searing her veins, sweat slicking her body. The door clicked closed, the light was wiped away, and voices drifted into the clearing. From her position at the side of the building, she caught only fragments of frantic whispers.

  “…woman… us?”

  “…Deacon…deal with…”

  “The sanctity… cleanse…”

  A match scratched in the night and a sweet scent drifted into the clearing. Cass lifted her nose to the air and struggled to name its source.

  “…carry…cannot hesitate…Circle tonight.”

  “…no choice, the wicked…purge…The Sanctuary.”

  “Focus … must continue…will… -stand?”

  The voices were familiar, but in their hushed tones, Cass couldn’t place them. The door creaked open and footsteps faded inside. She counted to ten and eased her head around the corner to find the porch empty. Releasing a slow breath, she started to pull her head back behind the wall when her eye caught a flash of white nestled against one of the posts supporting the porch’s roof. A tennis shoe.

  Startled, she pulled her head around the corner, pressing flat against the rough wood, thinking through the options. The shoe was a smaller size, maybe a woman’s or a child’s. Her mind leapt to the empty car across the bridge and her heart raced. She checked her watch and scuttled along the cabin, across the clearing and down the path. Mitch jerked her to him, nose to nose.

  “What happened?”

  “I think Evelyn Grove is in the house,” she answered, panting. “There’s a tennis shoe on the front porch. Would fit a woman or a kid. Two men came outside, arguing but in low voices.” She caught her breath. “They mentioned a woman and needing to deal with something. One of them was panicking, the other reassuring him.”

  “Who were they?”

  Cass shook her head. “Their voices were too soft. I couldn’t see through the windows, but I heard a bumping noise at the back of the cabin. You?”

  “Some scraping sounds from inside, like chairs being moved around. The side windows were covered. The back of the building has one door, no windows, and a generator.”

  “What now?”

  Mitch’s eyes roved the track for signs of movement. “We need to talk to Munk, see if he’s found Evelyn yet. If she’s in that cabin and missing a shoe, we’ve got problems.”

  “We can’t leave these guys Mitch, not until we know what they’re up to.”

  He frowned down at her. “I don’t want either of us to be alone out here.”

  “Look, you go back along the trail and call Munk when you’re far enough away that your voice and the light from the phone won’t carry. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  “I’m not comfortable leaving you out here, Cass.”

  She pulled back and looked into his face, dragging her sleeve across her sweaty forehead, scraping greasepaint away and exposing a swath of creamy skin. Her eyes blazed. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

  “Cass,” he breathed, rolling his eyes. “I know you can handle it, but these men could be dangerous. What do I tell Jack, or your dad, if something happens to you?”

  “What would I tell Darla if it were you?” she hissed, watching Mitch shake his head in defeat. “Right now, I’m not your best friend’s sister. I’m your partner. This is what I’ve trained for. I’ll wait inside the bushes by that last bend until you’re back, just watching.”

  “No heroics?”

  “Not unless someone’s gonna get hurt.”

  “All right,” he agreed. “Smear some of that greasepaint on your forehead. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  ____________

  CASS INCHED BETWEEN TWO bushes, pushing deeper into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. Resting her back against a heavy pine tree, she caught sight of a glossy vine trailing across the ground and uttered a silent prayer that it wasn’t poison ivy. From this position, the back of the cabin was obscured, but she had a clear view of the front door, the picnic table and the campfire.

  The building and clearing were still, quiet. While she waited for movement, she wondered at Mitch’s reaction to the thought that she might be hurt. He and Jack had been friends since childhood and Mitch had always been around the house. And even after Jack went to prison, Mitch would stop by to check on the family in general, and Cass in particular. Their contact became less frequent when he joined the police force, met Darla and got married, and they lost touch altogether while Cass was away at Texas A&M. She’d contacted him when she decided to join the force, and as a uniformed officer she pestered him constantly for assignments that would help her reach her goal of becoming a detective. At the young age of twenty-five she had been promoted and partnered with Mitch. Since then, he had continued as her mentor and the bond they had forged through Jack when both were younger was reformed.

  His concern wasn’t sexual, Cass knew that. She had grown up surrounded by six older brothers and recognized the protective instinct of a brother for a sister that Mitch felt for her. While she loved him for it, she sometimes wondered if she would ever be free of the many men in her life, to stand on her own two feet. She’d fought for every scrap of food when she was growing up, against a hungry horde of growing boys who swept across groceries like locusts, leaving nothing in their wake. But in spite of the constant sibling jostling, she had always had someone to take her troubles to, someone to help with her problems. Secretly she feared that all the support and encouragement made her soft, and that fear had driven a single-minded desire to prove herself since she’d been a child.

  Cass sucked in a sharp breath and fingered her gun as the door swept open and a stately procession garbed in crimson robes and matching hoods ma
rched toward her hiding place. Unseen eyes stared from the depths of two holes punched in each soft hood, and solemn lips murmured a chant against a third opening. Her eyes followed the line of each hood up to its tall point, and although their color was of blood instead of a pure white, thoughts of the Klan skittered through her mind. As each figure approached, she studied its build and movements, trying desperately to recognize Salter, Deacon Cronus or the mayor. Flowing robes swirled around bare ankles as the line drew near the bushes and then coiled away, turning their backs on her and circling the clearing. Tiny puffs of dust rose in clouds with each footstep. She counted twelve figures, eleven in dark robes and one massive form in white. He lifted his arms and the robe’s sleeves slide back along his forearms, revealing a white bandage wrapped around one hand. The procession filed silently into place around the fire pit.

  “Brethren,” a low voice began. Cass stretched her chin forward, straining to hear. “We are gathered on this solemn occasion in a spirit of joy, grateful to welcome a new member to our midst. And tonight, we have the rare honor of raising one among you to the Circle of Illumination.”

  ____________

  MITCH REACHED THE MAIN road, flipped his phone open again and immediately sprinted toward the river. He had no signal. Unbelievable. He raced through the quiet night, invisible thanks to his dark clothes and the greasepaint, eyes alert for new cars and ears straining to hear anything that would signal a change back at the cabin.

  He’d been serious when he told Cass that he didn’t doubt her ability to handle the situation. But this was volatile, uncertain. Mitch had to remind himself that although she might look fragile, Cass could more than take care of herself. But all of them were strung out from Lenny Scarborough’s death on Sunday and Garrett’s… well, Garrett’s crucifixion yesterday. What was happening to his quiet little county?

  Mitch spotted Evelyn Grove’s car and quickened his pace, ignoring the stitch screaming in his side. He needed to know about Evelyn and get back to Cass.

  CHAPTER 85

  A MURMUR SWEPT THROUGH the group and the speaker raised his bandaged hand for silence. Cass leaned forward into the prickly bushes, straining to hear and again counting to see if she’d missed the thirteenth member of The Church. There were only twelve present. The figure in white spoke, voice trembling in the small clearing.

  “Through the ages, Satan has adapted his role as deceiver to suit the circumstances and pursue his evil purposes. From taking the shape of a serpent in the Garden of Eden to tempt the weak woman and engaging in diabolical mimicry to distort the sanctity of our Lord’s sacrifice, to vile demonic possession of hapless men and creating the modern scourges of drugs and crime, Satan is the master of fraud. And now,” he continued, passion building, “we find ourselves trapped in a political system determined to sacrifice the rights of God fearing men to those of pale and dubious character. Men who would take what is ours, earned through sweat and honest labor, are now given comfort and succor by the law. The very institution designed to guarantee the freedom of those who abide within it has now been twisted by Satan to protect his wicked minions.” A buzz of agreement rose from around the fire and he thundered on. “Our society has grown weak, failing to punish those who do harm, who seek to unbalance this proud nation formed under God. Our judges and politicians are frightened to do what is right, because it is difficult. Those who whine and moan about the human rights of criminals raise the wicked above the innocent, glorify crime above honesty and integrity. Make no mistake, the hands of our fine law enforcement officers are tied by the laws they swore to uphold.” His voice dropped as he gazed around the fire. “Therefore, Brethren, unnoticed and unrecognized, it is our great glory to serve the Lord by delivering swift justice against Satan’s despicable attacks.”

  The voice. Cass’s mind reeled, struggling to make a connection. Her brain slammed together the sound and the body, picturing Deacon Cronus’s corpulent frame beneath the white robe, and she fought to remain still. From the way he spoke, he was the leader of this, this what? Group of vigilantes? She hadn’t picked that up from reading The Church of the True Believer. Turning her wrist to check the time, she wondered if Mitch had made it back and was watching. So far, nothing illegal had happened and she had no choice but to stay put.

  “Tonight,” Deacon Cronus continued, “we reaffirm our commitment to the fight. As when we pledged to follow the holy orders, we will renew our commitment to The Church and each other, washed in the sacred blood of the lamb, purified by the innocents.” He scanned the eleven men in maroon colored robes surrounding him. “Stoke the flames and bring forth the initiate.”

  The circle expanded from the campfire and two men stepped away – a burly figure moved to the woodpile and a slightly hunched form toward the porch. The fire leapt at the new logs laid atop it and the clearing grew brighter. At a creak from the front door, Cass peeled her eyes from the group who were forming a pathway from the cabin to the picnic table. Two men stepped onto the porch, the hunched figure pulling gently on the arm of another man. Cass caught a glimpse of him as he was led across the porch and between the two lines of robed men. His pale form was naked save for a white cloth wrapped around his hips and a bandage on his thigh.

  A murmuring arose as he passed between the men, and several reached out a hand to touch him. He seemed jumpy, head bobbing as he edged toward the picnic table, and he hesitated before stepping fully into the fire’s glow, hands fluttering at his hips. Cass’s mouth dropped open in disbelief as Officer Hugo Petchard, pasty flesh spattered golden in the flames, tugged uncomfortably at his loincloth.

  ____________

  SHE BLINKED, WATCHING AS his eyes darted around the clearing before he drew a deep breath and scrambled onto the picnic table, laying flat on the butcher paper, his belly as white as a frog’s and legs a startling pink where new skin was repairing his burns. One man stepped forward, wrapping heavy ropes across Petchard’s puny chest, hips and lower legs, careful to avoid his burns and checking occasionally to make sure the bindings were secure but not too tight. Petchard strained to lift his head, an anxious smile twitching at his lips as he watched the other man work. After a final examination of the ropes, the man joined the others in a semi-circle between the table and the cabin, their heads bowed.

  Deacon Cronus stood at the foot of the picnic table, hands tucked into the billowy sleeves of his white robe. “It is a rare honor and grave responsibility to join The Church of the True Believer. Members are carefully screened and selected, their worthiness tested before they are permitted to unite with one of the most sacred collectives in the history of man. Our accountability is to God and God alone. We are warriors; linked by our beliefs and by our desire to cleanse the world of Satan and his minions.” He lowered his head to gaze at Petchard. “You, among men, have been chosen and tested. Your responsibilities have been explained to you and you have exercised free will in coming to join with us tonight. As a reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice for us, you will bear the mark of the centurion’s sword, where it pierced his side. In the tradition of Abraham and his son Isaac, as a reflection of their absolute faith in God to provide, tonight we participate in the ritual slaughter of the innocent.”

  At this, Petchard tried to sit up. “Hang on a minute. Ritual slaughter?”

  “We await the sweet scent of the burnt offering –”

  His eyes flew wide. “Burnt offering?”

  “– from this specimen, perfected through our Lord’s grace,” Deacon Cronus continued, ignoring Petchard’s protests.

  In spite of the bizarre scene, Cass had to stifle a snort at the thought of Petchard as a perfect specimen of anything. She lowered a hand by inches to rub a calf muscle that was threatening to cramp the longer she leaned forward into the bush. Deacon Cronus pulled his hands from the wide sleeves of his white robe. An object was visible in his bandaged hand, and Cass’s heart thrummed at the flash of firelight on metal.

  Flicking her eyes at the dark path behind her, she wondered
where Mitch was. This was moving too fast.

  ____________

  HE PAUSED AS HE reached the patrol car, rocking forward to brace his hands on his knees as he sucked in air.

  “Why didn’t you call?” Munk asked.

  Mitch held up his phone. “No signal,” he gasped.

  Truman nodded. “I tried to tell you that cell coverage is spotty out here, but the sheriff cut me off. Where’s Cass?”

  Mitch hooked a thumb over his shoulder, swallowing. “We found them. They’re in a cabin back in the woods. I left her there to come call you. Have you found Evelyn?”

  Munk shook his head, face grim. “Car’s locked and her purse is gone, but there are two dollar bills on the driver’s seat. She left a school board meeting over an hour ago. Robert hasn’t heard from her and neither have the twins.”

  Mitch nodded. “They might have her. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 86

  “THROUGH THE SPEARING OF the initiate, we are each reminded of the pain Jesus endured as he gave himself for us.” Deacon Cronus moved the object from one hand to the other, and a long knife glinted in the firelight.

  Petchard twisted as far as his restraints allowed, eyes probing the hooded figures, voice pleading for someone to untie him. A few shifted uncomfortably, but no one responded to his cries. His eyes shot to the robed figure beside him, imploring. “Newton, this ain’t funny. I know you said there’d be some strange stuff going on tonight, but this is too weird for me. I don’t want to get cut, man. Let me loose.”

  Newton? Cass gasped and screwed her eyes shut as the cramp hit her calf. She pressed her lips together to quell a moan and dug her fingers into the tight flesh. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a shrill yelp, and she caught the flash of the blade as Cronus passed it to another robed figure. The man raised a finger to push glasses hidden beneath his hood up on his nose, then raised the knife over his head in a double-handed grip, his maroon robe slithering along his strong arms to puddle around his bare shoulders.