Ritual Dreams

by Hadena James

  “The pattern’s been broken. They could be anywhere.”

  “I would go after Durant. But I would have gone after Durant first.” I said.

  “Dr. Abernathy,” Lucas said. “After all, Abernathy didn’t want to release her from the hospital.”

  “But by all accounts, she liked Dr. Abernathy, so I don’t think she’d go after her. Durant killed Melissa, not Abernathy.” I countered.

  “That relies on the supposition that she knew Abernathy opposed her release and integration therapy.” Lucas told me. “And she may not have been aware of either.”

  “I guess,” I said, sounding doubtful. For some reason, I felt like she did know those things, even if I couldn’t prove it.

  Fifteen

  We spent lunch discussing whether Dr. Abernathy or Dr. Durant was a better target for Martha and the other. Then realized we might not have all the information and went back to the station to get the case file on the cult. Any living members might be targets, even if they were children at the time.

  The file proclaimed that most of the adults were killed in the raid that took place after her escape. Her mother and two other women had lived, but they were in prison. As for kids, well there weren’t many. Most had been sacrificed in rituals offering them to the devil. Of those that hadn’t been, three had committed suicide, one was in prison, and two were locked up in mental institutions getting treatment for the myriad of problems created from growing up in that environment.

  It was difficult to read the file, and after just ten minutes, Gabriel and Fiona had stopped. All the surviving children had horrific tales of sexual abuse and being forced to drink blood, urine, and consume human excrement as they were prepared for their fifteenth birthday when the cult would sacrifice them to a devil far more evil than any other I had ever read about.

  Lucas and Xavier both tried to conceal wiping away tears from time to time. I wanted to go to the prison and kill the surviving adults myself. Children as young as infants had been raped and their rapes recorded by the members of the cult. They were then sold on the black market. The cult members had gotten rich off the sale of their kiddie porn videos. They had no right to live.

  Was it any wonder that Martha and the other had started killing people? Their rage had been misplaced. Devil worship and Satanism were very different. However, even to me, I could see why she hadn’t made the distinction. I felt that it wasn’t just the mind that had fractured, but the soul.

  As I read, I remembered I’d read about the case in the newspapers. None of the names had been released, but the cult had kept a list of people that had bought the videos. It had been that aspect that had gotten the most national news coverage. Back then, I had wanted to track down all the deviants that had paid for the recordings and kill them. I felt they were no better than the cult members themselves.

  Only about ten of the purchasers had been convicted of buying the offensive material. That seemed insanely low, but now that I worked in law enforcement, I understood better. It was hard to make a case against most of these jackasses. The Dark Web had been a new thing, a thing where one could get anything one desired, including child porn, for a price.

  “Does the Tallahassee PD still have the computer information of the buyers?” Fiona asked after she had sat quietly for several minutes.

  “Yes,” a detective told her.

  “I helped create software that encrypted IP addresses of dissidents in other countries that would keep their governments from finding out about it. I think I’d like to take a crack at the data you and the FBI have to see if I can find anything more out on the case,” Fiona told him.

  “Sure, follow me,” he said and stood. Fiona did the same and the two went away.

  “Wouldn’t the statute of limitations have expired on this case?” I asked.

  “Most likely, yes, but if they bought it once, they likely have kept their collection over the years and added to it, so if their information can be found, they couldn’t be charged in this crime, but possibly in others.” Lucas told me.

  “These,” Xavier started and then stopped. “I’m not sure they qualify as people. How could anyone do these things to another person?”

  “How does one decide that injecting people with drain cleaner is an okay thing to do,” I countered.

  “She’s mentally ill, that’s different.”

  “How do you know the adults who participated weren’t mentally ill? How do you know they weren’t so brainwashed they didn’t realize it wasn’t wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t believe you can brainwash someone into doing something they don’t want to do.”

  “You were a military man, this meant your own moral structure was broken down and replaced by a high sense of duty and morality. You killed people, did you not? People that you were told were enemies, but were you ever handed proof of it? The same kind of proof that we need in this day and age to convict someone of a crime?”

  “Well, no, but that’s,” Xavier started to protest, but stopped.

  “Most people who join the military already have a strong feeling of patriotism, to be sure, but to some degree, Ace is right, it is a lot like a cult, especially when you get into special forces, like the SEALS. The removal of the sense of self is replaced by a sense of team, you do what’s best for the team, even if it runs contrary to instincts of self-preservation. We call it bravery, but it is a form of brainwashing.” Lucas said.

  “I don’t think I’m happy about my military service being compared to cult indoctrination.” Xavier said.

  “Not all cults are bad,” I commented. “All organized religions start out as cults and all military units are basically cults. We think all cults are bad, because we only hear about the bad cults. However, the difference between The People’s Temple and the Knight’s Templars is essentially just what they accomplished. If Jim Jones had managed to create a utopia instead of nearly killing everyone in it, we wouldn’t have heard about it.”

  “Most forms of government also start out as cults,” Lucas added. “She’s right, only when a cult does bad things do we hear about it. Until then, it’s virtually ignored. There are more than 300 active cults in the US today, most of them are harmless. You’ve probably never heard of The Brethren, despite probably seeing them. Members must renounce all conventions of modern society and worldly goods to purify themselves for the Return of the Savior. They live their lives as homeless men that can’t celebrate any holidays or birthdays, but they’ve never operated a pedophilia ring or committed mass ritual suicide, so you’ve probably never heard of them.”

  “Speaking of rituals,” I pulled a picture out of the folder and slid it to Lucas. It was the face of a woman, made up in heavy make-up, reminiscent of what would be worn during Día los Muertos celebrations. “That’s how they dressed them up for sacrifice.”

  “Except the couple we just rescued weren’t painted up.” Lucas said.

  “I know, which makes me think she does it after they are dead. It’s hard to do this on someone who is struggling.” I said.

  “But why dress them up as sacrifices after they are dead?” Lucas asked.

  “I don’t know.” I answered. “Maybe because they weren’t sacrifices like the children she saw murdered were.”

  “Or maybe it’s because she’s crazy,” Xavier offered.

  “Or maybe it’s because she’s crazy,” I said slowly, not sure if I agreed or not.

  “Or maybe she has some unknown motivation that we don’t understand,” Lucas offered. I didn’t totally agree with that either.

  “Maybe the makeup is a ruse,” I suggested.

  “Maybe she just likes to do it,” Gabriel offered.

  “That’s a lot of work for something that isn’t significant.” I said. “I’ve seen the make-up take seven to eight hours to apply and that’s with an airbrush.”

  “This isn’t an airbrushed application and it isn’t regular makeup, it’s thinned down grease paint. I can’t decide if this means it tak
es longer or not.” Xavier said.

  “I’d go with longer, but she’s had practice,” I said. “Practice would cut down on time. According to her statement about the ritual sacrifice, it was her job to do the applications on the teens before the sacrifice.”

  “Maybe it’s instinct,” Gabriel offered. That I could agree with more than the other ideas. It bothered me though. These corpses were not pretty, especially the men, I couldn’t imagine cradling their heads after death to apply makeup. But then I didn’t have multiple personalities.

  It did seem possible that these victims were her own profane form of sacrifice, a ritual to combat the rituals she had experienced as a child. I didn’t say it, because I was sure someone would take offense at my considering them a profane form of counter-sacrifice to the traumatic sacrifices of her childhood, which were also profane given the imagery that had surrounded the ritual alter.

  It wasn’t Satanism, it wasn’t even devil worship the way most Christians thought of either religion. None of the idols pictured in the photos were of the Devil, the horned cloven-footed fork tongued and pitchfork wielding devil. Nor were there any graven images of Lucifer or Satan. No Baphomet statues. There was a Pan statuette, a carved bull image that was reminiscent of the Apis Bull from Ancient Egypt, and some upside-down crosses, none of them featuring the image of the crucified Christ.

  “Oh my, I think this is Cthulhu,” Lucas was suddenly struggling to get a photo to release from his folder. It pulled free after the corner tore. He handed it to me. The image was carved into wood, a tentacled octopus like creature with a hat, beard, mustache, and a long worm like body.

  “Yes, yes, it is.” I replied setting the photo down. “Which makes sense. As far as I can tell, the only allusion to devil worship is the upside-down crosses, but they should be upside down crucifixes, not just crosses, and these images span multiple religions covering basically the whole of humanity. None of them are Baphomet, which would be associated with modern Satanism and none of them except Pan can be mistaken as an image of Lucifer.”

  “They use upside down crosses and 666 in the movies,” a detective said.

  “Yes, but the movies almost always get it wrong,” Gabriel countered. “Even I know that crosses by themselves don’t have power in devil worship, only crucifixes matter. And the mark of the beast was seen in a dream Nebuchadnezzar had that Daniel interpreted. There is a lot of evidence that the mark of the beast should be 999, not 666.”

  “Revelation 13:18; Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.” I offered up. “So, I’m not sure why anyone thinks the number should be 999. Some hold the belief that it was a birth order and meant the 666th man born after the death of Christ would be the antichrist.”

  “Why not woman or man?” Xavier asked.

  “Because women weren’t important.” I answered. “Biblical scholars of the middle ages had their own opinions on how to interpret the passages regarding the mark of the beast and very few could agree. Pope Clement even used it to justify the disbanding of the Knights Templars, stating they wore the mark of the beast on their Tunics because of the red-cross.”

  “Does that help with the case?” Gabriel asked.

  “Probably not, but maybe. I was confused by her recent choice in victims, but that hodge-podge mashup of wacky religious symbolism in these photos might explain it.”

  “Or might give us a clue to her next victim,” Xavier handed me his phone.

  The Almighty Cthulhu

  Brexton had a gun leveled at a man who sat on an altar that had the demon Cthulhu carved into it. Behind the altar was a carving of Set the Ancient Egyptian god of chaos, war, and destruction. Brexton had seen the two gods quite a bit in childhood, but nothing like this. Set was carved in stone and stood at least twelve feet tall. Cthulhu was beautifully and meticulously carved as well and had rubies for eyes, same as the larger than life Set that was carved behind the altar.

  The man was someone Brexton had known their entire life. He was a man who had terrorized them. He was Brexton’s first rapist. Brexton had been sure he had died in the raid. But here he was, he’d started a brand new religion, a brand new cult. Brexton had run across him earlier in the day, a complete chance encounter at a coffee shop near Dr. Durant’s condo.

  A chance encounter that filled Brexton with peace and happiness. This was the man that really deserved to die. Brexton was standing near the altar, gun trained on Parker Carr, villain extraordinaire, trying to figure out what would be best to do to Parker Carr first. The possibilities seemed endless. This would not be quick and Brexton was sure even Martha was happy with the coincidence.

  Brexton grabbed the unholy communion chalice, a gold plated goblet with rubies pasted on to it. Brexton urinated into the cup and gave it to Parker Carr, instructing him to drink up. Brexton’s only regret was that they had not had time to force a bunch of asparagus into their system before this moment. If only they had known, they could have planned accordingly.

  Parker Carr gagged, then vomited onto the stone altar. Brexton nodded. Urine was briny and had a weird after taste, they still remembered that horrid taste.

  “I’m a little teapot short and stout,” Brexton sang in a high childish voice that sounded nothing like their normal voice. “Here is my handle, here is my spout, I even bring blood to a boil and watch as the water screams out in harsh hissing steam that can melt skin off, are you ready to shout?” Brexton asked, walking close to Parker Carr. The two were only inches apart. The older man had tears in his eyes and they were already tinged red from the single incident of vomiting. Brexton was going to change that though, by the time he finished, Parker Carr would feel every anguished stabbing pain from having disgorged his stomach contents until there was nothing left. Parker Carr would scream for him and scream and scream, just like a teapot left on the burner too long.

  Brexton pulled out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it twice, both times letting the flame dance for a few minutes in front of Parker Carr’s face. They were both so close to the flames that even Brexton could feel the heat.

  “Got a teapot, Disciple Carr, for old times sake? We can have a cup of tea or two before we begin to really make you regret having ever recruited our mother to join your sick cult of deviance.”

  “No,” Parker managed to whisper out.

  “Now that’s a shame. Surely we have something around here that will work, a coffee pot or something.” Brexton grabbed the older man’s arm and jerked him from his seat on the altar, dragging his butt and thigh through his own vomit as he did so. It smelled rank, like fermenting fish or something. “You need to rethink your diet, buddy, that is horrible. Maybe eat a few less virgins and a few more greens.”

  “I can pay you to go away and never mention you found me.” Parker offered.

  “I have no doubt you could, but where’s the fun in that? I’m a little coffee pot,” Brexton sang as they entered what appeared to be a kitchenette attached off the main altar room.

  “Amber, I was only trying to do what was best for you, you were possessed. By defiling the body, I was preparing for your exorcism, no demon wants to inhabit the body of someone that’s been defiled.”

  “Oh, is that what you tell yourself at night to help you sleep?” Brexton asked, pouring water into the coffee pot and turning it on without putting new coffee grounds in it.

  The water was a sickly brown color that wouldn’t pass as tea or weak coffee. It might have passed as creek water though.

  “I’m a little coffee pot full of creek water and blood, I’ve been put on to boil, so I can melt flesh,” Brexton sang as the last gurgling drips exited the coffee maker into the coffee pot.

  “Amber, you can’t do this,” Parker said, standing up from the chair he had sat down in.

  “Just so you’re aware, I’m not Amber and that essentially negates your argument. Because you’re right, Amber couldn’t do
this, but I’m Brexton and I absolutely can. You once told me that screams were purifying and a calling for the Almighty Cthulhu, I hope you still believe that, because we are going to honor the shit out of Cthulhu today.” Brexton said, grabbing the coffee pot and firing one shot at Parker Carr. It entered the older man’s leg near the shin. The leg folded up and collapsed under Parker Carr, spilling him to the floor where he struggled weakly.

  “Disciple Carr, are you ready to honor your deities with your screams and beg for their mercy?” Brexton knelt down next to him and dumped the entire coffee pot full of water on Parker Carr’s face.

  Screams and blisters began simultaneously. The skin began to peel in parts and a not quite clear ooze began to flow from Parker Carr’s eyes and nose.

  “I’m blind!” Parker screamed. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Seriously?” Brexton asked. “Why am I doing this to you? As opposed to sodomizing you with a broom or something? Well, I’m saving that for later Parker. You murdered my father, my sister, my brother, and Melissa, even if you didn’t do any of the bloody work directly. A little torture is the least of what you deserve. Where are your gods now? Where is your precious Cthulhu and devil now to save you from me?” Brexton shouted in his face. Their hands were shaking and Brexton couldn’t get control of them. Did you know that Martha sings me nursery rhymes when I kill for her and that Amber still can’t listen to rock music without breaking out in a cold sweat and vomiting because of you? If you had been there the day I manifested and took control, I would have beheaded you as well as Disciple Gerding. But there’s still time. Maybe when I do finally kill you, when you have begged for death and I have obliged, I will go ahead and remove your head.”

  “You’re crazy,” Parker screamed at them.

  “You made us that way,” Brexton said. “And you personally made me, your repeated abuse of Melissa created me. How does that make you feel? They say we sow the seeds of our own destruction and you, my friend, definitely did that. You sowed the seeds of destruction for yourself and so many others. Maybe after this, I’ll be locked away with my fucking mother for a while and let her reap the destruction she sowed. That will be fun, won’t it?” Brexton licked Parker’s face and Parker screamed again in terror. A warm spot spread over Parker’s robe front causing Brexton to giggle uncontrollably.