The Book Waitress Series Volume One (8 page)

Quickly typing in Singletary’s name in the search box, a host of articles popped up.
Bingo!
He’d been arrested and charged with tax evasion and fraud in connection with The Mission. Paperwork filed with the government asking for tax exempt status was denied but he still kept the cult running. Other articles said he refused to implicate anyone else and plead not guilty. After a lengthy investigation and court proceedings, he was found guilty on both counts. He was sentenced to five years in jail. Just before he was to begin his sentence, he burned himself to death in a ritual pyre. He was survived by his next of kin, stepbrother…Victor Langdon.

The next board president to be named was one and the same, Victor Langdon. And from 1976 on, he’s remained the president. Nancy and Susan were on the board, as well, along with ten other people, for the same length of time. This news did not sit well. Next, he needed to get his hands on
The Devil’s Handbook
set. He wasn’t sure where they were located and hoped they were accessible without help from a librarian. Knowing Nancy and Susan were involved, he didn’t want to tip them off about his investigation.

Searching the library catalog, he got lucky. The volumes were in the open stacks. He needed Volume Thirteen. Once found, he took it back with him to the newspaper room, where he stacked newspapers into piles around his workspace so that it looked normal to anyone walking by. Flipping through the pages, he recalled the ones Camille had initially directed him to. He reread the paragraphs about the ritual sacrifice of the boys, but when he turned the page to continue, a couple of sentences stood out. They mentioned the sacrifice of a female Marked One being a cursed event and one that would open Hell’s Portal, letting Satan ascend into this realm and rule forever. It went on to explain the chants and ritual proceedings, but nothing further about the female Marked One.

“This is not good. Not good at all,” he murmured, and slammed the book closed.

Camille’s gotta know who she’s working with and make sure to keep her distance until she leaves. If anyone involved in the cult finds out she’s marked, they’ll scoop her up for the sacrifice.
The hairs on his arms rose atop goosebumps. He needed to check up on her and share the latest information. She’d said she wanted to get off the island as soon as possible. He may just drive her off of it himself.

Scrambling his belongings together, he left everything else scattered all over the table and hurried out of the library. He unlocked his car and threw his backpack on the passenger seat. His heart pounded like a double bass drum, and a cold sweat formed on his brow. He forced himself to take a few cleansing breaths while starting the engine. Uncovering the identities of the cult members and Camille’s connection to it
hadn’t magically alerted the entire organization. Paranoia would screw things up for his investigation if he didn’t get a handle on his emotions and shift his perspective back into balance.

Maintaining the speed limit, he repeated a comforting mantra all the way over to her house. “Just emptying boxes. That’s all she’s doing.” When he pulled up to the curb in front of her house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. As he walked up to the front door, all sorts of wild scenarios flashed through his head and he kicked himself in his virtual ass for behaving like a fool.

He rang her door bell.

No answer. He rang it again.

Still no answer. He put his ear to the door, heard no movement whatsoever, and pounded on her door. “Camille! It’s me, Derek. Open up!” But she didn’t come.

“Yo, dude. She ain’t home.” He turned around and saw a teenage boy across the street hanging out with a skateboard in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth.

“Oh, really? Do you happen to know where she went?” He walked back to the curb and facing the young man, leaned against his car.

“I might.” He gnawed on his toothpick, put the skateboard down on the road and did a couple of tricks.

Derek knew this game. He opened his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill and waved it in the air. “Now do you know where she went?”

The boy skated up to him and snatched the twenty from his hand. “Nah, saw a nice ride come by and pick her up, though.”

“When was that about, would you say?”

“Probably a couple of hours ago, ’cause I was watching The Fantasy Factory when I saw the wheels pull up.”

“Any idea whose car it belonged to?”

“Man, there are cars like that all over this island.”

“How about the person who picked her up, then?”

“He was a driver, not the guy who owned it. He wore a chauffeur’s uniform, you know?”

“What kind of vehicle was it? Can you describe it?”

“Black, four-door, Lincoln Town Car like all them rich folk got. Blackened windows.”

“Thanks a lot. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem.” He shoved off before Derek could say another word.

Hopping in his car, he knew deep in his bones where he needed to go. He slammed his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Why couldn’t he have figured this out sooner? Who were the only people who knew Camille had come to the island? Nancy or Susan, who were working at the library today. Well, he’d only seen Susan, but assumed Nancy was somewhere about. And he doubted they had a car anywhere near as expensive.

But who else knew of her?

Anyone who discussed and approved her transfer to this library. And from that pool, only Victor Langdon had the status worthy of a limo driver.

What if he sees her mark? What if he already knows about it? She’s in grave danger and I better not be too late to do anything about it.

Chapter Nine

Praying was boring. Even more so to a six-year-old. Camille wanted to run around and play. Her mother allowed her to go outside for a little while to the swings in the church’s back yard. That was fun for a little bit, but she wanted to explore. Mama would never know. She jumped off the swing and ran to the other areas on the church grounds. She’d always wanted a closer look at the baptismal pool. It had a locked gate surrounding it so kids couldn’t get in and get hurt. But its beauty, its serenity exploited her curiosity and she couldn’t deny herself a closer look.

Shoes tossed to the side, she hiked up her dress and began to climb the wire fence. Her small feet fit perfectly in the diamond shaped mesh of the gate, and quickly maneuvered up and over, coming to rest on the ground beside the pool. She’d made it!

Now to explore the pool itself. Silly of her to tiptoe, but she did anyway, reverently, so as not to disturb the glassy appearance of the water. She kneeled down beside its edge and peered over. Midnight blue reflected her face, and she smiled. Touching the surface with her finger, she created ripples and laughed with glee. When the water returned to its original stillness, she touched it with both hands, wanting to see what two ripples would do when they collided.

Off balance, she teetered on the balls of her feet, but couldn’t right herself and plunged into the pool head first. Instantly, the cold shocked her skin, and tumbling about disoriented, she tried to find something to grab onto to hoist her back up. She found nothing. The pool seemed an endless pit and she, not knowing how to swim yet, had no idea how to exist in this underwater predicament. Fear overtook her reasoning abilities. Her dress twisted about her face and she desperately needed to breathe.

She couldn’t stand it any longer and gasped, but rather than filling her lungs with precious air, they filled with water. She struggled and cried out, and as her life slipped from her grasp, Satan appeared before her, reaching out his clawed hands to take her in. He touched her with one finger near her heart and a burning sensation teased at her skin. With the lasts bits of consciousness, she flailed her arms about to get away from him. Just before the darkness enveloped her, she felt a rush of bubbles around her and hands lifting her up toward the heavens. A sinister voice wormed its way into her mind.

“You’re mine. I’ll be back for you, Marked One.”

Camille’s eyes flashed wide open yet unseeing, as she gasped for air while struggling against memories of a tragic event from long ago. Slowly a dim world came into focus and she scuttled back against the headboard of the bed she’d been laying on. She looked frantically about her and found she’d been placed in a small cement block cell, where the only light came from the window cut-out in the metal door in front of her. Acrid odors, like death, assaulted her nose, and she heard scuffling on the floor. Rats.
Where the hell am I and how did I get here?

The last thing she remembered was having lunch with Victor Langdon. She was about to get her food and fainted. Questions flooded her mind, competing to be heard. Did Victor drug her and put her here? How long has she been here? Why is she here? So many questions and no answers. Only suppositions, and she didn’t like any of those.

“Hello?” She tested her voice and the acoustics of the room. The small enclosure muted her gravelly voice. Mustering up a bit of bravery, she left the bed and walked over to the door. The window was higher than she could peer out of, but she tilted her chin up and shouted, “Hello! Anybody there? Help me!”

She scurried back to the bed and huddled in a ball, waiting for some kind of response. Did she want one? It depended on who the answer came from. She sat silent and still for what seemed like an eternity, but no one answered her. She searched the bed above and below for her backpack, but it hadn’t been left with her. Her iPad and cell phone were in there. Her watch remained on her wrist, so she could tell time if she’d
awakened on the same day as when she fainted and if she could tell day from night. Realizing the uselessness of the damn thing, she scrubbed her face with her hands and raked them through her hair. It had been loosened from its pin. Somebody wanted to be sure she couldn’t use anything to try to escape.

With nothing but time to ruminate, conspiracy theories whirled about her mind. Victor obviously had something to do with keeping her captive. Maybe he was a member of the cult. It’s the only thing that made sense. And maybe Nancy and Susan were involved as well. But why would they want her? She didn’t fit the profile. She had to find a way out of this hellhole of a predicament and tell the police. And Derek.

***

Derek found Victor’s address easily enough and now sat at the base of the long driveway trying to come up with a plausible explanation for being there. He could come up with some inane story, but he thought the direct approach might suit him best. Blunt honesty may catch Langdon off guard and make him stumble. Yes, he’d go with the arrogant truth.

He pressed the intercom button and waited.

“May I help you?”

“Derek Galloway, Associated Press, here to see Mr. Langdon.”

“One moment please.”

It took more than a moment, but the gate finally opened. He put his idling car in drive and completed the journey up the long, winding road. The highly secured grounds didn’t surprise him at all. If he had a secret as big as Victor had, he’d be building high walls to protect it, too. He came to a stop by the steps leading from the circular drive to the front door. Turning the car off, he dug into his backpack for a couple of essentials, including a digital recorder, and stuck them into the deep pocket of his jeans.

Figuring most people were invited or expected here, his appearance would surely throw Victor off his game, whatever it may be. He took the stairs by two and rang the doorbell. While he waited for someone to answer, he took on a professional authoritative stance and clipped on his press credentials.

A tall, lithe woman finally opened the door. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Derek Galloway, Associated Press. I’d like to speak with Mr. Langdon for a few minutes.”

“So Mr. Galloway, do you have an appointment?” She opened the door no further.

Damn, so it’s to be like this.
“I do believe I have one. My phone’s calendar app has gone wonky on me, but I’m pretty sure it’s for three o’clock today. My watch says I’m a few minutes late, so I hope he won’t hold it against me. Are you going to let me in or are we going to conduct business at the door?”

She sneered and opened the door wide enough for him to move inside. “Come this way while I check his schedule.” She guided him to a study off to the right of the enormous foyer. “Wait here.” As she walked out, her heels tapped like firecrackers going off on the Fourth of July. She seemed like a firecracker all right.

The flaw in his flimsy story would surely pique Langdon’s interest and he’d come to see him anyway. At least Derek banked on that scenario occurring. Five minutes later, the man did not disappoint.

“Mr. Galloway.” Langdon’s voice shook the very air around them. “My secretary tells me you claim to have scheduled a meeting with me today. But she has no record of such a meeting. My apologies. I do believe I have a few minutes to spare for you right now. My time is valuable, so make your intentions clear that I may know how I can be of assistance.”

Derek fought against every instinct to gasp and gawk at the horridly disfigured man that stood before him. He’d seen worse in the burn units he’d visited years back, but the way in which Victor Langdon’s scars had healed, they’d made him look like a distorted, grotesque version of the Joker from Batman. Shaking off his initial shock, he continued with his plan. “I’m investigating the disappearance of Zachary Michaels, Mr. Langdon. Research has led me to believe The Mission is involved. Do you have any comment or know the whereabouts of this child?” No better feeling than shooting from the hip.

“Your research is inaccurate, then. That cult disbanded over thirty-five years ago. As for the boy, I haven’t a clue where he might be. You do know it’s my money that’s offered as a reward for any information leading to his recovery, don’t you? His parents were so grateful. It’s the least I could do given
how influential I am in the community. His mother is a lovely woman, strong. Works at the dollar store. She’s been a rock, and the source of strength in the family. His father’s been a complete mess, understandably. Just saw him the other day, in fact. He told me he’s taken a leave of absence from his job. Just can’t handle it right now.”

He was right about the parents. When he interviewed the two of them, she seemed stoic, detached. His father had been a complete mess. Could she have been involved in his disappearance? He decided to push him and see his reaction.

“Your stepbrother left a huge responsibility on your shoulders when he was indicted. Has your membership grown since then?”

A slight twitch of his left cheek gave him the answer he’d been looking for. “As I told you before, The Mission no longer exists, nor has it existed for quite some time.”

Feeling bold, he pushed some more. “You know, Zachary is the perfect age for one of your ritual ceremonies. You know the one I’m talking about. Every six years a six-year-old male with the Mark of the Damned is taken and sacrificed.”

“Seems you don’t really need me at all for this interview, now do you, Mr. Galloway? You already have all the answers. I find you tiresome at this point and annoying like a mosquito. I hate mosquitoes. Bart, here, will see to the rest of this meeting. Good day.”

A giant of a man, as wide as he was tall, entered the room and stalked over to Derek as Langdon walked out. Derek was by no means a slouch in the height department, and had a fit body due to his love of swimming. But even he had to crane his neck to look at him. Without so much as a hint, Bart punched him in the gut and clocked him on the jaw. He’d taken punches before, but never by a cement block.

Winded and dazed near unconscious, he could do nothing but be at his mercy. He found himself hoisted in the air and bent over the guy’s shoulder. He could feel them descending down steps and found the energy to fight back. He kneed Bart in the solar plexus, but it made no impact whatsoever. He did not like his chances of coming out of this situation unscathed and wished he’d notified someone of his plans.

***

Camille heard a ruckus outside her door. Scuffling, grunts and groans, and shouts of dissent wafted through her door. The protesting, raspy voice sounded so familiar. She only knew one man on the island. What were the chances it would be him? Slim to none in her opinion. The grating sound of rusty hinges opening and closing sent a ripple of unpleasant tingles throughout her body and she gritted her teeth.

“Hey! You can’t keep me in here! You hear me? People will be looking for me. Hey! Let me outta here!”

After hearing a litany of colorful curses and a string of detailed descriptions of what this guy would do to the other if he wasn’t set free, all became quiet. And then the banging began. She guessed he was trying to break the door down. After about five grunts and thumps, all became quiet again.

Stepping up to her door, she called out. “Hello? Hello, who’s over there? What’s your name?”

“Holy hell, Camille! Is that you? It’s me, Derek.”

“Oh, my God! Derek, yes, it’s me. I’m locked in a cell. I don’t know what’s going on. One minute I’m having lunch with Victor Langdon and the next I’m locked away in here. Do you know where we are? God, I’m so scared.”

“Camille, listen to me. Langdon is behind all this. We’re in his basement or dungeon, whichever you prefer to call it. He’s the Mission’s leader. The cult is still active. I believe Nancy, Susan, and the entire Library Board are key members.”

“Oh, my God. But why am I here? Why are you here? What the hell do they want from us?” She pounded her frustration and fear into the metal door with her fists.

“Camille, sweetheart, I came to your house to see if you were okay. You didn’t answer your door when I knocked, and a kid across the street told me you’d been picked up. I put two and two together and got Victor. Didn’t count on his woolly mammoth to clobber me and bring me down here, as well. You’re their extra special gift to Satan. You’re to be sacrificed so Hell’s Portal can open and he can ascend to this realm to rule for eternity.”

Her heart dropped like a lead balloon and she sank to the floor.

“Camille? Camille, talk to me. Let me know you’re okay.”

“I…I can’t. I’m not. And I’m not as crazy as I may have thought. He’s finally come back for me,” she muttered, still too stunned to shake free of the pronouncement.

“What are you talking about? Who’s come back for you?”

“Satan.”

“Camille, you’re not making sense. Why would you think that?”

“When I was six, I nearly drowned in a baptismal pool. Satan reached out to take me, to claim me, but someone pulled me out of the water before he could. He told me he’d be back for me. When I told people, they discounted it as a near-death dream. But now, I see it really happened and I’m to be given to him. It’s come full circle. You were right all along. I finally remember where and when I got this mark. It’s from him. I
am
involved with this investigation of yours.” She crawled back into the memory, tasted the holy water made bitter by Satan’s dark presence, and felt the burn in her lungs.