with Missy Prior—and his early invention of cult wherein he was able to “marry” any woman he chose, share them with his closest male followers and wield strict control over his little colony of “Jehovah.”
“I have heard of Jehovah,” Rocky said, “and we even learned about Ezekiel Martin. Of course, Devin grew up in Salem and I’m from Peabody. That history was just a brief side note for us, though. When you grow up anywhere near Salem, you kind of live and breathe the Salem witch trials. And due to the case occurring when we met, we’ve been pretty heavily steeped in it all, too.”
“We all knew there were other instances of supposed witchcraft and that there were other executions in Massachusetts—and even the other colonies,” Devin said. “I believe that the Salem witch trials just grew in such hysteria, volume and ridiculousness that they dwarfed everything else we learned. And, of course, for the Puritans anything suggesting witchcraft had to do with the devil, so it wouldn’t have been like today. Wiccans these days have a recognized religion in which they honor the earth. But in the 1600s, the only concept of witches was one which included Satan.” She shrugged. “Even if, when you look at the pagan religions from which the Wiccan derived, the tribes practicing the religions wouldn’t have even heard of Satan.”
“To be fair, in Boston, you pretty much had to rub the faces of the powers that be in the fact that you were a Quaker or other religious dissenter to be executed,” Vickie said. “You were usually banished. And, from what I’ve read, I believe that Ezekiel Martin was furious that he wasn’t permitted to become a minister and given a congregation. We know that when people are disenfranchised, miserable and can’t find their place in society, they are most vulnerable to join a cult. There must have been people back then who were equally susceptible, especially if he was a charismatic speaker.”
“That quotation,” Griffin said. He shook his head. “Whoever is pulling the strings here knows all about Ezekiel.”
“And whoever it is has Alex,” Vickie said. She looked at them one by one, ending with Griffin. “I just have this strong feeling that he’s been kidnapped. They want to use him, use what he knows about history, about old cults, about ancient religions, about Massachusetts,” she added.
“About Jehovah?” Devin asked.
“He definitely knows about Jehovah—he is a veritable encyclopedia on the state,” Griffin said.
“So, should we head for Jehovah to look for Alex?” Vickie asked.
Griffin looked back at her thoughtfully. “You know that, officially, at the moment, the powers that be believe that a single person was responsible for the attacks and leaving the message, and that one person committed suicide tonight.”
“I don’t believe it and you don’t believe it,” Vickie told him.
“Jehovah doesn’t exist anymore,” Griffin said.
“But we can find out where it was!” Vickie argued.
Griffin’s phone rang and he excused himself but didn’t move away to answer it. He looked at them and nodded.
Yes, the call had to do with the case.
He listened, gave brief answers and then hung up.
“Our young attacker-turned-suicide from tonight has been identified. He was Darryl Hillford of Framingham, twenty-five.”
“What a waste of life!” Rocky said.
“Sad,” Vickie agreed softly.
“Tragic,” Devin agreed.
“Except, of course, that he was willing to hurt other people. Possibly kill,” Rocky said flatly.
“Barnes did some checking on the guy, and I think we are looking at a ‘type’ that is easily maneuvered,” Griffin said. “He dropped out of college—too much debt, too many drugs and a few arrests. His past didn’t look so great. Alcoholic father, mother not in the picture. They’re doing a toxicology screen, of course, and we’ll know everything that was in his system tonight.” He paused for a minute, casting his head thoughtfully to the side. “I don’t think they will find that he was on drugs. He was doing what lots of people do...trying to find some kind of meaning for himself in the jumble of the world. He strayed onto a bad path. His last known address was a fraternity house, but he hasn’t lived there in over three years.”
“Well, then, he was living somewhere. If we can find out where...” Vickie murmured.
“Maybe we’ll find Alex!” Griffin said.
* * *
Alex was provided with an outfit to go over his jeans and T-shirt; it was a red cloak, conical hat and attached scarf-type mask, just like that worn by the man who’d called himself a high priest.
While other people were with him, none of them identified themselves—even by a fake name.
Not one of them seemed to even notice the headless corpse in the corner!
He tried to still his shaking hands. He didn’t know what the others thought, but he was pretty sure that the so-called “high priest” had left the rotting corpse there with calculated intention.
And now...
They led him out of the surgery room.
They didn’t speak much. There were four of them with him, two about his height, two a little shorter. He wasn’t even sure if they were men or women, young or old.
They brought him to a little cubicle. It had a heavy wooden door with a little panel that opened in so that he could be seen from outside. He was pretty sure that, once upon a time, such a space had held dangerous patients, the criminally insane.
Or perhaps those made dangerously insane by the crude treatment of the disabled in years gone by. Actually, he’d seen a few places where things hadn’t changed so much.
The small room had a cot. With a blanket. And a bedpan. That was it.
The blanket gave him hope.
He wasn’t going to die. The high priest seemed to want him. He had to play this right.
And pray that he wasn’t going to be asked to stick a knife into a living sacrifice!
He wasn’t shut up in the locked room for long. They came for him again—the four red-clad figures. They chanted as they led him out beneath the moonlight. Once, there had been something of a courtyard—a place where patients might have precious moments in the sun.
When there was sun, of course. It was, after all, Massachusetts. His mom used to joke that everyone should come for summer in Massachusetts—it happened every July 27.
He almost laughed aloud; he was so terrified, and grasping at strange, old memories.
He wondered if he was supposed to chant. He didn’t know what they were chanting, so he probably couldn’t chant with them.
Others joined.
He saw that an old tiled garden table had been stripped and set with inverted crucifixes. There was a large empty space on the table...
Room
