Absence of Faith (37 page)

"Did you have trouble finding a
photo?" Vandergarde asked.

"No," Carson handed him the framed
photo.

"Do you mind if I take it out of
the frame?"

"Go ahead. I also found this on the
floor," Carson reached into his pocket and handed the pendant to
Vandergarde. "It's a peace symbol, and I know it doesn't belong to
Linda. She would never wear anything like that."

"It's no peace symbol," Vandergarde
explained. "In the sixties it might have been, but now it's used by
Satanists. Nick had a copy of it in his file."

The detective reached into his
blazer again and produced a tiny notebook. He began flipping the
pages.

"Here, it is. It's called the Cross
of Nero and it symbolizes the defeat of Christianity. See how the
cross arms point downward. It represents a broken
cross."

C
hantress
sat in her room looking out her window a frown growing on her
forehead. She had just watched the 11 o'clock news and saw Kyle
raid Holy Mary's Roman Catholic Church dressed in his satanic
robes.

"It's getting out of hand," she
whispered to herself.

She got in her car and headed for
The Ink Well, the small cafe in the West End section of Long
Branch, where most of her friends congregated, and where she could
hear the latest news on the underground groups in the area. When
she pulled into the tiny dirt parking lot she could hear guitar
music faintly drifting out of the cafe. The Ink Well was a tired
Victorian house that had its last paint job in the 1960s and later
converted into a cafe. The owners left the original decor and set
up a small stage in the large living room, put in track lighting
and filled the rest with small round tables. It even had a large
brick fireplace that added to the intimate atmosphere on cold
nights.

Chantress entered and scanned the
small room looking for her friends. A man with stringy gray hair
touching his shoulders sat on a stool in the middle of the stage
and sang an Irish tune while playing a guitar. It was Irish night
and the parade of featured artists would sing Celtic, Welsh, and
Irish music.

"My bonnie and I climbed the hill
together,

And many a times we sat there
looking at one another,

But now she is gone,

Taken by the love of another
man."

Chantress was about to leave when
she spotted Yanni sitting at a table in the corner of the room with
two men.

"Yanni! Yanni!" she
said.

"Chantress! What are you doing
here?"

"I got bored and decided to come
out," she replied.

"This is Chuck and Roger. We're
doing a little celebrating," Yanni explained.

Both men wore black jeans and white
t-shirts.

"They just got engaged. Isn't that
wonderful?"

"Great. Yanni, can I talk to you
alone for a minute?" Chantress said. "Would you excuse
us?"

The men nodded and Yanni followed
Chantress into the bathroom. Chantress checked under the
stalls.

"What's going on?" Yanni
asked.

"Have you heard about Kyle? He was
on the news, dressed as Hermes," Chantress said in a
whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"He raided a church and convinced
members to follow him! And the TV stations picked up on
it!"

"You're kidding?" Yanni
said.

"It was all over the news,"
Chantress explained. "Haven’t your heard anything?"

"There's been some rumors, but
nothing really out of the ordinary," Yanni said.

"What kind of rumors?"

"You know the usual stuff. I heard
about a group doing animal sacrifices, and..."

"Do you know which group?"
Chantress demanded.

"No. I just heard about
it."

"Who would know?"

Yanni frowned then looked around
the tiny bathroom.

"I don't know, there is this guy
Husk I know," she said.

"What about him?"

"I don't know. He's a weird dude.
He comes here every night about one, and stays till closing," she
said. "He must live nearby or something."

"Think he'll come
tonight?"

"I don't know. What's with you?
You're really paranoid. What did you take?"

"Nothing, I'm just upset over Kyle.
He still pisses me off," Chantress said.

She let out a deep breath
struggling to hide her emotions.

"Forget that low life. He's lower
than dirt."

"I know. That's what bothers me. I
think he’s going to do something really bad."

The hinges on the door squeaked and
a woman with brown hair down to the middle of her back walked in
and chose one of the stalls. The two women left and went back to
the table with Chuck and Roger. A waiter approached and Chantress
ordered a glass of white wine. She kept her eye on the door, and
whenever someone entered, she would turn to Yanni and ask if it was
Husk. Yanni would roll her eyes and say no.

"Are you waiting for someone?"
Roger asked. "You keep looking at the door."

"Sort of," Chantress
replied.

Roger took another sip from his
drink and turned to watch the man with the guitar.

Bonnie Best Morgan was a young
maiden,

She was lovely, young, and
free,

Bonnie Best Morgan she stole my
heart,

When I think about her tears do
softly fall,

Bonnie Best Morgan was too wild for
me.

At ten after one Chantress turned
to Yanni.

"You think he'll show?"

"I have no idea. I'm not his
personal secretary," Yanni replied raising a green bottle of beer
to her mouth.

"Well...excuuuuuus me," Chantress
said jokingly. The two women laughed. The men looked at each other
oblivious to what was going on between them.

Minutes later there was a muffled
roar of a motorcycle outside.

"Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!"

The sound rose above the soft
guitar music and Yanni looked at Chantress.

"I think that's him," she said
smiling. "He always likes people to know he arrives."

The engine revved several more
times before it fell silent. Seconds later, a figure stood in the
doorway. His head towered only a few inches from the doorframe and
his body filled in most of the width of the door. He wore black
jeans, black boots, and a black leather jacket. A large silver belt
buckle six inches long and four inches deep covered his middle like
an ancient shield. The buckle had turquoise stones embedded with
ornate flourishes surrounding the stones. He was decorated with
various turquoise and silver rings, and pendants. He was big boned
with a narrow dark face and dark, piercing eyes that scanned the
room with an icy presence. His hair was as black as the night and
was pulled back into a short ponytail.

"Is that him?" Chantress
asked.

"That's him."

He walked around the room like
peacock displaying his feathers and then chose a table near them.
He rested his hands and arms on the table taking up most of the
space.

"Do you know him, Yanni?" Chantress
asked.

"Sort of, I used to know one of his
friends."

"He has friends?"

Yanni got up and walked over to the
giant's table. She leaned over putting her face close to his so she
knew he would hear her. He looked up at her with a bothered look on
his face and then he looked over at Chantress. His cold, black eyes
pierced hers and drove a cold darkness into her heart. She shivered
slightly. Yanni returned.

"He said he'll talk, but you'll owe
him," Yanni said. "It's like his way."

"What the hell does that
mean?"

"If he asks you out, you should
go," Yanni said.

"I'm not going out with him!"
Chantress protested. "I'm not even attracted to him!"

"Then he won't talk to you," Yanni
said. "Listen, I went out with him once. He's not that bad...a
little beer, a little sex, and it's over. He won't call you
again."

"How do I know he knows
anything?"

"He knows everything. I don't know
how he knows but he knows everything. One thing about him, he's
straight. He honors his word. He's very proud."

"I don't know. I just can't go out
with someone and have sex and that's it," Chantress
said.

Yanni raised her eyebrows. Their
eyes met and Yanni went back to Husk's table. She spoke with him a
few minutes and returned.

"It's taken care of. He'll talk to
you now," Yanni said.

"But I'm not going out with him!"
Chantress said.

"You don't have to, I am," Yanni
said.

"You? Yanni, you don't have to do
this for me, really."

"What are friends for? Besides I
don't mind and you do," she said. "It's been a long time, and I've
forgotten what it's like."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now go talk to him," Yanni
said and motioned her friend to get up.

Chantress moved slowly towards
Husk's table. Husk stared at her the entire time she approached.
She shivered again.

"Hello," he said. "Sit."

He pulled out a chair.

"Hi."

"What do you want to know? The moon
is high in the sky and it is a time for revealing much," he said.
"Our spiritual forefathers are angry and need to be
pleased."

"What are you talking about?"
Chantress said turning her fear into anger.

"Listen. I am Oglala, and my people
were here first," he said. "My full name is Husk, the
Revealer."

His gaze softened and Chantress
sensed a warmth flow from his eyes.

"We listen to the earth and her
cries. We listen to life and live our lives accordingly. The white
man has stripped us of much, but we still have our beliefs and our
souls. He cannot take them from us. What I see is the evil of all
evils taking hold. He is destroying the greatest gift we have
received from the earth - life itself. The cults have an edge now.
They are getting many new believers and with that comes power, a
power that is being used for evil, great evil. They are using
other's life forces as sacrifices to their evil ruler. They are
taking life and doing with it what they please. No one is safe from
them. The evil has grown very strong and it may be hard to stop,"
Husk explained. "Hermes is the dangerous one."

Chantress looked at him
doubtful.

"How do I know this is
true?"

""I know this because I used to be
one of them. I joined because I needed something more. I was lost
between two cultures - yours and mine. After I joined, I realized
that they were the lost ones and not me. The cult made me realize
that my own heritage and history is what’s really important, and
that I should embrace it, and be proud of my forefathers," he
explained. "They made me realize who I am."

Chantress let out a deep sign and
looked deeply into his eyes.

"Are you still a member?" Chantress
asked.

Husk looked around and then gently
and slowly pushed her hair away from her ear and placed his lips
close. His warm breath against her ear made her tingle with
excitement. When he was done, he placed his hand over hers. It
covered her hand completely. Chantress saw the sincerity in his
eyes. She saw the strength and confidence he held; she saw the
goodness of his soul. She took his large hand into hers. Her white,
clear hand contrasted against his tanned, leathery red
skin.

"Thank you," she said and squeezed
his hand. He nodded and sipped his beer. The two men were gone when
she returned to Yanni's table.

"You look like you’ve seen a
ghost," Yanni said. "What did he tell you?"

"Husk is telling the truth. He's
weird all right, but there is something about him. When he spoke I
heard ancient words. Words from the past, words laced with wisdom.
I'd say he is probably the more advanced species on this planet, in
touch with the earth and the spiritual part of life. He's the
harbinger of our future."

"Now you sound like him. What did
he do, hypnotize you?"

"No, he didn't hypnotize me,
stupid! One of the cults is taking people and using them as human
sacrifices and I think its Kyle. The son of a bitch has gone too
far!"

Yanni stared at Chantress, her eyes
wide.

"No, that can't be happening," she
said. "No."

"It is, Yanni."

"Why?"

"Because a human sacrifice serves
two purposes to a Satanist; to release the Magus' wrath or anger
and to get rid of people they don't like," Chantress explained.
"They also believe that it is a way to summon the ultimate power of
Satan. They have become an outlaw cult."