Dark Rites

“Here,” Vickie murmured, moving forward. She went to get mugs. Griffin opened the refrigerator and drew out sandwich makings.

“The FBI even does more on foreign soil,” Devin murmured. She looked at Vickie and asked, “May I help with anything?”

Vickie laughed. “I’m not even sure what Griffin is doing.”

“This is it, I’m afraid,” Griffin said. “Sandwiches, chips...”

“A gourmet buffet at this point!” Rocky said. He took a plate of cheese from Vickie and told her, “Roles change, and it’s often good—we’re sometimes involved with cases that concern just one state or area—or the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, as it is here. It can be a really good partnership, especially when the local police want help and are ready to become part of a task force with a lot of cooperation.”

Vickie poured the coffee, taking her own cup and sinking into a chair at the table. “Well, naturally, I’m delighted that you’re all on this—whatever this is. You’re working with Detective Barnes? And everything is going well?”

“Fine—I like Barnes,” Rocky assured her. He seated Devin and then he and Griffin took chairs at the table, too—and dug in. The three were obviously hungry. “He seems to be a very good man. Comfortable and assured—and not in the least daunted by the feds. But then, you’ve already worked with him, right?”

“Yes, during the Undertaker thing,” Vickie said.

“Doesn’t hurt to have a precedent set,” Rocky said.

“So, do you know who the man was tonight—the man who killed himself when Griffin caught him? Was he the one who hurt Alex Maple before? And if so, why is Alex still missing?”

“I admit that no one can reach him, but are you still convinced that Alex is missing?” Griffin asked her. “Even Barnes helped us start a report before it’d normally be done.”

“I haven’t known Alex that long, but I do know him pretty well. He didn’t show for dinner. I really believe that if he could, he would have found a way to have called me by now,” Vickie said. “I am seriously worried.”

“We have people checking the local hospitals,” Devin said.

“And the morgue, of course,” Rocky added.

Devin nudged him hard.

“Hey, it’s all...necessary,” Vickie murmured.

“I know that Barnes said he’d call us, but...” Devin said, looking at Griffin.

“I’ll go ahead and call him,” Griffin said.

He dialed. Vickie listened, looking at him hopefully.

“Have they found anything?”

“They’re still tracing the phone. Alex is not home. His landlord opened the apartment and he wasn’t there. Also, there was no sign of a struggle in his apartment,” Griffin told her. “They’ve checked with every hospital—and the morgue. No sign of Alex.”

Vickie nodded. “Thank goodness for that, anyway,” she murmured.

“So far, people have been attacked in the street,” Devin said. “Are we assuming that the same perps who struck Alex Maple so hard they could have killed him have now kidnapped him?”

“I know it sounds strange, but let’s face it—everything to do with these attacks is strange,” Vickie said. “Here’s why I’m scared that what you’re saying just might be what happened, Devin. There was a great deal of publicity about the attack when Alex was hurt. There was information about him on every channel, in every newspaper and on the web, as well. Alex is young and brilliant. He may know more about Massachusetts history than just about anyone else alive. What if...?”

Griffin looked up from his sandwich, considering Vickie from across the table. “What if whoever is doing this needs someone who knows the ancient lore of Massachusetts?”

“It doesn’t explain the random attacks, really,” Vickie said, looking at Griffin earnestly. “But from the beginning, those attacked had the same historical words written on them. So whoever is behind this is making a statement. Alex was the first victim—the press and media went wild with the story. Details about Alex were shared with just about everyone. He was happy at first—it was nice to be recognized as one of the youngest professors. Of course, he hoped the publicity would help his attacker be caught. This is just a theory—what if Alex’s attack was random at first. The attacks were random, or carried out on vulnerable people when help didn’t seem to be near. But after this person or these people learned about Alex, they wanted him.”

Griffin, Rocky and Devin were silent, looking at her.

“Yes, it’s a stretch. But hey, the attacker or the cult or the group is saying that Satan will come back. That implies that he’s been here, and we all know that the devil and Massachusetts have quite a history. We have the very sad truth of the worst witch trials in the New World, for instance. But there’s more because of the very harsh situation of the times—brutal winters and repressive societies and, of course, constant fear of Indian attacks. The darkness in the forests—all those things made it easy for impressionable minds to believe in Satan. The human creature hasn’t changed so very much. People have always wanted power. They’ve always coveted what others have.”

Again, silence greeted her words. Then Devin smiled. “I like her, Griffin. I really like her.”

“We know a little bit about that witchcraft thing,” Rocky said ruefully. “And very sick minds.” He looked at Griffin. “She really might have something.”

“But where does it all lead?” Vickie wondered. “Where do you start?”

“Well, the good thing is—we are part of the Krewe of Hunters,” Griffin said. “Adam Harrison and Jackson Crow call the shots, but they’re the kind of guys who just don’t believe in micromanagement.” He smiled at Vickie. “When we need help, we can call the office. When we don’t, we go where our intuitions take us. We start with what we know, and we investigate from there. And sometimes, what we know about the past—in this case, the witch trials—can lead us into answers for what is happening now.”

“Here’s the good—God help us, the trials are remembered for their inhumanity! We look back at them now and shudder at the concept that anyone was condemned on spectral evidence. And the thing is, I don’t think we’re looking back at Salem.”

“The good old founding Puritan fathers might not have seen a difference, but today, there is a tremendous difference. We’re not looking at any modern form of witchcraft—or the midwives and other healers who might have been persecuted as witches. We’re really looking at Satanism,” Vickie reminded him. “‘Hell’s afire and Satan rules, the witches, they were real. The time has come, the rites to read, the flesh, ’twas born to heal. Yes, Satan is coming!’”

“But you told me that rhyme is not even original,” Griffin said. “Right?” He glanced at Devin and Rocky. “Alex and Vickie had been researching the words left on the victims. They date way back.”

“From 1665,” Vickie said. And she went on to explain what they had discovered about Ezekiel Martin, his obsession 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.