Chain Letter (38 page)

“Oh,” Alison said thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Eric asked.

“Nothing,” Alison said. “Please continue, Carol.”

“The police couldn’t find a missing young lady named Charlene. By that I mean there
was no missing-person report on such a person. I went ahead and filed a missing-person
report on Jim. I had the paper put in a small article about him. That was a waste.
Then I had to sit and wait because nothing happened. Two weeks went by. I figured
Jim was dead. Then one night I got a call from the police. They wanted me to drive
to a hospital out in the San Bernardino Valley. They believed my description of Charlene
matched a body that had been brought in.”

“That’s where I live,” Alison said.

Carol nodded. “At the hospital
was
the body of Charlene—I recognized her. Her parents were there, too. Her real name
was Jane and she had committed suicide by falling onto a propped-up
knife in her own bedroom in the middle of the night, with black candles burning and
pentagons painted in her own blood drawn all over her naked body. Her parents found
her only a few minutes after she’d died. I can’t tell you how distraught they were.
And they didn’t have good news for me.”

“Jane had admitted to killing Jim before she did herself in?” Eric said.

“I should let you tell the story,” Carol said.

“I’m sorry I keep interrupting,” Eric said.

“I didn’t mean that sarcastically,” Carol replied. “You obviously have knowledge about
these matters. I wish I’d had more—maybe my husband would be alive now. Anyway, you’re
right. Before her parents went to bed that night, Jane told them that she had killed
her lover that night and dumped his body in the desert. She said it so matter-of-factly
that they thought she was high on something. They told her to go to bed and sleep
it off, whatever it was. Jane’s parents had absolutely no idea their darling daughter
was involved with Satanism, even though they knew she did drugs.”

“What was the date you went to the hospital?” Eric asked.

“July twenty-eighth,” Carol said.

Eric looked at Alison. “Was that the night of the concert?”

She thought a moment. “I think it was, yes.”

“It must have been,” Carol said. Her shoulders sagged with the weight of the memory.
“Jane was the girl Jim had been with. I could see that with my own eyes, even as she
lay on the
cold slab in the morgue, naked, with a big bloody hole in her chest. And if Jane had
just killed her lover, it had to mean Jim was dead. It was a relief in a way. I didn’t
have to worry anymore.” Carol began to cry again. “I don’t have to worry now.”

Alison got up and went over to sit beside Carol and put an arm around her. She almost
asked Carol if she had received any strange mail lately. But she figured Carol would
have told them if she had. Alison wanted Carol to think it was over. The woman had
suffered enough.

“That’s my story,” Carol said, and she hugged Alison again. “I’m glad you found Jim’s
body as soon as you did. You didn’t do me or my children a great injustice. We knew
he was gone. I can understand how a group of kids could get scared and make the wrong
decision. At least Jim wasn’t left out in the open where animals could have messed
with his body. You buried him deep, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Alison said. The grave hadn’t been that deep. They’d had no tools and the ground
had been hard. But she’d say anything to comfort the woman now.

Except for one big thing.

“Do you remember where you buried him?” Carol asked, wiping at her tears.

“I’m afraid not,” Eric broke in. “We have no idea. We’ve tried to find the spot a
dozen times and failed.”

Carol frowned as she looked at him. “You were there that night, Eric?”

Eric paused. “No, I wasn’t there. But I was made aware of what went on. Alison and
I are old friends. I’m sorry we won’t be able to reclaim your husband’s body. But
we would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t go to the police with Alison’s story.
It could get the whole group in serious trouble, and there would be no point in it,
not after all this time.”

Carol nodded. She was a kind-hearted woman. “I understand. I’d like to be able to
reclaim my husband’s remains, but if it means hurting innocent people, then it’s not
worth it.”

“We weren’t innocent,” Alison muttered shamefully.

“Mrs. Whiting,” Eric began. “Would it be OK if I asked a few blunt questions? Some
of them might be painful for you.”

Carol sniffed. “No, go ahead.”

“Did Jane describe to her parents how she killed your husband?”

Carol’s mouth quivered. “Yes. She said she pounded a sharp needle through the top
of his skull while he was asleep.”

“Did you see evidence of this on Jim’s body?” Eric asked Alison.

“Not directly,” Alison said. “But there was blood coming out of his mouth.”

Eric considered. “A fine needle would hardly have spilt much blood.” He returned his
attention to Carol. “You mentioned that Jane believed that she would live forever
once she made her ritual sacrifice. Why did you say that?”

“It was one of the things Jane told her parents before they
went to bed,” Carol said. “To them it was all babble. Jane said she was now ready
for immortality.”

Eric nodded. “Satan worshipers believe that when they’ve been fully initiated by their
master, they will live a tremendously long life. Jane must have been convinced of
the fact.”

“But why, then, did she commit suicide?” Alison asked.

“She probably didn’t think she’d die when she fell on the knife,” Eric said. “Or rather,
she probably thought she’d be reborn in her own body, with Satan’s help and power.
It’s in the literature on cults. Murder and suicide are two of the gates into hell’s
power.”

“Maybe there’s something to the literature,” Carol muttered.

“Why do you say that?” Alison asked.

“Because Jane’s body disappeared from the funeral home before they could get it underground.
I heard from the police.” Carol forced a miserable laugh. “I’m not suggesting that
she got up and walked away. The police believe other members of her cult came for
the body to use in their ceremonies.” The woman trembled. “It makes me sick to talk
about things like this. She’s dead, God save her soul. If it can be saved.”

“Amen,” Alison said.

They lapsed into silence. Carol was shrewd. She studied them as they sat digesting
her gruesome tale. “Have any members of this cult been bothering you two?” she asked.

“We’re not sure,” Eric answered quickly. “It’s possible. That’s why we came here tonight
to speak to you. Do you
by any chance know how we could get in touch with Jane’s parents?”

“I remember their name and the city they lived in,” Carol said. “But I never asked
them for their address. It wasn’t like I wanted to keep in touch with them. They were
Mr. and Mrs. Clemens and they lived in Riverside.”

Eric glanced at Alison. “We should probably go and leave Mrs. Whiting alone.”

Alison nodded and stood. “It’s getting late.”

Carol got up anxiously. “If any member of that cult is bothering you, I suggest you
go to the police immediately. These people have no consciences. They’ll stop at nothing
to get what they want.”

“What do you think they want?” Alison asked.

Carol looked her straight in the eyes. “People’s souls.” Then the woman grimaced.
“I just pray to God they didn’t get my husband’s.”

“Dying is not so bad as being put in the box.”

“I’ll pray with you,” Alison said.

E
ric was anxious to go straight to the Clemenses’ house. He had been able to obtain
their address online. But Alison insisted they stop and check on Brenda. Her best
friend had been in a bad state at the end of the meeting at the park. Alison asked
Eric to wait in the car while she ran inside. There was a single light showing in
Brenda’s window. The rest of the house was dark. The time was a few minutes before
midnight. Alison let herself in without knocking. She had done so many times before.

Brenda was lying flat on her back with the music on low when Alison peeked in her
room. Brenda glanced over with dreamy bloodshot eyes. There was a half-empty fifth
of Seagram’s 7 on the night table beside Brenda’s head. Brenda seldom got drunk, but
when she did, she favored whiskey.

“Ali,” Brenda mumbled. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.” Alison crossed the room and knelt on the floor by her side. “How are you
doing?”

Brenda looked at the ceiling and snorted softly. “How am I doing? Just great. They’re
bringing back what’s left of Kipp tomorrow. His mom called and asked if I could help
her pick out a casket for him. Can you imagine that? Two weeks ago I went with her
to pick out a pair of pants for him.” She began to cry, slurring her words. “Now I
have to pick out a box to put him in.”

Alison hugged her. “I know. It just keeps getting worse and worse. But Eric and I
have been busy. We went and spoke to the man’s wife. We have a lead on the people
who might be behind the chain letters.”

But Brenda wasn’t interested. “We don’t want to mess with that Caretaker. We better
do what he says and let him put us in his box, and then maybe he’ll go away and leave
us alone.”

“That’s a lousy attitude.”

“It’s a smart attitude if you’re into self-preservation.” Brenda winced in pain. A
bead of sweat poured off her forehead. “I need another drink.” She reached for the
bottle with her left hand, although her right hand was closer. Alison snapped the
bottle away from her.

“You’ve had enough to drink,” Alison said. “Go to sleep. I’ll come see you in the
morning.”

Brenda persisted in wanting the bottle, although she was too drunk to jump up and
take it back. She stuck out her left hand farther. “Just give me the goddamn bottle,
Ali,” she said.

Alison thought it was weird that Brenda was using her left hand. She was right-handed,
like the rest of them. A warning bell went off in the back of Alison’s head. She reached
down and pulled away the sheet.

Brenda’s right hand was covered with a bandage.

A red bandage. The blood was soaking into the top of the bed.

It looked as if she was missing her right index finger.

“Brenda!” Alison cried. “How could you do that to yourself?”

Brenda sat up, her face a mask of fury and fear. “How could I save my life? It wasn’t
hard. I got drunk enough and got a knife that was sharp enough and cut it off. Then
I put the finger in an envelope with the chain letter and—”

Alison pressed her hands over her ears. “Stop it!”

“And I brought it over to Joan. That’s what the ad said to do—give it to Joan. I couldn’t
have mailed it anyway. I put it in a plastic Baggie, but the blood soaked through
the envelope anyway.”

Alison felt nauseous. “You didn’t have to do it.”

Brenda grabbed her arm with her left hand. “The hell I didn’t! I tell you this Caretaker
isn’t human. He goes where he wants. He does what he wants. You saw what he did to
Kipp. What would he have done to me? Sawed me up into little pieces? It was better
to lose just one piece and have it done with.”

Alison shook her head miserably. “But you’re in his box now.”

“Who cares about his goddamn box?”

“But it’s difficult to get out once you are inside. Most people never do.”

“One day you might care,” Alison said sadly. “I hope that day never comes for you.
Can I take you to the doctor?”

Brenda glared at her. “I can drive with one hand.”

“I think you should wake up your parents.”

Brenda snickered. “And show them what I’ve done? That’ll go over great. No, I think
I’ll wait until morning. When I’m sober. That’s when I’ll begin to feel the pain.”
More tears streamed over her face. “I miss Kipp.”

Alison couldn’t hug her again, and she didn’t know why. Maybe it had something to
do with her bloody finger. Maybe it was because she thought Brenda—

Was already damned?

When Neil had sent out his chain letters, the tasks he had assigned had each been
personally distasteful to the recipient. These new tasks seemed to follow a similar
pattern, except each task was personally damning. Fran had loved her puppy more than
anything. Kipp had loved his sister more than anybody. And Brenda loved herself, her
body—she was incredibly vain. But her vanity had now taken a serious blow. For the
rest of her life she would be disfigured.

“I have to go” was all Alison could say. She set the bottle of whiskey down and left
Brenda crying.

· · ·

Eric was waiting impatiently in the car. He wanted to go to the Clemenses’. But when
Alison told him what had happened, he thought they should go to Joan’s house first.
He was concerned
that the Caretaker had broken his own pattern. He now wanted the letters brought to
the next person.

“It’s a small change,” Alison said.

“Yes. But he may be trying to accelerate the cycle,” Eric said.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He stared straight ahead out the car window. The nighttime sky was
ablaze with white light. “It’s a full moon tonight. Maybe it has an occult significance
for the Caretaker.”

“Do you believe the Caretaker is connected to this Satanic cult Carol described?”

“I honestly do,” Eric said. “The tasks listed in the paper have all had a ritualistic
torture quality to them.” He grimaced. “Brenda really cut off her finger?”

“It looked like it. But let’s not talk about it.” She tapped on the dashboard. “Let’s
drive. Let’s go see Joan.”

But Joan wasn’t home, and they only succeeded in waking Joan’s father, who was in
a grumpy mood. Mr. Zuchlensky was a big, tough man who wasn’t to be messed with. He
stood in the doorway in his shorts, with his hairy stomach sticking out.

“Which one are you?” he demanded.

“I’m Alison Parker,” Alison said. Eric was still in the car. “I’m the one your daughter
can’t stand.”