Realm regarding Blade Sable. My online query lay right where I had left it. Discussion did not exactly scintillate. Spells were exchanged, political opinions were exchanged, a video was recommended: Cursed with Christina Ricci. This triggered an unexpectedly heated debate of the flick’s cinematic merits and Ricci’s physical ones. I sighed. Signed out.
An evening of surfing the ’Net for information on local Satanic organizations did little for my nerves, although I thought I had a better understanding of what Satanism was.
As with Christianity, there appeared to be several different religious belief systems and practices in Satanism. Traditional Satanists worshiped the deity Satan, aka the Christian Devil. But the majority of Satanists seemed to view Satanism as an abstract philosophy with Satan functioning as a symbol for pre-Christian life concepts.
Of course, according to the Religious Right, anyone who wasn’t practicing conservative Christianity was a Satanist.
The ugly stuff, the stuff that got the media attention, seemed to fall into the category of Satanic dabbling. A mix of everything from Wicca to psychotropic werewolves with, as far as I could tell, no connection to religious Satanism, this junk seemed to attract the young (pissy adolescents in particular) and the mentally ill.
I was reading up on the more horrific manifestations of this mystical acting out, when the phone rang next to my elbow, and I almost went through the roof.
The Hell You Say
63
By the time I had regained composure enough to pick up the receiver, I hoped it might be Jake, but nope, the hoarse whisper on the other end belonged to Angus.
“Adrien…?”
“Angus, speak up,” I said crisply. Hours of reading about the Sign of the Beast, ritual torture, crazed killers, and equally crazed Christian fundamentalists made me less patient than usual. “Where are you?”
“I don’t think I should tell you,” Angus mumbled. “It might not be safe.”
Swell. Was he anticipating my being captured and tortured for the information?
I heard a sound like a garbage disposal running in the background, which I deduced was Wanda, offering Angus guidance. “Adrien, I think I made a big mistake,” he said.
That made two of us. “What mistake?” I asked.
“I think I left stuff at my place that might help them track us.”
“Angus, who is ‘them’? Wait -- forget I asked. You’ve got to call Jake right away.”
“I’m not talking to him,” Angus said in perfectly normal and perfectly hostile tones.
“He doesn’t give a rat’s ass what happens to me.”
“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “They dug up a body in Eaton Canyon a couple of days ago. A kid named Tony Zellig. Jake’s part of the investigation. He wants to talk to you.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he said desperately. My heart sank. Not: “I don’t know anything about any body!” Not: “Who’s Tony Zellig?”
“Adrien, please listen. If they find that letter, they’ll be able to hunt us down.
Adrien…are you there?”
“I’m here.” I rested my forehead on my hand, tried to think. “What letter?”
“The letter from my Grampy. I left it right there on the coffee table. If they find it, they’ll make the connection…”
His Grampy? How desperate a character could a kid be who called his grandfather
“Grampy”?
“Do they know where you live? Maybe they’ve already found it.”
I didn’t actually believe that. I had trouble with the idea of this vast conspiracy of evil, but I felt the panic vibrate all the way down the line. He covered the mouthpiece and held a quick, ragged discussion with Wanda.
“If they --” His voice cracked. He tried again. “If they’ve found out, we need to know.”
The minute hand of the clock on my desk clicked onto the six. Eleven-thirty. I listened to Angus breathing noisily on the other end. He sounded like he was about to cry.
“How do I get in?” I asked at
An evening of surfing the ’Net for information on local Satanic organizations did little for my nerves, although I thought I had a better understanding of what Satanism was.
As with Christianity, there appeared to be several different religious belief systems and practices in Satanism. Traditional Satanists worshiped the deity Satan, aka the Christian Devil. But the majority of Satanists seemed to view Satanism as an abstract philosophy with Satan functioning as a symbol for pre-Christian life concepts.
Of course, according to the Religious Right, anyone who wasn’t practicing conservative Christianity was a Satanist.
The ugly stuff, the stuff that got the media attention, seemed to fall into the category of Satanic dabbling. A mix of everything from Wicca to psychotropic werewolves with, as far as I could tell, no connection to religious Satanism, this junk seemed to attract the young (pissy adolescents in particular) and the mentally ill.
I was reading up on the more horrific manifestations of this mystical acting out, when the phone rang next to my elbow, and I almost went through the roof.
The Hell You Say
63
By the time I had regained composure enough to pick up the receiver, I hoped it might be Jake, but nope, the hoarse whisper on the other end belonged to Angus.
“Adrien…?”
“Angus, speak up,” I said crisply. Hours of reading about the Sign of the Beast, ritual torture, crazed killers, and equally crazed Christian fundamentalists made me less patient than usual. “Where are you?”
“I don’t think I should tell you,” Angus mumbled. “It might not be safe.”
Swell. Was he anticipating my being captured and tortured for the information?
I heard a sound like a garbage disposal running in the background, which I deduced was Wanda, offering Angus guidance. “Adrien, I think I made a big mistake,” he said.
That made two of us. “What mistake?” I asked.
“I think I left stuff at my place that might help them track us.”
“Angus, who is ‘them’? Wait -- forget I asked. You’ve got to call Jake right away.”
“I’m not talking to him,” Angus said in perfectly normal and perfectly hostile tones.
“He doesn’t give a rat’s ass what happens to me.”
“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “They dug up a body in Eaton Canyon a couple of days ago. A kid named Tony Zellig. Jake’s part of the investigation. He wants to talk to you.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he said desperately. My heart sank. Not: “I don’t know anything about any body!” Not: “Who’s Tony Zellig?”
“Adrien, please listen. If they find that letter, they’ll be able to hunt us down.
Adrien…are you there?”
“I’m here.” I rested my forehead on my hand, tried to think. “What letter?”
“The letter from my Grampy. I left it right there on the coffee table. If they find it, they’ll make the connection…”
His Grampy? How desperate a character could a kid be who called his grandfather
“Grampy”?
“Do they know where you live? Maybe they’ve already found it.”
I didn’t actually believe that. I had trouble with the idea of this vast conspiracy of evil, but I felt the panic vibrate all the way down the line. He covered the mouthpiece and held a quick, ragged discussion with Wanda.
“If they --” His voice cracked. He tried again. “If they’ve found out, we need to know.”
The minute hand of the clock on my desk clicked onto the six. Eleven-thirty. I listened to Angus breathing noisily on the other end. He sounded like he was about to cry.
“How do I get in?” I asked at
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