Yet one had to admire her perseverance and dedication to her quest. She had other calls to make? To whom? he wondered. Why the rush? Why were those calls so important that she had to cut short her conversation with him?
He picked up his phone again, accessed his text messages, and looked at the list of social media user names she and Bowie had sent him. As he scrolled down the list, he saw that it included several of his handles, not just one. How long would it take them to discover that?
No matter. He’d been open with them about visiting some of the darker websites. Visiting them occasionally did not a kidnapper make.
Indeed, most of the people who frequented those sites were oddballs and outcasts who’d resorted to an online community because they didn’t fit in anywhere else. Oh, they talked the talk in order to cultivate and impress virtual friends, but they wouldn’t have the courage to actually offer up a human sacrifice.
Which was why the inner circle was so elite.
How clever of John Bowie to have hypothesized that such an exclusive coterie existed.
Again, no matter. None who had achieved membership into Luna’s inner circle had been caught, except for the man in Jackson. Victor wondered what his circumstance was, what his real name was, which handle belonged to him, and what mistake the fool had made to get himself caught all these years after he’d sacrificed the girl named Anna.
Thank goodness he’d been more careful. Crissy Mellin’s disappearance remained a mystery to all and sundry. She didn’t quite count, though, because she hadn’t been purified. Therefore, he had been denied entrance through that sacred portal into the inner sanctum.
One ho-hum evening, while doing some research in preparation for a lecture on astrology, he’d done some exploration on the dark web. He was immediately attracted to one of the websites. So much so, he returned the following night, and the night after.
It was like entering a realm rich in fantasy, engorged with possibilities for success, power, sexual pleasure. It was a world apart from the stuffy life of a professor at a university of meager renown. At the heart of this wonderland, the source of all its suggested blessings, was the moon goddess Luna.
Almost nightly, he would linger on the site. He skimmed the milder posts, but he absorbed the edgier, more graphic ones: writings, photographs, sketches, paintings. Whether excellent or terrible, they were enflaming. They enticed him with their promises of deeper and darker material. Of more.
But soon he discerned that getting “more” was by invitation only.
He began posting, mostly complimenting another’s contribution, then adding something elaborative. He must have impressed, because after three months, he received a private invitation to join another group and was sent a link. He then had to undergo a stringent application process. It was a joyous day when he received a notice that he’d been approved. He was given access and was elated to be welcomed by members whose real names he would never know.
He knew nothing about the higher level, the inner sanctum, until about a year later when he received another private invitation. He was told such invitations were extended twice every third year to coincide with blood moons.
He came to learn that only those who received the invitation even knew there was a higher level reserved for the elite. Anonymity was absolute. Membership to the inner sanctum was extended only to those who the established members believed were devout enough to carry out the initiation ritual. If one was invited, and balked at what was required of him to prove his loyalty, the website was shut down, then reopened under a different name.
He had not balked. Quite the contrary. He’d received his instructions with delight, with zealous enthusiasm. He would be doing this for Luna, who would reward him with recognition and respect from the academic community.
Those dreams of global acknowledgment had been dashed when he’d failed with Crissy. But Luna had been benevolent. He’d been granted another chance.
He wouldn’t fail this time.
Molly was perfect. Not because of her name, although the double letter gambit had been an amusement. No, it was because he had a tangential acquaintance with her. To reduce the chances of getting caught, he’d been advised by those who’d gone before to choose a sacrifice at random, someone with whom he had no connection whatsoever.
But taking John Bowie’s daughter had been a tantalizing temptation he couldn’t resist. When he’d heard her name coming from Bowie’s own lips, he’d wasted no time in gleaning all the information on the detective that was available on the internet.
Divorced from wife Roslyn in 2023. One daughter, Molly. His ex-wife still lived in the home they’d shared. Easy-peasy.
Yesterday, he’d canceled his last class and had been at that address in Auclair in time to see Molly when she’d arrived home… in an Uber car. That was curious. She’d had a backpack as though coming from school, but he supposed there were dozens of logical explanations for that mode of transportation. Perhaps she’d simply missed the school bus.
At seven P.M. a man had arrived at the home, walked jauntily to the front door, and let himself in. Shortly before eight o’clock, he and a woman, presumably ex-wife Roslyn, had left together in his car.
Molly was home alone. What could be more ideal?
But before he could formulate a plan, another Uber car had picked up Molly, dressed for dinner out as the couple had been. She’d been dropped at Auclair’s finest restaurant, where he felt it safe to assume she was meeting her mother and the man. He’d had better sense than to go inside and check. Instead, he’d parked at the end of the block and waited. Would Molly come out alone, or with the pair?
That latter would complicate things and probably would force him to wait until tomorrow to take her. He’d thought that perhaps that was a sign he should heed. Was he intended to be patient and wait until it was actually the thirteenth of the month?
The wait for Molly to emerge had seemed interminable. But then, shortly after eleven o’clock, she had exited the restaurant alone and on foot.
In his mind, he’d flipped a coin. Heads, follow her but wait until after midnight. Tails, take her now.
It wouldn’t be official until the clock struck twelve.
Jumping the gun could jinx him.
But could he pass up such a golden opportunity?
Wait! Couldn’t this, too, be a sign sent directly by Luna?
Was this a special favor he’d been granted for having waited over three years for a second chance?
He’d acted on it, and it had been the right decision. Under Luna’s guidance, he’d driven around the block onto the dark street out of sight of the restaurant, where Molly was walking down the sidewalk, appearing saucy and defiant, unaware of her fate.
It had gone flawlessly.
Now he got up from his desk and went over to the window. It was still dark out, but he could tell that there was cloud cover. However, clear skies were predicted for tonight. Forecasters were saying that for those who stayed up late to see the blood moon in totality, the view of it would be glorious.
His gaze returned to his phone lying on his desk. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so cute with Ms. Collins by admitting that one of those names on that infernal list belonged to him. Classified had an ominous ring to it.
It was far too soon for him to panic and act rashly. But if he missed this second opportunity to be initiated, he might never be accepted. That would be untenable.
He’d planned not to return to Molly until after delivering his son to school. But perhaps he should reconsider his timetable. Maybe he should accelerate the process with Molly and consummate the ritual as soon as possible. What would be lost by getting on with it?
He didn’t see a disadvantage. In fact, it would be even better. He could celebrate his grand achievement when the moon was full and red without the distraction of having to clean up. It would already be done.