Resting Witch Face Read online

  Stagg’s eyebrows rose. “Nice one, Echo.”

  A newspaper appeared on the screen, the headline screaming: Infants ‘born for sacrifice to Satan.’

  “Cell phones and the internet both existed in the 1980s, even if they weren’t mainstream. Yet the country was gripped by a fear, an idea, that a network of Satanists threatened their everyday lives. Just a half hour south of this campus, people in Jamestown kept their children home from school, anti-Satanist vigilante groups formed, and anyone who appeared vaguely counter-culture was persecuted. The Satanic Panic, as it came to be called, dominated popular media for more than a decade. And this will be the topic of our term paper. It will count for twenty-five percent of your grade.”

  Now the groans began in earnest, but Echo sat up straight. This was something she could get her teeth into.

  “OKAY, I KNOW I’VE BEEN here a few months, but it’s finally official. I’ve been appointed the new director of human services, and please keep the applause to a minimum.” Danielle Park opened the donut box and took out a chocolate glazed.

  Quinn shifted uneasily in her chair. The former director, Keri Baran, turned out to be a member of the Jade Coven, a group of traditional witches out to murder Quinn and her sisters. While under attack just ten feet from the conference room, Quinn had blurted out a spell that wiped out Baran and her followers in a spectacularly gruesome fashion. Quinn doubted she would ever recover from the fight.

  “I know Karen Baran was mixed up in some hinky business, but you all know my credentials. I worked at the State Hospital as a therapist for the past ten years. I have a mortgage, so I won’t be pulling a disappearing act on you.” Park deadpanned this. Quinn liked the fact that the woman had an arid sense of humor. You needed one in Human Services.

  “Speaking of crazy people, a few items have come to my attention that this department needs to address, so I’ll be shaking up the case assignments. Since the start of the school year, I’ve received several calls and letters from staff and parents regarding a supposed Satanic cult recruiting young people in the area. Which is why I started with ‘speaking of crazy people.’

  “Crazy or not, I grew up in Bakersfield. When I was a teenager, more than twenty people were arrested, accused of Satanic ritual abuse at a local daycare. I’ve seen how crazy suggestions can lead to real world issues. There are things going on around the area that are contributing, related or not. In fact, part of the reason it took me so long to assume the reins here was that five people were found deep in the National Forest, all of them prominent citizens, one a dentist even, and all of them suffering delusions, disassociation, even near-catatonia.”

  Quinn tried to keep her face blank. Dr. Perkins had been her family dentist, and a member of the same coven as Keri Baran. He, along with three others, had attacked her baby sister, Echo. Unlike Baran, the four assailants were transported from the earthly realm. Apparently, they had made their way back.

  “If you work at the State Hospital for any length of time, you also hear rumors about the coven of witches supposedly formed there in the 1960s. While I’m guessing that since the hospital is a bastion of cultural diversity in an otherwise homogeneous area, i.e., this place is White City, the rumors were simply cultural misinterpretations.

  “But we aren’t looking for rational explanations here, because they simply won’t do. We’re at the cusp of a moral panic. Children in our charge are being singled out. Let’s get out there and do our jobs, and nip this thing in the bud. I’ll speak with each of you individually regarding the new case assignments.”

  The meeting broke up, but Quinn remained seated. From her point of view, having been attacked by a coven of witches, being a witch herself, maybe this wasn’t a moral panic at all. Maybe people had good reason to be afraid.

  Chapter 3

  Harvest sat in her heavily-decaled Constable-Mobile outside the ruins of the Sheriff’s house. Chill sweat wormed down her spine. She remembered being bound to an altar in the home’s great room. The Jade Coven planned to sacrifice her here by immolation—burning her alive. Signs of the fire remained, the entire front of the house burned away, covered by plywood and blue tarps. Could she rest easy now? The coven was gone, and the sheriff dead. Former sheriff, late sheriff, leader of the coven, a man who harbored a serial killer and participated in human sacrifices—

  A knock on the window made her jump.

  “You know what they say about a criminal returning to the scene of a crime?” Nora Albright stood there, dressed in a white hazmat suit, the hood down. A state van parked on the opposite side of the street, disgorging a team dressed the same.

  “You think I had something to do with—”

  Nora smiled. “I’m just putting you on. Or, hell, what are you doing here, Constable?”

  Harvest struggled to shake off the memories. She answered honestly. “I don’t even know. What are you doing here?”

  “Despite the coroner’s doubts, parathion was the COD.”

  “Dr. Stanislas was a little harsh with you.”

  “Doctor.” Nora rolled her eyes. “Do you know what she’s a doctor of? She’s got a PhD in biology, and a certificate in mortuary science. She’s a glorified funeral director.”

  Most elected coroners were funeral directors, Harvest knew. Autopsies were directed to the medical examiner’s office in Erie, PA. She recalled Stanislas mentioning Nora Albright being a med student. “You’re working on becoming a doctor, a medical doctor, right?”

  She nodded. “Working through the OD program at LECOM.”

  Harvest knew that LECOM was a medical school in Erie. “What’s an OD?”

  “Doctor of osteopathy. It’s a holistic approach to medicine. That’s how I knew Bennett was not just exposed to parathion, but practically dipped in it. We’re here to find it, contain it. The question is, if he were poisoned, what was he doing at your business?”

  “It’s not mine, it’s my grandmother’s and great-aunt’s. They keep bees. Maybe he thought they had a cure for insecticide poisoning.”

  Nora nodded. “That’s right. Your grandmother is some kind of faith healer or something.”

  “An herbologist.”

  “Well, homeopathy wasn’t the way to go. Pralidoxime chloride, along with atropine, is the antidote for organophosphate poisoning. So why not go to Warren General? You can practically see it from here.”

  Was Nora accusing her of something? “I don’t know why he went to the Chandlery. Maybe he was confused.”

  “More likely someone dumped him there.” Nora turned to watch the team enter the burned house. “And painted a pentagram on his back in his own blood. Your family has a bit of a reputation as far as the paranormal goes.”

  We do? Harvest almost asked.

  “Considering the animosity between you and the sheriff, and the spooky rumors, who better to pin this on?” Nora flipped up her hood. “I’d better get in there. Wouldn’t want the public exposed to a highly toxic substance.”

  Harvest remained in the car. She had no business in the house. Nor did she have a hazmat suit. Still, Nora’s words rang true. The question was: would the police think this was a frame up, or would they try to hang Harvest and her family?

  “Hey, take a look at this.”

  She looked up at one of the hazmat guys. He lifted a corner of a hanging tarp. The rest gathered around. As he pulled it back as far as it would go, Harvest saw the graffiti. Like the back of the sheriff’s shirt, the plywood was marred by a five-pointed star in a circle.

  “I HATE WRITING PAPERS!” Bunny slumped her shoulders at her desk. “Doesn’t Stagg know there are two games this weekend? We have a big cheer competition coming up, too. Oh, speaking of, are you going to the Buff State game? I need a ride.”

  Echo looked up from her English textbook and shook her head. “I have stuff to take care of back home on the weekends.”

  “You know about this witch stuff, Echo. Can you help me with the paper? We have to turn in a theme tomorrow morning.�
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  She tapped her fingers on the open page. “Why do you think I know about witch stuff?”

  “All those creepy books you get out of the library? Are you being totally serious right now? C’mon, you’re obsessed with the occult.”

  “I’m. I’m not—”

  Bunny pointed to the stack on her desk. Echo looked. Okay, there were more than a couple books on witchcraft and the occult. Bunny clasped her hands together. “Please help me?”

  Echo looked at the spines and pulled out a paperback with a tawdry cover. It was her own book, picked up at a used bookstore. “Try this. It reads like a novel.”

  Bunny took it. “Fostering Evil? What’s it about?”

  “Well, it’s been totally debunked, but it’s a book about a cult of Satanists who infiltrated the foster care system in New Jersey. It’s all made up, but people thought it was real when it was published. It reads like a novel. You’ll probably like it.”

  “Me like reading? Ha!” Bunny examined the book from the side. “At least it’s pretty thin. Thanks, bunkie.”

  ALTHOUGH TEN YEARS had passed since Quinn attended Warren Area High School, she found herself checking out what the girls were wearing these days. Fashion statements seemed all over the place, but then, weren’t they when she was a teenager? The rainbow of hair colors wasn’t new, but Quinn fingered her own bob and wondered if she wasn’t playing it too conservative these days.

  The front office seemed so small. Handing over her ID was new, especially since she had official business here. Although she didn’t need it, one of the front office ladies escorted her. At the end of the guidance department, a temporary sign hung on a door: Pupil Services.

  School psychologist Emily Hall’s office was larger than Quinn’s. The visitor’s chair was plush. A withering potted plant sat near the only window. The desk was clear save a patina of dust. Nothing hung on the walls. The woman behind the desk was a slender redhead about Quinn’s age. She had a beak for a nose, but her smile was engaging.

  “I’m Dr. Hall. Goodness!” Seeing the dust on her desk, Hall grabbed a wad of tissues from a drawer and swiped it clean. “We only use this space for therapy sessions. You can see we don’t need it much. I work out of the school district office for all four local high schools. How can I help you today?”

  Quinn shook her hand. “I’m Quinn Hutchinson, from Human Services. There’s been a shake up since our new director came aboard. Stephen Bender is now one of my cases.”

  “Oh.” Hall dropped her hand. “You’re familiar with his situation?”

  She had read the file. Steve Bender’s story was as sad as it was familiar. He had been raised by his mother since his birth, until a new man entered Tanya Bender’s life. Tanya’s boyfriend and Steve did not get along. After running away from home several times, Steve got his life together. Sort of. He now lived in a camper with his older half-brother, Kevin. Kevin was a farm hand, and the camper was parked near a barn a few miles from the school. Even so, Steve thrived, raising his grades, finding part-time work, even playing in a band.

  “Is he considered homeless by the district?” Quinn asked.

  Hall nodded. “He is, and receives all the protections that go along with our policy.”

  Feeling resistance on the therapist’s part, Quinn looked for a thread to draw her out. “Is he a discipline problem?”

  Hall leaned forward. “He’s been sent home a number of times for being dressed inappropriately. Several detentions for acting out, for fighting, and a suspension for carrying a knife.”

  Quinn had her. Hall didn’t like Steve, and she could use that to her advantage. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “That’s just on the record. Last year, when the school was under renovation, graffiti appeared on the trailers a number of times. Pentagrams, six-six-sixes, slogans about the devil. Considering he wears clothing with a similar theme, he’s suspect.”

  “Not proven?”

  “Not yet. He also rides a dirt bike to school. It isn’t street legal.”

  Hall didn’t say whether he rode it on the street or not. Quinn went on. “Is he a loner? Do the students shun him, given his living situation?”

  “Oh, no. Everybody loves Steve. He plays in a band. He has ridiculous hair. You see where the danger lies, don’t you? We’re trying to remove any barriers to education, but given that a scofflaw like that is so popular—it’s disruptive, his behavior is a barrier to learning.” Color rose in Hall’s pale cheeks.

  Quinn could detect a pattern she’d seen in many school administrators in Hall. They felt creative types, free spirits, could only disrupt the educational process. A system that already tended to quash the individual could lean hard on those who didn’t conform. It would be bad enough if Steve Bender was a wallflower, a nobody, but his overcoming hardship and remaining one of the “cool kids” must chafe all the more. She changed tack.

  “Apparently, not everyone loves Steve. According to his file, Steve’s received threatening notes in his locker. He was given detention for a number of fights—isn’t that grounds for suspension?”

  “Not everyone is a sheep. Some students are perceptive enough to see that Mr. Bender is nothing more than flashy on the outside. He’s like a poison bug, all bright colors that act as a warning. The fights were really just shouting and shoving matches, broken up by staff.”

  Since the local high schools were all in Quinn’s territory, she dug a little deeper before the meeting. Steve’s shoving matches were against members of the basketball team. The district couldn’t sanction only Steve Bender for the incidents, and they didn’t want their star athletes benched by a disciplinary action. Thus, a slap on the wrist all around.

  “Given the graffiti, and the, uh, style of his clothing, do you think Steve is a Satanist?”

  Hall shrugged. “I really don’t care about his religious beliefs. What I do care about is students following his lead. He’s trouble, which is a temptation for young people. Our job is to educate children, and keeping them out of trouble is part of that.”

  HARVEST PARKED THE Constable-Mobile near a side entrance to the Warren State Hospital, the looming nineteenth century mental health facility that housed and treated the region’s more extreme psychiatric cases. Writ in hand, she walked to the security office. One of the patients, Mike MacDonald, was due in court on a custody issue. She found him waiting in a chair near the desk.

  Exchanging paperwork, she removed the cuffs from her vest.

  “Don’t bother. I’m a freakin Houdini,” MacDonald said.

  Harvest slapped the cuffs on him. “Uh huh. Let’s go, Mr. MacDonald.”

  “I don’t mind these.” He raised the cuffs up and shook them. “Let’s my kids know their old man’s a regular bad ass. Do you have restraints that go down to the feet? I could do that prison shuffle. Look tough.”

  Given that his son was three and his daughter five, Harvest couldn’t imagine what seeing their father in handcuffs was doing to them psychologically. Of course, some mental illness was hereditary, some situational. Maybe something similar had happened in MacDonald’s past. For sure, he was a pathological liar, and most likely, a lunatic.

  “My bitch of a wife better not be wearing the mind control suit. I’ve studied law. I know my rights in court. And I know physics. Mind control only works if you don’t know you’re being mind controlled. I have degrees.”

  MacDonald was actually a high school dropout who operated a salvage yard. “You can tell it to the judge.” She urged him back outside and opened the back door.

  “Shotgun!”

  She held the door wider. “Yeah, right. Get in back, please.”

  Transferee contained, she hopped in front and started the car. When she glanced back before pulling out, she stopped short, catching motion.

  “How does that old song go?” MacDonald craned his neck. “The lunatics are on the grass.”

  In her mirror, Harvest saw a number of patients walking into the yard. The state hospital h
ad no fence around it. Considering the deeds of many hospital charges, it seemed negligent. However, as far as Harvest knew, only one dangerous patient had ever wandered off the grounds. For October, the day was warm, the sun bright. Everyone deserved a walk on a nice day, she supposed.

  A face turned her way, making Harvest freeze. Half-backed out of the space, she put the car in park and got out.

  “Hey! I got court! Where are you going? I need to keep my kids!”

  Too dumbstruck for a retort, Harvest moved closer to the patients. They were under the charge of three orderlies and a couple nurses. Some of the patients were older, and their shuffling progress slowed the group. Harvest hurried closer.

  A young nurse pushing a wheelchair gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, this is a closed session.”

  But it was her charge that Harvest paid attention to. As she neared, the woman faced her. Harvest knew that black hair, those high cheekbones, that nose as well as she knew her own. Maybe she’d only seen it in pictures, but she was seized by a debilitating certainty.

  “Mom?”

  Chapter 4

  With the small bed of her Baja packed with laundry, Echo pointed the truck toward home. As she merged onto Route 60 South, she realized she was driving way over the speed limit. Taking a breath, she eased off the accelerator. Driving angry was bad on gas. Still, she seethed.

  Dr. Stagg loved Bunny’s term paper theme. She’d said that Fostering Evil, the book Echo had given her, really made her understand how people could be so afraid. She wanted to use that point of view, that fiction disguised as fact could make people believe all sorts of things.

  Echo hadn’t been so lucky. For her paper, she wanted to write a time line of the Satanic Panic in Jamestown using local sources. It would show the slow build up to an irrational fear so great that parents would keep their children home from school.