The Diabolical Conspiracy Read online

  The Diabolical Conspiracy

  The Diabolical Conspiracy

  Midpoint

  EPILOGUE

  THE DIABOLICAL CONSPIRACY

  By Bryan Smith

  First Digital Edition

  Copyright 2012 by Bryan Smith

  All Rights Reserved

  www.bryansmith.info

  Cover design by Kristopher Rufty

  http://lastkristontheleft.blogspot.com/

  Bonus content copyright 2012 by Bryan Smith

  Formatting by Denise Brown

  www.maydecemberpublications.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  1.

  “What happens here tonight stays between us. Everything discussed stays between us. It is not to be debated or even spoken of outside these walls. As usual. Is this very clear?”

  The speaker was a pale-skinned young woman with shoulder-length black hair. She wore black heels and a sleek black dress. Her skin was blemish-free and creamy smooth. A blood-red shade of lipstick compellingly contrasted the black and white goth-noir look. She was slender but shapely, with the curve of her hips and thighs emphasized by the way she sat with one leg crossed over the knee of the other. Her face, with its delicate lines and striking contours, was a study in beauty so exquisite it bordered on the otherworldly.

  Mike Bradley had seen a lot of very attractive women in his nearly thirty years of life. Beauty itself wasn’t a rare commodity. All you had to do was venture out into the world and soon enough you’d see plenty of it. But this girl…she was on a level beyond anything in his experience. She was…perfection. She was flawless. Elegant. Ethereal. And yet possessed of an electric eroticism that was staggering.

  “I ask you again…is that clear, Mr. Bradley?”

  Mike blinked rapidly and struggled to swallow a lump in his throat that felt roughly the size of a softball. He was so entranced by her that until that moment he had failed to realize she was looking right at him…and speaking to him. He coughed after finally managing to get his throat cleared. “I…uh…um…”

  Her expression was blank, but there was a glint of something dangerous in her eyes. “Hmm…were you not giving me your full attention?”

  Mike couldn’t help squirming beneath the laser focus of her eyes. His heart started beating faster as he struggled for an acceptable answer to her question. Then he sighed as he realized the only real option here was confession. “I…ah…yeah, I guess my mind sort of…went off somewhere…while you were talking.”

  She continued to stare right at him for long, silent moments, each of which felt like a self-contained eternity as he sat there and listened to the increasingly loud thud of his heart. At one point it occurred to him to wonder why he was so uncomfortable. This was just a social gathering, albeit a bit of a weird one. This woman had no real authority over him. He could get up and walk out of here at any time. Nor was there any logical reason--beyond her unusual beauty--to find her so intimidating. Seated in folding chairs arranged in a loose circle in the strangely aseptic garage were eleven other people. Though most were strangers, a few were people he already knew. Nothing bad could happen here.

  Right?

  The woman then leaned forward in her chair slightly, causing Mike to instinctively press backward into his chair. “Mr. Bradley…may I call you Mike?”

  Mike frowned. It surprised him that she would ask his permission for anything. “Uh…yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  “Mike, it is imperative that you hear and comprehend everything I say tonight. This is your first time attending one of these meetings, so I realize you are not yet aware of what’s expected of you. When I speak in my capacity as leader of this group, I deserve nothing less than your fullest attention. I’ll say again, hear and comprehend everything I say. Got it yet?”

  Mike forced himself to stop squirming. “I hear you. I understand.”

  Though he had managed to recover a degree of composure, visible evidence of his nervousness remained in the form of the sheen of sweat on his brow. He would wipe it away, except he knew doing so would only draw attention to it.

  The woman nodded. “Good. Our group requires a final member to complete the diabolical circle. A thirteenth member. Thirteen being one of the most infernally significant numbers. I do hope you will become our Thirteenth, Mike. We cannot move ahead with accomplishing our goals until the infernal circle is complete.”

  “Right, well, I…” Mike’s brow furrowed as he trailed off, the strangeness of what she was saying finally beginning to register. “Hold on…is this some kind of, um…satanic cult or something?”

  Sudden laughter erupted in the garage. Mike took a look at the faces of the people seated around him. They were all laughing, a few so heartily their faces flushed red. One man had a big hand slapped against his belly because it was heaving so hard. Even the ones he knew, his so-called friends, were laughing. The only exception was the beautiful leader of the group. Her focus remained solely on him, her gaze so studiously intent it was unnerving.

  Mike loudly cleared his throat. “If someone could kindly explain to me what’s so fucking funny, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Silence.”

  The laughter ceased at once at the woman’s stentorian command. All of the grinning faces abruptly shifted expression, turning stony and sober. Mike found the instantaneous and unquestioning obedience of the others disturbing. It was clear everyone here respected and feared this woman. Which was more than a little creepy. Because none of this weirdness came across as some kind of prank or put-on, despite how absurd it seemed on the surface. No, whatever was happening here, these people were deadly serious about it. By now Mike was giving serious consideration to just getting up and leaving. He had come along tonight at the invitation of Marnie, the cute blonde sitting to his immediate right.

  He liked Marnie a lot. They were just friends, technically, and had been since becoming acquainted just over a year earlier. It had been a very close relationship at various points over the course of that year. Though on average they only saw each other once every week or so, they talked a lot on the phone, sometimes for hours at a time on an almost daily basis. And then there were the endless text conversations that invariably began almost immediately after one of the phone talks ended. These often continued deep into the early morning hours. They talked about everything imaginable. Everything in the world, seemingly. Every aspect of their personal lives. It was obsessive behavior, Mike knew, and they were both guilty of it. They were addicted to talking to each other. And yet she had rebuffed him the one time he made an overt romantic gesture. Not in a mean way, but in a way that made it clear he shouldn’t do it again any time soon.

  So he hadn’t.

  In fact, he hadn’t talked to her at all in the three weeks since that feeble attempt at a seduction. Three weeks plagued by doubt and soul-searching. Just a couple days ago, he had arrived at the bittersweet conclusion that he was better off without Marnie in his life. He could move on now and maybe eventually meet someone who wouldn’t string him along so inexplicably. So, of course, the very day after coming to that difficult moment of acceptance, she called him--seemingly out of the blue--and invited him to this meeting. After a brief hesitation, he initially turned down the invitation. The rejection startled her. She couldn’t believe he’d said no to her. Some actual pleading on her part ensued, which a not so remote part of him found immensely gratifying. He finally relented when she told him he could take her on a “real date” if he agreed to come along with her t
o this thing. Even with the sting of the recent romantic rejection still fresh in his memory, he was unable to pass up this opportunity. His instincts told him it was a bad idea, that she was just using him somehow, but saying no was just impossible.

  She had turned cagey when he pressed her for details on the nature of the group, telling him only that they were doing “important work” and that he would find the experience “literally life-changing.” Yeah, right. He figured the group would be comprised mainly of pretentious weirdo snobs and that the evening would be spent drinking wine and eating artisanal cheese while listening to the weirdoes spout a bunch of pseudo-intellectual claptrap. He still had no clue what these people were all about, but it turned out his prediction that he would find himself among a bunch of flaky oddballs had been bang-on-the-money. In addition to Marnie, he knew two other people here. Blake Carter and Cynthia Everson. They were friends…but friends he had met through Marnie. Blake and Cynthia seemed normal enough on the surface, but now he was questioning how well he really knew them. They were obviously established members of this…whatever the hell it was. Which meant he had to be wary of them now.

  Mike glanced at Marnie, but she wasn’t looking at him. Like everyone else in the room, her gaze was riveted to the dark-haired beauty. He saw something like awe in her expression. More than that. Awe and…adoration. She worshipped this woman. They all did. He kept looking at Marnie, hoping his gaze would draw her attention in his direction. He needed some kind of reassurance, some indication that she wasn’t a hopeless flake. But, though she had to sense what he wanted, she kept staring straight ahead, never once sliding her eyes in his direction, not even for a fraction of a second.

  So he gave up and looked at the group’s beautiful leader, too.

  The faintest hint of a smile briefly dimpled the corners of her scarlet mouth when their eyes met. “Please forgive the outburst of my fellow circle members, Mike. It has a rather simple explanation. You see, though your comment was likely made in jest, you came very close to guessing our true mission.”

  Mike frowned again. “So…you are Satanists?”

  That tiny, almost imperceptible smile briefly surfaced again. There and gone in the space of maybe a full second. “Oh, yes.”

  Mike maintained a carefully composed expression at this revelation. But he thought, Oh, awesome. Not just weirdoes, but satanic weirdoes.

  He glanced at Marnie again. Now she was looking at him. She was smiling. She was pretty to begin with, but, as always, he was struck by how a smile thoroughly transformed her face, making her not merely pretty but gorgeous. She looked incandescent when she smiled. There was a brighter light in her eyes and a brighter hue to her cheeks. Seeing her like this always made his heart race faster. But the bitch of it was she knew full well the effect it had on him. She was exploiting a weakness. To what purpose he did not know, but just the knowledge of what she was doing added to his steadily growing unease. And though he knew he was being manipulated--and resented her for it--he knew he couldn’t leave just yet. Not while the girl he maybe loved was looking at him that way.

  “Look at me, Mike.”

  The leader again. Speaking again in that stern tone that would brook no disobedience.

  Marnie nodded and tilted her head slightly.

  A gesture that said, Do as she says.

  So Mike looked at the woman. “You know what? You keep telling me what to do and acting all mysterious and shit, but I don’t even know your name.”

  “My name is Nadia.”

  “Great. Well, I hate to tell you this, Nadia, because I really like Marnie here and it seems like she’s into this whole thing, but I’ve got no real interest in joining a satanic cult. You know, unless it’s just some kind of goof.”

  Nadia’s smooth brow creased slightly. “A…goof?”

  “Yeah. A goof. Like you’re playing at being all dark and satanic, but it’s really just an excuse to hang out and party with some freaky friends.”

  Nadia stared blankly at him for a long moment. Then her expression hardened some. “I see. I assure you, Mike, we are not playing at anything. Well, we do refer to our little group as the Diabolical Conspiracy, and there is a playful element to that. It sounds like it would be the name of a criminal organization in a spy movie parody. But it’s something of an in-joke. It also functions as a means of deflecting scrutiny from certain…authorities. Because who would take an organization called the Diabolical Conspiracy seriously, right? We are, however, very serious about what we do.”

  “And that is…what, exactly?”

  Nadia uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of her chair. This was a slow and exquisitely sensual process. Despite Marnie’s proximity, he couldn’t help but drink in every smooth twist and shimmy of this woman’s delectable body. From the shifting of her hips to the way she exposed the finely toned curve of her calf when she briefly extended her right leg prior to scooting forward, it all compelled his complete attention. The hem of her dress rode up a little higher on her thighs as she moved, revealing more of that silken smooth flesh. By the time the process was complete, Mike was realizing how calculated every movement had been. He was being manipulated again. And, again, he had little to no control over either his physical or mental response. He ached to touch Nadia. To caress her body’s shapely curves. To listen to whatever brand of oddball horseshit came out of her mouth so long as he could remain close to her.

  Not for the first time, he noted that more than half of the group’s members were young women. There were seven women and five men, not including himself. And, interestingly, not a single one of the women was remotely unattractive. The men were another story. Only two--Blake, and a guy he didn’t know--possessed looks roughly approaching something resembling handsomeness. The other guys ranged from average-looking to, in one case, undeniably ugly. Mike was self-aware enough to know that his own looks placed him firmly in the average category. It seemed clear that beauty was an actual requirement for female membership in the Diabolical Conspiracy. The reason couldn’t be more clear--for precisely this kind of manipulation. But to what end? It made Mike wonder what the women were getting out of this thing. Because obviously it wasn’t some quirky way of meeting hot, eligible guys.

  Nadia was smiling again in that inscrutable way of hers. “You know, Mike, I am able to read people quite well. So well, in fact, I have occasionally been accused of being able to read minds. This is not true, of course, but my intuitive powers are so refined that it may as well be true. Let’s take you, for instance.”

  Mike fought an impulse to squirm again. He could feel everyone in the room looking at him. Studying him. Evaluating him. “Me?”

  She nodded. “You. A part of you is still clinging to the belief that our little group is some sort of sophisticated adult role-playing club.”

  Mike shrugged. ‘Sophisticated’ wasn’t necessarily the right word, but her assessment was close enough to the truth. “Yeah. I guess. I mean, you tell me you’re not playing at anything, but I look around at all the faces here and all I see is a bunch of adults. No grownups I know take Satanism seriously. It’d be a different thing if you were all dope-smoking teenage metalheads. Or maybe not. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. Satanism is a great plot device for horror movies, but that’s about it.”

  Mike’s gaze flitted about the room again as he became aware of the hostility being leveled at him from seemingly every direction. He looked briefly at Marnie. Yeah, from that direction, too. The air in the room felt suddenly stuffy and this time he couldn’t help shifting around on the chair. He tugged at his shirt collar and looked at Nadia again. “But that’s just, like…my opinion. No offense.”

  The corners of Nadia’s mouth curved slightly upward. “Everyone…please cease staring daggers at Mike. We don’t want our prospective new member feeling uncomfortable. We want him to feel welcome. Wanted. More than that, Mike, we want you to feel as if you are part of something special. We want you to feel a sense of belonging when yo
u’re among us. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “I…guess?”

  “You don’t sound certain.”

  “I’m not certain about much of anything at the moment.”

  Nadia nodded. “I thought as much. Allow me to reiterate a few points. We are a serious organization. What we do is in no way a goof. Nor is it an excuse to play naughty adult games. When we have orgies--”

  “When you what?”

  “Have orgies.”

  “That’s what I thought you said. Excuse the interruption. Please continue.”

  Nadia made a soft sound that could have been either a quiet laugh or a grunt of disdain. With her it was hard to tell the difference. “As I was saying, when we have orgies, we do it in a ritualistic way. We treat it as something sacred. The expression of unrestrained physical lust symbolizes our freedom from God’s laws and our joy in the liberation our devotion to Satan allows us. Do you understand?”

  Mike smiled tightly and nodded. “Yep.”

  I understand that you’re a bunch of goddamn fruitcakes.

  “You think we’re crazy.”

  Holy shit, she really can read minds.

  He gave his head a single emphatic shake. “Nope.”

  “You’re lying, but I am not offended. The first steps along the path to satanic enlightenment are always the most difficult.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  Someone seated to his left sniggered at that remark. A glance in that direction revealed it was Blake, who was now trying hard to push a smirk off his face. Seeing this had the effect of relaxing Mike some. It was the first sign that maybe not everyone here took this shit as seriously as Nadia and Marnie apparently did.

  This impression lasted until the moment Nadia rose smoothly from her chair and crossed through the open space within the circle of chairs to stand directly in front of Blake. There was no longer even the faintest trace of mirth on his face as he stared tremblingly up at her. His mouth was moving. He was trying to say something, but no words were coming out. From his demeanor, Mike guessed he was trying to apologize, but fear had temporarily paralyzed his vocal cords.