“They?”
“FBI.”
She wondered anew about Bullock and Price, and their business in all of this. Maybe they had long since seen the vampiric nature of the killings? Maybe they were well aware of this bizarre computer game called Helsinger's Pit… perhaps?
Randy continued. “Anyway, the object of the game was to hunt down and destroy these self-professed demon types, to kill them before they could completely taint the world. But it wasn't easy, because they had demonic powers.”
“Sort of an electronic witch-hunt, you mean?” she suggested.
“As a kid, you'd get addicted to it.”
“You played the game, then, a lot?”
“I got so into it, I became a screen zombie for one entire summer. My parents had to literally dismantle my computer to detox me. It was that mesmerizing.”
“What're you saying, Randy? That there's some connection between these murders and a… a computer game?”
“You got to play the good, pure guy, the avenging angel, the soldier of God, while at the same time-”
“You got to destroy all these evil characters.”
“Yeah. At the outset, you have a list of vile characteristics to choose from to create the most awful creatures ever to masquerade as human beings. You gave them careers, traits, families, but they were all, you know, devil worshippers, cultists, vampire types who made their fortunes and got their kicks, you know, from feeding off others. So, you always got this double rush: You got to waste people, like Rambo, or G. I. Joe, but you sorta got God's pat on the back for fighting His war.”
“Electronic vindication from God, huh? Justifiable homicide.”
“Well, it was only a game, but I'm telling you, the overtones, the similarities to the crossbow deaths are unreal.”
“What similarities besides the crossbow?”
Lucas knocked at her door, asking if she'd like to join him for dinner. She moved to the door, phone in hand; she then told Lucas to come in and sit, and then she returned to Randy. “Well? I'm listening.”
“There were scenes in the game where the stalker fired directly through a window, and the target was always the vampire's heart.”
She looked up at Lucas, recalling his earlier, cogent comment about the hearts of the victims here having the look of stalked vampires. “Go on,” she said. “You only scored if it struck the monster's heart.”
“I see.”
“Furthermore, you had to dismember the parts and bury them in secret places so the demon could not collect up its parts and revive it self and come for you.”
“It's too mad, too far out,” she told Randy. “Perhaps one person might fall prey to the game, confusing virtual reality with reality, but now we know there is more than one assassin at work.”
“But there's only one spiritual leader guiding them,” countered Randy. “Every cult has a leader, and nowadays every PC in the country can be turned into a pulpit or altar from which any maniac can rant. Oddly enough, Helsinger's Pit was a networking game. No one played it alone.”
Meredyth was having trouble taking all of it in. “I see…”
'Thousands upon thousands, hell, hundreds of thousands of kids were playing that game, and part of the game was this conspiracy of sorts to… to-”
“Conspiracy?”
“Yeah, to reintroduce the world to the power and wrath of the god of the Old Testament, you know, the God of Abraham, the one who believed in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, all that, a god less forgiving.”
She repeated his words, shadowing him thus, trying to follow Randy's convoluted, Generation X, paranoia-laden thinking. “A god less forgiving of what?”
“In particular? Less forgiving of lesser gods to which some mortals prayed, say like coin and money, arrogance and pride, sloth, gluttony, Satan and Satan's minions, you name it.”
“I can't buy this, Randy. It's just too damned… weird and unimaginable.”
“All I can say to that, Doctor, is think the unthinkable. I knew some guys so plugged into this game they never came out. Then imagine some nutcase, religious gung-ho type who decides there are real vampires screwing around among us, having their way with our women and spawning little devils everywhere they go. Get the picture?”
“But Mootry and Palmer and these others… they weren't practicing witchcraft or vampirism or anything. Nothing points to any sort of occult connection with the victims.”
“They're all on the list.”
“What list?” she asked, blinking, wondering what else Randy had to pull forth in his magician's manner.
“It's a list compiled by the FBI.”
“What FBI list?”
“FBI started doing checks on professed vampires and practicing demonologists over forty years ago. J. Edgar was fascinated by it; believed it was a communist plot to infiltrate and weaken the moral fiber of the country from within.” Meredyth held her breath. “My God… How many people are on this witch-hunt list?”
“It varies from year to year, but usually in the neighborhood of three hundred.”
“Three hundred?”
Randy almost asked about the echo he was getting over the wire, but thought better of it. “There are, of course, thousands, but the ones who make the list have, you know, gotten in trouble with the law at one time or another by taking their beliefs too far.”
“Do you have a copy of the list?”
“I do.”
“God, how'd you get it?”
“I used a computer at Circuit City. The salesman really wanted me to buy.”
“And you're saying Mootry's name is on that list?”
“A young Mootry dabbled in the occult, yes. Maybe he got over it, maybe he secretly continued with it, I don't know, but yes, he's on the FBI's list of three hundred and nine practicing vampires. Don't ask me how often the FBI updates the list.”
“Not soon enough for Little.”
By now Lucas was leaning into the conversation, trying to hear what Randy was saying while enjoying the smell of Meredyth.
“Little's on the list,” replied Randy.
“And Maurice and Emily Shirley?”
“Ahh… ahh… no, not on the list, but Palmer's there, and so is Whitaker and some of Whitaker's family.”
Lucas interrupted, telling her to ask about Bennislowe.
She asked and turned to him, her face stark. “Yes, he's listed.”
“And David Ryan Gunther, the kid whose skeleton was found close to Whitaker's estate but whose head was never found.”
“No, not listed,” replied Meredyth after passing along the inquiry. She then asked Randy, “But why target these particular men for… for e-mail murder?”
“That's just it. Nowadays, if they have your social security number, they can tap into your financial status, your inheritance, how much you paid for your house, the details of your divorce. It's only a keystroke away.”
Meredyth thought about this for several lengthy moments, about how easily young people were led astray, how easily minds were warped and put under the control of some guru or another, anyone with a platform from the racial hatred doctrines preached by the KKK to the cult dicta of a Jim Jones of Guyana infamy.
“God, still, you're talking cyberspace murder, Randy, and I'm just not sure I'm ready to accept that.”
“But we've got FBI crawling all over this case,” added Lucas into the mouthpiece. “Damn, then that cinches it,” Randy shouted. 'They've got to know something screwy going on with their vampire list.”
“Maybe you're right. We'll talk to them about it.” 'Tread lightly. No one's supposed to have access to the list.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“Illegally.”
“Of course…”
“Be careful out there, Meredyth.”
“I will… we will.”
Randy hung up, leaving Meredyth and Lucas to puzzle over all that he had left them to ponder: an FBI demonology list, the fact several men who'd died so horribly were coincidentally on this hit list? Murder by computer e-mail, the fact the arrows were the tip of the iceberg. Could someone in the FBI be involved? Was the paranoid ghost of J. Edgar working through some brash young Republican elite guard in the FBI? Were Bullock and Price the vanguard of these driven fanatics? The questions continued into the night.