Page 84 of Stars and Scars

I can only see one other exit to this room. No windows, bare cinder block walls. We must be in the basement. Wyatt would never stand for his party guests to see something so spartan and bare. I’m sure that there’s soundproofing or some other means of making sure no one upstairs hears my cries for help…or screams of agony.

I try not to think about it. I keep assessing my surroundings, trying to get a feel of what I have to work with. Other than a tarp on the floor, there are no other features in the room.

I decide to try and stall. Cult types are usually pretty chatty. They love to proselytize. Especially to a captive audience…in this case, literally.

“Where are the cameras? I thought you cultists loved an audience.”

The bespectacled man gives me a thin smile, devoid of emotion.

“When necessary to further our goals, we can make public displays. In your case, however, there's little to be gained from televising your impending and, I assure you, most unpleasant demise.”

“Yeah, I guess threatening influencers on the internet gets a lot more attention.”

He offers a non-commital shrug.

“If you like.”

He’s not as chatty as I had hoped. I press a little more.

“Where’s that punk ass McCloud got off to? I should have known he was setting me up.”

The bespectacled man’s smile returns.

“I assure you, that clumsy attempt to extort money was NOT the work of the Order. McCloud has paid the price for sullying our good name.”

He bends over and flips up the tarp. I’ve seen a lot in my days, and I’m hard to shock. But the sight of McCloud’s bloody, battered form is enough to make even me squeamish. The poor bastard didn’t die easy.

“Who are you, anyway? You act like you’re in charge here, but you keep talking about the Supreme Leader. Are you his flunky? His bitch boy? What’s the deal?”

The man takes off his glasses and smiles at me. It takes me a moment to put it all together, but now I know where I’ve seen him before…and not just at Wyatt’s party.

“You…you were the one following us the other night. The paparazzi…”

“In the flesh.”

He offers a small bow.

“Thanks for not brutalizing me in that spillway. It turns out, your instincts were correct all along.”

I let out a scoffing laugh.

“Somehow, that seems like cold comfort at the moment. So how long do I have to wait for this supreme leader? I don’t suppose I could get a beer while I wait?”

The bespectacled man starts to respond. His mouth is half open when the door suddenly flies open. Relief floods me when I see Malloy standing there.

“Knock knock, mother fuckers,” he says. I wait for Malloy to pull his gun, or start throwing punches, something. Instead, he just stands there. After a long moment, he starts to chuckle, then bursts into full blown laughter.

“It’s hilarious,” he says, wiping away tears. “You’re sitting there, waiting for me to start kicking butt and save your ass. You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

My heart sinks.

“You’re working for the Order. You son of a bitch. I never took you for a cultist.”

Malloy shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m not, really. You know I give less than a shit about ideology.”

I shake my head, utterly revolted.

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