Page 73 of Badlands

Nora groaned inwardly. “Okay, fine,” she said.

They met at a coffee shop around the corner from Nora’s house. She’d just had time to shower and dress, managing to arrive right as Corrie pulled into the little parking lot. They walked in together. Nora ordered a triple espresso and a chocolate croissant, while Corrie had a gigantic, sweet coffee drink, and they sat down outside.

After a few gulps of espresso, Nora felt herself returning to normal. First, Corrie told her the astonishing news about finding a third woman out in the desert—this one still alive and currently recovering, but refusing to speak. Next, she peppered Nora with questions about her trip. Nora related the whole story: tracking down the elusive Benicio, spending the night on his porch, and ultimately learning the truth about Oskarbi. Corrie hung on to every word, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.

When she was done, Corrie eased back in her chair and, after a silence, said, “Let me get this straight: Oskarbi left Benicio’s place twenty-five years ago, never went back, never even communicated with the guy ever again, published a book, got rich and famous—but through it all he’d gone over ‘to the dark side’—” she formed air quotes with her fingers—“then gathered a bunch of cultish followers around him, mostly women, and disappeared without a trace. Years later, some of these women started committing ritual suicide.”

“That’s about it,” said Nora.

“Sounds like he signed a pact with the devil,” Corrie said.

“Or at least believed that he had.” She paused. “But where the hell is he?”

“According to the FBI databases I checked,” Corrie said, “all traces of him vanished twelve years ago—no credit card or bank activity, no social media posts, no contact with friends or relatives, no driver’s license renewal—nothing.”

“So maybe hedidgo to ground and is running the cult from some secret location.”

“Seems unlikely.”

“Why?”

“When all electronic traces of a person vanish, it usually means one thing: that they’re dead. That’s an FBI rule of thumb, anyway.”

“Dead? Really?”

Corrie held up her hands. “It’s awfully hard to disappear or establish a new identity in this day and age. Maybe the cult is hiding him. But what kind of cult is it where the members have PhDs and lead professional lives?”

Nora smiled ironically. “The question occurred to me, too—although I know quite a few PhDs who are totally nuts. Tell me more about this woman you found. Bastien. Has she really refused to say anything?”

“Yes, but she’s back with her family, which might help—I’m seeing her at nine.”

Nora thought for a minute, then glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock. “Would it be okay if I came along? It would require a brief stop at the Institute—but I just might know a way to get a reaction.”

She described her idea to Corrie, who nodded. “Anything that might help.”

It was now late enough for Nora to call the dog sitter. “Listen, Corrie, mind if I make a quick call? I’m worried about Skip.”

“Skip? Go ahead.”

Nora called the dog sitter and learned her brother had, indeed, engaged her to feed and walk Mitty twice a day. The sitter said Skip was going camping with a friend. He didn’t say where, and he’d been vague about when he’d be back, but he’d mentioned the friend’s name—Edison. Nora hung up the phone, more anxious than ever.

“Everything all right?” Corrie asked.

Nora shook her head. “Seems he took off the day after I left for Mexico. Camping with that guy Edison.”

“That rich young collector you told me about? Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a reason to be concerned?”

Nora gave a small, ironic laugh. “With my brother Skip? Yeah. Always.”

43

SLOWLY—VERY SLOWLY THIStime—Skip rose back toward consciousness. Each time he felt himself rise, he tried to dive down again into the safe and enfolding dark. But it grew more and more difficult until—at last—he opened his eyes.

The scene had changed. The tripods were still in place, and Edison still hung from one of them. But his body looked different—a ghastly marbling of red and white—and then, as the final strands of fog fell away, Skip realized that the bastards had flayed him alive.

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