Chapter 38: Group Therapy

Most of the time it was a basketball court – and a nice one at that. It took up one end of the warehouse and was used by the employees for recreation during lunch or on particularly slow days. In the season it was used by a local youth team coached by the building's owner, and hosted games almost every weekend. The league's championship game had been played there for the last three years – ever since he had installed the state of the art, collapsible bleachers along the back wall.

Oddly enough, it was a boy's team; at least he was keeping a low profile. There was talk of forming a 'Geezer' League in the city, and the owner had been approached about renting it out for practice sessions. So far, he didn't seem interested. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he just couldn't. My guess was that that position would change by next season. His was easily the nicest privately owned court in the city, and the teams would probably be lined up begging for a shot once he opened the door. Polished parquet floor with all the right lines gleaming invitingly in the glare of overhead lights; state of the art Plexiglas boards at either end ... it just called out for ten people to choose up sides and toss up that first jump ball. It would be interesting to see how it turned out.

But that was for another time; tonight...

Tonight it had a different purpose. Tonight the lights were turned down low; in fact, most of them were turned off ... all but two. One shone down on a podium; the other did its best to illuminate the oddly shaped bulges hidden under the large black tarps along the near sideline.

A side door opened, and people started arriving. Slowly, one by one, they filed in, and soon a good portion of the seats were filled. There were not many – seats that is, less than fifty in all – since the bleachers were still folded into their wall storage compartments. Regular folding chairs had been set up, and tonight – unlike past nights – over half of them were empty, and would remain so. Each person entering wore a black robe that covered them from neck to floor, complete with a hood to conceal their hair as the masks concealed their faces. Faceless, nameless, intended to be sexless, but that didn't always work, as there is only so much even a robe can hide. One by one they filed in and took their places, each alone in the blank sameness of anonymity.

Despite the intentional feeling of isolation induced by their sameness, they had much in common. Fear, for one; this was a place they had learned to fear long ago. Sorrow, for they knew that someone would be made to suffer tonight, and maybe tomorrow, and maybe even longer than that. It all depended on the degree of her transgression. And finally – for many – relief that it was not they who would be subjected to whatever lay hidden by the expanse of black cloth, not this time.

Very soon the stream stopped, and they waited, patiently, silently, for what would come next. The door opened again, and three more entered, two in the same robes, leading a third whose robe was different. For one thing, it was red instead of black, signifying the sinner in their midst. Then there was the fact that her robe had no hood but simply draped her body from shoulder to knees. Below the hem, her legs and feet were bare. Above, instead of a draped hood and mask, she wore a black cowl, like the ones executioners offer their charges so they do not have to see death coming – and so the witnesses didn't have to see the horror in their face and eyes as they died. The cowl was pulled snugly over the head and tied with rope around her neck. Of course it was a girl; it was always a girl, and, judging from her size, one of the older ones again, no surprise there.

One of the men stepped up to the podium; the other stayed with the girl, a step back and to the side.

"I know what you're thinking," I said as I stood at the podium. "You're wondering how you got here, because the last thing you remember is going to bed. It's simple really; you're asleep, and this is a dream. Now you're thinking, 'but it seems so real.' It is real, or at least, as real as a dream can be. Which is this case is very real. As for how that is possible; we'll save that for another time, but, as much as it is possible, you are all really here, sharing a dream. Why here? Because, I know what this place is, and what it means to all of you. Well, not anymore. Tonight, all of that changes."

And then I did the unthinkable: I pulled back the hood and began unbuttoning my robe.

"Tonight the hiding ends. Tonight, the pain ends. As of tonight, the fear ... ends. Now I know that is an easy thing to say, and I understand that you will doubt me when I say it..."

I let the robe fall in a bunch at my feet, leaving me standing before them in jeans, a polo shirt, and black tennis shoes. I let the lights come up and pulled off my mask.

" ... but you know me," I said. "You don't know how or where, but, sitting here now and seeing my face, you are asking yourself, 'Where do I know him from?' Well, I'll tell you where. Not long ago, I visited each and every one of you and took away something that Lord Hightower had hidden within you. The dreams were different for all of you, but they all went something like this."

I replayed the scene of Lizzy and me visiting Stephen Hendricks. I could see heads nodding as the newsbreak announced that Elliott Bastion was dead.

"Before this moment, the memory of that dream – or your version of it – was hidden from you. That was done for your own safety. Do you know why that compulsion to kill was hidden within you?"

Around the crowd heads shook as people began to get caught up in what I was saying.

"It doesn't make any sense to you, does it? Why would the death of your priest cause an overwhelming urge to slaughter the people you love and take your own life? That is one of the questions I am here to answer. Perhaps you know this man..."

An image of Lord Hightower with his face blurred out appeared beside me. I saw several small figures draw back against the larger figures next to them. The adults whispered to them and pushed them back to sit up on their own again.

"Lord Hightower; the man no one remembers, the monster responsible for the atrocities that you have been forced to endure, and take part in, all of these years. The reason you don't remember him is simple; you don't remember him because he told you not to. The reason he told you not to is simply because he didn't want you to know who he really was. Perhaps you will recognize him now..."

The distortion disappeared, and they gave a collective gasp as Elliott Bastion stood revealed before them.

"Now do you recognize him?" I asked. "I know this is shocking to you, even more shocking because as I revealed him you suddenly remembered something else. Suddenly, each of you remembers sitting in church for the past few weeks, and, as the sermon went on, your priest made eye contact with you, and with that contact came a voice with a message tailored just for you. The message varied from person to person; each a little different because each of you is a little different, but that was how he kept control of you. You see, the man you know as Elliott Bastion has a unique gift: he can implant a hypnotic suggestion just by looking into your eyes. I know that's hard to believe, but you've heard the messages these past few weeks, haven't you? I wish I could have revealed it sooner, but it was important that he not suspect anything had changed in you. If you had realized it was there, your mind would have automatically tried to resist it. You've been hearing that message, probably not the same one, but a message, from him, for as long as you have attended the Church of the Inner Circle. Why, you ask? That's a valid and important question, so why didn't you think of it before? Again, because he told you not to, just as he told you to come back every week regardless of circumstances. He had to have you there every week, you see, because he had to reinforce his control on a regular basis. Let me ask you, when was the last time any of you missed church?"

I waited while they thought about it.

"Probably not since you started attending his church," I said. "Even if you were too sick to work, or go to school, nothing short of being physically incapacitated would keep you from attending church. Even your vacations were short enough that you could make it back by the next Sunday. That was another compulsion. Why? Because his control faded over time, and too long away would free you from it. I know that's hard to believe, but now that Bastion is in jail, over the next couple of weeks, as that control fades further, you're going to start realizing that it's true. Not for all of you; some of you attended because you had no choice. You know who you are, and you know the reason you dared not miss a Sunday morning, but we'll save that for later. Some of you will notice changes in yourselves, in your behavior and attitudes. Some of the younger girls may suddenly discover that the sex they seemed to crave is no longer as appealing as it once was."

Towards one end, I finally got what I'd been waiting for, a hand crept up. I wasn't ready for questions just yet, but it was nice to see someone taking the initiative.

"Yes?" I said, pointing toward the person. "You have a question? If you would wait for just a moment longer, I will be happy to take your question. I just have a couple more things I want to share before we get to that.

"This is not going to get better overnight," I said. "It's been going on for a long time, and healing the damage will take just as long, or longer; some of you may never fully recover. But before there can be any chance of healing, you will need two things: Two things that you have lived without for so long that some of you may not even recognize them. One is hope, and that is what I am here to offer you tonight. But before you can have that one, before you can have hope, there is something else you will need. It is a simple thing, so simple that you probably don't even realize that I've already offered it to you. Just by standing here, like this, I have offered it you, but I can't make you take it, no one can. It is a thing that will be hard for some of you to accept. For some, accepting it will seem the hardest thing you have ever done, but harder still will be passing it on, and it's very important – critical even – that you do both, because until you do, you will never have hope.

"That thing ... is trust. Not trust of me, not right away at least – that would be asking too much – because you really don't know me, and it may be some time before you will be that comfortable. I hope that once your questions have been answered you will begin to trust me, but I will understand if you don't. As I said, this will take time. There are some among you that trust me already, and I will now introduce them to you. Samantha?"

Behind me, Sam shrugged out of the costume she had been wearing – the red robe and cowl falling away in a single piece – and stood revealed in a pair of shorts and a loose top. I could see the shock as the audience realized it had just been a prop. Once the disguise had settled to the floor, she moved forward to stand next to me.

"My name is Samantha Watkins," she said, "and I have lived this nightmare for most of my life. Some of you know me because we have 'served'..." she hung a couple of air-quotes around the word, " ... together over the years. Some of you knew my sister, Amanda. We were part of the first group to be sent for training. Some of you know what I mean by that as well. One of the questions I'm sure you are dying to ask is who this man is. Well, his name is Jimmy, and we met some time ago, when he came looking for information about the man who killed Amanda. Needless to say, he found a lot more than he bargained for. The truly miraculous thing is that when he learned the truth about what was going on here, he didn't just run away screaming, didn't ignore it as simply not being his problem. Not even later, when he learned what he had gotten himself into, and understood that the price of knowing the truth of our lives was death, or worse ... becoming part of our nightmare. Even then, he didn't run away; instead he promised me – swore to me – that he would find a way to stop it; find a way to save me, and, more importantly, to save Rachel, my sister. And again, when he realized that in order to save us he had to save all of you as well ... Well, here we all are.

"A year ago I cried myself to sleep every night, not so much for myself, but because I knew that it was only a matter of time before they came for my Rachel. Now my tears are tears of joy because I know that she is safe for the first time since Amanda died. As for me, I now wake up happy in the morning because I have hope. The parents that forced me into this life of pain and abuse are dead, and now Rachel and I live with a man whom I know loves us. I would trust, have trusted, this man – Jimmy – with my life and the life of my sister. I hope that – in time – you, will learn to trust him as well."

Behind us Stephen dropped his robe, removed his mask, and stepped forward.

"My name is Stephen Hendricks. Many of you girls will know me as your doctor. Some of the adults know me as well; the rest will recognize me from what you just saw about the buried compulsion. For those who do not know me, I am one of the doctors that have been seeing to the girl's medical needs over the years. It was my responsibility to oversee their general health, deal with accidents, sickness, all the usual things, plus managing their diets and birth control. As for how I got into this position, ... Jimmy?"

An image formed of Stephen's visit from Ed Rivers and the video he showed depicting Stephen having sex with three underage girls.

"I had no memory at all of that night. All I knew was that my wife, Kathy, had taken me to see some new friends she had made, and – the next thing I knew – I woke up at home, wondering how I had gotten there. My first thought was that maybe I'd had too much to drink, but I only remembered having one."

"Stephen did only have one," I said, "but that drink was laced with a drug designed to make him more susceptible to hypnosis. Apparently some people, and that includes some of you others, have a natural defense against the kind of manipulations Hightower was capable of. You can still be controlled for a short time, but it wears off as soon as it is not being actively maintained. There is no easily reinforced, lingering effect, like there is with most others. For these situations, Hightower resorted to good old-fashioned blackmail. Once he had the video of Stephen..."

Someone stood up towards the end of one row; the way the robe hung made it pretty obvious it was a girl. One of the adults reached for her, but she had already moved out of reach. As she came forward, she unbuttoned her robe and let it fall, then removed the mask and dropped it behind her. She was naked under the robe, so I put a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on her. Without hesitation, she walked directly up to Stephen, threw her arms around his neck, and started crying.

"I'm so sorry, Stephen," she wailed between sobs.

Sam moved forward and joined Stephen in holding the distraught young woman, and, after a minute or so, he pushed her gently away.

"Sorry for what?" He asked. "Do I know you?"

"My name is Stephanie, and I was one of the girls they filmed you with. They, my parents that is, told me later what they had done, and I've always wanted to tell you how sorry I am for what I helped them do to you, but I only ever saw you again at church, and I couldn't say anything there, and ... and I'm just so sorry..." She dissolved into sobbing again.

Stephen pulled her in close again and rocked her gently as she wept.

"I forgive you, Stephanie," he said. He was whispering, but I made sure everyone heard what he said. "There was nothing you could have done. They gave you no choice. With Bastion there, there was no way you could have resisted. So you really didn't do anything, any more than I did anything to you. Yes, it happened, but it wasn't your fault, and I don't blame you for it."

"Really?" she sobbed. "You mean it?"

"Of course he means it, Stephanie," Sam said, gently stroking her cheek. "It wasn't you; it was Hightower controlling you, maybe not directly like he was Stephen, maybe it was through your parents, and fear of being punished if you didn't go along, but he made you do it; it wasn't you."

"And that is what we are here for tonight," I said. "To begin the healing process for all of you. The most basic step towards that healing is what you have just seen happen between Stephen and Stephanie. For years, Stephanie has carried the pain and guilt of what she helped Lord Hightower do to him. Now, finally, she has been able to tell him that she was sorry. Stephanie, were you surprised that Stephen forgave you?"

"Yes," she said, pulling back from his embrace and wiping her eyes.

"So you didn't expect him to forgive you – didn't even care if he did. You just wanted – needed – to finally confess and apologize? How do you feel now, knowing that he forgives you?"

She thought about it for a moment, glancing at Stephen several times before finally saying, "Free. I think more than anything, I feel free."

"And how does that feel?" I asked.

"Wonderful," she said, and the tears came again. "It's the most wonderful feeling I think I've ever had."

Sam moved in and hugged her again as she alternately laughed and cried as the emotional waves poured over her. I left them to it as I turned back to the crowd.

"Now, there are some things I cannot tell you, mostly for legal reasons, but beyond that I will do my best to answer at least some of your questions."

"Wait," Stephen said. "Before you start that, I just want to say that, like Sam, I trust Jimmy. And because of what he has done and what he is doing in bringing us together – here – to start the healing process, I'm going to trust all of you as well. There is a secret I've been hiding for a long time, and I'm going to share it with you. Eight years ago, one of my girls got pregnant. She had gotten sick, and I had prescribed an antibiotic for her. My wife loved to watch me have sex with the girls; it reinforced the feeling of power for her, so any time one of them would come over, we would have sex, unless Kathy wasn't around, and then I left it up the girl. Long story short, the antibiotic messed up the girl's birth control, and she got pregnant. It didn't take long to figure out what had happened and that it was my child. We hid it as long as we could, but you can only do that for so long, and eventually it was discovered that she was pregnant. There was a lot of pressure to abort the baby, let me tell you.

"Ironically, the girl was one of our more consistent problems, rebelling every chance she got. She had already been disciplined twice. I think it was her unwillingness to give in that impressed me the most, but it had reached a point where they were ready to give up on her. That girl was Samantha's sister, Amanda.

He turned to Samantha and said, "Sam, I'm sorry I never told you, but Rachel is not really your sister, but your niece. I loved Amanda, Sam, I truly did. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her, so I convinced her to make a deal with the group: If they would spare her daughter, our daughter – though they didn't know that part – keep her out of this life, then she, Amanda, would stop fighting. It was a cowardly thing to do, but it saved your sister's life. Both of their lives, actually, since the alternative would have been to abort Rachel."

"I know, Stephen," Samantha said, smiling and taking his hand. "I've known all along. Mandy told me you were the father. And you should know she loved you too. And I loved you, because of what you did for her and for saving Rachel. It wasn't until after Mandy died that I started falling in love with you for myself, and now, thanks to Jimmy, we're finally a family."

He pulled her closer, and Stephanie moved away to give them room. He kissed Sam's hair and then turned his attention back to the room.

"I am Doctor Stephen Hendricks, I have been both a victim of, and a party to, many of the same terrible things the rest of you have. I trust Jimmy, and I trust you, and I pledge to do whatever I can to help heal our hurts and help us all to move on."

"Thank you, Stephen," I said. "Now, the one rule with regards to questions is that you must take off your mask before asking them. I was going to make you lose the robes, too, but after Stephanie's little surprise, I think we'll make that optional. Do you still have a question?"

The one that had raised a hand earlier stood and pulled off his mask.

"My name is Franklin Sweet, and I was going to ask how we could trust you, but I think you've answered that pretty well. Right now I just want to thank you for bringing us here and say that I think we're off to a great start. I've been caught up in this mess for over four years, and while I will admit that I enjoyed having sex with all of you girls, I am still sorry. Regardless of the reasons, it was wrong, and I knew it. I hope someday you will be able to forgive me."

"I forgive you," a voice said. A mask flew, and a robe dropped, and there was Spring; standing in shorts and a sweatshirt. "My name is Spring, and for the record, I really enjoyed having sex with you, too. Of course, after my parents, I'd have enjoyed having sex with almost anyone, but you and your wife were always very pleasant to be with."

More and more people were starting to take off their robes and masks. A few were still holding out, but I was pretty sure they would come around in time.

"Okay," I said, raising my voice above the growing noise. "This place... ," I waved to indicate the room, and the tarps – along with whatever had been underneath – vanished, " ... is now a place of healing. Beginning tonight, you will all be required to come here at least twice each week. While you are here, I would encourage you to talk to each other, or, if you choose, and if you need them, there will be professional psychologists and therapists available. I can't guarantee there will always be someone here – they have lives too, believe it or not – but if you come here and can't find someone, pick up that phone, and someone will answer. While you are here, I expect you to encourage each other, get to know each other – that should be a novel experience considering the way you are used to meeting new people – and learn to trust each other."

That got me a chuckle, and I paused before going on, "I think once you've had a chance to get to know each other, you'll find it a lot easier to talk about what has happened to you. I know what you're thinking, and yes, that sounds a lot easier than it probably is, but give it a try. I have some business I need to take care of, and then I'll be back to answer more questions. Stephen and Samantha may be able to answer some of them for you. And don't worry, you're not prisoners or anything like that, you can leave if you want, but don't get too involved with anything else, because when I get back, you will automatically find yourself here as well."

With that, I left them to get acquainted and moved on to my next task. While it was too soon for the legal formalities, Elliott Bastion was about to be charged with twelve counts of first-degree murder. I have to say, he was taking it well...

"Hello, Elliott," I said as I stepped out of the elevator.

I was surprised to see that he had redecorated, and really surprised at the type of changes he'd made; the term decadent came to mind.

"Ah, young James," he said cordially from his seat on the plush leather sofa. "So good of you to drop by. How goes the good fight?"

"So far, so good," I replied. "Everyone is still in a little bit of shock at this point, including the authorities. I've started the rest on what I hope to be the road to recovery."

"I can only assume you mean those that you allowed to live. I realize now that it was indeed you that killed the others. It's going to be interesting to see what the weight of all this death does to you over time. I must congratulate you, though; besides the sheer weight of statistics – which is unavoidable – there is not a shred of evidence to suggest that any of those deaths were not the accidents they appeared to be."

"I told you, Hightower; it wasn't me, so if you're waiting to see what my guilty conscience does to me, you're going to be waiting a long, long, time. Interesting choice of décor, by the way."

"Thank you," he said. "Now that I am no longer constrained by appearances, I decided to indulge myself. You should see the bedroom; you and your little friends could have a really good time in there."

"My little friends?" I asked. "You should pay better attention, Elliott. I told you; Shannon died in an accident, so now it's just me and Allison."

"Oh, please," he said, rolling his eyes. He picked up a tumbler off the coffee table and took a sip. "Ah, I have missed this. I'm looking forward to tasting the real thing again soon; I find that after going without for so long, I've lost the details." He took a sip before continuing. "Now then, you do not truly expect me to believe that you are going to suddenly be content with only one woman after tasting the pleasure of multiple partners. Or your sister – who obviously has a taste for her own kind – either, for that matter; especially with such a variety of willing young volunteers suddenly beholden to you both. You can't possibly think me so naïve as to believe such nonsense. Young Samantha alone would give her soul to be with you, and probably your sister as well. Several others come to mind, too, but I'm sure you came here for some reason other than to banter such trivial issues with me. What can I do for you?"

"For someone facing twelve counts of murder, you seem very content with your situation."

"Hardly content," he pointed out. "I am, after all, incarcerated, both here and out there where it really counts. I can think of countless places I would rather be."

"I think you have that backwards. The prison that really counts it the one I've put you in, and I'd get used to the idea of a more conservative lifestyle if I were you," I said.

"Hmmm," he said. "Let me think ... nope, sorry. I just don't see it."

"You really think you're going to beat this?" I asked, surprised. "You were arrested at the scene of the crime, holding the murder weapon. A weapon you had to stop and reload in order to kill them all."

"We shall see," he said smugly. "I think you underestimate the possibilities here."

"One of us certainly is," I said, "I hope your ego can take the damage when you find out it was you."

With that, I turned and left again. The whole thing had gone pretty much as I had expected. He had dropped the pretenses a little more completely than I had expected, but everything else fit my expectations pretty closely.

"Pretty sure of himself," Jamie said.

"He's never lost before; why should he expect to this time? Any signs of him trying to tamper with the bubble?"

"No," she assured me. "So now what?"

"Well, I was thinking of dropping in on the DA and Bastion's lawyer to see what the latest is, but I think it's still too soon to really get much there. My guess is that they're still trying to get a grip on what they're dealing with."

"Still, he seems pretty sure of himself," she said. "Makes me wonder if we're missing something."

"Have to wait and see," I said. "Let's go find Bob, so we can get back and play twenty-questions; then we can get started on some of the private meetings we need to have."

I moved us to my office and was about to call Bob when Jamie stepped out and stopped me.

"I don't like it," she said.

"Which part?"

"That smug son-of-a-bitch sitting in his cushy apartment sipping champagne and gloating about how untouchable he is."

She had a point. "What did you have in mind?"

She took a deep breath, and suddenly I knew there was more to this than she had said.

"Jimmy, you watched the video; you know what he did, to Amanda, to Autumn, to all of these girls. The man is scum. His picture belongs in the encyclopedia under "Evil"; right next to Hitler, Bundy, and a few others. He needs to die, but before that, he needs to know the hell he put those girls through. I want him to..."

She stopped and turned away, but it didn't matter; I could feel – hell, practically see – the conflicting emotions of anger, pain, and hurt coming off of her in waves.

"Allison!" I called.

A few moments later she walked in the door, took one look at Jamie, and stopped.

"What the hell happened?" She demanded.

"Talk to her," I said.

"Why do I need to talk to her?" she asked, eyeing me skeptically.