Page 106 of Secrets in the Dark
Guards were watching. But Donavan wasn’t afraid of the guards. He was afraid of the possibility another prisoner might hear him.
Or maybe even Stephan Dante himself.
Mason nodded, leaning toward him, deciding to first use what he knew. “You know your doctor is dead, right?” he asked quietly.
He saw the young man look down quickly and wince. The doctor had meant something to him. He had helped him.
“That had to be...an accident. I mean—”
“Terry, I know you were in a cell with Stephan Dante. I know how mesmerizing and hypnotic the man is capable of being.”
“He never hypnotized me!” Donavan protested.
“Dante doesn’t sit you down in a chair and tell you to count backwards while concentrating on a point,” Mason told him. “He charms you—the same way a dad might charm his child while telling a bedtime story. He talks and creates a new world. And it’s all right—trust me. Plenty of men and women have fallen for his stories, so well told. And you fell for him, too. If you help me, I can talk to the district attorney. It will help.”
“I never meant to hurt anyone—”
“I believe you. Addiction is as terrible disease. And the doctor who gave up his life is the man who helped you through the agony and suffering of withdrawal.”
Donavan looked down again, not wanting to face him.
“Why?” Mason asked very softly. “Did Dante promise no one was going to be killed as he planned his escape?”
“If someone died, it was an accident—”
“It’s not anif. People died. And it wasn’t by accident, Terry. Stephan Dante killed the doctor and took his clothing and his wallet and car to escape. Hard to do that if—”
“He was just going to knock him out. You know. Drugs. It’s an infirmary. They sedate people all the time—I mean, seriously, our infirmary is like a hospital setting!”
“You don’t sedate a man with a scalpel,” Mason said quietly.
Donavan looked down for a long moment, his thumbs moving nervously as his hands lay on the table. He shook his head.
“Terry!” Mason said. “Hey, I can tell. You are not a bad guy. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. Alcoholism is a disease, and it can take a hell of a lot to cure it. The doctor who finally led you on a path to relief—”
“Hey, I’m locked up awaiting trial where they’ll want to put me away forever,” Donavan said bleakly. “Had to get cured in here.”
“But it could have been a cruel cure. In fact, if withdrawal isn’t handled correctly at the level you were drinking, you could have been left to rot and die. But they did things here by the law—even using compassion where it fit. Dante killed the man who offered you every kindness and every ounce of compassion. How the hell can you still stand up for him?”
“I—I—I never thought the doctor would die! The doctor or anyone else. And you don’t understand,” Donavan told Mason, shaking his head. “And you must be blind. Don’t you see it? Stephan Dante tells the truth. He said he’d be out. He said it was easy to play the authorities when we all played together. He did it. And he’s coming back for me.”
“He’s coming back for you?” Mason asked.
“Yes! He will regain his power and all that was taken from him. And when he does have his power again, he’ll come back. And he’ll find us, wherever we are. He’ll come in glory, and he’ll sweep us away to his place where his believers become immortal—”
“Oh, good God, Terry! You’ve had trouble, yes, but you’re don’t seem to be a stupid man. Seriously, you believe that?”
“He has already done what he said he’d do!” Donavan reminded Mason.
Mason shook his head. “I just don’t understand why you’re falling for a ridiculous theory. Do you believe the Heaven’s Gate suicides jumped on spaceships to travel to a heavenly astral plane? You do believe that the earth is round, right?”
“Of course!”
“Terry, Terry, do you want to believe in something solid and real? I’m solid and real and right here, and the FBI does have sway with the Justice Department. Let me show you something else that’s real.” He pulled out his phone and flipped to pictures of Dante’s victims. “They look beautiful, right? But I don’t believe you meant to hurt anyone. And when Dante steals all their blood, Terry, they die. They are the beautiful dead who—as all living creatures—will now rot and decay. They are not buying anyone a ticket to vampire immortality. I can help you, Terry. Trust me. Stephan Dante has gotten what he wants from you. Oh, he’s not going to turn into an immortal and he knows it. By the way, he trained Jesse Miller who is no longer with us—having been tutored by Dante, but deciding to heck with vampires, he’d just become Jack the Ripper. An honest thing at least—he just liked the power of stealing life from others. That’s not you, Terry. Accept this—Dante is not coming back for you. He can’t help you, and if he could, he wouldn’t. You can’t offer him anything more that he needs. I know you’re not a cold-blooded killer. So does he. You’ve no history of forging and to the best of my knowledge, you’re not sitting on a multimillion-dollar haul anywhere. Help me—and I will help you.”
Donavan stared at him a long time and then lowered his head. “I...he didn’t say I had to kill anyone. He said my work here would be enough for me to gain my place with him.”
“He lied. He gave you a bold, all-out lie, Terry. And somewhere inside you, you know it. You wanted to believe in him. You wanted it so badly because it was better than the prospect of twenty years to life behind bars. Anything was better than that. You know, sometimes, it starts with someone promising all good things. A truly equal society. That’s pretty much what Jim Jones promised his followers—social justice. But what turned him on, what kept him moving forward at all times, was a desire for power. Dante doesn’t believe in the least that he’s going to be immortal. What he loves, what he craves, is power. He also loves the act of playing God—he loves killing. Terry, this is your chance help me out.”
