Chapter 8
A few days before, Comiskey had been able to arrange an interview room that looked convincingly like one an investigator might use. It was a small office in a business complex, and Comiskey's office was situated between a dentist's office and an accountant. He had even managed to add a magnetic card reader as an extra touch. It would never pass for a police station, but it did pose nicely as a small, subcontracted office area.
It was also easy to explain to Ellen why nobody was working at the reception area, since it was Saturday. He had placed a broken computer and some random papers on the front desk to make it look like someone worked there, as well as some family pictures he had downloaded off the internet put in some cheap frames he found at Target. More detail wasn't necessary, since the desk wouldn't be inspected closely.
They walked directly to the inconspicuous room containing two chairs and one table. After he held the door open and ushered Ellen inside, he waved at an empty, yet lit, office and said with a smile, "oh, hey, Dave! Ah, can I talk to you later?" He pointed inside to indicate he would be busy interviewing Ellen, then nodded. He had found that it helped put interviewees at ease if they thought they weren't alone.
As they sat down, it was obvious that Ellen was still very skeptical of the entire production. Comiskey, of course, was fully prepared for this and was not at all put off at having to earn her trust. There was an art to earning the trust of someone who was repulsed by you, and Comiskey considered himself a connoisseur of art. It motivated him far more than the money, otherwise he would have retired years ago.
"Soooooo, where shall we begin?" Comiskey said conversationally. "You went to a party at a house we are closely watching for cult activity. In fact, we have been watching them for months." He had learned from his employer that the activities he was tracking had been going on for a few years, so to play it safe he said "months." If he had said he had been knowing what was going on right from the start, Ellen might wonder why they hadn't caught on to what was happening yet. He'd make her think that bureaucracies were just plain slow. Well, they were.
She didn't respond right away, and Comiskey patiently waited. He raised his eyebrows a trifle as though in anticipation of what he knew she would say.
Ellen finally broke. "It was nothing, really. Just some friends hanging out and stuff."
Comiskey smiled avuncularly. "Just some friends," he echoed. "Where did you meet these friends?"
Ellen replied hesitantly, "online."
"Yes," replied Comiskey. "I guessed as much." Actually, he had had no idea of the fact. But best to let her think he knew more than he did. The only reason he had singled her out at all was because he had never seen her before the previous night and correctly assumed it was her first time meeting the group. "Many cults try recruiting online. Heaven's Gate even had professional web developers among their members before they all committed mass suicide back in the 90's," he said with a chuckle that Ellen had no way of knowing was completely rehearsed.
That Ellen had no idea who or what Heaven's Gate was made no difference to Comiskey.
"So tell me," he continued, "what happened when you went inside?"
"It was just a party," she said. "That's it."
Comiskey tilted his chin downward, clearly communicating that he knew she was lying. "Let's backtrack a little bit. How did you meet them online?"
"He messaged me. He seemed really nice. That's pretty much it."
"'He' being Tom?"
"Yeah."
Comiskey paused for a moment as he looked down to the table as though to gather his thoughts. "You understand I'm trying to protect you from a very dangerous cult. These people are serious. They've been tied in with five deaths," he lied, but Ellen clearly bought it. At least, she bought it enough to cast some doubt on what she believed, and that was enough. The weakness of so many people was their instinct of self-preservation.
"How about we start by you telling me everything you remember about the first moment you walked in the door?"
Ellen was silent for a time, but Comiskey did not want to be the first to speak. He had her hooked and knew that at least some part deep down inside of her wanted to spill. It just needed a few moments to germinate, assisted by the uncomfortable silence.
After a few minutes during which Ellen grew increasingly agitated and decreasingly able to hide her agitation, she proved Comiskey's theory correct. "It wasn't anything special." He continued in his silence, merely looking upon her flatly. "They had told me that they knew how I felt, and I wanted some answers."
"What do you mean? What, exactly, had they said?"
"Well, he sent me a message online."
"He being Tom Devlin?"
"Yeah, and he said… I'm trying to remember." Comiskey sat silently, allowing her to compile her thoughts. "He said something about knowing why I felt the way I did, and, well, he described a lot of things I've been feeling lately. I mean, how could he have known that about me?"
Comiskey nodded in commiseration. "Have you ever heard of the Forer effect?"
Ellen froze in a moment of cognitive dissonance, clearly never having expected that sort of response.
"I thought not. It's one way a lot of people are able to trick people into believing they're psychics. You see, they speak in very general terms but in ways that sound like they're being specific. It's like saying 'you are able to communicate with people easily, but sometimes lack confidence in your speech.' That sounds very specific, but it accurately describes most people, especially those who are predisposed to believing that the other person is legit."
"But he was specific," exclaimed Ellen. "He said that he knew about a… a 'glow' I see."
"And what would have happened had you not thought you saw a glow. A lot of people see things that they could describe as a 'glow.' They see strange lights that turn out to be their car headlights reflecting off of power lines and think that UFO's are invading. And if you hadn't thought you had seen that, he would have just moved down the line until he found someone who did." He didn't bother inquiring about what "glow" meant. It really didn't matter so much anymore, as Comiskey was convinced now that he really was dealing with a cult.
He was disappointed. It was far more fun to have too resort too lying to people to get what he needed. "So, what did they say when you walked in the door."
"Well," said Ellen, clearly becoming more comfortable speaking. Not so much comfortable with him, personally, but she had doubt in her mind now. The last forty-eight hours of her life had been so… confusing. She just wanted it all to make sense. "I asked them what was going on, and… they wanted me to say what my experiences were, so I told them."
"hmm, another common tactic of psychics." Ellen lowered her eyebrows in confusion. "They have you tell them everything , then when they answer any questions, they just parrot what you already told them."
"But they didn't just do that. I mean, they did some weird stuff, and told me that I could do it, too."
"What kind of weird stuff?"
"Well, Tom made a Coke can lift right off the table. I mean, I just reached right out and, it was just hovering there on its own!"
Comiskey leaned in closer. "Oh, come on, you've never been to a magic show?"
"Well, yeah, but this wasn't like that."
"Ever heard of James Hydrick?"
"Who?"
"How about Uri Geller?"
"Um, I think so. He, like, bends spoons, right?"
"Yeah, that's right," Comiskey affirmed with a smile. "Hydrick was like that, tooo, except he didn't bend spoons. Here, watch." He put the pen he had been using on the edge of the table so it was halfway off of the table. After putting his ledger down, he stared at the pen in concentration and held his hands opened on either side of the pen, about a foot away each.
Suddenly, to Ellen's surprise, the pen spun on the table and fell off the edge. She suddenly lurched back in surprise, then looked at Comiskey quizzically.
"Seriously, he formed a whole cult just by doing little things like that." He noticed her querying look and responded. "It's very easy to do. All I did was blow on the table right here." He pointed to a spot that was a few inches away from where the pen had been. "Try it."
He leaned over and balanced the pen on her side of the table. She looked down in confusion, but after a moment leaned a bit forward and gently blew on the table about where, in relation to the pen, he had pointed. After a moment, the pen spun quickly and flew off the table so fast that she almost didn't catch it before it fell to the floor.
"Now tell me," asked Comiskey, "were you able to lift a can off of the table?"
"Well… no."
"I thought not. I also assume they were really nice to you and accepted you right away into their group. I assume you didn't know anyone before you walked in."
"Yeah," she replied, "that's right."
Score!
She was clearly sold by now. All he had to do was the final pitch.
"Well, if we're going to bring these guys down, you'll need to help me." Ellen nodded unconsciously. "First, you cannot contact any of the members of the group unless you tell me first. Got it? That's very important."
Ellen nodded again.
"Okay, secondly, this guy is going to try contacting you again. If he does, call me immediately so we can track your conversation." Well, he was going to monitor all of her online conversations from now on, but he had to make it look good. And he definitely didn't want her blabbing to Tom that she knew what he was up to.
"And thirdly, tell no one at all about our discussion here. Not even your parents. Anyone you tell might be in danger."
After a few moments of thanking her for her time and cautioning her again about the importance of his instructions, he took her back outside and drove off with her, dropping her off about a mile from her home so she could run back and have at least a little bit of an opportunity to break a sweat so her parents wouldn't be suspicious.
She ran home in a virtual daze and never bothered to shower before heading to her bedroom and immediately turning on her computer.
