Follow Me to Heaven, 1/4

[ladybug_tales]

Title: Follow Me to Heaven, chapter one
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 7,816
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: The guys investigate a retreat suspected of being a fraudulent cult ... and find far more than they ever imagined.

Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Follow Me to Heaven
By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters from the show (and the redhead from another) and the song snippets are not mine; the other characters and the story are mine! The idea originally was inspired by Rockapella's song Follow Me to Heaven, which then inspired an RP with Crystal Rose. This fic is similar in a lot of ways, but different in others. It is a semi-follow up to The Only Real Thing and Falling Down Like Dominoes. As always, fictional Rockapella from the show only! No Real Person fic here. Many thanks to Crystal Rose and Kaze for plot help!

Chapter One

All of Rockapella were exhausted and emotionally drained after returning to ACME from the DeWitt caper in Los Angeles. Elliott had retreated farther into himself by the time they got back, associating almost exclusively with Scott, Sean, and Barry. And just as Elliott had done for him, Scott stayed close by him as much as he could. Sean requested more recovery time for all of them, which the Chief granted.

To their relief, the next cases were relatively normal-the theft of a building, the purloining of a state park, the stealing of a cave-and they were not directly involved beyond giving Greg musical clues. Elliott had time to slowly begin to heal from what he had done under the evil spirit's control.

But Scott knew that some wounds might never close. Elliott had been waking up in the middle of the night, crying out for Scott after reliving the experience of watching him be struck down by a car. And Scott had ran in, reassuring Elliott that he was alright until Elliott was awake enough to believe it.

Scott had experienced much the same directly following his own ill experience with a cursed ring. There were still times when he woke up in a cold sweat, having dreamed again about when he had pushed Elliott through that trapdoor. Sometimes Elliott was with him when he awakened; other times he was alone. Last night Elliott had came to Scott's door, having sensed that it had happened again.

"We're just a couple of emotional basketcases," Scott had berated to Sean that morning. "I don't know how we're ever going to get over what we did. How did you do it, Sean? How did you really do it?"

And Sean had just shaken his head wearily and sadly. "There's no 'one' way to try," he had said. "And it is all about trying, Scott. Sometimes you just can't make it. I have so many first drafts of bitter, angry songs that I scribbled out after that unctuous creep possessed me."

Scott had nodded. He had written one of his darkest, most poignant songs following the ring fiasco. Writing songs was a good way to get his emotions out, but it did not always make the agonized feelings go away.

"And I really don't know how Barry got over being mind-controlled," Sean had gone on. "He doesn't talk about it and I've never asked."

"He hasn't really told me, either," Scott had said. "But he did say that we helped him a great deal. And I know it's true; I've been helped by all of you too." But he had given a tired sigh. "If only these haunted feelings would go away. . . ."

Sean had not known what to say or do except to lay a hand on Scott's shoulder.

And now the detectives were faced with something they had never dealt with before. The Chief had called Sean privately to her office, explaining about a new and worrisome case.

"I hate to ask if you'll take it when I know Scott and Elliott are still having difficulties," she had said, "but the four of you are among our best field agents. Will you at least tell the others about it and see what they say?"

And Sean had agreed. The Chief had always been good to them, and the mystery she had just told him about really was a concern. Not to mention that it hit one of his sore spots. He took the casefile and went to find his friends.

It was not too hard.

"What we have here, gentlemen, is a clear case of either fraud or delusional fantasy, or both," Sean declared moments later, holding up the folder.

". . . If it's so clear, how can it be either one or the other . . . or both?" Elliott frowned. They were sitting in their favorite spot-the alley. He was leaning forward on the bench, resting his chin in his hand. Scott was sitting on his right, while Barry was sitting to the left on the corner of the bench.

"Frankly, because it very easily could be one or the other, or both," Sean said. "The guy in the file runs some kind of retreat, but according to reports from people who've been trying to communicate with the outside world, it's really a cult."

"'Trying'?" Scott narrowed his eyes. "They can't communicate?"

"They're not allowed to, it sounds like," Sean said. "The guy says all outside influences are evil and must be set aside."

Barry had remained silent, just watching and listening. "Are we being assigned to the case?" he spoke at last. From his tone, he was not pleased at the thought. He doubted Scott and Elliott were ready. And he had thought the Chief had understood that.

Sean sighed, walking down the steps and over to the bench. "Well, that's the thing," he said. "The Chief knows our situation and she's still sympathetic. But she doesn't know whom to trust with this case. Most of the other agents she's been sending lately instead of us are still on other assignments. And this really can't wait." He sat down next to Scott, opening the folder again.

"A couple of people have contacted ACME for help because of their friends or loved ones joining this thing," he continued. "One of them is a close friend of the Chief. A week ago, his daughter got into a big argument with him and then ran off. He found some of this guy's literature and pamphlets in her room and he thinks she's joined the cult. And he's just ready to climb the walls, as you can imagine. He's sure she's getting in over her head."

Scott looked over at the open folder. "How old is she?" he asked.

"Fifteen," Sean said. "Way too young to be getting mixed up with some nut." He turned the page over, removing a small photograph of a girl with long blonde hair and blue overalls. "This is her," he said. "Her name's Cheryl."

He handed it to Scott and then took out a pamphlet from the folder. "Here's one of the brochures about the retreat."

Scott took it, studying the picture of the spacious, three-level log building. Smaller cabins surrounded it on both sides, while a forest of coniferous trees and assorted brush all but concealed the location from view.

"It looks peaceful," he remarked. He opened it, skimming over the descriptions inside. Elliott read over his shoulder.

Of course, as they would expect, it promised serenity and tranquility-an escape from the materialistic, crime-ridden world. And one was only granted entry if they vowed to abide by the retreat master's guidelines to a fulfilling life, which were listed on the next page.

"It claims you can leave any time you want," Elliott said. "His guidelines sound pretty good, in and of themselves . . . 'Be respectful of the other retreat members' . . . 'Forsake materialistic wants and recognize that they're wants and not needs'. . . . And he promises classes on things like meditation, yoga, and how to leave behind worries and concerns. But I'm guessing there's a catch."

"Oh sure there is," Sean nodded. "Of course they won't come out and say it on the brochures, but there's always plenty of catches to things like this."

Barry leaned forward, reaching to see the pamphlet too. Scott passed it to him, then looked back at Sean's folder.

"What are the people saying who've been trying to communicate?" he queried.

Sean sighed. "Well, one of them says one of the members had brought a picture of a departed loved one and the retreat master found out about it. The person isn't sure what happened to this member, only that he ended up really shaken and threw the picture away. He said he never wanted to see anything from his old life again."

Scott glared at the paper. "You can't keep pictures of loved ones?" he exclaimed in indignation. "What guideline would that violate?"

"The person claims the retreat master says that it perpetuates concerns and keeps people from moving on, especially if the loved one's dead," Sean said.

Elliott frowned. In one way he could see some semblance of the retreat master's logic, but at the same time it sounded ridiculous. He would certainly never subscribe to such a philosophy.

"So what's the idea?" he wondered. "That you're not supposed to care about people?"

"Who knows." Sean glanced over the other testimonials.

Barry folded the brochure, narrowing his eyes at it. "It doesn't mention anything in here about what people pay to stay at the retreat," he noted.

"Apparently you don't pay anything in money," Sean said. "But I'm thinking that when it says you have to vow to abide by the guy's guidelines, it could really mean that you sign a contract or make some kind of pact. And hence, you're inducted into a cult. Maybe without really knowing what you're getting into."

"It's possible," Barry said. "Of course, on the other hand, it could be on the up-and-up." He passed the pamphlet to Elliott, who turned it over and handed it to Scott.

"Maybe," the blond said, "but it bothers me about what happened to the guy with the picture. Why was he so shaken up? If the retreat master is really supposed to be someone benevolent, why would he turn intimidating?"

Sean nodded. "That's not all," he said. "Someone else mentioned secret meetings late at night, that only some of the retreaters attend. They didn't get to say what the meetings were about, but it sounded ominous."

"How did these people even send out communications in the first place?" Barry wondered.

"They sneaked away and tried to place calls from a phone booth down the mountain," Sean said. "But the calls were always mysteriously cut off. The people haven't been heard of again, either."

Scott stared in alarm. "So they were found out?!"

"It looks that way," Sean said. "And who knows what happened to them after that." He took the brochure back and slipped it in among the papers before taking out another picture.

"The other person we're especially supposed to look for is this guy," he said, holding up the photograph. It depicted a man in his early twenties with flipped red hair and a bored expression. "His best friends and surrogate brothers are the ones who called ACME for help," he added, passing it to Scott.

"So why did he join?" the blond asked. He was still holding the first picture too, and he showed both to Elliott and Barry before giving them back to Sean.

"Well, actually, he thought something was weird about the cult too," Sean said. "Apparently one of the guy's 'messengers' passed through their town a while ago. As soon as he found out, he ran off to find out more, saying something about maybe knowing the retreat master and wanting to stop him. This was two weeks ago. His friends have been investigating on their own, but they haven't been able to get anywhere. And they can't infiltrate because the assistant guy saw them and would recognize them."

Scott shook his head. That would be a horrible position to be in. He would not know how he could bear it if he thought one of his friends was in trouble and he could not even do much to help.

"He should've called us instead of trying to infiltrate on his own," Elliott said. "And if he thought he knew the retreat master, wouldn't he get found out pretty quick?"

Sean shrugged. "He gave the impression that it was years ago, probably not even in the U.S.," he said. "He grew up in Kosovo or Bosnia or one of those places during the time the war was going on over there."

"And he met the man when he was a boy?" Barry concluded.

"Something like that," Sean said. "The creep was traveling around even then, I guess. By the way, his name's Alister."

He stuck the pictures into the folder before closing it.

"The retreat is in the Hudson Highlands," he said now. "The guy bought some property and built the place on one of the mountains closest to New York City. He says most of the retreaters are from the city, wanting to get away from all the hustle and bustle, and he wanted to have it close enough that they'd have easy access. But if that's true, then why is the only road up there a back road that's inaccessible half the time?!

"And that is your briefing," he intoned, imitating the Chief. "The question remains, do we take the case?"

Scott and Elliott exchanged looks. How could they refuse? This sounded like it could be serious. There was no telling what could be happening to that teenage girl and that guy and the other people who had likely gotten in over their heads and now could not get out.

"We're taking it," Scott said.

Barry looked at them both, carefully. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"We're sure," Elliott said, his voice firm. "Let's pack and start driving."

Sean nodded, moving to get up from the bench. "There's one more thing," he said. "Some or all of us are probably going to have to infiltrate to get anywhere." He sighed. "But I don't like the idea of all of us going in. What if the infiltrators suddenly need to be bailed out?

"On the other hand . . . if we're all in, we might be able to help each other better," he mused. "It really depends."

Scott swallowed. ". . . We'll figure it out when we get there," he decided. The thought of going undercover at such a place was highly unsettling. But if that was the only way, what else could they do?

"You know, we don't have to do this," Sean said, seeing his expression.

But Scott shook his head as he stood. "Yes, we do," he said. "We have to find out what's going on there and we have to rescue the members if they need to be rescued."

"And we have to bring that guy down if he's a fake," Elliott added, his voice hardening as he got up. The people going there would be looking for relief from their troubles. Right now, he and Scott could understand all too well how they might feel. And then to think of it being a fraud, perpetuated by either some crook or a delusional nut, deeply angered him.

Barry rose too. "Then we'll get ready to leave," he said. "Sean, you can tell the Chief we accept."

Sean nodded, heading for the stairs.

He only hoped they were making the right decision.
****
The drive was scenic and pleasant, though the agents could not really enjoy it when they were concerned about what lay at its end. But even so, they studied the route as much as they could; there was no telling when the information might be useful. It was possible that they would even have to flee from the retreat if they were found out-or that they would need to use the phone booth at the base of the mountain.

"There it is," Scott announced, pointing to a booth half-hidden by an evergreen tree's boughs.

"Check!" Sean declared, making a mental note of its location as he drove past.

The car bounced over the uneven road, jostling the occupants. Elliott winced as he banged his shoulder hard against the inside of the door.

"I'm guessing this road isn't even passable in a heavy storm!" he exclaimed.

"It doesn't look much like it, does it," Sean said through gritted teeth. "It's not even very passable on a calm day!"

"We need to decide how we're going to do things before we get up there," Scott yelled over the rattling of the car. "It'll probably look suspicious if four guys show up at once wanting to join."

"I don't know how often they get new customers!" Sean called back. "It could look suspicious if we straggle, too!"

At last they made it over the gravelly part of the drive. They breathed a collective sigh of relief as the car rolled onto the dirt road.

"Maybe we could go in pairs?" Elliott suggested. "Scott and I could go first, maybe stake things out a bit, and then you and Barry could come, Sean."

"But how would you even tell us what you found out?" Sean wondered. "I betcha they'll confiscate all communication thingies! Oh great," he muttered as an afterthought. The thick trees had mostly hidden the sky, but now through a break the purplish clouds were visible. It was going to rain, and it would probably strike soon. They would not be able to leave the canyon until the road dried out. And as far as Sean was concerned, that settled it-they would all have to sign up together, whether it looked suspicious or not.

The others peered up at the angry sky. At the same moment, a fat drop of water plunked on Scott's window. It was immediately followed by its eager brothers, pounding, beating, and jumping all over the dark blue car. Sean muttered to himself, switching on the windshield wipers.

"We'll be lucky if the car doesn't get stuck!" he yelled. "Can you see it yet?"

". . . Maybe," Scott said, squinting through the rain pattering over the windows. It looked like there might be a flash of a log building through the trees just ahead, but he was not sure.

"I think I see it," Elliott said, leaning over to see out Scott's window without invading Scott's personal space. "It looks like a cabin up there."

"It'd better be, because this road is already going!" Sean pushed harder on the accelerator, sending them forward. But suddenly the cabin on the end of the row was looming towards them. Sean's eyes widened. They were going to hit it if he was not careful! In desperation he swerved away.

Scott gave an alarmed yelp as the car turned one direction, then the other. He crashed against the door, then against Elliott, as Sean struggled to control the wild vehicle.

"Watch out for that tree!" Scott cried in horror.

Elliott grabbed onto Scott protectively as the car swerved again, the back fender bouncing off the thick-trunked pine tree. Then it was over. The car had finally come to a halt.

Sean slumped back, letting go of the steering wheel. "And thus I win first place in the bucking Buick competition," he gasped. "Is everyone okay?!"

"Alive," Barry grunted.

Slowly Elliott let go of Scott, his heart slowing to normal speeds. "We are, too," he said.

Scott nodded. "We're okay. What about you, Sean?"

"I made it out without a scratch!" their leader declared with a smirk.

The door of the main building opened. In spite of the pouring rain, an older man in a dark green robe was emerging without an umbrella and hurrying to the car in concern. Sean raised an eyebrow at the sight.

"I wonder if he's the retreat master," he mused.

"Or one of his top assistants," Barry suggested.

As he arrived, the man extended his fist and knocked on the window. "Are you alright?" he called through the glass.

Sean rolled it down a smidgen. "We're all fine," he called back, "but I don't think this car is going anywhere until the storm lets up."

The person in green inspected the tires and the muddying road. "Yes, you would be wise to linger a while," he said. "Please come inside and get warm. I insist. And our revered retreat master will want to speak with you."

Sean blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the others. It was going to be easier to get inside than he had thought. Maybe they would not even have to join the cult. This car accident could be just the stroke of luck he had wanted.

But Elliott had a sinking feeling. Once they got in, they might not get out.

Sean looked back to their welcomer. "That would be great," he said. "Thanks a lot! I wasn't looking forward to driving back down in this mess." He opened the door and stepped out onto the wooden patio he had accidentally driven over. "We were just out for a pleasure trip when this freak storm started." He looked around the retreat grounds as if he had not known they existed. "This looks like a really amazing place you've got here."

"Our retreat master's vision is truly marvelous," was the reply. "Because of his insight, this beautiful oasis from the world has been crafted for all who wish to escape."

The others got out of the car as well, following Sean up the pathway as he in turn followed the older man.

"You're getting soaked," Sean commented. "Doesn't the rain bother you?"

"It wouldn't be fair of me to have protection from the weather if you have none," the robed man called over his shoulder.

Sean shrugged. "Well, I guess that makes sense, if you don't have any spare umbrellas," he mused.

Instead of answering, the man arrived at the wooden double-doors and pulled one open. "Please leave your shoes just inside the entryway," he requested, slipping out of his own flip-flops as he stepped onto the tiled floor.

"No problem," Sean said, following suit. The others also got out of their shoes before staring at their surroundings.

Above them was a cathedral-style ceiling, stretching high over their heads to the roof. A large window, which probably had a stunning view from the upper floors, began almost immediately at the top of the door and continued until it nearly met the roof too. When they turned, a wooden staircase in front of them led to the second floor. To their right was an open doorway displaying a large kitchen. To their left was a lobby and beyond that, apparently a dining room, with several long tables visible through another open doorway. Directly behind the staircase was a long hallway and more open doorways. At the end were two more double-doors, pulled shut.

"Everything's so open around here," Sean said. "I can't help but be curious-what's beyond those doors?"

"That is the meditation room," the man answered. "While we like the retreat to be open, meditation should be quiet and private."

Elliott glanced up the stairs. "What about the rooms of the people who stay here instead of in the cabins?" he wondered. "Do they get privacy?"

"There are curtains for doorways," was the reply, "and actual doors for the attached bathrooms."

"So people don't mind the curtains?" Sean asked. He took a step toward the roaring fireplace in the lobby.

"Some are unsure what to think at first, but they get used to it," the robed man said. "It helps them learn to be more open with the people in their lives.

"Now, please make yourselves comfortable around the fire," he continued, noticing Sean's interest in the flames. "I will tell our retreat master that you are here." With that he quietly made his exit, turning to walk down the hall to the closed room.

Sean dove at the fire. Even though they had only been in the rain a few moments, it had given them a pretty good drenching. The others came over as well, staying close together as they held their hands to the blaze behind the safety grate.

"What do you think so far?" Sean asked, keeping his voice low.

"We haven't really seen enough to know what to think," Scott frowned. "It seems legitimate enough, but . . ."

Sean nodded. "Yeah, that's it-the 'but.' That's what I want to know about."

Elliott spoke, his voice even more hushed. "If they invite us to take rooms, let's try to double up," he said. "Just in case something isn't right, none of us should be alone. Even though there are curtains."

"Good point," Sean agreed.

Quiet footsteps to the side startled them into straightening up and turning. A kindly, bespectacled man of around sixty was standing there, along with the man who had escorted them inside. The oldest man smiled at them, seeming sincere. But as his gaze fell on Elliott, something hardened in his eyes.

Elliott shrank back. Why would he alone get such a reaction? Had he imagined it? No one else seemed to have noticed. Now the guy was smiling again.

"My friends, welcome to our humble abode," he said. "I am the retreat master, Caelius. We are honored you are visiting."

"Thanks," Sean said. "We're just glad to have somewhere to come in out of the storm. It's really pouring out there!"

"These storms can last for hours," Caelius said. "And then it will be some time before the road will dry. We have spare rooms if you wish to remain with us until you can leave."

"That'd be great," Sean said. Then, pretending to look embarrassed, he moved to dig into his pocket. "Do you take checks? We wouldn't want to be freeloading. . . ."

But the older man laid callused hands over Sean's to stop him. "There is no need to pay," he said. "You are honored guests."

Sean blinked in surprise. "Really? Well, free room and board during the storm. That's great!" he grinned.

"There are vacant rooms on the second floor," Caelius smiled. "I will show you to them." He turned, his dark, graying ponytail and long bangs swishing with the action.

"Thanks," Scott spoke up. "Are they singles or doubles?" he asked as they walked to the stairs.

"We have some of both. Which do you prefer?" Caelius returned. They began to ascend.

"Well, we don't want to take too many rooms," Scott said, gripping the banister. "And we often team up when we travel, so doubles are fine."

"Very well then," Caelius said. "Do you travel often?"

"Sure," Sean said. Hoping to stave off suspicions, he added, "We like to see the sights. It's a beautiful world out there!"

"That it is," Caelius agreed. Reaching the top, he headed down the corridor to two rooms with the curtains pulled back. "Here are our doubles," he said.

Sean peered into one. "Bunkbeds!" he announced. "I haven't slept in those for years. I call top bunk!"

Barry shook his head in amusement, then looked to their host. "Is there some kind of schedule we should know about?" he asked.

"Dinner is at eight," was the reply. "Everyone will gather in the dining room. And there is a pamphlet of various activities in each room. If you wish, you are welcome to join us in any of them." He hesitated, then turned. "Now I will leave you to explore your quarters. I will see you at dinner, if not sooner." Shooting another look at Elliott over his shoulder, he headed for the stairs, his associate following.

Elliott turned to the rooms, wandering into one without paying much attention to what he was doing. Now he knew it had not been his imagination. That guy already did not like him, even though he had not said or done anything! Why? It really was unsettling, especially when he was still mentally beating himself up over what he had done under the control of the Pharaoh's adviser. Scott kept reassuring him that it was not his fault, but it was almost impossible to gear his mind to it.

Scott had been laying there at the front of the vehicle, so lifeless and limp. . . . The hysterical driver had lifted his body, his head falling back like a dead man's. . . . Elliott had screamed one anguished, blood-chilling scream before his voice had been stilled from the shock. . . .

"El?"

He started, whirling to look at a concerned Scott. He, Sean, and Barry were all in the doorway, giving him worried looks.

"Elliott, you're pale!" Scott exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "What is it?!"

Elliott looked at his best friend, but then shook his head. "It's nothing," he tried to say.

"Is it the look that Caelius guy gave you when he left?" Sean frowned, his hands on his hips.

Elliott stared. So they had noticed after all?

Scott put an arm around him. "El, if he doesn't like you, he really is crazy," he said. "I wanted to call out and demand to know why he was looking at you like that, but he was already leaving."

Elliott managed a small smile. ". . . He looked at me like that when he first showed up, too," he said.

"Weird!" Sean said. "He acted like he thought you were lower than a parasite or something. And I, for one, think we should find out why."

Elliott sighed. "Maybe he doesn't like red or something," he said, glancing at his clothes. "I don't know, guys . . . we should probably let it go. It might jeopardize the case."

Sean frowned. "How would that jeopardize the case?" he said. "With a look like he gave you, it was almost like your honor was being challenged!"

"Maybe he'd think we were too observant for noticing and then get suspicious," Elliott said. He ran a hand through his hair. "Why don't we just let it set for a while and see if anything comes of it? We could give it until after dinner."

Scott gave a slow nod. ". . . Alright," he agreed. "Then if he does it again, we'll all be witness to it."

Elliott nodded. Advancing further into the small room, he noticed a pamphlet on the end table. "I guess this is what lists the activities," he said, picking it up.

"Anything interesting?" Sean asked.

Elliott flipped through it. "Today's Tuesday," he noted. "They've got yoga and meditation classes throughout the day. There's a rain walk, cooking classes, and . . . basket-weaving." He blinked.

Sean snorted. "Basket-weaving?! Does that remind you of anything?"

"Like what?" Scott blinked.

"They're coming to take me away," Sean intoned. "They're coming to take me away, ha ha hee hee ho ho! To the funny farm, with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket-weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes and they're coming to take me away, ha ha!"

Elliott and Scott doubled over, laughing. Sean smirked, looking to Barry. "Mission accomplished."

Barry just shook his head, a trace of a smirk on his features.
****
Not being sure what to do, Rockapella opted to wander through the lodge and examine all the classes, in hopes of finding the missing girl and guy. As they peered through the open doorways at the groups, the people inside only rarely looked up. In the cooking class a woman in her twenties caught their eye, but quickly returned her attention to the instructor. A boy not much younger than Scott glanced their way in the yoga room, but then resumed his complicated-looking position.

Sean shivered as they moved away from the doorway. "How do they find yoga relaxing?" he wondered. "That looked uncomfortable!"

"I guess we wouldn't know unless we tried it," Scott said.

"Maybe some other time, if we see the missing people in there," Sean said. "They could've even gone on the rain walk." He frowned out a nearby window at the torrents. How anyone could willingly go out in that was beyond him. He and the others had been grateful to escape from it.

Elliott only half-heard. He had wandered ahead of the others, heading for the double-doors at the back. There were voices inside, and from the sound of it, it was the retreat master and his assistant. Elliott pressed himself against the crack between the doors, trying to listen.

"They are not mere travelers, Master," the assistant was saying. "They came here on purpose."

"Yes, Prosperus, I am quite aware of that," Caelius replied. "I foresaw it." His voice darkened. "They are the ones for whom we have been preparing. And the short brunet . . . he is the foul betrayer."

Elliott gave a silent gasp, the color draining from his face. Betrayer?! What was he talking about?!

"Betrayer?" Prosperus repeated, sounding just as confused.

"The one who led his supposed best friend in front of a passing automobile," Caelius said.

Now Elliott gripped the doors, his hands shaking. No! No, he had not done it on purpose! He had not known the car would come! He had been trying to protect Scott. . . .

And how did this man know about it at all?!

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. He started, looking up. Scott, Sean, and Barry had come over without him realizing. It was Scott's hand on his shoulder. His best friend's eyes flamed at the conversation behind the doors. The nerve of that creep! He did not understand the truth of what had happened at all! He had no right to be passing judgments or even talking about it!

"But, Master," Prosperus said now, "you said yesterday that the blond betrayed the brunet by pushing him."

Now Scott trembled. Elliott reached up, grasping the clammy hand as his own eyes burned.

"He knew that the brunet was not a true friend," Caelius replied. "The artifact he found was evil, but it did open his mind to that truth."

Scott shook his head. "No," he mouthed in horror. "No, it's not true!" He stared at Elliott. "You've always been my best friend, El! You always have. . . ."

Elliott pulled him close in a hug. "I know," he said quietly. "Of course I know."

Sean clenched a fist. By now he had heard all he needed to. He was infuriated! How dare this Caelius nose into their business! He did not care whether someone had told Caelius or if the nut had experienced a vision-he had no right.

Sean looked to Barry. The big man's jaw was set, his eyes cold. He was revolted. But at the same time, he knew they could not reveal their presence yet. They had to hear more.

Now Sean glowered at the closed doors, knowing the same thing. He laid his hands on Scott's and Elliott's shoulders as they cringed from what was being said.

Caelius spoke again. "With the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood prepared for this fated arrival, the ceremony will take place as planned and the blond will be purified."

Scott looked up with a jolt. What ceremony?! And how would he be purified?! Purified of what?!

Elliott held tighter to his best friend. There would be no "purification" ceremony if he could help it. Scott did not need it.

"They are listening outside the doors right now," Caelius said.

The four agents froze, staring at each other in alarm and disbelief. They had been completely quiet! And when this guy was twisting the truth and not even accepting some of it, how could he have any foresight from a good source? Elliott swallowed hard. A bad source could be telling him.

Without warning, the occupants of every room up and down the hall charged out, surrounding Rockapella in an instant. The singing detectives gawked at the sight, Elliott's mouth dropping open in shock. At the same moment, the doors into the meditation room were thrown open and Caelius seized Elliott's shoulders.

"Foul, wretched creature!" he cried, his fingers digging into the brunet's skin.

Elliott reached up, gripping the man's wrists. He was certainly in good condition; some younger people had not clutched at him this hard!

"Let me go!" he snapped. "You don't even know the whole story of what happened to me and Scott!"

"I know how you lied to him, using the possession as an excuse!" Caelius said. "You care nothing for him!"

"Shut up!" Elliott gripped tighter, finally forcing a hand off of his shoulder. But then the arm went around his throat.

"El!" Scott burst out. He lunged forward, only to be grabbed by Prosperus.

Sean let out an indignant exclamation as he ran forward too. But some of the retreaters stepped into his and Barry's path, blocking them from their friends. And all of the members of this human barricade were strong and dangerous-looking men. Barry glared at the nearest one, who only cracked his knuckles in response.

"So much for being peaceful," Sean said, bitterness creeping into his voice.

"We are peaceful, but not when we are staring evil in the face!" Caelius said. "I foresaw your coming. It was a warning to me, how you have been deceived by this wicked liar!" He increased the pressure of the chokehold. Elliott gritted his teeth, gripping the arm in desperation.

"Elliott's never lied to us!" Scott screamed, kicking at Prosperus as he struggled in vain to get free. "He's the kindest, most loyal friend anyone could ever have!"

"You have fallen under his spell!" Caelius retorted as Elliott fought against him. "He is an evil sorcerer who delights in building you up only to break you!"

Sean threw a punch at the nearest cult member. "I've known him since he was twelve years old!" he yelled. His fist was caught by his opponent. Slowly the other man began to squeeze. Sean retaliated with a sharp kick.

It was as a grenade pin clattering to the floor. The other thugs lunged, surrounding Sean and Barry as they began to brawl. Still more cultists followed Caelius and Prosperus as they dragged their captives down a back hall to the left.

Elliott struggled again, panic rising in his heart as he looked over his shoulder. "They're outnumbered!" he exclaimed. "They're going to get hurt!"

"Silence, fiend!" Caelius ordered. "You couldn't care less if they did!"

Scott's eyes flashed. "What are you going to do with them?!" he demanded. "And us?!"

He could not help but notice that this corridor featured rooms that all had doors. Why?

As if in answer to his question, a door abruptly flew open on the right. A dark-robed man said something demeaning under his breath, shoving another man into the hallway. The second man stumbled, but barely seemed to notice. Scott could not refrain from gasping in alarm. The guy's eyes were listless and blank, his face drawn and devoid of color. He began to walk up the corridor in a complete daze, not knowing or caring that anyone was in his way.

"What happened to him?!" Scott burst out.

Caelius looked pleased. "He . . . broke one of our guidelines," he said. "He was just receiving a . . . mental reprimand. He should know better from now on."

"Mental reprimand," Elliott spat. "It looks like psychological torture to me!"

The nameless man stumbled again, bumping into Scott. The blond stepped back, horror and pity in his eyes.

"Hello?" he tried to say. "Are you alright?"

But he might as well have been speaking to a brick wall. The man turned, continuing his journey down the hall without a word.

Scott slumped back, exchanging a glance with Elliott. Was that fate awaiting either of them, or Sean and Barry?

"Well." Caelius's cruel voice interrupted their thoughts. "Now that our little lesson has been learned, let's resume our journey. Here should do nicely." He indicated a door on the other side.

One of the cult members opened it. The room beyond was bare, devoid of even a rug. Caelius moved to thrust Elliott inside, letting go of him except for his arm.

"You will remain here until the clock is close to striking twelve," Caelius said. "Before midnight you will be brought out for the ceremony." He looked to Scott. "And the blond will finally be free of your evil influence by ending your life, as he should have done at the pumphouse! You will suffer for your crimes at the very hands of the one whom you betrayed!"

For a moment Scott could only stare, the color draining from his face. Had he heard right? Could he have possibly heard right?! They were going to try to force him to relive his worst nightmare-killing El?!

An agonized scream burst from his lips. "I won't do it! I won't!"

For one brief moment he tore free of Prosperus. Elliott pulled away from Caelius and reached out, starting to pull Scott into a protective hug with his free arm. But they were dragged back before he could.

"Scott!"

Elliott screamed as he and Scott were forcibly separated by the cruel cult members. While Scott was dragged one way by Prosperus and others, Elliott was being dragged back into the room by Caelius and several more men. The two friends kicked and fought against their attackers, but it was no use for either of them; the creeps were too strong.

Somewhere behind Elliott the door slammed and locked. Caelius backed away from the group, standing by the wall to watch.

With a merciless shove Elliott was thrown to the wooden floor as he cried out. There was not even a chance to recover; the creeps were upon him at once. One punched him harshly across the face. Before he could even process the attack, another was kicking him hard. And a third was bringing a rod down on his shoulder. The others joined in, punching, kicking, and wielding heavy objects.

He fought back, taking hold of the wooden rod and managing to send it and its holder falling backwards, before trying to roll away from a painful kick. But a sharp punch caught him in the jaw at the same time. He fell back, dazed long enough for several other blows to land.

A ripping sound brought him fully back to awareness. He cried out in disbelief as his vest was torn from him. Then they were going at his dress shirt and pants, continuing to beat him while trying to strip him of all that he was wearing.

What were they doing?! What kind of condition were they planning to leave him in for the "ceremony"? He fought harder, kicking one man in the teeth and another in the nose. But no matter how well he attacked, there were always more people coming at him. He was being overwhelmed.

Then he was laying on the floor, gasping in pain while the warm air hit against his exposed back. He had been left in nothing other than his shorts. His hat was mockingly plopped on his head by one of the cultists as the creep stood.

"There is nothing that gives me greater pleasure than seeing a devil receive what he deserves," Caelius purred.

Elliott gripped the floor. "Well . . . I say . . . you don't have any right," he struggled to retort. "We don't even treat . . . criminals . . . like this!"

One of the men kicked him in the side, causing him to flinch.

Caelius turned to the door. "Stay with him until it is time," he instructed. "He's crafty. Even in his condition, he could escape if left to his own devices."

Elliott glowered at the retreat master's feet. "Why?" he demanded. "Why would you bother going to all this trouble?"

"Why? My boy, this is the entire reason why this retreat came into being," Caelius said, smirking down at the beaten form. "I was chosen to lead the good to salvation and eliminate this world of wickedness. There were others before you." With that he left, leaving a horrified Elliott on the floor.

Others before him? Caelius had . . . killed other people?! What if the missing girl and guy were both dead?!

His heart picked up speed. What would happen to Scott and Sean and Barry? Would they be hurt? Scott would never be able to follow through with what Caelius wanted, but when he refused . . . what kind of fate would he have?

Maybe they had gotten in over their heads.

He slumped further against the wooden floor. He had been in agony blaming himself for so long, but he was not guilty of the treacherous crimes he was accused of committing. He would never hurt Scott as long as he was in control of himself! Why? Why would Caelius be so convinced that he was evil any more than any of the others? Now they had all gone through some kind of experience where they had lost control over their bodies. Caelius could have just as easily picked Sean or Barry or Scott. Not that Elliott would ever want them to be targeted.

He looked over his shoulder at the thugs who were looking back at him. These people must be members of the Brotherhood. That was probably the actual cult within the retreat. Maybe the others did not have any idea what was really going on, even if they had been told of a portion of it.

"Why does your leader have it in for me?" he asked at last. "Do you really think this is right?" He clenched a fist. "Scott will never recover if he's forced to kill me!"

"If he won't do it, he will die too." One of the men in front placed a foot on Elliott's back, pressing down unbearably.

Elliott's eyes widened in pain as he balled his hands into fists. Then he reached up, grabbing the guy's ankle. Without warning he pulled, sending the creep to the floor with a yell.

Instantly he was hauled to his feet by two of the others and thrown into the wall. Before he could even slide to the floor, one of the heavy, muscular men body-slammed into his weakened form. The second one followed suit. He cried out, trembling as he crumpled to the wooden tiles.

If this kept up, he had to wonder if he would even make it to midnight.

But he had to make it! He had to figure out some way to get himself and the others out of this horrible predicament!

He shut his eyes tightly. Caelius could have never really been called by any just God to do what he was proposing-and what he claimed to have already done. But Elliott was doubting that it was a fraud, too. Caelius seemed to truly believe in what he was doing.

That was what made him so dangerous.

A desperate plea for help ran through Elliott's mind and heart as his new enemies continued to stare down at him, just waiting for him to make another move. He could feel their eyes on him, even without looking up.

He could only hope that right now Scott and Sean and Barry were faring better.