The night was dark and an icy wind blew from the north, whistling past the old farmhouse on Bethlehem Road, bringing with it wave after wave of freezing rain. The sleet tap-danced against the windows as if seeking entrance to the warmth of the home. Inside, despite the roaring fire crackling in the fireplace, darkness held sway as evil forces simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to make their sinister entrance. The black mass started precisely at the stroke of midnight. The High Priestess led the group of thirteen in their evil exercises as they petitioned the Dark One to bestow his unholy blessing on their plans for the town. She stood, arms outstretched, fingers pointing toward the encircled pentagram painted with human blood on a plastic mat on the floor. The others sat on the carpeted floor, legs crossed and eyes closed, as the priestess continued calling out to their false god. A villainous cold filled the room, gripping each player in its icy fingers, digging deeper and deeper, down to the very marrow of their souls. Some faces showed sheer evil ecstasy, while others were masks of unfathomable fear. Had it not been for the outlandishly-garbed priestess, the blood-painted pentagram, the chanted incantations, and the many candles that cast eerie, flickering shadows that danced on the farmhouse walls, the gathering known simply as The Group could very well have been a meeting of the board of directors of the Chicohee Savings and Loan or the White Memorial Hospital. Many of the community's power brokers were here, the movers and shakers of the town of Asbury. It was the night of the new moon and, as they had been doing for more than a year now, The Group met for their monthly convocation at the home of Superintendent of Schools Preston Porter. Still, there was something different about tonight's gathering, something much more nefarious than any previous meeting. Every other black mass had ended in identical fashion... their pleas were left unanswered, their hopes and dreams kept waiting. But on this cold spring night in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, The Group would finally receive their evil master's approval to begin their plan to capture the town of Asbury. *** Sandy Jackson looked at her husband, concern etched on her features. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked as she set his plate of blueberry pancakes before him. JJ shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I’m just getting old, I guess.” He smiled at his wife. Sandy frowned in return. “Don’t try to con me, old man,” she said as she poured his coffee. “If there’s one thing I know after forty-one years of marriage, it’s when something’s bothering you.” JJ sighed as he absentmindedly poked at the pancakes with his fork. “You’re right, sweetheart,” he said, finally taking a bite of his breakfast. Sandy wiped her hands on her apron and sat down. “It’s this thing with that Satanic group that’s got you down, isn’t it?” Her husband closed his eyes for several moments as if in deep thought. “It’s more than that, Sandy. I’ve been thinking about Alec and Harriet.” He looked up at his wife. “Where are they, Sandy? Where are Alec and Harriet?” A look of shock crossed Sandy’s face. “They’re . . . they’re . . . dead, JJ. Don’t you remember?” JJ set down his fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, I know that, Sandy. I mean where are they now. Are they in Heaven? Will we go to Heaven when we die? Have we been good enough in this life, Sandy?” “Why, of course we have, JJ,” she replied. “We’ve given money to charity, we’ve helped out the less fortunate, we’re not crooks or gamblers or murderers. We’re good people. God knows that, JJ. I’m sure that our good deeds far outweigh our bad.” “But Sandy,” JJ interrupted, “how do you know that our good deeds will get us to Heaven?” Sandy hesitated, thinking. “Well . . . I’m not really sure but I’ve always been told that. I think I heard it in church when I was a child so it must be in the Bible.” JJ tapped the table briskly with his finger. “I’m a newspaper man, Sandy. I’ve been one all my life. I need facts, evidence. All my life I’ve investigated things, dug out facts, scrounged for the truth, then presented my work to the public. But when it comes to what is probably the most important question in life, what happens after you die, I’ve merely accepted what has been handed to me. I need more, Sandy. I need to be sure!” Sandy eyed her husband carefully. “Tell me what you want to do, JJ, and I’ll be behind you one hundred percent like I’ve always been.” JJ leaned forward in his seat. “I’d like to do something today that we haven’t done in many, many years, Sandy. “I’d like to go to church.” *** As the director of the clinic, it was Bissonette's responsibilty to oversee the abortions performed by Dr. Ira Greene. There were two methods of payment for this 'service' provided by the clinic. First, and by far the most prevalent, was to bill the state. The taxpayers would foot the bill while Greene plied his deadly trade, sometimes performing abortions on girls who really weren't even pregnant at all, girls so afraid of the posibility of being pregnant that they could be manipulated. It didn't matter to Greene or Bissonette, as long as the state checks continued to roll in. The other method of payment was cash. Often a girl would come in, usually alone, sometimes with ther boyfriend.She would be deathly afraid that her parents would find out that she was pregnant and she needed to have the 'problem' taken care of quickly. Seeing the girl's agitation, Bissonette would go to work. She would estimate gestation at several weeks beyond what it actually was. "In another week you'll be into the second trimester and then you'll have to go to a hospital for the abortion," she lied. "You'll need your parents' permission to have an abortion there." The fear instilled in the girl did the trick. Then Bissonette would tell her that approval for the state coverage could take several weeks, so this would have to be cash. The girl would usually be back within hours, cash in hand. After performing the abortion, Bissonette and Greene would each take their cut under the table. The procedure was never entered into the books and the dead baby was thrown into the garbage with the rest of that day's trash.