EDT © Derek Muk
Jill handed the ticket and change back to the customer, smiling pleasantly. “Have fun,” she said in her British accent. It was Friday afternoon, springtime, and the streets were bustling with activity. She hadn't seen so many people in the Wharf in a while, tourists mostly, with their gaudy clothes, sunglasses, fancy cameras, and video recorders. She was one of them once, naïve and gullible. In a way she still was like that. No rest for the weary, however, as she drank some water. The nice weather always drew people out. A young couple around her age approached the register. The man wore big shades and a cheesy T-shirt that said: ‘Property of Alcatraz.' “Say, do you recommend any good pubs around here?” he asked in a distinctive English accent. “Davy Jones, just down the street, is pretty good.” “Cool. Are you from London ?” Jill nodded. “What about you guys?” “Same. How do you like San Francisco so far?” “It's been absolutely fantastic. Kinda expensive but big cities are like that. I get homesick occasionally.” The man grinned. “Hang in there. Cheers.” “Have fun,” she replied, wishing she had said something else instead. She had used the two words so much now it became almost second nature. Jill had short blonde hair and an athletic build and was often told she resembled the actress Keira Knightley. “Hey, you looked like you just stepped out of the movie, ‘ Bend it Like Beckham, '” commented a middle-aged Asian man with a mustache and beard. She smiled, blushing. He returned a friendly grin. “I take it you get that a lot.” “I consider it a compliment, actually. Of course, she's definitely prettier than me. So, one for the museum, sir?” He looked at the sign WAX MUSEUM for a moment and then looked at a brochure. “God, I haven't been here for ages. It used to be quite the rage back in the seventies. Used to bring my out-of-town relatives here. They loved coming down to Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39.” She maintained her grin and said, “C'mon, it'll be fun! Take a trip down nostalgia lane.” He reflected, beaming. “Yeah, it was fun. Hey, is the Chamber of Horrors still in there?” “Sure is. They've added a lot of new stuff. And of course, we have the latest additions, such as,” she said, gesturing to life-sized figures of President Obama and Vice President Biden. “Cool. Okay, I'm sold.” He took out his wallet, not aware that he dropped a card and his credit card.
Sometime later, Jill was stocking more brochures at the counter when she noticed the card and credit card on the ground. She picked it up, reading the business card: ‘Patrick Wang, Career Counselor.' She called him and got his voicemail, leaving a message. The next day, he called her back and met her at the museum. It was almost evening but the crowds of tourists still packed the streets. “Thanks,” Patrick told her. “I owe you one.” “No problem.” “Can I repay you by treating you to a drink or coffee perhaps?” Jill smiled politely. “That's very kind of you but you don't have to.” “But I'd like to. . .Jill,” he said, looking at her name tag. “C'mon, it's the least I can do.” “Okay.” Her shift was going to end in several minutes anyway so it would work out fine. They went to Davy Jones and he bought them a couple of beers. The place was loud and filled with tourists and locals alike. A group of young men and women were shooting pool at a table. “True” by Spandau Ballet was blaring from a jukebox. They sat on stools at the bar. Patrick looked around. “Nice place.” “My coworkers and I are sort of regulars here, not that I drink a lot or anything. It's just a fun bar to hang out.” He nodded, taking a swig from his bottle. “The Wax Museum seems like a fun place to work.” “It is. After we close, my lads and I sometimes wander around there in the dark with nothing but flashlights. We've been through the Chamber of Horrors so many times it's not even scary anymore.” Patrick laughed, spilling beer on his shirt. “So, Jill, tell me, what brought you to the States?” “Fame, fortune, the American dream,” she replied, laughing, drinking beer. “Nothing wrong with that.” He raised his bottle. “I'll drink to that.” They clinked their bottles and drank beer. Laughter erupted from the pool table. “So you're a counselor,” Jill said. “You must have a lot of patience.” “My friends think so. Sometimes they say I'm an irritable grouch. Are you going to school as well?” She nodded. “Night courses at City College . Still trying to decide what direction I should pursue. Looks like I'm talking to the perfect person.” “What professions interest you?” “I've got them all written on a little piece of paper at home. You know, taped to the computer monitor. I'm a list maker. Well, sometimes that list changes according to my moods. Lately, nursing and teaching are still on it.” “The helping professions,” Patrick said encouragingly. “Great. Listen, I lead a career support group on Wednesday evenings. Why don't you attend a session? Might give you some more ideas.” He wrote down the info on the back of his card and handed it to her.
Jill took a bus downtown to New Horizons College and attended the career group meeting. Afterwards, she waited until other members finished talking to Patrick before she jumped in and picked his brains. “So what do you think of our little bunch?” he asked, opening the door to his office. “Everyone was so super friendly that I felt right at home. I felt like I had already been initiated.” He chuckled. “Nice way of putting it. Listen, I have to meet someone in the Embarcadero area, kind of a crisis situation.” Her face turned somber. “Oh, no. What's up?” “One of my students, actually a member of the career group, too, is threatening to kill herself.” “Oh, no,” Jill said again. “Any way I can help?” Patrick thought a moment and said, “Maybe. Actually, why don't you come along. She might feel more reassured by the presence of another woman.” They hopped in his car and drove to one of the high-rise apartment buildings near the Embarcadero shopping center. Parking was a pain as usual but Patrick was able to find a slot a few blocks away. They took an elevator to the eighteenth floor. He knocked on the door of unit 1802 but there was no answer. Finally, he tried the doorknob and it turned. He pushed the door open slowly. “ Erin ?” he called out. Silence. A strong gust of wind wafted through the open balcony door. Standing outside that door was a thin Asian woman wearing a shirt and black jeans. “Don't come any closer!” she shouted. “Erin , please come back inside,” Patrick replied gently. Erin didn't respond, her back against the railing of the balcony, her left hand resting on the metal. “Don't jump,” Patrick said. “Please come back inside. I'm here to listen, I'm here to talk. I've brought a friend along. Her name is Jill.” “Hello, Erin ,” Jill said. Erin didn't look at them. She occasionally turned her head to look down at the street below. The wind kept blowing her long black hair in her face. It appeared she was listening to them but Patrick wasn't sure if reasoning and judgment had kicked in yet. “It's cold, Erin ,” he continued. “Come back inside so we can talk.” Erin pondered his statement for a moment but held onto the railing. Her face was a twisted mask of confusion, indecisive, unsure of what to do. Gradually, she took baby steps and eventually wound up back inside the apartment. Jill closed the balcony door while Patrick took Erin 's arm gently and led her to the sofa, where she sat down slowly. He got her a glass of water but she didn't take it. “Talk to me,” Patrick said calmly. He and Jill were getting used to the silence. Erin had her head hung low, her eyes closed shut. Patrick and Jill exchanged worried looks. “Tell me what's on your mind,” he said. “I can't help you if you won't tell me what's going on.” After a long silence, Erin said, “They made me do it. . .they drove me to kill myself.” “What?” Patrick asked. “Who's ‘they?'” “They wanted me to commit suicide. . .they said my sacrifice was necessary, that it would make him happy and make him stronger.” Patrick looked at her. “ Erin , what are you talking about? Who are you referring to?” On the love seat, Jill found a sheet of paper with weird symbols on it, and also found a business card. She showed these to Patrick. His brow furrowed as he looked at the strange crosses, lines, circles, and dots. The card read: EDT and Associates. “ Erin , what do these symbols mean?” he inquired. Her red-rimmed, sleep deprived eyes gazed at it, her face as white as the paper, but she remained speechless. When he asked again she stared ahead like a zombie. Sighing, he got up, approaching Jill. “We're getting no where,” he whispered. Jill looked at the card. “EDT. . .I've heard of them. . .they're a new-age self-improvement group that preaches gloomy apocalyptic messages to their members. Their ads are all over the web.” “Oh, shoot,” Patrick whispered. “We gotta get her out of here. If not she's going to jump.” “Where are we going to take her?” “Good question.” He scratched his beard. “Does she have family nearby?” “No, they're in Japan . I'll stay and watch her. Why don't you go home? I can take it from here.” “Are you sure? I feel so bad leaving her like this.” “Positive. Thanks for your help.”
A few days later, Jill called Patrick but he didn't pick up. She left a message. Days passed without any reply from him and she grew concerned. One day as she was standing behind the cash register at the museum she called and left him another voicemail. Tourist after tourist approached the counter and she flashed her plastic smile and told them about the tour and whatnot. The warm spring days waned on, and one evening, as she was sitting inside In and Out Burger with her coworkers her cell phone rang. It was Patrick. “Hey, long time no see,” she said. “Sorry I didn't call earlier but I'm involved in a bit of a situation at the moment.” “Is Erin okay?” “She's missing.” “Oh no.” “The night I was watching her she snuck out. I dozed off for a few minutes. I should've drunk coffee to stay awake.” “Don't blame yourself, you did all you could. Maybe she was abducted by EDT. I wouldn't be surprised.” “You think so?” “Well, they have cult-like qualities. I heard and read about how they really enslave the minds of their members, subjecting them to brutal amounts of meditation, chanting, tests, quizzes, studying, fundraising, chores in the dead of night. No wonder Erin was the way she was.” “They keep people against their will?” “I've heard rumors about that. Now whether that can be substantiated is another thing. But I've also heard about members leaving voluntarily.” “Hmmm,” he said, thinking it over. “I'm trying to find her but one knows anything. Not her friends, classmates, other members of the career group.” “Can I help?” “I appreciate the offer but there's no sense getting involved, especially if it gets dangerous.” “Oh, c'mon, a little danger and excitement. That's what life is all about.”
Patrick and Jill searched everywhere: Erin 's apartment, where she went to school, her favorite hangouts, where she worked. They sat in a booth at the back of a sushi restaurant in Japantown, talking to a young Asian man and woman. “When was the last time you saw Erin ?” Patrick asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “A week ago,” the man replied. “She worked her shift here and I never saw her again.” “What about you, Rose?” Patrick asked. She looked at the surface of the table for a moment. “About the same time. . .yes, the same night.” She nodded in confirmation. “I called her a few times afterwards, and also texted her, but no reply.” She shrugged. “No one hear from her, no one from restaurant, not her school mates, friends. Strange.” The young man also nodded. “We go to school with Erin, and her friends and teachers there are worried. No one see her, and she tell nothing to anyone.” “Does she have a boyfriend?” Jill asked. They both shook their heads. “No relationship problems or anything?” “She dated occasionally,” Rose replied. “But no one serious, you know?” The man said, “A few times we were at her apartment and people we didn't recognize came over. Twice it was just American guys in nice suits. They were very friendly, very polite. . .but there was something about them that was weird.” “They were too friendly,” Rose added. “Always smiling.” “Like it was fake and rehearsed,” Patrick said. “Exactly,” Rose replied. “They kept asking us to attend EDT meetings. . .all the pressure make me feel uncomfortable, like they harassing us.” Patrick showed them the business card. “Did they give you this?” They nodded. “In Japan , we have groups like this,” Rose said. “They're always trying to persuade young people to join them. . .some brain, brainwash. Is that how you say it?” Jill nodded. “Do you know if Erin was a full-fledged member of EDT? We're assuming she went these meetings.” She looked at the man. “Toshiro, you mentioned that she never specifically told you the name, EDT.” “Correct. She always say, ‘the group.' She seemed happy with them but at the same time there was something different about her, like she changed.” Rose nodded. “She was smiling and always friendly, just like the people that came to her apartment.”
Jill handed the ticket and change back to the customer, flashing a smile. “Have fun.” She caught herself using those words again and cringed inside. Got to say something catchier, cleverer. During her lunchbreak, Jill walked briskly down the main thoroughfare in Fisherman's Wharf, darting in and out of the dense tourist crowd. Some of the other merchants grinned at her and waved. When she reached the grassy lawn in front of Ghirardelli Square she saw Patrick sitting on a bench reading the paper. He looked up and said, “Hey.” “Hello.” She sat next to him. “I did some research and wanted to show you this.” She handed him a sheet of paper. He read it, nodding. “Thanks. . .has the meeting times, addresses. Huh, there's one tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Wanna come along?” “Well, we're a team, aren't we?” she asked, smiling. “And an absolutely smashing one at that.” He chuckled. “I don't know about that.”
After work, Jill hopped on a MUNI bus going towards the downtown area. When it arrived at Union Square she got off, hitting a mob of tourists immediately. Seemed there was no escaping them! She weaved her way in and out of the pedestrian traffic, making her way across Geary Street until she reached Powell. She walked all the way up Powell to where the Borders bookstore was. A cable car passed her, going up the hill, the driver ringing its bell. Just past the bookstore was a nondescript looking building with an ordinary looking directory. Patrick arrived moments later, catching his breath. “Just got off the cable car,” he said, looking at the directory with her. At the very bottom of it was simply: ‘EDT- 5 th Floor.' Nothing more, nothing less. They took the slow, rickety elevator up there. It looked like it would stall at any second. Jill sighed in relief when the doors finally opened. They walked down a quiet hallway until they got to suite 505 . Jill smiled, gesturing for him to do the honors. Patrick opened the door and they stepped into a plain, spare office. Sitting at a desk was a bespectacled woman, staring at a computer monitor. She turned away from it, smiling pleasantly at them. “Hello,” she said. “Do you have an appointment?” “No,” Patrick replied. “We just wanted to ask some questions.” “Sure, I'd be more than happy to help.” Patrick showed her a photo of Erin but recognition did not register on her face. “We're trying to find our friend who is a member of EDT. Do you know about her whereabouts?” “I'm afraid I don't,” the woman replied with genuine concern. “But I'm pretty new here. Maybe someone else might know. One moment, please.” She picked up the phone and made a call. When she was done, she turned to them. “Jeff, one of our customer service agents, will be out shortly to assist you. Please have a seat.” “Thank you,” Jill said, and they sat down in some chairs before her desk. A few minutes later, a slender blonde man dressed in a white shirt, tie, and dark slacks came out of a door, beaming at them politely. He walked up to them, extending his hand. “Hello, my name is Jeff,” he said. Patrick introduced himself and Jill, shaking his hand. “Please come to my office,” Jeff said, leading the way to a small, neat room in the back. The two sat in chairs before his desk. Patrick showed him the picture. “Do you know where she is?” Jeff held the photo in his hand, studying it carefully. “ Erin was here about two weeks ago but I haven't seen her since.” He handed the picture back to him. “Have you notified the police and her family?” “I've informed the family,” Patrick said. “What was the reason of her last visit?” “Oh, just a social call,” Jeff said, smiling. “She was in the neighborhood and just wanted to say hello.” “What did she do for EDT?” Jill asked. “She helped with administering our tests, co-facilitated seminars and workshops, and did outreach. She's a very hardworking and dedicated person.” Outreach, Jill thought. Another fancy word for recruiting people into the cult. “Where did she do outreach?” “Various places in the city. Sometimes it's in North Beach , the Richmond , the Sunset, the downtown area. She really knew how to talk to people and was a great listener.” Jill wanted to puke. This plastic, artificial conversation was really getting to her. “Did she mention having any problems? Or talk about people she didn't get along with?” Jeff maintained his smile. “Never. Erin was simply an angel and never displayed any negativity or hostility towards anyone. She was a true team player and got along well with everyone.” Jill wished she had that doggy bag right now but flashed her own plastic grin for the time being. “Marvelous. Did Erin ever tell you about places she liked to go to when she was down?” Jeff thought a moment, which surprised her. “She likes Golden Gate Park and said she always gets a kick out of going to the De Young Museum. She'd bring a sketch pad, sit on one of the benches, and spend hours drawing paintings she admired.” “Well, thanks for the info,” Patrick said.
Once they were outside, Jill asked: “So is Erin an art lover?” “Yes,” Patrick answered. “And she's mentioned the De Young to me, too. Let's take a pilgrimage over there.” They went to Golden Gate Park , crowded as usual because of the nice, sunny weather. Patrick showed Erin 's picture to various museum employees as well as visitors but no one reported seeing her. They sat down on a bench. Jill gazed at a painting in front of them, thinking. Suddenly, a museum security guard, not really a guard but one of the people who prevented visitors from getting too close to the paintings, approached them. “Excuse me,” the attendant said. “May I see that picture again?” “Sure,” Patrick said, handing it to him. He examined it carefully. “I take that back. . .I did see her. She was here yesterday.” “Was she sketching?” “Yes.” “Was she alone?” Jill asked. The attendant shook his head. “No, she was with two young men.” “Were they dressed in suits?” The attendant nodded. “The girl was as pale as a ghost. She didn't look well, looked like she was in a trance or something.” “What did she say?” “Not much, small talk mostly. Wasn't too social, you know?” “Did they tell you where they were going?” Patrick asked. “They did better than that. They invited me to some special luncheon and lecture they were giving.” “Where is it going to be held?” “Here, they gave me the address,” the attendant said, showing them a business card. Jill read the back of it. “I know where that is.”
A few days passed. On Saturday afternoon Patrick and Jill took a bus down to Columbus Street in North Beach . They walked to an apartment building by Fisherman's Wharf. At the front gate Patrick pushed a buzzer. Moments later, a man asked: “Who is it?” “Hi, I'm here for the luncheon and lecture,” Patrick said. “Oh, hi. Come on up. Third floor, room 303.” The gate buzzed open and they went up the stairs. When they arrived at unit 303 the door was ajar and Patrick knocked on it gently. Pulling the door open was an Asian man in his early twenties, wearing a nice suit. “Welcome,” he said, beaming at them. “Please come in.” Jill flashed a plastic grin. “Thank you.” The man extended his hand. “I'm Alex.” They shook his hand, introducing themselves. Alex then introduced the two to the other people gathered in the spacious, sunny living room. A large panoramic window offered a breathtaking view of the Wharf area and the Bay Bridge . Patrick scanned the room quickly, not seeing Erin among the young people. He frowned in disappointment. “Something wrong?” Alex asked, handing him a Coke. Patrick grinned. “Oh, it's nothing. Great apartment.” “Thanks. I don't live here, my friend Jeff does.” Jeff from the EDT office? Patrick thought. While they talked Jill mingled and schmoozed with the others, eating a cracker or two and trying to blend in. She worked her way into the kitchen, shot the breeze with some people there and even drank some ginger ale before making her way past the bathroom. No one there. She peeked inside the bedroom. Her jaw dropped open, for standing behind the closet door, partly hidden, was Erin . She was buttoning up a blouse, unaware that she was being watched. When Jill walked further in Erin turned around quickly, a surprised look on her pale, zombie-like face. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Jill said gently. “Remember me? I'm a friend of Patrick's.” “Yes.” “We've been looking all over for you. We're very concerned. You had Patrick on edge.” “I'm okay. . .nothing to worry about.” “Do you really want to stay with this group, Erin? I mean, seriously.” She looked at Jill for a long moment, making her feel uncomfortable. Jill could feel those penetrating, dark zombie eyes drill holes into her head. “What kind of question is that?” “I have to ask,” Jill replied. “Please be honest.” Seconds later, Jill felt somebody behind her. She turned around and saw Patrick. “Oh, glad you're-” she said, her eyes widening in horror. For Jill was staring at a pale, zombified version of Patrick. He and Erin cornered her further into the room until there was no escape. That was when Jill began screaming.
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Derek Muk is a writer and social worker. His short stories have appeared
in various small press magazines. His short story collection, "The Occult
Files of Albert Taylor" is available now and his website is:
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