The Cult of Dionysos

This story was written for a Murder Mystery Challenge ... 1822 words.

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Mark Delaney stared out the window of his Napa Valley home at leafless tress and a leaden sky. Winter. Hard to believe that those trees would ever sprout new green foliage, that the sun's warmth would ever again touch him. Winter to spring ... death and rebirth ... it was the rule for nature, but sadly, not for human beings. His gaze turned from the window to an art print that hung on the wall nearby ... Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus by JW Waterhouse. It was a gift from his sister, sent to him in San Francisco just a few days before her death.

Once again he reviewed the Greek myth referred to in the Waterhouse print ... the tearing to pieces of the musician Orpheus by the devotees of the god Dionysos, the musician's still-living head later found by nymphs. Mark scanned the macabre image, trying for the hundredth time to find some clue to his sister's death in them, for surely she'd meant this gift as a message. Although why she hadn't simply told him ... oh, to hell with it!

Mark reached for the bottle to pour himself another whiskey, then noticed it was empty. Sighing, he drained the dregs of his glass. The thing was, his sister probably had tried, countless times, to tell him something was wrong, but he'd been too busy to listen ... too busy with his new career as a cop in the big city. He'd failed her ... failed to save her life. And after her death, when he'd moved back here to help the local cops get it right, he'd failed her again ... failed to make a case against her killer that the DA could prosecute. With an oath, he swept the empty bottle and glass from the table, the sound of their shattering almost drowning out the telephone's sudden ring.

"Delaney here."

"I need your help ... my life's in danger."

Mark felt his stomach clench as he recognized the voice on the line ... that of his brother-in-law, Doug Simpson. He quelled the urge to hang up and forced himself to respond. "Do you honestly believe I care? You killed my sister, you son of a bitch. Without a body, I wasn't able to prove it, but I know ..."

"You're right, I killed Alice. I'll confess, turn myself in, but only to you. Even life in prison's better than than what Amarantos has planned for me. Just get over here before it's too late."

Stunned, Mark listened to the desperation in Doug's voice and his heart began to thump painfully against his ribs. For the first time since his sister's disappearance, he allowed himself to feel something other than despair.

"I'm on my way."

* * * * *
Mark stood in the living room of Doug's home on the outskirts of Calistoga. He'd let himself in when he'd found the front door ajar but Doug was absent. Mark paced the room, mind in turmoil ... had Doug merely been yanking his chain? As he paced, his eyes roamed the chamber, seeking some remnant of his sister but there was nothing to prove she'd ever lived here. He wasn't surprised ... the marriage which had begun so well had taken a turn for the worse about a year ago. Alice had told him of Doug's womanizing as well as his sudden and questionable financial success, but Mark had been too absorbed in his own life to do more than offer distracted, conventional advice.

Mark's gaze slipped over and then came back to the fireplace mantel. A photograph there caught his eye. He examined the the framed rectangle of paper ... Doug and an unknown man stood before a mansion, green vineyards stretching out on either side of them. The stranger's features were blurred but Doug realized who he must be - the owner of the Labyrinth Winery - the man Doug had just accused of wanting him dead. Amarantos, a wealthy Greek national, had purchased the failing winery about a year ago and had miraculously turned it into one of Napa Valley's most successful. About a year ago, Mark mused. Unwilling to let die the grim hope of vengeance Doug's phone call had resurrected, Mark chose to believe his brother-in-law's story - he would check out the winery.

* * * * *
Mark gazed out over row upon row of mist-shrouded vines, fighting off a bitter resignation. He'd found Amarantos' mansion as empty as Doug's house. Had he let his need for closure cloud his judgment? Perhaps Doug was just spinning out a cruel joke. A faint whispery thread of music interrupted his line of thought and he held his breath, listening. It seemed to be coming from a forested area to one side of the mansion. Out of other options, he headed that way.

Mark followed the hollow piping of what sounded like a flute, walking under the boughs of oaks and pines until the daylight dimmed to a green duskiness. After a few minutes, he came to a high stone wall. The flute was louder here and now Mark could discern the light tympany of a drum accompanying the haunting melody. He walked along the wall and eventually came to a wooden door set into it. He tried the door's handle. Locked. Mark eyed the smoothness of the twelve foot wall, wondering if there was any point in trying to scale it ... for all he knew, he was wasting his time here.

Then Mark cocked his head ... silence ... the music had ceased. As he stood undecided, the hair on his neck was raised by a hoarse ragged scream originating from within the walls. Pulling his pistol from its holster, Mark kicked open the door, sending splinters of wood flying. The path leading from the door was narrow, bordered on each side by tall, densely thorny hedges ... some sort of maze, he realized. The screams continued unabated and Mark chose a leg of the path that seemed to lead in their direction, only to have it suddenly curve into a dead end. Retracing his steps, he took an intersecting path and made progress until it ended unexpectedly in a cul-de-sac. Cursing, Mark holstered the Colt and began to force his way through the thinnest areas of the hedges, thorns tearing through clothes and exposed flesh. As he headed toward the sounds of anguish, they lessened and then ended. An eerie silence descended, broken only by the rustle of the hedges as Mark passed through them.

He burst through the vegetation into the center of the maze, a large grassy circle. A number of women in stained white gowns stood in varying states of disarray, red bits of flesh in their hands and mouths. Flutes and drums lay discarded on the blood-flecked grass. The women seemed dazed, oblivious to his presence. Mark turned his shocked gaze to an object in the middle of the circle ... something lying in a widening pool of blood. Stepping forward, he saw that the object was a human body - Doug, or what was left of him. The image of Waterhouse's nymphs bent over Orpheus' severed head drifted up from his memory and, succumbing to a wave of nausea, Mark fell to one knee, retching. A crippling dizziness took him and darkness followed.

* * * * *
Dusk. The first pale stars were just visible in a lavender sky ... beautiful, Mark thought, laying on his back in the soft grass. He frowned slightly, a remote corner of his mind whispering that something was very wrong. He decided to ignore the whisper but his emotional dislocation was obliterated when he lazily turned his head and saw a male figure seated next to him on the grass. Mark lurched to his feet, breath coming in gasps, memory suddenly intact. He groped for his weapon ... gone. He frantically scanned the grassy circle but the women and Doug's body had vanished, not even a trace remaining of the dark blood that had been spilled.

Finally, feeling the other's gaze on him, Mark forced himself to return that look. He found eyes of a hyacinth blue surrounded by thick dark lashes. Mark almost lost himself in those eyes ... they seemed to dissect his very soul while themselves revealing nothing. The other smiled, breaking the spell, and gestured for him to sit. Mark did so reluctantly, questions on his lips.

"Who are you? What happened to ..."

"Your brother-in-law knew me as Amarantos but I have other names. I'm nature's advocate ... the dying and resurrecting god of fertility."

While Mark's mind refused this explanation, he felt his body accepting it ... this person, if he could be called such, attracted him with such an ambiguous sensuality, such an amoral prescience, that he did seem more than human. Mark rubbed a shaking hand over his face. "I don't understand."

The stranger nodded. "You weren't prepared, should not have seen this ... the ecstasy."

"The ecstasy? A man was murdered!"

"Not so. His death was just ... the result of a bargain he entered into freely. For one full year, nature granted his every desire. At the end of that time, he was to repay nature with the nourishment of his life's blood. Surely you don't regret his passing?"

Momentarily putting aside his doubts that Doug had made any such bargain, Mark searched within and was forced to admit the other was right. "No, I'm not sorry he's gone. He killed my sister and ..."

"Your sister lives."

Mark's head snapped up, his eyes locking with the other's. "No. She disappeared six months ago. Doug admitted he killed her."

"He brought her here to dispatch her and I allowed it, as he protested that her presence, his marriage, was hindering our bargain. But he was mistaken in thinking her dead."

Mark held his breath as the other paused, afraid to hope but unable to stop himself. "What do you mean, he was mistaken?"

"Doug left her corpse with me and as I gazed upon her, I was struck by her resemblance to someone ... someone I once loved. I brought her back and kept her safe and unknowing until Doug had paid his price."

Mark shook his head. "Brought her back? To life? That's not possible." But even as he spoke these words, his heart leapt. Not possible ... he knew that ... he lifted a hand to brush away tears he couldn't restrain.

"See for yourself."

Mark looked to where the other pointed and saw something emerge from one path of the maze ... a fawn. She wobbled towards them, unafraid. Mark tried to stand but the dizziness returned, striking him down. As his vision faded, he was sure he heard Alice's voice.

* * * * *
Mark stared out the window of his Napa Valley home at leafless tress and a leaden sky. Winter. But soon spring would follow ... death and rebirth. Mark smiled, his gaze turning from the window to a print that hung on the wall nearby ... Ariadne by JW Waterhouse. A gift from his sister. He idly wondered why she'd chosen this particular print. He knew the story of Ariadne from Greek mythology ... the daughter of King Minos of Crete, she was abandoned by her lover Theseus and the God Dionysos rescued her, having fallen in love with her. But why ...

"Hey, big brother. Are you taking me to lunch, or what?"

Mark turned and gave Alice a hug, all thoughts of Greek mythology banished.

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