The Eye of Madness (11 page)

“How different?” Cecil prodded.

“Well … segregation has ended, for the most part, in your world. In mine, it is the status quo.”

“Are you saying the devils in the darkness are human souls?” Cecil asked.

“I am indeed.”

“Why are you segregated?” Burt asked. He felt he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it aloud.

“I believe you already know that, but I am a polite guest and I will humor you with an answer.” He took a deep breath before replying. When he spoke, he wore a shameful frown. “Because we are bad … because we are all bad.”

“Bad, how?” Cecil asked.

Musial glanced at the women and then turned to Burt and Cecil with a half-smile. “I could regale you with all the nasty details, but there are ladies present. Besides …” he said, focusing on Cecil. “You already have a pretty good idea, don't you?”

The cold chills of the serpents touch, the sharp sting of their bites, and their horrific deeds gave Cecil a chill. He knew better than anyone what the darkness held. The only image that came to mind, the only way he could describe it to anyone else, was the scene from the movie
Silence of the Lambs
. In the scene, Agent Clarice Starling walks the basement hallway of the asylum to interview Dr. Hannibal Lecter. As she walked, she passed several cells, each containing the darkest and disturbed minds known to man. Each committed horrific deeds deserving of confinement to such a place. They had all forfeited their humanity to the point where segregation from others was necessary. They took great pride in their acts and felt no remorse at all. The only thing they felt was the strong and primal desire to do it again and again and again.

Everyone turned to Cecil. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to quell a strong migraine, and then collapsed into a wicker rocker. Cecil kept his eyes shut and breathed deep until Musial spoke again.

“I wasn't there when it happened. I want you to know this,” Musial said with deep sincerity.

“You expect us to believe it?” Burt said. “After you killed Dr. Winder and attacked Cecil and his wife?”

He moved toward him as if he was going to strike the bound entity, but Cecil grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said then got up. “Are you saying all the evil people who existed are in the darkness?”

“Most of them,” Musial said.

“What … you mean Hitler is running around in the dark?” Burt asked, incredulous.

“No, not running around … waiting. Right out there,” Musial said nodding his head at the window again toward the large shaded area in the woods.

Burt let out a barking laugh. “Ha, you mean to tell me Adolf Hitler is right out there?”

Musial nodded.

“All the way from Germany?” Burt laughed.

“The dark knows no borders, Mr. Golden. I think I have been everywhere in the world at one time or another.”

“Doing what?” Cecil asked.

A troubled expression washed over his face and he looked away.

“Doing what?” Cecil repeated.

Musial stared straight ahead, refusing eye contact as he spoke. “Seeking to satisfy our nature.”

“What exactly is your nature and how did you satisfy it?” Burt asked.

When Musial answered, he spoke with the voice of a shy individual forced to describe his nude form.

“We are black souls. Our nature is a twisted view of the world and its values. We see death as a cleansing mechanism. A perfect and natural mechanism. Death is an end to a means which we strive to fulfill. We have no greater satisfaction”

“Jesus, you believe you are doing good?” Burt said.

Musial nodded. “It starts out that way. Then there starts to be an enjoyment in the work, an intoxicating addiction to the act consumes and drives us.”

“Why so vicious? Why now?” Charlotte asked, her voice cracking.

Musial smiled at her and answered her question in a polite and gentlemanly tone. “For decades, for centuries, for millennia the dark void imprisoned us. Sometimes we were aware of the world around us, but most of the time we just whispered to each other in the abyss. Our frustration grew in proportion to our insatiable desire to return to our nature. On a few rare occasions we could break through and cause damage through a weak minded and ignorant individual. We have contributed to your news over the centuries more than you know.”

He started to smile, but thought better of it. Instead, he returned to his same respectful tone. “It was never physical, always suggestions whispered to a like-minded party. We were the voices in their head, the enablers convincing them that their cause and methods were fair and true.”

“Where are those individuals now?” Cecil asked.

“Most joined us in the void; a few of the weak minded … well, we're not sure what happened to them. Maybe they got a pass for their stupidity.” He turned back to Charlotte. “Now that this storm has freed us, we are able to have much more influence. Now it is not just the weak and like-minded who are susceptible, everyone is. Every time a person steps into the dark it is akin to throwing a raw steak into a cage with a starved dog.”

“Why do you make them kill themselves?” Burt asked. “Why don't you do it yourself?”

Musial looked at him as if it was the most stupid question he ever heard. “Kind of hard when you don't have a body, don't you think?”

“Why are you only in the dark?” Cecil asked, trying to diffuse Burt's anger at Musial's sarcasm.

“We are dark souls; we have lived in the dark since we died. We cannot enter the light. That is all I know.”

“You're in the light right now,” Sally said, noting the ray of sun still shining on him.

“No, I'm in the good Mr. Andrews,” he corrected. “He gives me a lot of freedom.”

Burt seemed to ignore everything else Musial said. He was still focused on his former comment.

“So, you're trying to tell me Adolf Hitler is right out there?” Burt asked again.

“Yes, among many others,” Musial said and then spoke as if he was divulging confidential information. “I must warn you, he has an exceptional desire for you and your wife to wander into the dark … just fair warning.”

Burt knew what Musial was implying.

“We're not Jewish!” he protested. “I was raised Methodist!”

Musial shrugged. “Doesn't matter to him, it's all in the name.”

“So you can take possession of someone and can … move around?” Cecil asked.

“If only it were that easy,” Musial said. Then he sounded as if he were reading a grocery list. “First we have to be willing to leave the comfort of the dark, not many of us are. Then we have to find a host without inhibitions … in this case drunk. Last but not least, we have to get to them before the rest of the dark.”

“So why did you take control over Andrews? Trying to kill all of us yourself and not share the fun with your buddies?” Burt snorted.

“I assure you sir, if I wanted you dead, you would be. I would not have gone through the trouble of introducing myself.”

“Then what do you want?” Cecil asked, his patience wearing thin.

Musial turned regarded him with the most desperate and longing expression imaginable. In another time, place, or lifetime perhaps, Cecil might have felt sorry for him. “Salvation,” Musial pleaded. “I want salvation.”

CHAPTER 12

THE BRETHREN

“For judgment will be without mercy to anyone who has shown no mercy, mercy triumphs over judgment.”

~The Holy Bible, King James Version, James 2:13

Steffanie Garrison didn't see her grandfather after they entered the White House. A pair of armed guards ushered her upstairs as General Garrison went to the Oval Office. She covered her eyes to shield them from the glare of the powerful supplemental lights.

It reminded her of an image of Heaven she saw in a movie once. A large, bright, and airy room with the chorus of angels serenading new arrivals. The booming, authoritative voice of God speaking from somewhere out of sight. No, the inside of the White House wasn't quite the same. The angelic chorus was the stomping and murmuring of soldiers. The voice of God was the loud voice of her grandfather barking commands. Steff, while maybe immature and naïve, was also intelligent. She was beginning to suspect these soldiers and her grandfather were as far away from angels and God as one could get. General Garrison thought his demonstration of immunity to the darkness would impress his granddaughter. Instead, it terrified her. She loved her grandfather and admired him. This internal conflict made her feel sick to her stomach. A lot of emotions swirled about inside.

The soldiers escorted her down a hallway. About halfway, they stopped in front of a green door and ushered her inside. The small bedroom with white painted walls seemed the most well lit of all. The soldiers closed the door without a word and left her alone. Steff sat on the bed and stared at the bright wooden floor for a while before she started to cry. She missed her mother, she missed her sister and, in spite of her misplaced anger; she missed her father. She wanted to go home.

General Garrison led a small group of advisors into the Oval Office, and asked them to sit. Once they settled on the sofa and chairs in front of the Resolute desk, he closed the door and reached for the light switch. To the men's surprise and horror, he flicked the switch. The large Bow windows were still covered so the room fell into complete darkness. As if a radio were switched on, the insidious hissing and clicking returned, followed by several agonized screams. After a long two seconds, he flicked the switch back on, vanquishing the dark. The room was quiet except for the labored breathing of the advisors. They stared at him with bulging and horrified eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” one of them sputtered.

“You can't—,” another one began. He let out a tormented cry when General Garrison flicked the switch again.

“Oh yes, I can,” Garrison thought. “I'll show you how much I can.”

This time, he paused a second longer before flicking the switch back on.

The men stared at him with desperation, yet they remained defiant.

“Screw you!” one chubby officer spat.

General Garrison shook his head as his mouth creased into a wan smile. He started to speak, but thought better of it. Garrison flicked the switch again, yielding the same terrible result. This time, he held it for an additional two seconds.

“How dare the punk use such profane language towards God's chosen leader,” Garrison thought. “He may have to be taught a lesson.”

Yes indeed. A lesson seemed in order for this fat and profane colonel, but not now. When he turned the light back on for the third and final time, he folded his arms and spoke as if he were addressing a room full of children.

“Now that you see what the dark can do, know this. It has no effect on me. And why, do you ask?” Garrison said as he walked over and sat down behind the desk.

They stared at him with horror. The resentment was still there, buried deep in each of them. They were all too afraid to show it. After a long dramatic pause, Garrison spoke again. “The reason is quite simple. God has chosen me to lead against these demonic Impals. Therefore, he has made a shield about me to protect me from their evil intentions. I, and I alone, must lead.”

He closed his eyes and, without invitation to the others to join in, he began a loud prayer. By the time he finished, each of the men had chills running down their spines. It was arrogant, it was forceful, and the implications were horrifying. In short it made each of them question their own good judgment because it was also very persuasive. Perhaps he was right. The main points of his prayer seemed to fit the facts. He had demonstrated his immunity to the dark. The last thing any of them wanted was for the general to turn the lights off again.

“What do we need to do, general?” the chubby colonel asked.

“Stay in the light and follow my lead,” he said in a distant voice.

The five men, a Marine colonel, Army general, Air Force general, and a Navy rear admiral had all served the two former presidents. However, they all reported to the president via General Garrison who was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. Now the president was gone from the chain of command, leaving only the general. All of them, without exception, questioned the constitutionality of what was happening. They all knew better than to voice their concerns. They all knew of the general's track record for brutality. Being God's chosen leader would not quell this propensity; if anything it would enhance it. They all gave a stiff nod of agreement.

“I'm going to be making a radio address right before nightfall. I want all of you to be present with me when I do.”

Again they all nodded.

General Garrison stood up and checked his watch. “One hour gentlemen, meet me in the ready room in one hour.”

He then got up and strode across the room to the door. As he opened it, he heard something behind him. It was very faint, but still audible in the silent still of the house.

“He's bat shit crazy!” one of the men hissed.

“Where the hell did he get the authority?” another whispered.

General Garrison shook his head with disappointment as he shut the door behind him. He might have to make a few small revisions for his radio announcement.

Jack had been down to the nearby moor to dispose of the body, so he didn't hear his phone ring. In fact, it rang several times in the past hour. His commanding officer, Colonel Fielder, started calling just before dark. His friend, Sean, tried to call as well. They continued at regular intervals. Jack walked back inside as his phone began to ring yet again. At first, it startled him, and then he experienced a moment of panic. He knew who was calling without listening to the messages. The question was—what the hell was he going to tell them?

He frowned and placed his hands on his hips as he stared at the silhouette of the phone in the dark. The whispers of the dark were miles away from his attention. Maybe he would tell them he fell asleep and woke up after dark? No, that was stupid; nobody in his right mind would fall asleep in this situation. But, was Jack in his right mind? He believed he was. He couldn't tell them he was immune to the dark. It would bring questions and scrutiny he did not want. He needed to make up an excuse and he must do it fast. He wasn't sure if they could search for him in the dark, but he had to assume it was possible. He strode across the room and snatched up the receiver.