The Eye of Madness (12 page)

“Hello?” he said.

“Jesus … Jack!” rasped the familiar voice of his friend, Sean Poindexter. “Are you okay? We've been calling all night! What happened?”

Jack touched the back of his head as he thought of an excuse. It dawned on him to tell the truth; at least some of it.

“Oh, thank God I left the lights on!” he said breathlessly as he relished the dark room.

“What happened?” Sean repeated.

Jack took a deep breath and then exhaled, playing for dramatic effect.

“I-I fell in my bedroom and hit my head. I was out cold.”

“Do you need medical help?”

“No … besides you couldn't get to me anyway, could you?” he asked. He didn't care other than to test the possibility of receiving an unwanted visit before he could cover his tracks.

“No,” Sean admitted. “But … bloody hell, mate … are you going to make it okay tonight?”

Again Jack took another dramatic deep breath. “Well … I've got lights. As long as the power holds out I think I will be fine.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line before Sean spoke in a quiet voice. “There is talk of cutting power to nonessential areas and reserving it for relocation bases,” he said.

“Well am I in a nonessential area?” Jack asked, feigning worry.

“They think everyone has evacuated from there, Jack. It's going to shut off soon. I hope not until tomorrow.”

“I guess,” Jack began. He was starting to enjoy the game he now played with his friend. Perhaps it wasn't right to do that to a friend, but what Sean didn't know wouldn't hurt him. “I guess I can light a bunch of candles and get a few flashlights. I can sleep in the bathroom. It's small enough. They should provide enough light in case the power goes out.”

“Yes, yes do that,” Sean agreed. “With the commander's permission, I'll be out first thing in the morning to get you.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Jack said. “Thanks for watching out for me.”

“You stay safe, mate,” Sean said. “Don't do anything bloody stupid.”

“Okay,” he said with thick apprehension. “I'll be careful and will see you in the morning.” He didn't think there was any danger of visitors tonight, but why break character? “And Sean …” he said.

“Yes?”

“Pray for me,” he said, and then hung up the phone. He smiled with satisfaction as he placed the receiver back on the cradle. He had plenty of time to scour his flat for traces of the old woman and to dismantle and store the cage in the attic. This was where he kept it for the brief period of time when he had a girlfriend, but it was several months since he last entertained visitors. He grew rather complacent and a little over confident leaving it assembled in his closet. This proved to be a good wake up call.

Jack would not spend a night cowering in his bathroom; he would spend it in relative peace and harmony. After he performed his clean up duties, he would spend a restful night in his own bed. Of course, he was no fool; he would still leave a light on. He may be immune to the darkness, but things could change. As bizarre as it seemed to him, the whispering of the dark gave him comfort. There was not a living soul for miles, yet he did not feel alone. He may feel comforted by the dark, but he still wouldn't turn his back on it.

When satisfied that all evidence of Gwenda or any of his previous guests was wiped clean, he stored the cage in the attic. Jack walked outside and gazed up at the constellations in the moonless sky. He marveled at their majestic beauty, which he felt he was seeing for the first time in his life. The whispering and clicking of the dark came from everywhere, it even sounded as if it came from the stars. He smiled with satisfaction. The dark had terrified him when he saw it in the woods that morning, but now his fear was as far away as the stars above. Jack went back in the house and lay down on his bed. With little effort, he drifted into a deep and restful sleep.

General Garrison sat in the bright situation room waiting for his associates to arrive. Night had fallen moments earlier and he sat ready to make the most important radio broadcast of his life. He would tell the nation and the world that he and he alone, was ready to lead.

The door opened behind him and the Joint Chiefs entered the room. Each took a seat at the round wooden conference table where Garrison sat in front of a large microphone. They all gave a halfhearted, yet polite smile.

Their demeanor and countenance was amiable, but their intentions were nothing of the sort. The men convened a private meeting a short time after their torturous incident in the Oval Office. They all felt a measured degree of loyalty to General Garrison, after all; he was their chairman. But after a short debate, they recognized their greatest loyalty was not to the general. They all swore to preserve, protect, and defend the United States and its Constitution. He was so far outside the boundaries of the Constitution, even a novice of the law could see. He had assumed control, blocking out the Speaker of the House. There was no way he would relinquish control without a direct order from God or a bullet to the head. The men decided the latter was their best and only option. Garrison must die.

The Marine colonel was the only man who carried a sidearm when he wore his dress uniform. As a result, they nominated him as the assassin. He sat down to the left of Garrison and casually flicked open the holster flap. He was going to do it. The only thing he was uncertain of was when. Should he do it now, or should he wait and do it live on the air, or should he wait until after the broadcast? Perhaps doing it live would kill two birds with one stone. He could eliminate the threat and show the American public what a fraud the general is. Of course, there was always the chance it would make him a martyr. The chiefs did not discuss the timing of the act.

After several long moments of silent pondering, he decided now was the time. The sooner the better. He slipped his hand towards the butt of his pistol. As his fingertips slid over the smooth wooden handle, he started with surprise as the door jerked opened. A stoic Secret Service Agent stuck his head inside.

“One minute, sir,” he said and then closed the door behind him.

“My God,” the colonel thought, “he's already got the Secret Service treating him as the president.”

The colonel's pulse quickened as he glanced at his peers. They all sat still with placid and unreadable faces, waiting for what was to come. The colonel could see in the men's eyes the confident urging for him to carry out the plan. He had their support. At least, he thought so. Maybe it was fear. God knows, it was eating him up inside. It was a difficult task to kill a man even if you happen to be a trained soldier. There was something different about the general, something special. The dark seemed to obey him. He tamped his fears down deep and tried to focus on the task at hand. The colonel had just slipped his hand back to the holster when the red light in front of the microphone came on. The general cleared his throat and then began to speak.

CHAPTER 13

TRUE NATURE

“The true nature of evil is that it is so very casual.”

~James St. James

The last rays of sunlight disappeared across the western valley. The dark engulfed the outside of the cabin and the horrific noise invaded the walls and windows. Cecil, Derek and Burt spent the past two hours refueling the generators and setting up as many lights as possible. They decided to abandon the upstairs, especially during the night. They stockpiled every sheet, pillow, lamp, and toiletries downstairs. They stacked sheets, blankets, and pillows in a pile in the middle of the room. No one would sleep in a bedroom, the living room area would suffice for tonight and as many nights as necessary. It was easier to light and to defend than any other area of the house. In truth, even though no one said it aloud, nobody wanted to be alone. They cleared the furniture back against the walls before dark, but no one moved to claim a spot on the floor. Even though they were all exhausted, sleep was the last thing on anyone's mind.

Sam Andrews, a.k.a. Musial, sat in silence for the last couple of hours, staring out the window. He gave everyone the creeps with the strange mixture of expectancy and fear on his face. It was as if he was hopeful for something a great distance away, but at the same time, the hope terrified him. He had not said a word since he announced he wanted salvation, even though Cecil and Burt questioned him for an hour about what he meant. He seemed frustrated and maybe a little aggravated with himself. Perhaps he tipped his hand and revealed his true motive too soon. Musial refused eye contact and continued to stare out the window and into the woods until they gave up. Burt considered shutting the curtains to change the unnerving countenance on his face. However, he thought better of it. They needed all the sunlight they could get. Closing the curtains on the large picture window would have created a dangerous dark spot in the room.

Everyone sat around the living room with unease. They felt as if they were sitting in a small and untethered shark cage in the middle of the ocean; a school of enormous great white sharks circling just out of view in the murky waters. Derek brought the radio from the kitchen and set it up in the middle of the room. They hoped to get some news about what was going on in the world. It surprised them to hear a live broadcast from General Garrison.

Cecil sat on the sofa caressing Barbara's hand. His stomach twisted into knots when he heard his father's voice. It had been just twenty-four hours since he last heard the arrogant tone of General Garrison as he used Steff to further his cause. He could feel the pitiable stares of everyone, but he focused his attention on Barbara as the general began to speak.

“My fellow Americans and fellow citizens around the world. I bid you all a good evening, morning or day, wherever you may be in God's beautiful world. Times are dark right now and I can assure you I mean no pun by my statement. This is not the time for jokes. I believe this to be mankind's most serious hour since the great flood so many years ago. God chose Noah to lead his living creations onto the ark to escape the punishment for the world's iniquities. Today is different because we do not have a flood of water, but instead a flood of darkness. It is a dark evil that will drown each and every one in its wake more ruthlessly than any flood ever could.” He took a deep breath and continued in an ‘
I told you so'
voice. “I warned about these Impals for weeks on end, but there were many who refused to listen. I warned they were deceiving demons and now they are showing their true nature. I have prayed for God's protection and guidance. He has seen fit to speak to me today.”

Everyone exchanged glances at this pronouncement. Even Cecil lifted his head and exchanged frowns with Burt. He could feel something devious, something big coming … he knew his father. He knew he rarely, if ever, bluffed. He also knew that what he said was always literal. General Garrison was as literal as ever tonight.

General Garrison's voice dropped to a somber and reverent tone. “The president was killed by Impals a few weeks ago. Our new president, who was the former vice-president, was killed by Impals this morning. The Speaker of the House is locked down at the capitol. This puts the line of succession in a sticky mess. But, this is not what is important …” he continued, his voice a little more upbeat. “The important thing is that God has shown me today what needs to be done. He gave me a great gift to accomplish the task. He-.”

The general was cut off by an incoherent shout and a single gunshot. Next they heard the tormented screams of several men. There was another gunshot followed by three more and then silence. The only noise was the uncanny whispering and clicking. It now not only came from outside, but also from the radio speakers.

Everyone sitting around the radio sat bolt upright in surprise. Cecil's guts filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions. It surprised him, but he also harbored a small degree of hope. Did someone do the right thing and put this mad man down? He felt guilty for harboring this thought. After all, this was his father, but he was also the tyrant who believed in the genocide of the soul. He was also the bastard who held his youngest daughter and was responsible for the death of his oldest. When he focused on this perspective, a bullet hole in the old man's head seemed an appealing prospect. This hope was dashed a moment later. There was a shuffling noise on the radio and then two deep breaths. Then came the firm and defiant words of General Garrison. “I apologize for the interruption folks, but if you would indulge me, I would like to paint you a picture. A member of my own staff, under the control of the Impals, just tried to assassinate me while I was attempting to bring comfort to the world. God is good, God is great, and God has spoken again tonight for all to hear!”

He stopped for a long dramatic pause before continuing. Cecil focused his attention back on Barbara as she slumbered beside him. Her safety was the only thing he controlled and that control was fragile at best. Maybe it was a good thing his father wasn't assassinated then. What would have happened to Steff? She was very much on his mind as well, but he was powerless to help her until they got away from this cabin … if they got away. Perhaps the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the general continued. “Let me finish painting this picture for you. I am sitting in the situation room of the White House, around the oval conference table. I have a microphone in front of me. All the joint chiefs are here with me, but all of them are now dead. We were all sitting here and the lights went out during the incident. I am sure as you may have guessed by the noise coming through your radio; we are all in the dark.”

He paused for several long moments to give his audience a chance to absorb and process this information.

“How?” Burt sputtered, but before anyone could reply, the general continued.