The Eye of Madness (26 page)

Donna explained how she hoped to gain redemption by possessing the body of this wretched drug addict. The young teenage runaway was passed out in a dark alley when the eye of the storm arrived.

“If I hadn't been in the right place at the right moment, this young girl would be dead right now. I guess that is something positive I have done,” she explained, and then paused as she rubbed a tear from her eye. “She is still here; I can feel her in the back of my mind. She is scared to death, but at least she is sober for the first time in a long while.”

Jack moved his leg slightly.

“You better spit it out because I'm about to kill you!” Jack thought. He was almost able to move his lips with the words in his head.

He found her explanation pretty far-fetched … dark souls seeking redemption? True enough, there were dark souls. He had communed with them in dark places, gaining more of a comforting feeling than anything terrible or evil. He also saw their handiwork and admired their creativity, especially with what they did to the old lady in his cage. Yet … dark souls possessing someone? No one possessed him. He was who he had been for the last twenty-six years and nobody or no dark soul had changed him. Besides, for what did he need redemption or atonement? He had done nothing wrong. He performed a service to society and so what if he enjoyed it. Weren't you supposed to take pleasure in your work?

After Donna explained everything about dark souls and redemption, she forced herself to look into his eyes. She was noticeably shaken when she saw his maniacal rage still etched on his face. One of his legs moved a little. She turned her gaze back to the floor again. Still, she kept a wary peripheral eye on him.

“They know I can move about in the dark, Jack. That's why they are keeping me in a cell down the hall, but …” she paused and shifted her weight as she rose to her feet. “They don't know who I really am and I have no intention of telling them. I want you to be the only one to know, Jack.”

One of his arms began to twitch and she took a couple of steps back.

“My name … when I was alive … was Mary,” she said as his other arm began to move. She took a couple more steps toward the door.

“My full name was Mary Tudor and then I became Mary I, the Queen of England for a time after my father and half-brother died.”

She watched Jack as he tried to struggle to his hands and knees. The clicking of the lock echoed through the cell as the guard entered. Before the door swung open, she said one final thing. Contempt and shame dripped from her voice.

“They called me Bloody Mary.”

The world inside the cabin seemed to move in slow motion as the roar of the tornado reached a deafening pitch. Instinct took over as everyone scrambled for cover.

Cecil climbed under the flipped sofa with Barbara. He covered her with his body before pulling it on top of them. A moment later, he realized his mistake as the darkness engulfed them. He heard Barbara moan before his own nightmare returned. The snakes attacked with a vengeance. They bit and slithered, while they whispered their suggestions. He didn't care about anything other than getting away or dying, there were no other options. He was no longer aware of the terror now barreling down on them.

Cecil slammed his head as hard as he could against the sofa. In his mind, he was back in the canoe which had flipped over, trapping him in a nest of water moccasins. He had received about his thirtieth snakebite when there was a bright flash and he was back under the couch with Barbara. Her face now grimaced with terror. The thing was, he could see, really see everything. A couple of lanterns and a flashlight now flanked them, giving off their glowing shield of protection. He winced and grasped Barbara tighter as screams and yells of their companions erupted from outside. It was a hellish sound mixed with the maddening howl of the tornado. His friends were still out there and he was helpless to do anything to save them. All he could do was protect his wife and hang on.

The sofa rattled as if a giant hand was shaking it back and forth. Cecil hung on for dear life. Bits of debris and glass blew through the open areas between the sofa and the floor. They cut his arms and a large shard of glass embedded in his leg. He hung on, covering Barbara and uttering a silent prayer over and over. After an eternity, the noise dissipated leaving only eerie silence.

Cecil squinted as he was blinded by a warm trickle of blood into his eye. When his eyes adjusted, he could see light streaming in from outside. It was not artificial light, it was bright sunlight. He looked down at Barbara; the terrified expression was still there, but not quite as harsh. He kissed her on the forehead and then reached up with the shirtsleeve of his left arm. He wiped away his blood on her face. He then pressed his sleeve against his forehead to stop the bleeding from his head wound.

Once her face was clean, he rose up, pushing the sofa up with his back. A sharp pain in his leg caused his body to tense. He landed on Barbara with a huff. He reached down and found the glass shard sticking out of his leg and jerked it out. To his relief, it had only penetrated about an inch into his flesh, however the pain radiated all the way to the bone. He took deep breaths until the pain subsided. Gingerly, he began to push up again. The pain came back, but he gritted his teeth. The sofa rose in the air, spilling in an abundance of sunlight. With his uncut left arm, he pushed it over.

A sudden bizarre thought ran through his mind as shielded his eyes from the light. He thought of The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy disappeared in a dark tornado, only to find herself in the bright and colorful land of Oz. The tornado was gone, the storm was gone, and pure sunlight streamed in, yet something wasn't right. Even on the brightest sunny days, there was not this much light in the cabin. Some artificial light was still required to keep the shadows at bay. When Cecil finally looked up the reality hit him like a cold wave. The roof of the cabin was gone. The wall was gone as well, he might as well be sitting outside on a hardwood floor. Glass and debris were scattered all about him and stretched as far as he could see to the woods and beyond.

Cecil hoisted himself up and sat down on the couch. He wiped blood and sweat out of his eyes and looked about the room. Running on pure adrenaline, he bounced to his feet. Oblivious to the pain in his leg, Cecil bellowed a single horrified and sorrowful shriek.

CHAPTER 28

THE AFTERMATH

“To absent friends …”

~Anonymous

Steffanie Garrison sat in an upstairs window of the White House watching the storm clouds in the distance. The welcoming sunshine beaming through a break in the clouds was akin to the way she felt at the moment. Her grandfather had left the premises and would be gone for a while. She relaxed for the first time since making the phone call to her grandfather a few days ago. A decision she now regretted more than anything.

She had made a new friend in Carmella. They were going to meet in the kitchen for dinner later. She still didn't understand why she wouldn't help her get away and search for her parents.

If her grandfather did anything right, it was shielding her from the atrocities surrounding them. He kept her confined as the corpses were being scooped up around the Executive residence. As she sat in the window, she could hear the sounds of heavy equipment in the distance. For all she knew in her twelve year old brain, they could be building a new theme park rather than scooping up decaying remains. She had no clue what reality existed a few blocks from her. She witnessed the chaos and the death from the window of her grandfather's house, yet she still had no concept of its scope.

Steff wanted to leave, she wanted to run away, and she wanted things to be the way they were before. She was scared. She also trusted Carmella. This trust was the one positive thing she had going for her.

She looked forward to their dinner tonight and decided she didn't want to wait another couple of hours; she would go and find her now. Steff slid down from her seat and slipped out the door. Carmella had told her to stay put until she came for her. She didn't consider it a real demand, as when her grandfather told her to stay put. The one time she disobeyed him, she regretted it. The massacre in Lafayette Square was like the remnant of an unforgettable nightmare.

She walked down the hall, passing several staffers and Secret Service agents. They either gave her a curt nod or ignored her altogether. Steff was glad they didn't try and corral her back into her room. She descended the stairs and was surprised to find the great entrance hall deserted. When she didn't hear any voices, she retreated up one floor and stepped into the center hall. To her left were the library and Vermeil room. She was about to go that way when she heard voices to her right. She turned and headed toward the far end of the hallway with her head cocked, listening for familiar voices. As Steff passed the China Room and the Diplomatic Reception Room, the voices got louder. She could tell it was several people, both men and women. By the time she passed the Map Room, she knew the voices were coming from a closed office door about twenty feet in front of her on the left. As she approached the door, she almost knocked. A single word stayed her hand:

“Garrison.”

It was a man's voice. As she pressed herself against the wall, she heard a woman respond, it was Carmella.

“For God's sake, would you keep your voice down! His granddaughter is here … do you want her to hear?” she said.

“What … are you afraid she's going to tell her grandpappy?” a deep male voice snapped.

“Of course not!” Carmella hissed. “But he is her grandfather and she is a little girl, show some consideration!”

“We don't have time for consideration!” another man interjected. “The old bastard is not here and he took his cronies with him. If we are going to act then we need to do it now!”

“He is at Quantico and we are here. Just what the hell do you intend to do?” a woman asked.

“I think a well-placed bomb would do nicely,” the man responded.

“What … you intend to blow the Oval Office to hell and destroy hundreds of years of history?” the woman chirped.

“Better that then let him destroy this country and perhaps the rest of the world with it!” a man yelled. Steff didn't need to put her ear close to the door now.

“I told y'all to keep your damn voices down!” Carmella said in a hoarse whisper. “You dumb asses are going to cut your own throats and this will be over before it begins!”

A new voice entered the conversation, a deep male voice. It not only projected authority, but a soothing calmness as well. “We must be prudent above all else,” the man said. “This house, and the presidency, mean a lot to the American people. This could end up being as detrimental as everything this accursed storm brought with it. Besides, it is foolish to burn down your house to kill a cockroach … and that is, after all, what we are talking about here.”

There was a smattering of laughter from the others in the room.

“You are right, Mr. Midkiff,” Carmella said. “We must be sensible with our actions.”

There was a pause for several moments before the man with the golden voice continued. “Why don't we return to our normal duties for now and consider this carefully. Let's meet back here at 9 PM, shall we?”

There was a faint mumbling and the creaking of furniture on the old hardwood floors as everyone got up. Steff was in a trance when she heard the group's plans for her Grandfather. She was so lost in thought, she almost forgot where she was. They would be coming through the door any second. She came to her senses a few seconds before the door clicked open. Steff had barely enough time to scamper into the Map Room. She almost rolled underneath a large camel back sofa before she heard the excitement of the darkness beneath. Instead, she quickly scooted to a fully lit and obscured corner behind it.

Steff heard voices and footsteps pass, but never saw anyone because she curled up into a tight ball with her back to the door. She lay there trembling for several minutes. When she was sure everyone had moved on, she climbed out and took a seat in a large armchair by the fireplace.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to process all the feelings flowing through her. The thought of her Granddad blown to pieces horrified her. She also felt betrayed because the woman she trusted, the woman who was her friend, was plotting with the others to kill him. But the thing tearing at her heart more than anything was, deep down, she agreed with them. This made her feel ashamed. Yes, she believed her grandfather had done some terrible things, and yes, she believed he needed to be stopped. But, blowing him up? There must be another way.

Her tears flowed harder because she knew there was no reasoning with him. She had seen his stubbornness and arrogance first-hand. Anything short of God himself showing up in a flaming chariot telling him to stop would have no effect on the man. He was her grandfather and this single fact made it almost impossible to see the full reality of the situation. She just couldn't bring herself to condemn him.

Steff covered her eyes with the palms of her hands as she sobbed. “Stop being such a little girl!” she told herself. “You turned your family in because you didn't want to live in a stupid cabin, because you wanted a clean bed and better food. Well … you've got it now, how does it feel you stupid little girl?”

Whatever maturity she had in her, pinned her predicament squarely on her own shoulders. Her dilemma would have been difficult enough for the most mature adults. She didn't think it was possible to hold so much love and so much hate for one person at the same time. Her aching heart, churning stomach, and tortured soul were a testament.

She began to cry harder as images of her parents crossed her mind. They were hiding out like a bunch of rats in a hole. However, she knew the logical scenario suggested if they were hiding in dark places, they were dead now. She cried harder.