Nature of Darkness

by Robert W. Stephens

  “No lights on inside,” Penfield said.

  “Yeah, but somebody’s home. That Ford Explorer didn’t drive here on its own.”

  McMahon parked his SUV behind the Ford and both men climbed out.

  “One second, Alex.”

  McMahon opened the backseat door. He reached into the vehicle and removed a small black bag. He pulled out two tactical flashlights and two Bushnell night vision monoculars. He handed one of each item to Penfield.

  “You never know,” McMahon continued.

  Penfield slipped the items into his coat pocket. They walked onto the front porch. McMahon pulled open the screen door. Its old hinges squeaked in protest.

  He banged on the door.

  “Dr. Bachman, open up. This is the FBI.”

  Penfield watched their rear as they waited for a response.

  McMahon pounded on the door again.

  “This is the FBI. We need you to come to the door, Dr. Bachman,” McMahon continued.

  Penfield stepped to the edge of the porch and looked up to the second floor. He assumed the bedrooms were up there, but there were no lights coming on.

  “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way,” McMahon said, and he stepped back.

  “Wait.”

  Penfield reached into his pocket and removed the lock-picking kit.

  “It will take me no time to get past this old lock,” Penfield continued.

  He approached the door but tried the knob first. It turned freely in his hand.

  “It’s already unlocked,” Penfield said.

  McMahon said nothing. He pulled his weapon and looked at Penfield.

  “Ready?” McMahon asked.

  Penfield put the kit back into his coat pocket and pulled his Sig Sauer. Then he nodded.

  McMahon pushed the door open and Penfield was through first. He took the room to the left, which was a living room. He scanned the space with his flashlight. The furniture looked as dated as the house. McMahon entered a second later and moved to the room on the right.

  “Dining room’s clear. Let’s check the back,” McMahon said.

  Penfield followed McMahon to the rear of the house. There were two rooms – a kitchen and a den. They went into the den first. They found dated furniture again. There was a small sofa with a green floral print and a lazy boy recliner to the side of that. The recliner looked old and it leaned to one side. A square television with an antenna on top sat on the opposite side of the room from the sofa.

  “I haven’t seen one of those in forever,” McMahon said.

  “Looks like Mrs. Bachman didn’t do any remodeling after inheriting the house. My guess is this place has been abandoned for years,” Penfield said.

  They walked into the kitchen next. Penfield opened the refrigerator and saw it was filled with food. It was all fresh: lettuce, peppers, meat, and a liter of milk.

  “I take back what I said. Someone has been here,” Penfield continued.

  “Look at these, Alex.”

  Penfield turned and saw McMahon was standing by the stove. There were three colorful pots by Le Creuset, a premium French manufacturer.

  “Expensive tastes,” Penfield said.

  Penfield walked to the bay windows and looked outside. The field was covered in darkness, but he could make out a large metal door in the ground, not far from the kitchen. Then he remembered what Henry Atwater had said about Jenna.

  She’s under the ground. Probably in a basement.

  “Let’s check upstairs,” McMahon said.

  “Hold on, Doug.”

  Penfield walked over to a door at the far end of the kitchen. It had multiple deadbolt locks on it.

  “Who puts this many locks on the basement door?” Penfield asked.

  He unlocked the door and swung it inward. He flipped the switch at the top of the stairs and heard a light buzz to life. It did little to illuminate the stairway, though. Penfield removed the flashlight from his pocket and shined it downstairs. He saw nothing. He turned to McMahon. McMahon nodded.

  Penfield and McMahon walked down the stairway. The wooden boards were old, and they squeaked with each step they took. Penfield reached the end. He turned the corner and saw several white mannequins staring back at him.

  He moved deeper into the room, followed by McMahon. Penfield reached a table in the center of the basement. There was a metal ring on the table with blood around it. It was almost certainly where Jenna’s finger had been removed.

  “Alex.”

  Penfield turned and saw McMahon standing beside a steel table. It reminded Penfield of tables he’d seen in medical examiners’ labs.

  “This is probably where he took their faces,” McMahon continued.

  Penfield didn’t reply. He walked to the nearest mannequin and saw the mask of flesh that covered its face. He’d seen it before but that had been ten years ago. He took a quick glance at each mannequin, but it was impossible to tell if any of the faces belonged to Jenna.

  He watched as McMahon walked to the one nearest him. He stared at it for several seconds and then he moved to the next.

  “None of these are her,” McMahon said.

  “He knew we were coming. That’s why the front door was unlocked. It was an invitation to come inside.”

  “How could he have known?”

  “His main house. He knew we’d find nothing there, but he wanted to see what we’d do.”

  “You think he was watching you the whole time?” McMahon asked.

  Penfield scanned the room. Then he pointed to a camera attached to the metal duct work in the ceiling.

  “Look. He was watching them here too.”

  “Okay. He was ready for us. Where did they go?” McMahon asked.

  “He’s got thirty acres. There’s bound to be another structure on this property.”

  “We still have the second floor. Maybe we’ll find something there,” McMahon said.

  They left the basement and made their way to the second floor. They found three small bedrooms. One was the master bedroom. The other two had been converted to an arts and crafts room and a home office with a desk and a computer, which was about as old as the television in the living room.

  McMahon walked to the window in the bedroom. He pulled out his Bushnell night vision monocular and aimed it toward the vast field behind the house. Penfield watched as his friend slowly scanned the monocular back and forth.

  “Oh my God,” McMahon said. “It’s Jenna.”

  Penfield raised his night vision monocular to his eye. He aimed it out the window and spotted Jenna a few seconds later. She was sitting on the ground in the middle of an open field. It looked like she was leaning against a wooden post.

  McMahon started for the exit, but Penfield grabbed him.

  “No. It’s what he wants us to do.”

  “That’s my daughter out there.”

  “I know and we’re going to get her back.”

  Penfield looked out the window again with the monocular. He scanned the area and saw a patch of woods about seventy-five yards from Jenna.

  “That’s where he is.”

  “What’s your plan?” McMahon asked.

  Penfield walked out the front of the Bachman farmhouse. He made a wide circle to the left. He found the patch of woods again with the help of the night vision monocular. He oriented his body and then took off running. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, but he needed to have faith that the field was flat and unobstructed.

  After several seconds, he picked up his speed. He heard the engine of McMahon’s SUV roar to life in the distance. The vehicle approached Jenna in a wide arc from the opposite side of the house so that its headlights were pointed toward the woods.

  Penfield slowed as he got closer. He stopped but didn’t bother checking the progress of McMahon’s SUV. Penfield stepped into the woods. He scanned the area with his monocular but saw nothing.

  McMahon blasted the horn of his SUV, anything to distract the shooter. He was less
than thirty yards from Jenna and he still hadn’t heard a shot. Maybe Penfield was wrong. Maybe Bachman was long gone.

  McMahon slowed and started to maneuver his SUV so that it would be between Jenna and the woods.

  The man who claimed to be Timothy Bachman aimed the rifle at Jenna. Penfield had guessed that Bachman would wait for McMahon to be a few feet from his daughter and then he would pull the trigger.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

  Timothy Bachman slowly turned toward Penfield.

  “Put the rifle down and put your hands on top of your head,” Penfield continued.

  Bachman laid the rifle onto the ground. He stood, but he didn’t put his hands up.

  “I told you to put your hands on top of your head.”

  Bachman did nothing. Then Penfield watched in horror as two large wings unfolded from Bachman’s back. Bachman’s face seemed to vanish, and it was replaced by the hideous visages of three demonic beings.

  “What the hell are you?” Penfield asked.

  “You know our names. We are Loneliness. We are Emptiness. We are Despair,” a voice much deeper than Bachman’s said.

  “Why is Jenna still alive? You could have killed her at any point.”

  “You have seen us. And you believe. The old man doesn’t have long left. But you, you need to die. That’s why we brought you here.”

  “You’ve lost. It’s over,” Penfield said.

  “We have touched the woman. Now she will bring us to the son.”

  Bachman started to reach for his lower back.

  “Don’t move,” Penfield shouted.

  “Does it really matter whether it’s tonight or twenty years from now?” Bachman asked in his own voice.

  Bachman pulled a Glock from the back of his pants. He started to raise it toward Penfield. Then two shots rang out. Both hit Bachman in the center of his chest.

  Bachman dropped his gun. Then he smiled as if something humorous had just occurred to him. He dropped to his knees and then fell the rest of the way to the ground.

  Penfield put his Sig Sauer away. He removed his phone and sent McMahon a two-word text: All clear.

  35

  Celebrations

  A week had passed since Penfield and McMahon had rescued Jenna. McMahon had given him steady updates on the conclusion of the MAI investigation. As with everything that had to do with the case, the FBI’s findings seemed to create more questions than they answered.

  Penfield got an invitation from Cameron to visit Jenna at the McMahon household. She’d told Penfield that Jenna wanted to thank him in person. They offered to make him an elaborate dinner for his help. Penfield jumped at the chance for a home-cooked meal, especially from someone as talented as Cameron. There was also the fact that he’d been living off canned soup and tuna fish sandwiches for as long as he could remember.

  The drive from Elkton to Northern Virginia was as jammed with traffic as he’d expected it to be, but for once he didn’t mind. Jenna was safe and that’s all that mattered. When he pulled into their driveway, he saw Cameron in the open garage. Penfield parked his car behind hers and climbed out.

  “Hello, Alex,” Cameron said, and she waved.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” Penfield asked as he saw her rummaging through the packed garage.

  “I’m trying to find where Doug stored the wood chips for the smoker. I was going to smoke some salmon that you can take with you. Doug says your diet consists of bagged chips and Pop Tarts.”

  Penfield laughed.

  “Not quite, but also not far off.”

  “Doug should be home any minute. He called a while back. Said he’s stuck in traffic.”

  “I’m not surprised. It’s rough out there.”

  “The price you pay for living near the nation’s capital…Ah, here it is,” Cameron said, and she pulled a small bag of wood chips from a blue plastic container. “Why in the world would he have stored this under a stack of old newspapers?”

  Penfield shrugged his shoulders.

  “You know your husband better than I do.”

  “Jenna’s out back on the patio. She’s anxious to see you.”

  “Then I’ll make my way back there. Let me know if I can do anything,” Penfield said.

  “Nonsense. You’re the guest of honor tonight.”

  Penfield walked to the rear of the house. He didn’t see Jenna on the patio, though. Instead, she was sitting on a wooden swing hanging from a massive tree limb in the farthest corner of the yard. Penfield remembered helping McMahon hang the swing. Of course, back then, Jenna was barely tall enough to climb on to it without assistance from her father.

  As he got closer to her, she turned and looked at him. She smiled but it was nowhere near as bright as he’d seen in the past. Both of her hands were holding onto the ropes and he could see her missing ring finger. He was surprised she was doing as well as she was.

  “Good evening, Ms. McMahon.”

  “Uncle Alex,” she said, but she didn’t stand to greet him, not that he was offended.

  “You don’t know how happy I am to see you home,” Penfield continued.

  “Thank you for everything you did for me.”

  “You’re more than welcome, but you don’t ever have to thank me.”

  Jenna turned away from Penfield. She dragged the tips of her shoes against the dirt under the swing.

  Penfield felt he should say something else, but he was at a loss.

  Finally, Jenna spoke again.

  “My mother told me that she went to see a psychic to try to find me. She said not to tell my father.”

  “I heard she did that.”

  “He’s a friend of yours?”

  “I’ve never called him that before, but maybe he is a friend by now,” Penfield said.

  Jenna didn’t respond.

  “Why did you ask me about him?” Penfield asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is there something you want to talk about? If not, I understand.”

  Jenna suddenly became conscious of the fact that Penfield could see her damaged hand. She let go of the rope and covered her hand with the other.

  “Please know one thing, Jenna. I won’t ever judge you.”

  Jenna paused a long moment.

  Then she said, “Mom said that your friend claimed to have seen something strange when he interviewed that man at the psychiatric hospital. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

  “I do. He and I spoke about it at length.”

  “What did he see?”

  “Henry Atwater claims that he saw a shadow on the wall, but the shadow didn’t belong to the man in front of it.”

  “Were you with him when he saw it?” Jenna asked.

  “I was.”

  “Did you see it too?”

  “Not on that day, but I saw it.”

  Jenna looked away.

  “Did you see it too?” Penfield asked.

  She turned back to him.

  “You and Dad saw the basement he kept me in. He came downstairs a few times to give me food and talk to me, but most of the time I was alone. I saw something else the night you and Dad rescued me.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw the shadow of a figure on the walls. It had wings like a bird and three heads. At first, I thought maybe my mind confused it with the shadows of those horrible mannequins, but then I heard a voice. It told me I was going to die that night.”

  “Have you told your parents this?”

  “No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything. They’re ready to put me into therapy as it is.”

  “I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.”

  “What do you think it was? Do you think we just imagined it?” Jenna asked.

  “No, I don’t think we imagined it.”

  “Then what was it?”

  Before Penfield could try to explain, he heard a voice from behind him.

  “Alex! How did you b
eat me here?”

  Penfield turned and saw McMahon walking toward him and Jenna. He had two beers in his hands.

  “Well, I got a head start. What can I say?”

  McMahon handed him a beer.

  “To my little girl,” McMahon said, and he held his beer up to Penfield.

  Penfield clinked his bottle against McMahon’s.

  “You’re toasting to my rescue and I don’t even have a drink? Where’s mine?” Jenna asked.

  “You’re too young,” McMahon said.

  “Too young? I just turned twenty-two.”

  “Then you can’t mix alcohol with those pain pills you’re taking for your hand,” McMahon said.

  Penfield leaned closer to Jenna.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle Alex will sneak you one later,” he said.

  “Ah, Uncle Alex, always the softie,” McMahon said. “Come on Jenna, we need to help your mom in the kitchen.”

  “You know she doesn’t really want our help, right?” Jenna asked.

  “Sure, but she’ll complain if we don’t at least offer.”

  “Have I walked into a potential family squabble?” Penfield asked, and he smiled.

  “Not at all. Jenna is home again. Everything is good.”

  McMahon hugged his daughter as she stood.

  Penfield knew what McMahon was doing. He was trying to will her to be better. The investigation was officially closed, but he knew nothing was ever really over for the survivors, and that included Jenna McMahon. The young woman he’d known was now gone, replaced by a new version of Jenna. He hoped this woman would be stronger and more resilient, but he doubted it.

  He thought of that old phrase: That which does not kill me makes me stronger.

  As he followed McMahon and his daughter up to their house, Penfield touched his side, feeling the thick scar on his abdomen. The bullet that had struck him years ago had almost ended his life. He hadn’t come out of it stronger. If anything, he’d never recovered from the near-death experience.