The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  She wondered out into her lawn and screamed frantically for her absent kids. Amanda called Josh Dyer, and he phoned the police. Within minutes a cruiser was in her driveway. A half-hour later, Detective Michaels and Cobb were on site, along with five other patrol cars. She sat in the back of an EMT truck and gave a statement, while the medics checked her out. Amanda had avoided any broken bones, but she had deep bruising where the Vampire had struck her.

  News vans got there just as she was being driven away towards the police station. John Utterson had stayed with her as Amanda gave another full statement to the FBI. As she talked, Agent John Hamilton walked in, sat in the back, and listened intently to the hours of interrogation.

  Amanda told the agent that the intruder identified himself as a member of the Brotherhood, but she had never seen his face. She lied and told them he wore a ski mask and that she never learned his name. When they asked what had been used to kill her husband, she said the assailant had used an ice pick. That part she knew wouldn’t stick, but it was all she could think of. The safety of her children depended on her being of no further help to the police.

  When she went to leave, John Hamilton informed the room that she was now being taken into protective custody by a specialized branch of the CIA, called AEGIS. The Texan would occasionally pepper her with questions about the night Larry was killed, in an attempt to find a crack in her story. What was more unbearable than the hounding by her protector, was waiting for the inevitable confirmation that her lie didn’t pan out.

  By Sunday, she was told that the Police ME, Amy Howard, had determined that the cause of death was from two sharp puncture wounds to the carotid artery. The murder weapon was determined to be an ice pick, which astounded Amanda when Agent Hamilton told her. It corroborated her story, but she knew the evidence shouldn’t line up. The wounds on Larry’s neck were savage, and Marcus had ripped the flesh with vicious abandon.

  A day later, she found a note slid under her hotel room door that read, “You did fine. I’ll need a favor before this is over. The girls send their love. Yours - Marcus”

  Tulsa, Oklahoma – Friday, October 26th, 2018 – 9:02 a.m. CST

  The Oklahoma sunlight poured into the hotel window and warmed her tear-stained face. It was the first time she had enjoyed a moment of pure silence since Thursday. Amanda Lanyon watched a crow bouncing along the pavement outside and pecked around at a discarded piece of bread.

  Her solitude was shattered as Agent Decker burst in the room and bellow out, “Mrs. Lanyon, it’s time.”

  Amanda sighed and requested, “It would be nice if you knocked.”

  Patrick Decker spoke into his wrist microphone, “I’m with her now.” He did his usual sweep of the room as he responded to her, “Mrs. Lanyon, we agreed not to have an agent in your room, but we need complete access at all times. With the death threats made on the Mayor and city officials, our Agency needs your complete cooperation to keep you safe.”

  Amanda whirled around in frustration and asked, “What does the CIA care about me anyway? Shouldn’t I be under the protection of Detective Utterson’s…”

  Decker swept the room with a device as he interrupted, “Again, we are not the CIA, Mrs. Lanyon. We are a special branch that has been tasked to provide you protection.”

  She threw up her hands and raised her voice, “What branch is that exactly? I know next to nothing about you people. You come in, flash a badge, and drag me from one safe house to the next. Who are you?”

  The straight-laced Agent replied, “Our unit is called AEGIS, and all you need to know is that we take your safety as of paramount importance. You are one of a handful of witnesses that survived the Preserve. More importantly, you have a unique connection to Henry Jekyll and the new leader of the Crimson Brotherhood, your ‘Mr. Purple.’ While the cult is hunting you, the international news agencies are continually trying to track you down for the story. Ma’am, I know this isn’t easy, but our methods are for your own safety.”

  On TV, a rerun of the previous night’s Real Time with Bill Maher played and the comedian’s monologue filled the small hotel room, “Look, Amanda Lanyon is a hero, no doubt about that. She helped bring to light these murderous thugs and prevented the loss of more innocent lives. No one is debating that, but let’s be honest. Did her actions play a part in what happened to her family? I can’t say for sure, but the police were already mobilizing to the Preserve. The good professor decided it wasn’t good enough, and that decision had consequences.”

  The agent mercifully hit some buttons on the remote control and switched to a news station, whose reporter announced, “… ongoing identification of the dead continually being discovered in the wake of what is being called ‘The Battle of the Preserve.’ Investigators have revealed that the homeless who were kidnapped by the Crimson Brotherhood had migrated in from other States. Some of the bodies are over five years old, which makes a positive identification problematic at best. Families of the victims whose names could be ascertained have started flowing into Oklahoma from all over the country to claim their lost loved ones. Overnight, Tulsa has become a national tragedy that dwarfs the Oklahoma City Bombing. The cultists left no survivors, no need for blood drives, no prayers for hope, there is only the knowledge that the Crimson Brotherhood still lives among them. The name Cthulhu has become a household word that represents dread and panic.”

  As she put on her coat, Decker observed, “There is a new development that you need to be cautious of. The police raid on the Brotherhood’s compound has galvanized the people of Tulsa into a type of religious hysteria. Churches preached the militarization of their congregations and ignored the FBI’s pleas to allow the police to do their jobs. The looming threat of a secret cult, embedded in the city, has sent shockwaves of fear through the citizens. Oklahoma has gone from just under 300,000 concealed carry permits to 600,000, doubling in a week. Gun shops are staying open 24 hours a day, and ammunition costs have spiked to take advantage of the sudden demand.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, “I’ve seen the reports on TV. What does that have to do with me?”

  The agent checked his watch and then revealed, “The college at Eastland has a televangelist program that airs every Sunday and Wednesday.”

  Amanda gave him a perplexed, “Yes, The Eastland Worship Hour. Brother Dunn has been doing that show ever since I started teaching at the college.”

  Patrick leaned on his elbow and gave an unempathetic, “Greyson Dunn is the son of one of the influential members of the Southern charismatic movement in the Mid-South. Greyson stands as a Pentecostal leader of enormous influence in the Christian community. The Saturday after the raid on the Preserve, he bought time on the cable networks to start broadcasting nightly.”

  Amanda remarked, “Well he is a spiritual leader.”

  The agent raised his eyebrow, “On the following Sunday, during the highest watched program in the history of The Eastland Worship Hour, he announced the creation of The Tulsa Christian Crusaders. In front of a live studio audience, the good Brother Greyson lifted a 9 mm pistol above his head, and quoted Ephesians 6:11, ‘Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.’”

  Professor Lanyon’s brow wrinkled as she repeated, “The Tulsa Christian Crusaders?”

  The agent pulled out his phone, “The next day, Eastland’s courtyard was full of armed followers answering the call of Brother Dunn’s Pentecostal Crusade. Greyson divided the city into sections, and patrols were assigned. By Monday, the streets were being continuously monitored by groups of Christian Crusaders, as a type of armed neighborhood watch. Your boss, Greyson Dunn, has declared war on the Crimson Brotherhood and made the college a battle camp.”

  He turned his phone around to show her a photo of a burning body on a stake, “A clerk at a PetSmart discovered her manager had concealed some personal articles behind a false wall. The worker jimmied the lock and found three robes with the Cthulhu symbol on the chest. Inste
ad of calling the police, she called the Tulsa Christian Crusader Hotline set up by Brother Dunn. Three hours later, the police found the manager tied to a stake, and her body burned. The pet store had been spray-painted with the words, “Cthulhu Worshipper!” The vigilantes were never found, and no one from the strip mall was willing to testify.”

  Amanda covered her mouth at the sight of the image and lamented, “That is repugnant. How awful! They are burning people at the stake, like witches. Can’t the cops stop them?”

  He put away his phone, “The police and FBI openly discussed with reporters the idea of bringing in the National Guard to quell the rising Crusader’s version of mob justice. Within a few days, the public found their law enforcement to be a toothless tiger, as your Oklahoma’s Governor, Katherine Hill, refused to deploy the Guard. It seems she is a supporter of Mr. Dunn.”

  Amanda felt nauseas at the sight of the charred woman, “Governor Hill has been to Sunday service more than once.”

  Patrick shifted to more images of the burned body, “More than a few of the Oklahoma military said that if they were ordered to initiate Martial Law, they would deploy on the streets of Tulsa but stay in the service of Brother Dunn. By Friday, people knew who the real law was. 47% of the nearly four million people who live in this State are Evangelical Protestants who are falling in line with the Tulsa Christian Crusaders.”

  She shook her head and rebuked, “This is awful! Rumors will turn into facts, and suspected people will be executed on a hunch. Someone has to do something!”

  Standing up, Decker remarked, “Once again Mrs. Lanyon, you seem to be square in the middle of yet another element of this mess. You work at Eastland, so you should be prepared in case anyone asks you questions about your boss or his Crusaders. We can’t tell you what to say, but it is my suggestion that you refrain from commenting. Denouncing the TCC will pull their crosshairs onto you. A strong number of the population of Oklahoma believes you have some level of involvement in the Crimson Brotherhood, simply because of your coincidental association with Jekyll. If they heard you speaking against them, it might spark a mob response, and you might find yourself on the next burning stake.”

  She shook her head in disbelief and looked at herself in the hotel mirror. Amanda straightened the wrinkles in her black dress that had hung in her closet for the last five years since she had attended a funeral. She picked up her purse and peered down at her wedding ring with a feeling of guilt eating at her stomach.

  Decker opened the door to her room, checked out the hallway, and ordered, “Okay, Ma’am, follow me.”

  As they walked, she felt anxiety over the impending circus she was headed towards. This day wouldn’t be easy, and dealing with the forced pageantry wasn’t going to help her grieving process. With Decker in the lead, the pair walked out of the back door and made for her AEGIS provided white Nissan. Parked next to it was a black Sedan with Patrick’s partner, Agent John Hamilton, sitting in the driver’s seat. Decker checked the perimeter as Amanda got in her car and started it. She rolled down the window and breathed in some fresh air to calm her nerves. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts she suddenly became lost in a wave of self-hatred.

  A burst of motion erupted from behind a dumpster, as a man sprinted towards her car. A lanyard that read “PRESS” flopped around his neck, and trash floated off his body while he ran. He had a Go-Pro camera on his head and a microphone in his outstretched hand. Before she could react, the person grabbed her arm and put his helmet camera in her face.

  The man burst into a question, “Mrs. Lanyon, Quincy Hunt from “The Hunt for the Truth!” Can you tell us what the police are doing about your kidnapped daughters?”

  Behind her, the agents were launching out of their car. Her mind raced as she felt a degree of shock, as it was the first person she had spoken to outside of the AEGIS detail. Instinctively, she shook with fear at the sudden reminding of her children’s absence.

  The reporter glanced up and rushed to his next question, “Mrs. Lanyon, do you feel responsible for your husband’s death, and how do you respond to the accusations that you’re a secret Brotherhood member?”

  As Hunt’s final words exited his mouth, Agent Hamilton speared him hard to the ground. She heard the air rush out of the reporter’s body, as the large Texan’s 250-pound frame pancaked on top of him. Her car door flung open on the passenger side, and the firm grip of Agent Decker latched onto her wrist.

  Decker gave a controlled command, “Get out towards me. Move!”

  She barely had time to grab her purse before he pulled her over the console. She slid into the passenger seat and then out of the car door. He nearly picked her up entirely while he lifted Amanda to her feet. Across the car hood, she could hear the reporter being told to stop resisting and the clicking of handcuffs being applied.

  Hunt was barking at the Agent, “The Press has a right to know! I have a First Amendment right!”

  As she was walked to the black Sedan, she heard Hamilton’s twang yell, “You have the Constitutional right to feel my boot in yer ass! Give me those hands!”

  Agent Decker put Amanda in the passenger seat of the Sedan and moved quickly to the driver’s side. She trembled in her seat as she watched Hamilton slam the reporter on the hood of the Nissan. Decker raced out of the parking lot and reported their situation to someone named ‘Control.’

  She faintly heard an old man’s voice reply back, “Continue to the graveside. We have support agents in place, and be aware that the Dutchman is on site.”

  Decker hung up the phone as she asked, “Who is the Dutchman?”

  The agent glanced over and requested, “Ma’am, put on your seat belt, please.”

  The sedan maneuvered through the streets of Tulsa towards the cemetery as they passed thousands of people who were lining the streets on the way. Hundreds of hand-made signs were being held up for those entering the graveyard to see. Some offered support to the families who had loved ones that were being laid to rest today. Others were a mixed bag of anti-Crimson Brotherhood and pro-Christian Crusaders. She sat up straight as Amanda caught sight of her husband’s plump face on a giant billboard that was attached to a shop wall. She recognized the photo from his Facebook page. The image stabbed deep into her chest, as she read the words below it, “Remember The Hero Who Saved Two Officers and Killed By The Crimson Brotherhood. We Love You, Larry!”

  The memory of her husband’s death jarred her mind, as she saw her car join a line of vehicles on the way into the Oaklawn Cemetery. Thousands of people surrounded the outer edges of the fence of the graveyard. They stood in respectful observance of those being laid to rest. She saw hundreds of armed Tulsa Crusaders, wearing black armbands with the gold lion symbol of Eastland College mixed in with the mourners. People yelled support towards her car and threw roses as they passed through the front gates, and news crews stood on top of their vans to get a better camera angle.

  Agent Decker pointed out, “The city banned reporters from Oaklawn out of respect to the dead.”

  Patrick parked the vehicle, radioed in their position to Control, and walked Amanda to her chair. Dozens of caskets lined up next to each other, and Lanyon was seated directly in front of her husband. The family photo she had provided the city was framed and placed on top of his dark wood coffin.

  John Utterson and Terry Johnston, both in wheelchairs and in their dress blues, rolled over to her. Terry had gauze wrapped around his arm, and the elderly black woman she had seen in the waiting room was pushing him along. John was muscling through the grass but was keeping pace.

  Utterson stopped and consoled, “Professor, I’m so sorry about Larry.”

  She nodded solemnly and replied, “So am I.”

  The bagpipes played, and everyone stood to salute the flag-covered caskets of the fallen police. John and Terry returned to their spots as Brother Dunn took to the podium and started the ceremony. Each of the officer’s names was called out in turn, and a ‘thank you’ was given to the survivin
g family members. A shock of energy went over her when her husband’s name was listed at the end. She knew it was coming, but it didn’t make the moment any easier to digest.

  Governor Katherine Hill took to the podium, “We cannot easily reconcile the evil in people’s hearts to commit these unspeakable acts. It was only due to the courage and tenacity of our law enforcement that more deaths were prevented. These fallen heroes displayed incredible bravery in a time when Oklahoma needed them most.”

  Slowly, the mourners lined up to give sympathies to each of the grieving families. She shook the hands of friends, family, and colleagues, as they took turns to offer their respects. After five minutes, a numbness came over her as she was subjected to a broken record of sympathy. Familiar faces would tell her how sorry they were, hug her, and the cycle repeated. Some would praise her courage; others would remind her not to lose faith in God. She looked over at Decker, hoping to figure out a way to get him to let her leave early. Instead, she only saw the stalwart agent frisking people as they waited to see her.

  Looking back to the next person in line, she saw the face of Eve Lanyon glaring back at her. It was the first time that she had encountered her mother-in-law since the night her husband died. Amanda started to speak but was stopped by a stiff slap to her face that cut her bottom teeth into her lip. The sound of the strike drew gasps from the people still in the line, and Agent Decker quickly launched in between the two women. James Lanyon grabbed his wife’s shoulder and pulled her back away.

  Eve spun around, hugged her aging husband tightly, and wailed, “I want my son back! I want my granddaughters! Harlot! She leads the Devil to them!”

  All around, people’s cell phones were coming up and recording the scene. The taste of blood hit her tongue as she held her mouth and stared dumbfounded at the irate Eve Lanyon. Decker radioed in something on his wrist communication piece. Still, Amanda couldn’t seem to focus enough to make out what he was saying.