by Platt, Sean
He turned toward Marina as she stepped through the doorway. He said, “I’ll call you back” and a second later slipped the cell inside his pocket.
He quickly crossed the room, arms open wide. “Marina! Where the hell have you been? We thought you were dead.”
At six foot six, in his sixties, with a thick head of sandy-colored hair, Walker felt like a grandfather in many ways, a big bear of a grandfather.
He hugged Marina, neither asking about the strange man beside her, nor giving him more than a glance.
“It’s a long story,” she said. “I’ll fill you in, but what’s this I’m hearing about Steven?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Marina asked, breaking from the hug.
“Steven is dead.”
“What?” Marina felt punched in the gut.
“Yes, they found his body at the Camelot, along with the body of a writer, a former cop. A horrible tragedy.”
“Oh God.”
No wonder the news vans were outside. Steven was her head of security, not a face for the church, but he’d been seen enough in Marina’s presence, and had made a name for himself when he punched out a stalking paparazzo. His death was big news for those seeking to damage the church. All eyes would be on her response.
Walker finally looked Acevedo up and down, then turned back to Marina. “Where have you been for the past three weeks? The police, and the media, weren’t sure if you were a victim or a perpetrator who took off after killing Steven.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Marina said.
“Obviously, I’ve held them off. But if there’s something I need to know, Marina, now’s the time to tell me.”
It took Marina a moment to get what Walker was asking.
“Wait. You think I had something to do with this?”
Walker looked stunned. “No, Marina. I’m simply saying that as your lawyer, I need to know what’s happening so I can help you and we can get in front of this story before it snowballs.”
“I don’t know if you’d believe me, Mr. Walker.”
“Try me.”
“OK, but we’ll need to sit.”
**
Marina told Walker everything, including the bit about the vials, even though Acevedo flinched at their mention.
After the story, which he seemed to buy despite his questions, Walker pointed to the box beside Marina. “Is that them? These vials?”
“Yes,” she said.
“May I?” Walker held out his hand.
“No,” Acevedo said sharply, putting his hand on the box, but not picking it up.
“Excuse me.” For all of Walker’s kindness, he was a man who only heard yes.
“With all due respect, Mr. Walker, nobody but the pure of heart can touch these. Being a lawyer, I’m guessing that’s not you … no offense.”
Walker looked at Marina. “May I have a word? Alone?”
Acevedo said, “No, you may not.”
Marina turned to him, wanting to reprimand him for speaking for her, particularly to a family friend, but that crazy look was back in his eyes. Something told her to stand down, for now.
Acevedo said, “Here’s the part of the story Marina didn’t tell you, because she doesn’t yet know it.”
Walker folded his hands across his chest and leaned back in the chair opposite them. “Go on.”
“Steven wasn’t Steven. He was infected by The Darkness.”
“Yes, she told me that part. Whatever this Darkness is.”
“That’s just it, sir. You all don’t know what it is. Because it’s nothing you’ve ever seen. And it’s not just in Steven. The Darkness is an alien race stored in these vials, sent to Earth God knows how long ago. The vials themselves aren’t good or bad, Darkness or Light. They’re neutral, searching for purpose, seeking to live, whether that means creating new life or destroying what is here. Whether they choose life or death depends on the humans they first bond with. Most of us are impure, and have only the capacity to destroy. So the aliens are now this Darkness, infecting and infesting people with itself, replicating.”
“Replicating?” Walker repeated, as if only this most recent revelation were difficult to digest.
“They spread like a diseased parasite, going from host to host, gaining numbers and strength. That’s what’s happening out there right now. The Darkness is spreading, and we have to stop It, counter It.”
Walker’s eyebrows arched, as he turned to Marina, “Do you really believe this nonsense?”
Marina looked at Acevedo, trying to come up with one answer to satisfy two men.
“Yes, I believe that something is happening. I’m not sure if it is exactly as Father Acevedo says, I don’t know. But I saw this Darkness in Steven, felt It as he was trying to murder me. And I saw my father’s ghost. He spoke to me, Mr. Walker. He told me how to find my way out of the crypt after Steven locked me in there, and about the monastery. You know me — I’ve not exactly bought 100 percent into Father’s religion. I’m logical, but also not close-minded enough to ignore a very basic truism — the truth is usually what’s right in front of you. Unless you have some other explanation, I suggest we listen to Father Acevedo.”
Walker unfolded his arms and sighed. Marina wasn’t sure if he was starting to believe them. Or was he simply doing his job as her lawyer and absorbing what he needed to give himself, or at least his conscience: plausible deniability while helping to cover up her involvement in a murder?
“What do you need from me?” Walker asked.
Marina looked at Acevedo and requested their next steps.
“There are a total of four more vials unaccounted for. I have one. I also have names for the other keepers. This information is in a secure location. We must go there. We’ll need weapons in case we run into trouble, and enough supplies to live off the grid for a while. We’ll also need a place that nobody knows about to hunker down. This must be kept quiet. We can assume that people within your church have been compromised. Were I Steven, I would’ve infected as many top level people as I could. He would have been seeking the vials if he knew your father had some, or perhaps he wanted to use the church to expand the Darkness’s hold.”
Marina turned to Walker. “Can you help us?”
“Is that all?” Walker’s voice was treading sarcasm.
Marina had not the patience nor time for doubt. “Either you can or you can’t. Let me know, Mr. Walker, so I can find another way if not.”
A light slap on the cheek, just enough to set him straight. Walker would do the right thing. As with her father, sometimes he had to vent his doubt and get prodded in the right direction to feel like he was doing his job. Walker was a good man, or at least he’d always been good to her family. Whether that was due to loyalty, genuine friendship, or billable hours, Marina could never know for sure. But at the moment, he was the closest she had to a trustworthy soul.
“Yes I can help you, of course, Marina. I think we should come up with a story regarding your whereabouts and make sure we’re all on the same page before answering any line of questioning. As for the media, I’ll hold them off with a press release about how we’re still waiting to hear more details from the police and to please respect the church as we grieve a great loss.”
“Sounds great, Mr. Walker,” Acevedo responded. “Thank you. But I think we should hold off on the police for now. We need the vials and names first.”
“If you hold off on talking to the cops for too long, Marina will look suspicious.”
“I’d rather she look suspicious than dead. We have no idea where The Darkness went after Steven’s murder. It may have jumped into an officer on-scene. Not all of them are able, but the controlling parts of The Darkness can jump from bodies after the death of their hosts.”
“How do you know all this?” Marina asked.
“Because The Darkness lives inside me, as well.”
“What?” She stood from the couch. “You’re infected?”
“No,” he said, “not so much as I can tell. But I’ve been around the vials long enough, and exposure is all It needs to change you. How do you think your father became the man he was? How do you think he created some of the science the Church is known for? The Current? The Capacitor? That’s alien technology, a gift from the vials. Just the same, I’ve been cursed with an ability to see things I wish that I couldn’t. I can sense The Darkness in others. When I sleep, I feel its dreams. I’m plugged into the hive mind, and get glimpses of what it’s doing and what it wants.”
“And what does it want?” Walker asked.
“Everything.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — LUCA HARDING
Luca lay in bed, staring at the five vials holding his alien brothers, the blue glow beautiful in the motel room’s pre-dawn darkness.
There was something so alluring about the liquid in the glass, it was hard to believe this was the same stuff that, when corrupted, turned black. The same stuff that had destroyed his home world after it failed to take over.
Luca looked at Rose in the other bed, still sleeping.
He fingered the glass, and wondered what would happen if he removed one of the seals.
The Darkness awoke within him and said, Don’t do it.
Why not?
We need to save these vials for other vessels. The right vessels.
What do you mean?
You are a vessel, Luca. Rose is a host.
What’s the difference?
A vessel is someone who helps to shape our species. We must find the right people to give this to. People who can help us evolve humanity.
How will we find these people? How do we know who to give the vials to?
We will know. We are scanning the world now, searching, but we can’t spread before finding the other vials. We can’t afford to take chances, and fail like before.
Luca kept staring at the azure glow, eyes fixed on the flecks of darkness swirling inside them. He wondered if those specks were there before, or were a response to his holding the vials.
Am I contaminating them?
Luca understood that the liquids were neither good nor bad on their own, which meant that the vial Rose poured down his throat had been turned bad by him.
I’m not a bad person, am I?
No, Luca, you are not. Good and bad are relative, labels humans insist upon one another as a means to categorize and control you, to punish and murder your sisters and brothers. One man’s good is another man’s evil. Such a primitive species. Something that the coming evolution will change. There will be no good nor bad. There will be no self. There will only be us. We. A collective. Good for one is good for all. Same with the bad.
Luca thought about the boys he killed, the ones who had picked on him. Then all those deaths at the pool.
Certainly those were bad, right?
The Darkness was silent.
Instead, Rose cried out as she woke, eyes wide.
She turned to him. Luca wasn’t sure if Rose was awake. She looked very much like the puppet of The Darkness she was.
“She’s escaped.”
“Who?” Luca asked.
“Marina.”
“Who is Marina?”
“She’s someone I … or, rather, Steven … had gotten close to. Her father had hidden as many as six of the vials. I had trapped her in her house and planned to return, but then I found you and your vials.”
Luca was going to ask who Steven was, then saw in a flash of memory that The Darkness had been in Steven’s body, the man who was once Boricio Bishop. Steven died and It moved into Rose.
“So what does this all mean?”
“She’s working with someone else, a priest, who has also been touched by The Light.”
A knot of fear twisted Luca’s gut, imagining Marina and the priest’s pursuit.
“What do we do?” he asked.
“I’ll continue to watch them. But I can’t get in her head, or his. And if I try to have someone pursue them now, I’d lose the advantage of surprise once it’s time to strike.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I think it’s time we expand.”
“Infect more people?” Luca asked.
“No, find more vessels, like you. People who can help us fight The Light, seize the vials and gain the advantage.”
“OK,” Luca said. “Who can we get?”
“I have a few people in mind. We have five vials now. With these people on our side, The Light can’t win even if they manage to get the other six.”
Luca felt a chill, and somewhere in the distance heard a dog cry out in the night.
* * * *
CHAPTER 10 — EDWARD KEENAN
Las Orillas
Ed sat in the van, staring into the passenger-side mirror at his new Black Island Guardsman partner, Luther, as the giant attempted to make sense of the gas pump’s intricate instructions.
Luther looked like an offensive lineman, all muscle. Looking at him, you’d think he was jumbo-box-of-rocks dumb. And, as Ed learned on their flight, and subsequent ride from the airport where they were met with an Agency van, you’d be right. Luther was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, and never stopped talking about the dumbest things — TV shows Ed had never heard of, wrestling, and conspiracy theories that were nowhere near plausible. One included Elvis, JFK, and Michael Jackson not only being alive, but secretly puppeteering the world’s governments as part of some Illuminati-like cabal.
Ed had nodded around a hundred thousand times in the past six hours, and was wishing like hell he’d been sent on a solo mission.
Luther stared at the gas nozzle, then squeezed the trigger, but judging from his rage face, was having no luck spilling gas into the van.
“Come on!” Luther smacked the pump, then turned to glare at the clerk inside who would have been as likely to hear him from four blocks away. He yelled, “Turn it on!”
Ed sighed, got out of the van, and looked at the giant red “START” button with the white sign above it:
Pay cash inside or insert credit card and press Start.
“Did you put the card in?” Ed asked.
“Yeah, fucker won’t start.”
“Did you press the start button?”
Luther looked at the big red button, “Oh, this one?”
“Yup.”
“Oh,” he said, sheepishly grinning. “In Jersey, we didn’t pump our own gas. Sorry.”
“OK.” Ed said as he decided to head into the gas station to kill two birds with one stone: take a piss and get a moment’s reprieve from the idiot.
No telling when he’d get a chance to use the bathroom again. From here, they were headed to the Church of Original Design headquarters. They had to find Marina Harmon, or rather the man she was with, a priest, whose name they didn’t yet know. Paola had seen him in her “vision,” or whatever the hell they were calling it.
“Can I get you anything?” Ed asked Luther.
“Yeah, get me a Coke and some salt-and-vinegar chips.”
“I am not getting you salt-and-vinegar chips.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to smell them. Got a second choice?”
Luther frowned and sighed, his heart apparently broken by the loss. “OK, barbecue?” he asked more than said, seeking Ed’s approval.
“OK.” Ed walked toward the station, wondering how the hell he got paired with the dumbest guy in the Black Island Guard.
Ed had worked with at least four other men who would’ve been better suited for this mission, but since shit went down with Sullivan, many men had vanished from the island. Ed figured they were either infected, or suspected of helping Sullivan, and were being detained on one of the lower levels.
Whatever the case, God help them if Luther was the best they had left. He had worked in another division of the Guard prior to last week. Ed was guessing it wasn’t Research and Development or Applied Sciences. According to Director Bolton, Luther was
a damned good fighter. For all he lacked in basic vocabulary, manners, and people skills, Ed figured the guy had to be a one-man army to earn his spot on this mission.
Ed went to the bathroom, then searched a chip aisle that was fully stocked with everything — except barbecue.
After getting some drinks and snacks, Ed returned to the van where Luther was already sitting in the driver’s seat. Ed opened the passenger door, climbed inside, and threw the bag of chips at the big man.
“You got me salt and vinegar!” The large man practically squealed.
“They were out of everything else,” Ed grumbled as he passed Luther the bottle of Coke then unscrewed his own and took a drink.
“Thanks, sir.”
Ed closed the door. “Let’s go.”
**
Ed was pleasantly surprised to find that Luther stayed quiet, so long as he was shoving food in his mouth. He ate like a buzz saw, but at least he wasn’t talking. It was almost enough to make up for the reeking cabin.
Luther polished off the bag, licked his fingers, one by one, savoring the flavor as if these were the best chips God ever saw fit to create.
Ed looked away rather than continue watching the man child making sweet love to his fingers. He looked out the passenger-side window and watched the crammed houses flying by, hoping Luther would think he was lost in thought and maybe leave him be until they reached the church.
“You know,” Luther said, “a lot of people say that dance is gay or lame, but I happen to like it.”
Ed was intrigued. “Dance?”
“Yeah, dancing. Do you like it?”
“What kind of dancing? Like ballet?”
“Any kind, really. I started watching that Dancing with the Stars, and I really liked it. Suddenly, I started watching any kind of dance I could find —Broadway shows, old movies with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, even that Dance Moms show.”
“Wow,” Ed said.
“What?” Luther asked, looking defensive. “I’m not gay.”
“Hey, I didn’t say you were. And even if you were … ”