- 10:40 a.m. One witness, Najat Sunjab, 235 Towerview Terrace, saw a man approach the home of Margaret Travers: temp secretary for the Tower offices, who was employed by the Divine and Fair Law Firm. The witness speculated it was Ms. Travers’ boyfriend who had been seen on a number of occasions.
- 10:40 a.m. Second witness, Ivan Wheatley, 1070 Seaside Apartments, saw a man in black approach the house. This witness is a telephone repairman rewiring the house of Nathan and Susan Bradley, 228 Towerview Terrace.
- 10:55 a.m. The same witness (Ivan Wheatley) saw a man and a woman pull up in a green car. Witness thought nothing of it. Later commented that both wore black.
- 11:00 a.m. A third witness called Authority. Muriel Drane, 234 Towerview Terrace, heard 4-5 shots fired. Ran to front window saw man in black placing something large in the trunk of green mid-sized car.
- Fourth witness, Alexander Washington, 231 Towerview Terrace, shared west wall of Travers’ residence heard ten or twelve shots fired. A loud sound followed—roar was heard. Other shots, perhaps 6 were heard outside. Witness was too frightened to investigate.
- Home sharing east wall with Travers’ (232 Towerview Terrace) was unoccupied. Tenants do shift-work at City International Publishing. Did not return home until 10:30 p.m.
- Door to door canvas of area turned up various witnesses who heard noises but saw nothing.
- Fifth Witness, Bernie Ohls marketing director for New Age Diet Drinks, 248 Towerview Terrace, saw green mid-sized Pontiac or Chevy pull up to black car parked in front of 244 Towerview Terrace. Man in black retrieved bag from trunk and something from glove compartment, then drove away in green car. Black ‘79 Pontiac Deluxe Cruiser impounded by City Authority. Dusting and search of rental car yielded nothing.
- Rental agent, Barry Stevens, described man. Caucasian male, pre-Change 40, dark hair, heavy build, quiet. Paid cash. Authority sketch artists working on composite.
- February 18, 10:20 a.m. Received call from Judy Gordon 412 5th Ave. West. Secretary for Catholic offices at Archangel Tower saw report on news about Towerview shooting. She confirmed Sister Karen Cawood might have been at the scene. Cawood mentioned visit to Towerview Terrace address in the company of Rev. Able Stoneworthy. Cawood has not reported for work. She could not be contacted at home. Report of green mid-sized Pontiac matched description of Reverend Able Stoneworthy’s vehicle.
- Reverend Able Stoneworthy’s office contacted. Stoneworthy has not reported to work for two days. He could not be contacted at home. Local City Authority treating the disappearance as possible foul play. Returning to 232 Towerview Terrace to investigate scene.
The Prime’s mind was alive with conspiracy. The Travers woman talked of an Angel, and the Tower Builders were involved somehow. Intriguing. Certainly suggested Divine interference of some kind. He couldn’t have such interference in his plans. That wouldn’t do. He’d have to pump his Infernal friends for information. If families were making moves, he had to know it. This was not a game that rewarded second best. And he would do anything to win.
The Prime wondered how much humanity was willing to give up for salvation. He took great pride in his self-knowledge and understood that despite his power and wealth he was still a human being. How far would he go? He would sacrifice every soul in the City if it came to that.
In order to be ready to make such a sacrifice, he had to keep on top of things. To be on top of things he had to use his resources. And his resources were many. He commanded the vast Defense system of Westprime. On his order he could muster thousands of troops and unleash terrible military machinery. He controlled the nuclear arsenal of the defunct United States of America. But he couldn’t do anything, yet.
There were other Primes in the world, and other Cities. Other arsenals too, so the Prime had to be cautious about using so overt an action before his knowledge of Divine and Infernal Powers was complete. It was too dangerous.
He would make a move soon enough; but for the time being, he wanted to know just how dangerous the threat was from above. The Prime had made an intensive study of the Bible in his century since the Change. His Demon Ally had assured him that the One God sleeps, but the Prime was not about to trust that information.
True, looking back on the history of man since biblical times it did indeed look as though God was quiescent, perhaps content to await the Judgment Day foretold in the Revelations he gave to John. For the time being—barring Divine intervention—the Prime would continue to form a plan that would guarantee his survival.
He had his bomb shelter. It was deep in the bedrock below the level of his captive’s cell. Engineers had assured the Prime that the shelter, along with the City’s mass would protect him from any nuclear or conventional weapon in the world. And there was his escape tunnel. An electric car would take him fifty miles inland to a waiting shelter—also underground.
He had tortured his captive again. It hadn’t found the First-mother’s guardian yet, and the Prime suspected collusion. The creature was reluctant, to say more, but the Prime broke it. After all that screaming the creature’s voice was soft as a breeze. “The rebellion approaches Apocalypse.”
The Prime reviewed his options and found them bland and pale. After Vanguard’s report he occupied himself by looking for clues in the many messages his office received. Europrime was posturing. The British Isles of the Dead had burned—why would the Princess burn them? Eastprime was laying low.
Afriprime sent a conciliatory note. His ally had been eaten by Westprime’s, and that left the former witch doctor with his back against the thatch. That continent was steaming for rebellion. A well-situated Demonic possession could tip the balance. The Prime tore through the pile of papers and notes and threw them aside, then entered the armored tomb behind his office to rest. If Apocalypse was approaching, the Prime hated to think it might start without him.
37 - Orphans
The hard bruising arms and grunting, groaning song rolled on and on, and the chanting, droning music pulsed to the jarring rhythm of movement. It brought her screaming out of a nightmare with dog stink still in her face.
She sat bolt upright, eyes flashing open onto a glaring overhead light. Everything around her fell to shadow. She was in a bed with a coarse wool blanket tucked around. The light had the down on her arms glinting golden, and caused her skin to glow; but it created a contrast that dropped the bedclothes into inky blackness. She wore a nightshirt of thick white flannel the same color as her sheets.
Dawn peered into the darkness, squinting her face up against the glare of light and was met by a sudden childish tittering. Giggles rolled around her bed like a wave. She squinted harder and leaned forward, and this only caused another wave of laughter to pass.
“She looks like a grampus squidging his eyes at Nursie’s bum!” a boy’s voice said and laughter followed.
Now Dawn put a hand flat over her eyebrows, hoping the shade would let her see.
More giggling followed. “Now,” laughed another voice. “Now she’s an old Indian scout looking for buffalo!” The giggles grew in intensity until another voice started hushing them.
Dawn’s eyes continued to adjust, and she was soon able to make out movement and forms in the gloom beyond the light.
“Shush,” continued a girl’s voice, it was a little coarse, but it was high-pitched like her own. “You had your laugh, now stop it. It ain’t easy when you first pop your eyes open here, if you remember?” And at that someone moved forward out of the darkness.
Dawn shifted back against her pillows and quickly realized the head of her bed was against the wall. “Wait!” she said, too terrified to think of anything else. The grownup voice in her head didn’t say anything. Sometimes it just watched and listened.
A small girl materialized out of the shadow. She was shorter than Dawn and her body and limbs were thinner. She did have chubby cheeks, but Dawn realized that might have been her heritage, since she was clearly from the Far East or “Old China” as Mr. Jay would have c
alled it.
The girl smiled and said, “I am Meg.” She laughed, there was not a trace of an accent.
“I’m Dawn,” said the forever girl. Her grownup voice suddenly chimed in. You don’t need to say more. NO MORE! “Where am I?” she asked; Meg’s eyes sparkled, and then Dawn blurted: “Where’s Mr. Jay?”
Meg shrugged. “You are in the Prime’s Orphanage.” She gestured left and right. “Dormitory Five. The Toffers brought you.”
“But…” Dawn started, and tears burst from her eyes. “He’s my only friend in the whole world!” She pulled her covers up. “I’ve got to go find him!” Weeping, she pushed her blankets down and started to climb out of the bed. Meg put her hands out to stop her, and it was then that Dawn could see that other forever kids were standing back in the shadows, lots of them. They were dressed the same as she, but were of all shapes and sizes. There were so many, she suddenly recoiled from Meg’s touch and pulled herself back under the blankets.
“Go away!” she cried, and whipped the blanket over her head.
“Go away!” a childish voice mocked and was hushed.
“What a Squeaker!” said another voice, this one a girl’s. “Squeak! Squeak!”
“It’s okay,” Meg kept talking. “Stay under the blankets and listen. You’re not the first to do it.”
Dawn only shivered. Her face was soaked with tears.
“You’re in the Prime’s Orphanage,” Meg explained, “But we mostly call it only ‘Orphanage.’” The girl paused. “And you were brought in on your lonesome by a group of Toffers that looked worse for wear, like there’d been a fight.” She laughed then. “Which all of us were happy to see, since most of us had trouble with them in the past.” A few other forever kids chuckled.
And suddenly Dawn remembered Liz and the other kids with guns and the fight. Mr. Jay must have returned to the hideout and found her missing. At first she wanted to cry even harder, but the grownup voice in her head reassured her. Mr. Jay will look for you.
“The Orphanage is where the Prime keeps us,” Meg said. “And where he teaches us, and tests us, and even makes some of us his daughters.” Her eyes rolled toward the floor and flush colored her cheeks. “Or his wives…”
Dawn lowered her blanket a little and peered out.
Now her eyes could see the others around her bed, the reflected light diffused. There were boys and girls, black, yellow, white, red and brown. And they were tall and short and fat and thin, and all wearing flannel nightshirts against the chill. Some of the kids had scars like knife marks on their faces and arms, and others had shiny bits of skin and ribbons of it on their flesh. And some of the kids looked happy, and some looked sad.
Dawn shook her head and said: “I want Mr. Jay!”
A couple of kids laughed, but most of their faces echoed her sadness. Meg just patted the blanket on her bed. “Unless he’s a friend of the Prime, that ain’t going to happen.” Dawn looked down at the back of Meg’s hand. It was crisscrossed with silver scars. “The Orphanage ain’t a place people like us are allowed to leave.”
Dawn tried to stifle another weepy yawn. “But I want Mr. Jay!”
A couple of the other kids started to tear up. Then a solid looking black boy stepped up close and stuck a finger into Dawn’s face. His cheeks were scarred and he was missing an ear.
“Just shut up you stupid squeaker! SQUEAK! SQUEAK!” he shouted. “Squeaker’s making everybody sad!”
“That’s enough, Larry!” Meg said, “She’s scared.”
“Who cares,” the boy said, “We’re all fucking scared.” Then he slapped at Meg’s hand as she attempted to quiet him. “Don’t shush me!” He swung back to Dawn. “Nobody gets out of the Orphanage. Ever! Unless you go with Nursie. So get used to it!”
The boy punched the blanket when Dawn curled herself under it. She could hear Meg scolding him, and then other kids’ voices were raised in anger. Someone was crying. There were sounds of a struggle.
Dawn just tried to focus on her friend’s face, and she cried for the many years they’d spent together. She tried to remember Nurserywood, and old Arthur, and she wondered what he would do to get out.
“Oh Mr. Jay,” she sobbed into the blanket. “Where are you?”
38 – Nightcare
The man looked different from what the Creature expected. Then she checked herself. He felt different. The physical impressions she’d received over the decades were of the man who stood in front of her. Yes. He was just six feet, his beard, flecked with gray, shoulder-length hair, top hat and coat tails were familiar. Broad cheeks, straight nose and the eyes were right. What was different?
Then she decided perhaps it was the set of his features. There were marks of violence on his clothing: bloody tears in his pants. But that wasn’t the cause. She sensed anger, which had never been in her visions, and he radiated a sour feeling of reluctance. He didn’t want to be here. That was different from what she expected.
She sensed something different in Conan too. His little fighter’s body stood beside the stranger, the guest, she corrected herself; but Conan’s figure, usually a tight twist of muscle, rage and armor, was unusually calm. Something had happened between them. He was calm, and he smelled of tears.
“The Creature welcomes the man to the Nightcare,” the Creature said. The word “welcome” was echoed in a chorus from child to child as the other forever children had gathered in a great semicircle behind her. It was their way, the echo—the chorus—of sharing power.
The phenomenon was not lost to the visitor. He smiled, and let his eyes follow the echo among the children. Then he removed his hat and bowed at the waist.
“The Creature trusts,” the Creature started. “And the Nightcare trusts.”
“Trust,” echoed among the children.
“The Creature thinks you were injured by friend, Conan,” she continued. The Creature sat, as was her way at the center of a great circular floor comprised of treaded iron plating. There were holes and vents in the floor that admitted the sounds of distant rushing water far below. The Creature’s seat was raised on a pile of extra plates neatly piled. The flooring made for a noisy addition, but the proximity to the lower levels of the Maze made the meeting place perfect for the Nightcare. There were many, many ways of escape, and they always had to be careful of the Toffers and the Sheps.
“No,” the stranger said, remarkably reaching down and squeezing Conan’s shoulder. “My friend only showed me his bravery, and led me here.”
A moment of dismay passed. The Creature knew of Conan’s history and his torment in the Bad house. For a stranger, a man especially, to be able to lay hands on him was indeed remarkable. It was as her visions foretold.
“The Creature thinks that is well,” the Creature said. “It is not our way to harm, but it is the way of others to encourage inhospitality.” She nodded, and the stranger nodded back as the word “inhospitality” circled the enclosure on children’s tongues.
The stranger’s eyes glistened momentarily, and he rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. The Creature saw a new scar on the skin of his palm. This caused her to lurch upright in her seat, but the stranger was dismissive.
“It’s okay,” he said, looking at his palm and rubbing it, “I heal quickly.”
The word “heal” was transferred around the room. This was something of note to the Creature. The Nightcare rarely echoed the words of strangers.
“The Creature saw your need, and sent fighters to help your friend—the girl,” the Creature said smiling, as the word “friend” echoed from child to child. “But they were unable to extricate her in time.”
The word “extricate” started around the room in garbled fashion at first, finally becoming a mishmash of syllables and giggles. The Creature gave them a sobering look and they quieted.
“The Creature sees the Toffers captured her.” She shook her head sadly, voice lowering. “Had they not Sheps with them, the Creature’s fighters would have succeeded.”
“The Creature knows that Toffers are Truant Officers employed by the Prime for his orphanage,” the Creature explained, the forever children around her were silent. One of them started crying. An actual echo followed her words. “And they use Shepherds like dogs to sniff out the children. But they are not dogs.”
The stranger looked downcast a moment, then he raised his gaze. “You know what they really are?”
“The Creature sees the Demonkind,” the Creature said quietly. A palpable shiver ran through the collection of children. Many of them came from the Orphanage, and most had seen the Toffers. “They are controlled by the Prime as hunters and collectors. They used to go about in the skins of men and animals, but their power must be growing for they do not hide their shapes as they once did.”
“I was afraid of that.” The stranger nodded anxiously. He looked at his hands and then straightened his shoulders. “Forgive me, please, but I have overlooked introductions.” He cleared his throat. “I am called, Mr. Jay, a magician from the north. I came to the City in the company of a girl named, Dawn. She is under my protection.”
Giggles suddenly started in the ranks of the collected children, but these were silenced by a look from the Creature.
“It’s okay.” The stranger appreciated the irony, raising his hands. “I know.” He shrugged and squeezing Conan’s shoulder again said, “Had she Conan for a protector, I’m sure things would have been different.”
The word “different” echoed among the forever children.
“The Creature says that she is called the Creature by friends of the Nightcare,” the Creature said this, standing up in front of her chair, allowing her patched and worn dress and ivory cloak to flow to her ankles. “The Nightcare children have asked the Creature to lead them in these dark times, and she does so gladly.” She lifted her palms, and the word “Creature” ran through their ranks, echoing off the steel deck plating. She was moved to hear such feeling in their voices. Tears formed in her eyes and passed.
The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two Page 20