Dark Justice: A Supernatural Thriller

by Donnie Light

  “Remember our brother, stolen by white men, as many were, and brought to this land! Curse the white Devil who beat him, who spat in his face, who took of his blood! Forgive not he who tore out the heart of our brother and made him run! Show this white beast what it means to run for your life! Let him run, and let him hide! Give peace to our brother, his run will someday end! Show the white man your power! Send your justice!”

  The priest dropped to his knees, breathing hard. The fire blazed in one last glorious display and then died to a flicker.

  The gods had listened. The priest walked past Tobias, motioning him to follow. He also beckoned two other slaves, both young men, to join them. They walked in silence to a tree stump near the edge of the clearing.

  A splitting ax had been stuck into the stump and the priest lifted the handle, working loose its bite on the hard wood. The priest looked into the eyes of the younger men. With no exchange of words, they grasped Tobias, one on each arm, and bent him over the tree stump. The old priest lifted the ax and swiftly brought it down. The blade sliced through the cool night air and a horrible scream exploded into the night.

  – Chapter 2 –

  August 1991

  Lt. Galen Morris pulled open a cabinet drawer in the back of the ambulance.

  “Hey, Bob, we need more tape and gauze over here,” he told his fellow crewmember. “While you’re in the supply room, you might as well bring more run forms; we’ve only got a couple left on the clipboard.”

  Galen checked over the rest of the supplies and was satisfied that his ambulance, 1-Charles-47, was well stocked and ready to roll on their next call.

  Galen was one of four full-time firefighter—paramedics that staffed the mostly volunteer, Willow River, Illinois, Fire District, Station Number One.

  Until a just a few years ago, Willow River had been a completely volunteer Fire Department. As the community grew, the township board decided to hire four fully trained fire fighters to staff the department during the daytime hours when most of the volunteers were at work.

  Galen stepped out of the ambulance and headed for the soda machine. The cantankerous old machine had not been in a good mood lately, having cheated several people out of their money. This was evident by the number of fresh dents and shoe marks in the lower panel. Galen deposited his coins slowly, giving each a chance to register. Before he could make his selection, a call came in over the radio. The speakers popped with sudden energy and a hollow voice crackled out a message.

  “Attention Willow River Station One. 3342 Old School Road. Possible heart attack.”

  As message repeated itself, Galen had already headed for the rig, his soda still in the machine. He climbed into the back of the ambulance while the volunteer driver and an EMT also climbed aboard.

  The ambulance quickly left the station as the siren punched a hole in the quiet evening.

  Galen knew the patient at 3342 Old School Road, having been called to this address on previous occasions. It was the address of his best friend.

  Galen picked up the microphone from the mobile radio mounted in the back of the ambulance.

  “Charlie-47 to dispatch”

  “Go ahead Charlie-47”

  “We are en route to 3342 Old School Road. Can you advise us of any details of the call?”

  “10-4, Charlie-47. The caller complained of severe chest pain radiating to jaw, and left arm. The caller also requested that you come in the rear door.”

  “10-4 dispatch. Do you still have the caller on the line?”

  “Affirmative, Charlie-47.”

  “Dispatch, please advise the caller our ETA is approximately four minutes.”

  “10-4, Charlie-47.”

  Hang in there, you old geezer, Galen thought as he prepared the medical kit that he would take into the house.

  The resident, Professor Albert Gaston, had chronic heart problems. A wonderfully interesting old man, Galen and the professor had become close friends over the last couple of years. In fact, Galen had just visited Gaston a few days ago during one of his many “check-up calls.” Gaston had been his bubbly self at the time and the two had talked for over three hours. The old man fascinated him, and Galen always felt better after visiting the professor.

  Professor Gaston had retired a few years ago from a college out east and moved to Willow River to be near his ailing sister who had died a few months ago. As professor of anthropology, he had traveled the world and had written several successful books including a string of bestselling novels. His large Victorian home was just outside of town. Interesting and rare artifacts from various cultures around the world filled his house. All it took to engage the professor in an extensive conversation was to show some interest in something from his collection of artifacts. The professor had many unique views on the world, especially concerning those two subjects that Galen always avoided talking about in polite company; politics and religion. Galen would sit for hours listening to Gaston explain how those two subjects were the major source of change in the world, most of it negative.

  Gaston had been everywhere. From the Arctic Circle to the tropical rain forests of South America, Gaston could tell stories that would keep anyone engrossed for hours.

  They had become more than just friends. Gaston had been Galen’s first medical call after reporting to active duty at Willow River. He had been captivated by the old man’s wit, his gentle disposition, and the brightness in his seventy-eight-year-old eyes. Their friendship had started after Galen’s first visit and had continued for the next two years.

  The professor, like Galen, had no family nearby since his sister had died. He did have a nephew in New York, but they never visited each other. The professor had never married and rarely had visitors.

  Galen had thought of the professor as the grandfather he had never known. One of his own grandfathers had died before he was born, but to hear his mother describe him, he sounded a lot like Al Gaston. He had been kind and gentle, yet wise and opinionated.

  Galen also told stories about some of the emergency calls he had been involved in during their frequent visits. Having been a five-year veteran of a station in south Chicago, Galen also had plenty of stories to tell.

  The two men - one old and wise, the other young and strong - always enjoyed the company of the other. Many people would think Galen and Gaston, so far apart in terms of years and background, made an odd couple indeed. But their friendship had only grown stronger over time. Galen and the professor had spent many hours together, sometimes sipping coffee, sometimes beer, talking about anything and everything. On more than one occasion the visits had not ended until the wee hours of the morning.

  Hang on, Al, we’re on our way, Galen thought again as the ambulance sped out of town.

  Audra Winters was also preparing herself and the equipment for arrival at the scene. Audra had only completed her EMT training a few weeks ago, but commanded herself as if she were a seasoned pro. Only the slightest signs of nervousness fluttered about her face.

  The ambulance reached the long driveway that lead to Gaston’s home and the driver cut the siren. The sudden silence was deafening.

  “You grab the O2 kit,” Galen said to Audra as he opened the side door and jumped out of the rig.

  Audra already had it in her hands.

  Galen ran to the rear of the house and opened the back door. Gaston was leaning back in a kitchen chair, phone still clutched in his right hand. He was a small man, with short gray hair and a round belly. Upon seeing Galen, he dropped the receiver, which bounced noisily on the tile floor.

  “There’s a lot of pain, Galen,” the professor managed to squeak, clutching at his chest.

  “Okay Al, you hang in there, and we’ll get you to the hospital.”

  The ambulance driver, Bob, appeared with a gurney.

  Galen turned to Audra, “get him on 15 liters of O2, pronto.”

  Audra began to set up the portable oxygen and Galen began taking vitals.

  Within minutes they were e
n route to Rockford Community Hospital, about 15 miles due east.

  Gaston was wincing with pain, thrashing about a bit, and trying to talk to Audra. He lay on the gurney with his head and shoulders elevated. Audra sat on a bench to the patient’s left and Galen, on a single seat to his right.

  After establishing an IV, Galen was on the radio with the emergency room getting his orders from the ER Doc. A bag of IV solution swung back and forth on a hook above the patient’s head.

  Audra was doing her best to calm Gaston down. He was naturally very anxious. Although his heart problem had manifested itself years ago, it was not something you could just get used to. Gaston had been placed on several medications and Audra struggled to write them down for the emergency room physician.

  Galen finished with the radio and began to hook up the heart monitor to his patient. The professor grabbed Galen’s hand as he attempted to adhere the heart monitor leads to his chest.

  “Galen,” Gaston croaked, “I have to tell you something.”Gaston’s breaths were very labored and he was in a lot of pain.

  “Don’t try to talk, Al. Just try to calm down,” Galen said as he busied himself with applying the monitor leads.

  Gaston tightened his grip on Galen’s arm. “I have to tell you now,” he gasped.

  Galen responded sternly, “Al, try to calm down. After the doctor fixes you up, we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

  Gaston looked into Galen’s eyes. Galen saw there the look of the dying. Galen had seen that look more than a few times in his career. There was a certain look about people who were dying, and not just the obvious trauma victims struggling in their last minutes of life. This look required no blood, no missing limbs and no broken bones. This look came from inside, from the core of their being.

  Gaston started to talk again and reached up to remove the oxygen mask that hindered his speech.

  Galen reached for the old man’s hand and stopped him from removing the mask. “Al, you need this. It will help you. Leave it on, I can still hear you.”

  Gaston hesitated for a second and removed the mask anyway.

  “Galen, I need you to…,” his face tightened into a knot of pain, “…to do something for me.”

  “Sure Al. We’re doing all that we can. Just hang on ’til we get to the hospital.”

  Audra was trying to get the oxygen mask back on his face. Gaston kept turning his head in an effort to avoid it.

  “No, Galen… something else,” Gaston said, still attempting to push the mask away. He was becoming agitated trying to communicate while in so much pain.

  Galen continued to hook up the heart monitor as he listened to Gaston’s raspy voice.

  It is especially hard for an ambulance crew to work on someone they know and care about. Galen was trying to save the professor’s life, while at the same time, trying to take the time Gaston wanted, but maybe did not have. Galen wanted nothing more than to talk to the professor and was doing everything he could to keep him alive. He was doing his best to ensure many lengthy conversations with his friend in the future.

  “Galen, please,” Gaston croaked, “Listen…to me.”

  Galen looked at Gaston again, trying unsuccessfully to avoid his eyes. The look was worse. Death was close.

  Galen managed to get the monitor hooked up and began transmitting the readings to the hospital. Galen had done all he could for now and turned his full attention to speaking with his friend..

  “Galen, you must do something for me, if I… die.”

  Gaston could only whisper now and Galen leaned close, holding his hand. “Don’t you give up, Al. I’m not givin’ up, so don’t you give up!”

  Gaston shook his head to indicate that he had not given up. “A box, on my…my bookshelf, in my…study.” Gaston gasped for breath, “a wooden box, send it to…to.” Gaston was struggling to speak and the expressions on his face changed in a random pattern of fear, pain and anxiety, like a kaleidoscope of emotions.

  “Send it to…Paxon, Prof…essor Paxon, at Baxterrrrr… College.”

  Audra tapped Galen on the shoulder and nodded at the heart monitor. The monitor indicated Gaston’s erratic heart rhythm was steadily worsening.

  Galen turned back to the professor, tears filling his eyes. “You stay with me, Al!” Galen choked out, “we’re almost there!” Galen wanted so badly to tell Gaston he was going to be okay, but Galen had never lied to a patient and would not start now.

  Audra put the oxygen mask back over Gaston’s face. Galen held his friend’s limp hand as he constantly checked the equipment. He leaned close when he heard Gaston begin to speak again. The oxygen mask muffled the professor’s speech, but Galen could understand him.

  Audra was on the radio with the hospital, who was asking for a patient update and an ETA.

  “Galen,” the professor groaned. A small squeeze from Galen’s hand let the professor know he was there. “Call him; tell…him that…

  The professor squeezed his eyes closed in pain, and Galen could not understand what he was saying. The professor then took and deep breath and tried to continue.

  “Eater…of…hearts.”

  Gaston’s eyes looked glassy and stared straight ahead as he spoke. His lips were a pale blue and the look of death had washed the other emotions from his face.

  Audra was taking another blood pressure reading. The look on her face was enough to tell Galen it was very low.

  Galen wiped at the tears in his eyes then turned back to Gaston.

  The professor looked up, meeting Galen’s eyes. “Galen,” he said, trying to focus, “I…I…love you.” The old man squeezed Galen’s hand then pulled it toward his cheek.

  The ambulance was only two minutes away from the hospital when the heart monitor signaled a shockable pattern.

  Audra, who had been intently watching the heart monitor, shouted that the patient was in v-fib. Knowing what was coming next, she changed her position in the cramped ambulance.

  Galen tried to set aside his emotions and got back into his role as a professional paramedic. He was reaching for the defibrillator when an indicator on the monitor signaled that the patient was in ventricular fibrillation.

  “Let’s defib!” Galen shouted. He had trouble positioning the defibrillator unit paddles through his tear-blurred eyes.

  “Clear!” Galen said, making sure Audra was not in contact with the patient.

  Gaston reacted to the shock with a spasmodic jerk, heaving up from the gurney.

  Galen leaned back, and looked at Audra, who closely watched the monitor.

  “Nothing!” she shouted.

  Again, Galen positioned the paddles.

  “Clear!”

  Gaston jerked again and the monitor signaled a weak heartbeat.

  “Got it!” Audra shouted, intently staring at the monitor.

  Galen replaced the paddles on the defib unit and moved to the professor’s head. “Al!” Galen shouted as he checked for a carotid pulse. “Can you hear me?” Gaston reacted with only a twitch in his face. Galen knew it was useless.

  The monitor still signaled a heartbeat, although very faint and erratic.

  “Al, I love you too,” Galen said, leaning close.

  Galen would never know that Gaston had heard and understood because the professor could only react with another twitch.

  The heart monitor flat lined this time as the rig was pulling into the emergency room gate.

  – Chapter 3 –

  The old priest, (named Wilbur by Master Browning, Mendalla-Umba by his father) gave Tobias a drink of a medicine-brew he had concocted. He watched Tobias take the drink, then lay down on the priest’s bunk, delirious and in a lot of pain. He moaned softly and his eyes rolled crazily behind their lids.

  Wilbur, having no family of his own, shared a cabin with four other slaves. He had asked the other slaves to find another place to bunk down for the night, leaving him alone with the runner. He had also asked the rest of the slaves to try to get a good night’s sleep. Mendall
a-Umba did not want the field bosses to be suspicious that the slaves might have been up all night, doing that ‘African mumbo-jumbo stuff’ again. The old priest would probably be up the entire night himself, which would be bad enough.

  He lit a couple of candles, which cast just enough light for him to see. His shadow moved upon the wooden walls of the cabin like a dark ghost haunting the night.

  He left the cabin and retrieved a burlap sack he kept stored in a hollow tree at the edge of the camp. He kept his secret things in the sack, things necessary for his duties as leopard-skin priest. Among these things were various small bones, dried leaves, a few pebbles, and a coin.

  If Master Browning knew he was still practicing the religion he had brought with him from Africa, they would undoubtedly beat him again. He had taken several beatings for his faith, refusing to drop the practice and have the white man’s god forced upon him. Instead, he and the rest of the camp kept their beliefs a secret.

  There was no name for his religion, for it was the only one his people had ever known and everyone abided by its rules. His people had called upon the same gods for millennia. It was their way of life. Their beliefs were the one thing the white man could not strip them of, though try as they might. In this camp, Mendalla-Umba kept the faith alive.

  Master Browning wanted them to pray, to Jesus. He pressed his beliefs upon the slaves many times, forcing them to listen. He told them there was only one God, and Jesus was his son. Mendalla-Umba could not, would not, pray to Jesus. Jesus could not make his spirit fly and could not talk to him like the gods of his fathers. The old priest did not understand the white man’s God, but understood his own as well as anyone. He had seen their power, and knew of their wisdom.