The cage that held Sarah Johansen sprung open through the sheer will of Anton’s consciousness, and she timidly emerged. Walking up to Zach’s slumped form, she stroked his cheek and cradled his head in her arms, carefully wiping away the spittle that dribbled down the corners of his mouth. How could she ever repay the man who had sacrificed so much to save her? She gently stroked his cheek and kissed his forehead gently. “I love you, Zach,” she whispered in his ear.
Anston breathed deeply and slumped into a chair. The drain on the channel that linked him to the other members of the Suicide Society was enormous. The power of the Benefactor had been much stronger than anyone could have ever imagined. Jarad Anston was exhausted, but he used his waning energy to pray for Zach Randall.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Kathy threw a $50 bill at the driver and hastily exited the cab. She ran up to the building and pulled the doors open, hardly noticing the sign in embossed chrome that read, Wulfric University, John Howard Student Center. Rushing to the elevator, she glanced over at the stairwell and saw Ryan standing by the fire escape beckoning for her. The elevator opened, but Kathy didn’t enter. Instead she walked over to Ryan and leaned down while he spoke to her again.
“Of course, baby, I understand.” She opened the thick steel service door and sprinted up the fire escape stairs until she reached the third floor. Walking cautiously down the hallway, she stopped in front of a room with a cross above the threshold. It was just as Ryan had described it.
She opened the door of a small chapel and stood in stunned silence. At the altar, a priest had his hands around the throat of another man and was choking him violently. Kathy could hear the distressed victim gurgling and gasping for air. She took a step forward, her hand shoved into her mouth. What could she do to help? How could she possibly attack a priest? The pounding in her head made her stumble back against the far wall of the room. Kathy heard a voice, but couldn’t connect with it. The accompanying presence pushed against her, invading her mind and body. The feeling was uncomfortable and disconcerting.
Kathy, don’t resist. I need you to cooperate with me. You know the bomb is here, and you must help me to diffuse it.
“Whaa—What? My God, someone is in my head,” she said out loud.
There’s no time to explain. I’m the one who you talked to when you attempted suicide. I’m here to help. Let me in. This is what Ryan wants.
Kathy gasped and massaged her temples. The voice in her head was right; Ryan told her to do this. Could it be a delusion? Perhaps she was losing her mind after all. Still, she must listen to her son, so she took a deep breath and cleared away the doubts. The presence wasted no time filling the void and assuming full control. Kathy felt like a stranger in her own body. She had become a mere spectator in the unfolding scene.
Momentarily disoriented, Zach familiarized himself with this female embodiment. Everything seemed awkward, uncomfortable and out of place. He looked around the room and focused on the man in the frock who was choking Jose Munoz. How Munoz arrived at this place was a mystery, but Zach recognized the detective was in a struggle for his life.
As his thoughts coalesced, Zach forced the woman’s body to run at the malevolent priest. He lunged at the clergyman while swinging her small, balled fists at his face. The priest turned just as a punch impacted with his left eye. He grunted in surprise and loosened his grip on Munoz’ neck.
The detective capitalized on the opportunity. When the priest hit Kathy with a back hand slap that sent her sprawling across the polished linoleum floor, Munoz punched him directly in the Adam’s apple, which caused the priest to gag and clutch his own throat. When Munoz rose, Zach saw the shaft of a gold cross protruding from the detective’s chest just below his shoulder. The detective’s breathing was labored, and bloody bubbles escaped from his lips every time he exhaled.
Even in Zach’s diminished condition, extracting memories and motivations from the priest proved to be relatively easy. He replayed the drama of the confrontation with Munoz and learned exactly where the bomb was positioned inside the room.
Zach opened his mouth to speak, but no sound escaped his lips. While his thoughts were somewhat coherent, he was having trouble connecting to the nerve centers in Kathy’s body. The circuitry inside her psyche was foreign and badly damaged. Hastily, he rerouted his own thought patterns through the broca center of her brain.
“Jose…” Talking seemed horribly slow and painful. “Jose, it’s me, Zach Randall.”
Munoz’ eyes widened as he continued to inspect his wound, but he looked over at Kathy. A strange expression came over his face.
“I can’t explain. Too difficult—no time. Jarad Anston; safe house; it’s me, Jose.”
Munoz spoke in barely a whisper. “How—could this be?”
“Please. I can’t remain in her body without killing her—my mind is fading. Bomb—you must—disarm the bomb.”
Munoz shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t have the code. It would explode immediately if I tried.”
“The code is…8778-5584…It’s 8778-5584.” Munoz watched as the woman reached out, but her consciousness faded as she closed her eyes and collapsed to the floor.
As he stumbled back over to the bomb, Munoz watched in horror as the digital clock continued to expire. Nineteen… eighteen. His hand shook as he extended his forefinger to the keypad, and he wondered if he could push the correct buttons in sequence.
Pulling his hand back, Munoz shook his head and laughed. What the hell. It’s only a nuclear bomb. What’s the worst that could happen? He slowly and deliberately punched in the numbers Zach had given him through Kathy, waiting for some sign the firing mechanism had engaged.
He finished the sequence as the timer reached three seconds. For a seeming eternity, he stared at the numeral “3” on the digital counter, but it remained frozen in place. He wouldn’t remember how long he actually sat without moving, but after some moments, Munoz finally exhaled. The bomb, it seemed, had been deactivated.
Munoz found the strength to rise to his feet and stumble over to the fallen priest. He checked for vital signs, but the pasty complexion and pooled blood around the eyes told him that the man was dead. Munoz’ punch had apparently collapsed his trachea.
There were so many questions. Had Zach Randall saved humanity? Munoz was too exhausted to contemplate what he had just experienced. He would have many quiet years in retirement to ponder a multitude of questions about divine intervention.
***
Alan walked through the double doors of the hospital, which was located in a decrepit district of downtown Phoenix. Politely referred to as a “psychiatric facility,” Alan knew it was just a run-down government funded insane asylum. He followed a white smocked nurse’s aide into a diminutive room with a single chair and small table set directly in the middle of the floor. On the far side of the table sat a small, frail man in a wheelchair, wrapped tightly in a brown wool blanket.
Alan approached the table slowly. He was nervous, but he had to come. As the authorities continued to unravel the complex web of the Network’s inner circle, Alan knew an indictment was imminent. But the need to know burned within him.
He pulled out the chair and sat down. Across the table, the man looked up slowly. His eyes had lost all their color, and his face was a craggy map of wrinkles, deep lines and discolored skin. It was hard to accept this wretch was the Benefactor.
Alan reached across and clasped the withered, bony hand that lay lifelessly on the table.
“I have to know. You’ve got to tell me. Are you my father?”
The nurse, who remained positioned near the door, moved closer. “Ah, he is catatonic. I’m sorry, he can’t speak. I thought you knew that.”
“He can speak. He has to speak because I have to know. He needs to tell me if I’m his son.”
The nurse stiffened and felt for the emergency button attached to her uniform. “Sir, I told you he can’t talk. If you want to say something to him…”
&
nbsp; “He has to talk. I have to know!”
“Sir, please calm down. If you don’t, I’ll have to call security.”
Alan rose from the chair, his arms were raised and his hands extended. “Ok, ok. I should’ve known he would never tell me.” He walked to the door and opened it. Just as he was about to exit, a weak but recognizable voice spoke from behind.
“Never, Alan...”
***
Psychiatrists, philosophers and theologians rationalized that the suicide epidemic following the conclusion of worldwide hostilities was merely a reaction to the devastation and difficulties that lie ahead for the survivors. Only a few recognized this explanation was only partially correct. Many of those who took their own lives in the days following the Benefactor’s demise simply completed an action they started many years ago. Since the dawn of humanity, suicide has provided a sullen release from the treachery of living for tortured souls.
Shortly thereafter, the United Nations organized a peace conference that eventually led to a framework for a unified global government. Largely credited with saving the world after dismantling the bomb in Chicago, former Detective Jose Munoz was elected to the new Universal Governing Council as a member of the faction from North America. His celebrity never affected Munoz though. He remained in constant contact with Jarad Anston, supplying the Suicide Society with vital information until his retirement.
***
In a damp basement underneath a Chinese textile factory, a small group of seven people huddled around a crooked, worn table. “We may not be so fortunate next time, Leader Jarad,” said a slight man with a thick French accent.
“I know, Jacques. Our numbers dwindle. Not a single overseer emerged during the reign of the Third Orb Carrier. At least until Zach Randall arrived to save us all.”
“Thank God for Zach. Without him, we would never have prevailed,” said a woman whose hair looked like frayed string. “It is such a shame. His natural power was even greater than your own, Leader Jarad.”
Jarad Anston shook his head. “We must stay ever vigilant and aware. While we have recovered three of the Orbs, three more remain hidden from us through the dark cloak of the demons. Each time one has appeared, it has resulted in horrible devastation that threatened the existence of mankind. Kahn, Hitler and now Mr. Cox. As the weapons grow more powerful, each threat is worse than the last.
“Our mission remains as it has for centuries. To use the unique gift bestowed upon us for the betterment of mankind. Through our own pain and sorrow, we benefit all.”
They clasped hands in the middle of the table. “Through our pain and sorrow, we benefit all,” they recited in unison.
***
On a bright day filled with sunshine, Zach adjusted the beach umbrella and moved his chair. The island remained deserted except for the locals and a few tourists who stayed past September. Hurricane season was fast approaching, but he hardly cared. He knew the island would not be in the path of a hurricane this year.
Was this reality, or was he trapped in a delusion that was sealed from both ends? He sipped his mai tai, leaned over, and kissed Sarah full on the lips. She was sleeping, but she had never looked so beautiful.
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About the Author
I’m an only child born in Chicago and raised in a small suburb called Elk Grove Village. As one of the first planned communities in the U.S., our town was characterized by nice new houses that all looked alike, a single shopping plaza, good schools and parks dotting the landscape. We had one small black and white TV for a long time if I remember right, but there were always lots of friends to play with and blue skies and clean air. In the summer, we roamed free from sunup to sunset, playing sports at the park, fishing in a nearby creek or riding our bicycles for countless miles. From first grade on, I loved to read since it was something that came easy to me. By the time I picked up the first book in the Tom Swift series, I was hooked on the rich storylines you could only find in print.
Novel writing started in high school, when I became friends with the most talented writer I have ever known. We wrote a book together, and I cringe when I read my sophomoric chapters compared to his polished prose. Still, I had a ridiculous amount of fun throughout the process, and his influence is still evident in my writing style even after all these years.
After high school, I enrolled at Loyola University and attended for two years. While I had an amazing experience living on campus, it was hard to commute from Elk Grove in the second year. During that time, I started to grow restless. Two more years and two schools later, I decided join a friend who had just moved to Phoenix. Did I mention I was also a musician? I formed a band in Phoenix when I was 22 or 23, and we traveled extensively for the next several years. Eventually, I sat in the A&R director’s office for Electra Asylum Records as she listened to our tapes and discussed a record deal. Needless to say, I didn’t become the rock star I hoped, but I made a decent living playing guitar and had some of the best (and worst) experiences of my life.
Figuring it was time to get serious about life, I started working in the HVAC industry. A decade of hard work and fortitude eventually paid off, and I started my own wholesale company in the early 1990s. That was when I met, courted and married the love of my life, Kelly. She helped me build the business, and in the early 2000s, we were approached by a national consolidator and sold the company. The financial security was great, but the biggest benefit was that I got watch my daughter grow up from a front row seat. For 10 years, I never missed a soccer game, birthday, sleep over, recital or other milestone in her life. Watching Michelle evolve into a D1 scholarship soccer player was one of the greatest thrills in my life.
I spend my time writing full time now, although I stay active in the HVAC industry and try to help local authors by organizing groups and publishing-related events.
The Suicide Society Series
The Suicide Society: Book One
Rational Insanity: Book Two
Kill It to Death: Book Three
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The Suicide Society
Book One of
The Suicide Society Series
By
William Brennan Knight
All rights reserved in all media forms. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright 2015 by William Brennan Knight
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 978-0-692-35820-7
Cover Designed by Duong Covers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person, events or locals, living dead or imagined, is purely coincidental.
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