Anatomy of Evil

by Brian Pinkerton

  The young man said, “Bullshit.”

  “No, it’s true,” said Emma. “Down the road. We…”

  “You’re trespassing,” said the young man. “You don’t belong here.”

  Kelly erupted. “Yes we do. This is my parents’ house. Who the hell are you?”

  The young man pulled a handgun out from under his black shirt. He pointed it at them. “Border patrol,” he said.

  “What?” said Emma.

  “I’m one of the chosen believers,” said the boy. “I have been enlisted to help guard the vicinity from unwanted intruders. I know who you are. You don’t belong here.”

  “Yes we do,” said Emma. “We’re family.”

  “No. Your family no longer exists. There is a new family. You are outsiders and you will be treated as such. Come with me.” He gestured with the gun for them to move in front of him. Kelly moved first, followed by Emma. Emma’s first step caught in a small divot. She stumbled, falling into the dirt.

  “Stupid bitch,” said the young man and the distraction was all Jake needed…

  Jake slammed the tire iron into the back of the boy’s skull. Stunned, the boy staggered several steps and swung around to face his attacker. Jake struck him again, harder, creating a spray of blood. One more blow landed across the boy’s temple and he went down into the soybeans.

  Jake jumped on his arm to grab the gun. The struggle lasted only a few seconds as the boy slipped into unconsciousness. Blood continued to seep from his wounds.

  “Oh my God,” cried Emma. “Oh my God.”

  Jake stood up, catching his breath. He held the gun. “I had to do it. I had no choice. You saw the look in his eyes…”

  “Now what do we do?” asked Emma.

  “We keep going,” said Kelly.

  Jake nodded. “We can’t stop now.”

  The three stepped out of the rows of soybean and into the tall grass surrounding the farmhouse.

  Without making a sound, Emma waved to get the attention of Jake and Emma. She pointed to the side of the house. Gary’s van sat parked in the gravel driveway, displaying the colorful Gary’s Game Day logo embellished with his smiling cartoon character face.

  Jake nodded and gripped the gun tighter. They moved closer toward the house.

  Suddenly Kelly let out a muffled shout. Jake and Emma turned to find Kelly clutching her hand over her mouth, eyes bugged wide, screaming uncontrollably, while desperately trapping the sounds from escaping into the air.

  Jake and Emma rushed to her side. Emma tripped on the way, stumbling over two large objects lying in the tall grass. She immediately discovered the source of Kelly’s horror—a pair of dead bodies, shot execution style in the back of the head.

  Kelly’s parents.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Kelly ran for the tool shed between the barn and the farmhouse. Once inside, she collapsed to the dirt floor and released an anguished cry, followed by heavy sobs. Jake and Emma caught up with her, closing the shed door behind them.

  They gave Kelly time to collect herself. Emma kneeled down and stroked her hair.

  “We’re going to find Christina,” promised Emma. “She’s safe, I know it. We’ll find her and take her home.”

  Kelly looked up at Emma, tears streaming down her face. “We don’t know that. Maybe they’ve killed her too. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because they can use her as leverage,” said Jake, matter of fact. “She’s valuable as a hostage.”

  Jake stepped over to a small, square window clouded by dirt and spider webs. He rubbed a small peek hole with his sleeve and took a look outside.

  Activity immediately caught his eye.

  “They’re moving the truck,” he announced.

  Emma joined him and together they watched Gary drive the store van farther up the driveway. He turned the van to one side and then reversed, backing the rear of the vehicle toward the barn. Rodney and Sam emerged from the barn, swinging open its large red doors. After the van backed into the barn, Rodney and Sam closed the doors from the inside.

  “What are they doing?” said Emma.

  “I’m going to find out,” said Jake. He moved away from the window.

  “Please be careful,” said Emma.

  “They won’t see me,” said Jake. He held the gun tight and stepped outside.

  Jake surveyed the area, saw no one, and hurried to the barn’s entrance, ducking low. He stepped up to a narrow crack between the closed doors and looked inside.

  “Oh my God,” he said quietly, under his breath.

  Rodney, Gary, Carol and Sam slid a large, bullet-shaped silver canister into the back of the van. Kelly’s fearful premonition had come true: the foursome had acquired an inversion bomb.

  Once the canister was secured inside the vehicle, Gary said, “Let’s cover it up.”

  Jake watched as Carol threw blankets over the warhead. Then Rodney and Sam began filling the back of the van with cardboard boxes, stacking them around the bomb, obscuring it. One of the boxes toppled, spilling its contents to the ground, revealing dozens of plastic promotional footballs.

  Jake spun away from the barn. He ran back to the shed.

  “They have a bomb,” he said, rejoining Kelly and Emma. “They’re loading it into Gary’s van.”

  “Holy shit,” said Emma.

  “It’s the other inversion bomb,” said Kelly. “They found it. But how could they just walk off with it?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Jake. “We need to find Christina and get out of here so we can contact Homeland Security.”

  “Where do you think she is?” said Emma.

  “We’ll check inside the house,” said Jake. “We need to do it fast while the rest of them are in the barn…”

  Kelly stepped over to a side of the shed and grabbed a long, sharp bale spear used for moving bundles of hay. “Let’s go,” she said, tears drying on her face. “Let them try to stop us.”

  Jake, Kelly and Emma departed from the tool shed, moving swiftly to the house. They reached the front porch, opened the door and entered without being seen.

  The three moved quickly through the rooms of the house. Kelly called out, “Christina! Christina, it’s Mommy!”

  In the kitchen, they came across a table filled with maps and blueprints. Jake studied them for a moment and discovered the layout to Chicago’s football stadium. The realization sent him reeling. “There’s a big game tonight, Monday Night Football. It’s sold out, 60,000 in the seats and a national television audience. They’re taking Gary’s truck because Gary’s a local football hero. He’ll get in, no questions asked.”

  Kelly moved away from the table. “Christina!” she cried out more urgently, heading into a corridor.

  Then she heard a response: a small voice, muffled and distant.

  “Mommy.”

  “Christina!” She raced to the one area she had not yet explored—the basement.

  Kelly unbolted the door to the basement and opened it. She hurried down the wooden steps and saw her three-year-old daughter chained beneath a water basin, dirty and scared.

  “Christina!”

  Kelly ran to her, dropping the bale spear. Jake and Emma followed close behind.

  Kelly hugged her little girl and tried to pull her closer —but the child barely budged, handcuffed to a pipe.

  “Son of bitch!” said Jake. He grabbed the pipe and pulled hard, but it would not break from the wall.

  Christina started to cry.

  “Don’t cry, honey,” said Kelly. “We’re going to get you out of here. We’ll find a way…”

  “We need a hack saw,” said Jake. “Even then, it’ll take time. I don’t know how much time we have…”

  “A hack saw?” said Kelly.

  “Or something…anything that can cut…” Jake inspecte
d the silver cuff around Christina’s wrist. “Unless we…”

  “Unless what?” said Emma.

  “Those police handcuffs are designed for adults, she’s got small hands. I might be able to pull her hand out. But…”

  “Pull her hand out?” said Kelly.

  “She’ll be okay…but we might have to break some bones in her hand to make it work.”

  Kelly let out a short gasp.

  “No,” said Emma. “We can’t—”

  “Yes,” said Kelly. “Do it. Do it fast, get it over with. We have to leave. Just get her free!”

  Jake looked into Christina’s eyes. “We’re going to free you, Christina. It’s going to hurt. You’re very brave, Christina. You’re a big girl. We have to get you out of here. Your hand will hurt but it’ll get better. It’s the only way…”

  Kelly held Christina’s free hand. “Squeeze my fingers, honey. Squeeze tight. Close your eyes and squeeze mommy’s hand…”

  Jake reached forward. He gripped the metal cuff in one hand and placed his other hand over Christina’s fingers. He began squeezing hard, compressing the bone and flesh, forcing it down.

  Christina screamed.

  Kelly silently cried, clasping her daughter’s free hand, which squirmed wildly.

  After several sharp pops, Jake pulled Christina free from the handcuffs.

  Christina sobbed.

  Jake handed her to Kelly, who held her tight. “Honey, don’t cry,” she said, still crying herself.

  “We have to quiet her down before we can leave,” said Jake.

  “Please don’t cry,” said Kelly, kissing Christina’s wet face. “Please, honey. We need to take you home.”

  After several minutes, the little girl’s cries became soft whimpers. Her broken hand swelled up, scraped and raw.

  “You’re very brave,” Jake said to her. “Your mommy’s very proud.” He turned to the others. “We better go.”

  “I’ll carry Christina,” said Kelly. She picked up and handed the bale spear to Emma. “You take this.”

  Emma took it and stared at the strange, sharp object.

  They moved to the basement stairs and began climbing the steps in a single file, beginning with Emma, followed by Jake, and then Kelly carrying Christina.

  As Emma reached the top step, a tall figure moved into the doorway, blocking it.

  Sam.

  He halted their exit from the basement.

  “So, we do indeed have intruders,” he said. A head-shaven young man stepped next to him, similar in age and appearance to the boy Jake had struck down with the tire iron.

  Sam said, “Scott is a member of our border patrol. He discovered a strange car parked down the road and suggested we might have visitors. Scott is a disciple of my church, very faithful to our cause and prepared to do anything I ask of him to serve our mission.”

  “Sam,” said Emma, gripping the bale spear. “This isn’t you. Please. Listen to me.”

  “No, you listen to me. You three will remain in the basement. The girl will come with us. Now hand her over.”

  “No!” shouted Kelly.

  Jake remained standing behind Emma, keeping his hands out of view. He slowly pulled the pistol out from under his shirt.

  “You will provide us with the girl or we will take her by the hair and drag her up here,” said Sam. “You choose.”

  Scott lifted a black handgun. He pointed it down the stairs at them. “You heard what he said. Give us the girl.”

  No one moved.

  “You poor dead bastards…” started Sam.

  Jake exploded into action. He pushed Emma aside, raised his gun and pumped the trigger, firing a series of shots. A bullet struck Scott in the chest and he stumbled backward to slam into the corridor wall. Jake continued firing and Sam slipped out of sight.

  Scott sunk to the ground, leaving a red stain on the wall. Jake charged out of the basement with the gun still drawn. He found Sam at the other end of the corridor, crawling on his hands and knees, bleeding on the carpet.

  Sam muttered in a low, guttural voice. At first, it sounded like gibberish. Then Jake realized he was praying. But not to God.

  “Hail, O Satan, O rebellion, O you avenging force of human reason, let our prayers rise to meet your greatness.” Then Sam erupted into a coughing fit, spitting up blood.

  A rush of emotions overtook Jake. “Sam, I’m sorry. I had to do it…”

  Sam turned and looked at Jake. “Yes, you did,” he said, eyes glassy. “You shot me dead, Jake.” Then he smiled with red teeth. “You know what that means, don’t you? I’ll see you in hell.”

  Sam pitched face first into the carpet.

  Emma emerged from the basement, followed by Kelly carrying Christina. Kelly shielded Christina’s eyes from the bodies on the floor.

  “Sam,” said Emma. “Is he…?”

  “Yes,” said Jake, stunned. “I couldn’t help it. I just started firing. There was no other way…”

  Kelly took Christina away from the carnage, heading for the front door. “Let’s get out quick before…”

  Then she stopped, freezing at a window. Outside, she saw Rodney, Gary and Carol walking swiftly toward the house.

  “They’re coming!” she shouted.

  “They probably heard the shots,” said Jake. “Stay close to me. I have the gun.”

  They huddled in the kitchen and waited. The front door creaked open, followed by footsteps.

  Rodney stepped first into the kitchen.

  “Stop right there!” shouted Jake. He pointed the gun. Emma and Kelly crouched behind him. Kelly shielded Christina with her body.

  Rodney lifted his arm to display his own gun. “I would not recommend a shootout. I’m a trained police officer. I can tell you in advance who will win.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Jake. “I took care of Sam.”

  Gary and Carol appeared next to Rodney, standing on either side of him at the kitchen entrance.

  “They’ve seen our maps,” said Gary.

  “Yes, we know your plans,” said Emma. “Gary, please, don’t do this. You’re sick. This whole plan is sick.”

  “Sick?” said Gary. “I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  “Can’t you see what’s happening?” said Kelly. “The island… The boat trip… You went through a cloud, a passage in the atmosphere. You’re contaminated, it turned you evil. You’re good people, this isn’t who you really are.”

  Rodney cocked his head. “Turned us…evil?”

  “Yes,” said Kelly. “You’ve changed.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong,” said Rodney. “You’re operating on the assumption that we’re born good, that good is a core essence of what it means to be human, and that something changed us to create a new behavior. So let me set you straight. Evil, my dear, is not created by a sickness, a defect, a disturbed environment or outside influence. Evil is the starting point for all of us. We are not born good and become bad. We are born bad and conform to good. We are shaped by society, molded by laws, force-fed ideals by phony religions to create a false sense of security that doesn’t represent who we really are. We are beasts, Kelly. It’s part of our DNA. We hand over our souls to evil the day we’re born. This isn’t a departure. It’s coming home.”

  “You’re possessed by the devil,” said Emma.

  “No,” responded Rodney. “You’re possessed by your own delusions.”

  Carol stepped forward. Her face turned gentle. She smiled at Jake.

  “Honey,” she said, “I wanted you…to be proud of me.”

  “Proud of you?” said Jake.

  “Of course. You were always telling me I needed to stand up for myself. You said I needed to show some backbone at work, that I let them walk all over me. You said I didn’t discipline the kids, I let them push
me around, I wasn’t showing my strength and authority. You did say that, didn’t you?”

  “But that’s different—” said Jake.

  “Is it? You wanted me to toughen up, those are your words. You said I was too gentle, too soft, too passive…at the office, with the kids, in bed. You wanted a tiger, didn’t you?”

  “Carol,” said Jake. “You’re not making any sense.”

  She stepped over to the kitchen counter. She extracted a long knife from the carving block. “Well, a tiger needs its claws.”

  She held the knife out and twisted it in the air. “This is the Carol you always wanted. Dangerous. Mysterious. Unpredictable. God knows it’s more sexy than shy little miss prim ‘n’ proper who blushes at R-rated movies. Anything but boring old Carol. Soft-spoken Carol. Sad little Carol, the victim, the weakling of the family. Do you think I enjoyed it? I spent my days frightened and intimidated, always accommodating everyone else. And where did it get me? The same pitiful response every time, the lamest of all accolades, the word we use to cover up every other deficiency… ‘She’s so sweet.’”

  “Carol,” said Jake. “Please. I liked you…sweet.”

  She stepped in front of Jake. She gently touched his face and looked into his eyes. Her voice lowered to a soft whisper. “Maybe you did, Jake. But I didn’t like myself.”

  Carol thrust the knife into Jake’s chest.

  Jake gasped with a huge intake of air. His mouth fell open. He dropped the gun and stared into his wife’s face. He witnessed the softness evaporate, replaced by a hard, fierce grimace and cold, unblinking eyes.

  She stared him down, watching as he slowly collapsed to the kitchen tile floor, shuddering and sputtering blood.

  “Sweet dreams, Jake,” she said. She blew him a kiss.

  The room fell into stunned silence. For several seconds, no one moved. Then, all at once, the kitchen erupted.

  Emma let out an angry shout and lunged forward with the bale spear. She drove it into Carol’s throat, pushing ferociously as it pierced the skin and tore into her jugular vein. Carol staggered backward with the spear protruding from her neck, blood gushing in a frantic spray, eyes wide and crazed.

  Rodney fired his police gun twice, striking Emma and exploding the window behind her into shards of glass.