The Demon Senders

by T Patrick Phelps

  “If she’s with Novak and if any of the others are with her, let me know,” Jason answered. “That would raise some serious flags. We’ll be on her ass so quick she won’t know what hit her. And you two will be far enough away from the whole thing that Flannigan will have no idea about your involvement.”

  “So,” Lisa said, “it’s settled. We have a plan and, in my humble opinion, it’s a good plan. Jen, you good?”

  “I don’t think I have much of a choice, so, yeah, I’m in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Many answered to those he had assembled. Some were probable recruits but most were simply the lost: Those who lived on the margins of society and who were desperate for some direction. They searched for someone that would allow them to feel they had worth. Someone, anyone, that could give them a reason to hold their heads high, to justify the challenges life seemingly had an endless supply to offer.

  They were lied to, tricked, deceived. Some knew it but, still, they followed.

  The small communities or groups they joined offered more than what they could have reasonably expected had they chosen instead to continue living their lives. These were the forgotten. The overlooked and unseen casualties of society’s advancement towards what the ruling class decided would be best for the masses. Some discovered that those who shaped society offered nothing but platitudes and promises to those not fortunate enough to be counted among the ruling class, but most shuffled along, doing what they were told, believing what was presented.

  For Henry Winchester, the little people who found imagined comfort in following one of his chosen meant nothing more than redundant coverage. On the remote chance that one of his team abandoned the mission and decided to chart their own path, one of the followers could easily be duped to complete a necessary task. He knew any replacement would not have the same inner motivation and would certainly lack the moral vacancy that his chosen team possessed, but, still, his plan would continue to move forward.

  Except for Phillip. For him and for his role in the plan, there was no replacement. Not one that could be simply and quickly plugged in, that is. Phillip was a work of patience, stretched out over several years. While O’Keefe, Flannigan, Badr and even Novak were hand selected, only Phillip was truly groomed. Only Phillip could do what Henry needed to be done.

  When all were assembled and had taken their seats around the kitchen table, Henry stood. He circled the oval table, hands clasped behind his back, pausing for the briefest of moments as he passed each of the four seated. Ronald Novak was the first to speak.

  “What the fuck are we doing here?” Novak bellowed. “I made my mark a few weeks ago and could have ended his shit life then and there. But you make me wait and do nothing then tell me to get my ass out to Cleveland? It ain’t easy for a guy in my situation to get anyplace too far to walk, you know.”

  “You are doing exactly what I told you all to do,” Henry snarled. He resumed his circling. Though the house was usually filled with those that were faithful to Badr, Henry instructed Badr to, “Make sure the house is empty and stays empty until hours after we leave.” Those who followed Badr willingly vacated the house, fully expecting that their mission, their long-hoped for attack was in the final stages at last.

  “Tomorrow,” Henry continued, “Badr and his team will execute their part of my master plan. They will retrieve six vials of materials that Badr was able to collect during his most recent visit to Russia, and spread their contents across the cities of Cincinnati and Columbus. Once Badr is confident that his team will execute correctly and timely, he will go into a hiding place I’ve already arranged for him. Once I hear from Badr that his part has started and after he’s set off to the safe place, the rest of us will begin stage two.”

  “The value of Badr’s part of the plan?” Cardinal O’Keefe asked. “I still fail to see it.”

  “Numbers, O’Keefe. It’s all about numbers.” Henry had chosen Cardinal O’Keefe, not because of the position he held in the church, but rather because of O’Keefe’s availability. It was O’Keefe that had walked into that ramshackle of a house in Guatemala over a year ago and it was O’Keefe that decided to return to the house after his better judgement and internal guidance had screamed at him to leave.

  Getting O’Keefe to commit the ultimate sin, taking his own life, proved much easier than Henry had expected. Once O’Keefe’s mind was so twisted that he believed his own dearly departed mother was sitting on the floor in the room with the infected child, convincing him to end it all took little more than a suggestion.

  “There’s no way back for you, dear Cardinal,” the child had said. “No returning path leading to your precious God and life.”

  O’Keefe’s eyes were transfixed on the woman sitting on the dirty floor. It was his mother, of that he was certain. He wrestled his thoughts to make sense of seeing her there, so many years after she had killed herself.

  “It runs in the family, Cardinal. She accepted it, now you should, too. It’s not your fault nor does blame fall on your twisted mother’s soul. But you can take your revenge on the person who holds all the blame,” the child continued. “Listen to me,” the child whispered, her voice sounding like a gust of wind creating an ironic “hush” as it passed through ancient trees. “Do what I tell you and then, you’ll see the truth.”

  Cardinal O’Keefe left the shack, made his way to the church where he was planning on staying for the next several weeks. He contacted the Diocese and told them that he “required a sabbatical” and that his time away was starting as soon as he ended the call. Ignoring the priest, who had driven him to see the infected child, and the questions he was asking, Cardinal O’Keefe insisted on being left alone for several minutes before telling the priest that he had made “other arrangements” for his stay in Guatemala. Curious but obedient, the local priest drove Cardinal O’Keefe back to the area where the infected girl was, wished him good luck, then pulled his car away, never to see or hear from Cardinal Jeffrey O’Keefe again.

  O’Keefe, lost in a world in which he could no longer distinguish between reality and hallucination, walked deep into the Guatemalan rainforest. He walked for two straight days until his legs collapsed with exhaustion. He struggled to his knees, propped his body against a boulder and prayed to the God that he had served so faithfully his whole life.

  “Why, Father?” he cried his supplication. “Why have you abandoned me? Why have you let evil corrupt my mind? I can’t bear this any longer.”

  O’Keefe collapsed to the ground and fell unconscious. His dreams during his time passed out on the forest floor were filled with blurred images of the infected child’s gray face and of his mother sitting on the floor at the end of the child’s bed. He heard voices that sounded like they were giving him instructions but he couldn’t make out a single word.

  He had no idea how long he was on the ground nor what day it was when he finally opened his eyes to see the streaming sunlight pouring through the towering trees above him. All he did know was what he needed to do. He needed to stop the maddening swirls of distorted visions that filled his eyes. He needed to silence the indecipherable voices crowding in his ears.

  He staggered to his feet then pressed on, and followed the nearby sounds of water rushing when it falls from a great height.

  “But you said,” O’Keefe replied to Henry, “that numbers were inconsequential at this point. That the four of us and the one whom you assigned for the other tasks were all that we needed. Has something changed?”

  “Nothing has changed, Cardinal,” Henry said. “Increasing our numbers is not my intention. It is the number of lives we alter that matter. I don’t give a shit about pulling more souls as trophies, nor do I have any intentions of including more into our group. What I promised, I only promised to you three and to Phillip. Numbers only strengthen fear and respect.”

  “So what the fuck am I doing here?” Novak said. “I ain’t part of Badr’s fucked up plan.”

  “We need to stay close
together now. My other agents have informed me of several senders that we need to rid ourselves of. We need to start taking out what remains of the sender team, one by one. Carefully. If one of you messes up and gets sent back, you’ll jeopardize the whole plan and won’t share in the rewards once the mission is completed. Novak, the sender you already marked just figured out what he is and just sent back his first demon. He lives near your transition place. I have a plan to bring him to you. You know what to do when he shows up, right?”

  “Twist him or kill him,” Novak snarled.

  “Don’t bother twisting. Just kill him. He fucked up and lost a piece of his soul already. When you kill him, we’ll have him.”

  “And me?” Stacy Flannigan said. “What the hell else do you expect me to do? I did what you asked.”

  “You did almost everything I needed. Almost. You got the data Badr needed to finish his planning and you set up our base of operations. You need to keep your profile low and keep those idiots in Washington happy with your performance. Do whatever it takes to keep the men in power happy. You understand?”

  “I understand,” Flannigan said.

  “One other thing. Something that came out of nowhere and, if I was a religious man, I would say is so perfect that it’s a gift from God. You have a sender working for you that has no idea what the fuck she is yet. I think she’s served you as much as she’s gonna. You need to kill her and anyone else she may have spoken to about your plans. I know you fucked up by asking her to get information for you. Stupid, fucking idea that you now have to clear up before something blows up in our faces.”

  “I lived up to my end of the bargain,” Flannigan snapped. "You didn't say I would have to kill anyone."

  "Yet, here I am, telling you to kill someone. Just do it before she knows what the hell she is. You’ve already cleared everything so that you can accompany me back to Novak’s area, correct?”

  “Yes, but I still…”

  “You don’t need to know why you have to go to Novak’s area or what you’re going to do when you get there. Just do what the fuck I tell you, when I tell you. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Flannigan said, her teeth grinding together. "And then you'll let him go? You promised that you would let him go."

  "I'm a man of my word."

  “And me?” Cardinal O’Keefe asked.

  “You, holy and righteous Father O’Keefe, you’re coming with me.”

  <<<<>>>>

  Henry gave his final instructions to his assembled. Each was ready and each had their unified part of the mission. Though Henry knew that, ultimately, his plan hinged on Phillip being successful, it was only the earthly works that he could control. Phillip was on his own, but Badr’s plan to create mass panic was ready and controlled. Novak was nothing more (and nothing less) than muscle. It was Novak that would travel the world and destroy what remained of the senders. Henry’s plan to rout out the senders was working perfectly and had already resulted in the death of three senders. Nine more and Earth would be cleared.

  He knew there were many moving parts to his plan. He also knew that many of the pieces were set in motion only to serve as distractions. Badr spreading vials of plague was nothing more than a statement that a new leader was in command of the realm. So many others attributed the black death to the evil lord back when the plague had killed so many. But Henry knew the impotent leader had nothing to do with it. He also knew that those who inhabited the realm, believed there was someone behind the horrible spread and he wanted them to know that this time, it was his hands, the hands of Henry Winchester that brought so much suffering to humanity.

  As he climbed into his car, reluctantly succumbing to Novak’s pleas and demands and allowing him to ride along, Henry nodded his head to Badr and to Flannigan then pulled the car door shut. After Badr turned and headed back to the front door and Flannigan started walking to her car, Henry turned to O’Keefe who was sitting beside him in the passenger’s seat, and said, “You know that I need you to kill her?” He gestured his head towards Flannigan. “When you get to Novak’s pond and after Novak rips that sender’s head off, you grab hold of that witch. Novak already knows what to do then.”

  Novak grunted from the back seat. “I’m gonna make that tasty bitch squeal before I crack her skull wide open,” he said.

  “Do what you want,” Henry said. “Just make it quick. I won’t be anywhere’s near the place but I will get a report from O’Keefe. So if you fuck up, I’ll know.”

  “I won’t fuck it up,” Novak snapped. “The whole scene is a setup, so it will be a piece of cake to take care of the sender then to get the drop on Flannigan. That tasty bitch won’t know what hit her till I’m deep inside her.”

  “If you’re so willing to kill off members of your team,” O’Keefe said after several minutes of shared silence, “what can I expect from you when I’m no longer needed?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, O’Keefe,” Henry said. “Your position in the church will prove valuable to me for a very long time. What do you think the idiot people will start to think when they hear the black death made a triumphant return?”

  “That some terrorist cell somehow got their hands on vials of a mutated strain of the plague?” O’Keefe answered.

  Henry said, “They will believe whatever the fuck the authorities tell them to believe. They’re sheep. They do what they’re told, believe what they’re told to believe and think what they’re told to think.”

  “Not all of them,” O’Keefe said.

  Henry said, “I don’t care about all of them. Just enough of them to hit the tipping point. You start rolling out a bunch of shit about the ‘end times’ and how the plague is an expression of God’s anger, and your sheep will start blatting loud enough to hypnotize themselves into a state of delirium.” Henry paused. “You think I’m going to kill you all off once this is over?”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” O’Keefe said.

  “You didn’t ask about Badr. I went through a lot of energy to figure out a way he can be safe after his sheep pull off step one. Want to know why?”

  “Because you won’t be done with him after spreads that shit around in the air,” Novak said.

  “The sheep start blatting about end of days, largely because of what you’ll be saying and largely because it’s true. But the sheep have a ridiculously short attention span. If a few million people end up getting infected with the plague and ten or twenty-thousand die, it will be huge news in the minds of the sheep the world over for a few months. Then, the epidemic will be stopped, people will stop getting sick and dying and things will return back to normal. The sheep will go back to watching their fucking reality shows, trying to forget how shitty their own lives are, and everything I planned out and Badr executed will be history.

  “See, that’s where those idiot terrorists back in two thousand one made their mistakes. They blew their load in one day and never followed it up. They should have spread out their attacks over a few months. Take down the towers in September, hit the Pentagon in November and follow them up with a few bombings in key cities in January. The sheep would have never recovered.

  “But I’m not going to let that happen. I won’t make that mistake. Just when the sheep start deciding whether it’s safe to let their paranoid guard down or not, Badr will hit again. Another calamity right out of the Bible and you, Cardinal O’Keefe, will be the only one the sheep turn to.”

  There was silence in the car as they made their way out of the Cleveland area and headed east.

  It was nearly an hour before the silence was broken.

  “What about me?” Novak said. “If you’re thinking about sending me off, you better think again.”

  “You’re too damn fucked up to ever get rid of. You’ll soon be free to do whatever the hell you want to do. On this realm.”

  “Whatever I want?” Novak asked.

  “Whatever you want.”

  Part Three:

  The Setup

  CHAPTER T
WENTY-TWO

  Phillip must have drifted (though fully unaware of his movement) for several hours before settling on a direction. Henry had offered him no suggested direction or probable course when he set off on a certainly impossible mission. Choosing where to go took time. He settled on going deeper. Though he knew going the path he had decided on would be more difficult than if he had elected an ascending route, he felt his target would be beneath his current location. As if being lower than anything else served some twisted desire of his quarry.

  Once his aim was established, Phillip struggled against the pulls of resistance to break free of where they were drawing him. He felt as if his target had grown instantly aware of his intentions and had set forth whatever obstacles remained in his arsenal to halt Phillip in his journey. To turn him back. To demonstrate the feebleness of such a mission.

  “Why,” Phillip thought, “would he want to keep me away? Is it possible that he is actually worried about what I can do to him?”

  He glanced at the object he was carrying in his hands, still wrapped in burlap cloth, bound tight with a string of decaying greenish fibers. Its weight was certain; the object felt heavy in his hands, but he knew, somehow, that what he carried was not a weapon. He wasn’t expected to kill the governor of his realm but only to unwrap the contents of the package, and toss it to the realm’s commander.

  Henry had warned him about unwrapping the object.

  “Remember,” Henry had said, “you do not want to see what you’re carrying. Neither will he. It will destroy him.”

  Yet despite Henry’s repeated admonition, the object called to Phillip. It wanted to be seen. It whispered in a voice too quiet for even Phillip to hear, “Show me. Remind them all.” Phillip wished for a satchel or at least large enough pockets in which the object could be hidden. Carrying its weight was simple enough, but the object seemed to carry its own heavy burden. One much too heavy for Phillip to even consider budging away from gravity’s demands.