“Oh Race, how did we get so old?” she cried.
He checked her for bed sores and found none; Harker was good at her job in that respect.
“Can you get up, sit at the table for breakfast?”
She sniffled and nodded. Race put his arm around her waist and walked with her to the small breakfast bar on the other side of the room. Her legs were wobbly things, incapable of supporting her fragile body without his help.
“Remember how we used to cut the rug?” Race said, grinning.
Her teary eyes shone for a moment.
“You were quite the dancer,” Helen said.
“You too. I was the envy of every CO on the base with a pretty thing like you at my side.”
He sat her in a chair and fetched the pancakes and milk.
“Blueberry pancakes,” Helen said. “Just like I make.”
He helped her cut them up and she tried to feed herself until the chorea hit, her arm knocking the plate across the table. Race held her until it passed, then gave her some milk.
“Dr. Harker mentioned that Bub was speaking,” Helen said.
This startled Race. Helen usually couldn’t remember anything that happened within the last forty years.
“He is. I’m going to run the Roosevelt Book by him today.”
“Then we can go home,” Helen said.
Race’s eyes welled up. He’d put up so many emotional defenses over the years it was rare when something slipped through.
“Yes, my love. Then we can go home.”
Helen gave him a small kiss on the lips.
“Walk me back to bed, dear. I think I’ll watch some television.”
Race carried her back to bed and retied her arms. The television remote control was bolted to the frame under her right hand. He pressed the power button for her. Helen flipped channels until she found a game show, and Race kissed her forehead and left with the plate and glass. He found Father Thrist in the Octopus, typing away on a computer.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Good morning, General. Today is the big day.”
“It is. Hopefully I’ll get all of it done. It depends how talkative he is.”
“Yes. I would also like some time with Bub. When you’ve finished, of course. The President has granted me that.”
“Of course, Father. You can sit in on my interrogation as well.”
Thrist nodded and turned back to his terminal. Race returned to his room, Blue 1, and picked up his phone. He hit the intercom code and spoke into the receiver.
“Good morning, there are blueberry pancakes in the fridge in limited supply, first come first serve. I would like everyone to meet in the Mess Hall by o-nine hundred hours. Today is the big day.”
He hung up the phone and forced himself to concentrate. His focus should have been on the game, but his mind was already on the victory party. First would be a briefing with the President, of course. Before he accepted any appointments, Race wanted to take a vacation. See how much his country had changed over the last four decades. If things went according to his plan, Helen could accompany him. She always wanted to go to Hollywood. How could he say no?
The President would undoubtedly also want his input on the future of Samhain. Depending on the answers Race got from Bub, there were three possible venues to take. Keep Bub a secret and let the project continue, end the project and go public, or end the project and terminate Bub. Samhain was home to Race, but it was a foster home, and he wouldn’t miss it in the least. Race would help train his replacement, or he would talk with reporters, or he would push the buttons in Yellow 4 that would detonate Bub’s implanted explosives. Whatever the President wanted, Race didn’t care. It wasn’t a soldier’s job to care. But a forty-year tour was long enough. Race wanted out.
He picked up the Roosevelt Book from the dresser and tucked it in his armpit. When he arrived at the Mess Hall Andy and Sun were already there, digging into his pancakes.
“Good morning,” Race beamed. “How’s the grub?”
“Good, thanks,” Andy said.
Sun nodded her approval; she was chewing. Race noted their close proximity to each other, one that implied intimacy, and thought of how times had changed. Race had dated Helen for six weeks before even getting a kiss. These two had known each other for two days and it was apparent they had something going on.
“How’s our permanent resident?” Race asked. “Is he ready to be questioned?”
“He had breakfast earlier,” Sun said. “He’s talking up a storm.”
Andy agreed. “His grasp of language is remarkable. It’s as if he’s been speaking it his whole life. By the time we were done with him last night, his English was better than mine.”
“Great. We’ll begin after everyone has breakfast. Good morning, Frank.”
Dr. Belgium entered Green 2 wearing the rumpled lab coat he’d had on the night before. His face was stubbly and the bags under his eyes were large enough to pack.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“You look like hell, Doctor. Do you feel okay?”
“Headache. Didn’t sleep well.”
“Let Dr. Harker take a look at you later,” Race said. “Good morning, Rabbi.”
“Shalom,” Rabbi Shotzen said. He sat down at the table. “So the demon is speaking English, yes?”
“Like a native,” Andy said.
“And everyone thinks he learned an entire language overnight? No one is suspicious that he may have known English all along and has been feigning ignorance?”
“Have some pancakes, Rabbi,” Race gave the holy man a pat on the back.
“Thank you, General, I will. You used the kashered cast iron skillet, yes? Good. Remember; we must take everything the demon says with two grains of salt. Bub may not be a fallen angel, but he’s imitating one, and all of hell’s angels lie. Now if someone could pass me a plate maybe?”
Father Thrist came in next, and Race noted that he and Shotzen avoided one another. Thrist waved off on the pancakes and opted for black coffee instead. Dr. Harker was the last to arrive. Race wished her a good morning, and suggested she examine Dr. Belgium after breakfast. Harker grunted acknowledgment, and instead of pancakes she made herself some buttered toast.
Quite a dysfunctional little family, Race thought. It had always been like that, in its many incarnations dating back to 1968. Not like the Army. On the battlefield, men were close-knit with strong bonds. It came from functioning as a unit, rather than as individuals. The dozens of specialists that have lived at Samhain since its inception had never been like that. This motley bunch would last two minutes in combat. Good thing it would never have to be proven.
“If everyone is ready, I’d like to lay down some ground rules,” Race said.
All eyes were on him. He stood up to project better.
“I’m sure we all have things to ask Bub, and everyone will get private time with him, I promise. But the first order of business is to get all of the questions in this book answered. If we go off on tangents, it’ll take forever. We need to stay focused. I’m not going to ask you all to zip your lips, but I am asking for the extraneous questions to be kept to the barest minimum. I also ask that we remain united in our opinion. I’ve done interrogations before, and group numbers give us the psychological advantage. But if there’s dissension, Bub could possibly play on that.”
“What is our opinion, General?” Father Thrist asked.
“We haven’t formed one yet. But we can’t have any in-group bickering in front of Bub. Dr. Belgium, is the video operational?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes yes yes. I just put in a new DVD-R a little bit ago. It’s good for six hours.”
“Good. Remember people, we’re going into this treating Bub as a source of information. He’s like a gold vein that we are trying to dig up. Personal opinions, preconceptions, whether you think he’s the Antichrist or just a nice guy… file it all away. Our object is to get these questions answered.”
“What if we figure out th
e demon is lying?” Rabbi Shotzen said.
“If Bub appears to be lying, or intentionally evasive, we’ll have to regroup and approach the situation differently. But please let me be the judge of that. Any other questions?”
There were none. Race made eye contact with each member of the group, to make sure he was understood on all counts.
“Okay,” he said, grinning broadly. “Let’s go rattle the gates of hell.”
“The gang’s all heeeeeeere.” Bub grinned his horrible grin.
No one laughed. Andy couldn’t speak for the rest of the group, but he was very much awed by Bub. Not only by the demon’s physical presence—which was substantial—or his apparent powers over the dead, but how quickly he learned. Bub mastered English in just a day, to the point where he was comfortable making jokes. That kind of genius, and all it implied, almost made the linguist speechless.
“We have questions, Bub,” Race said. “Questions we’ve been waiting a very long time to have answered.”
“You may aaaaaask,” Bub said.
He squatted on his haunches in front of the Plexiglas, to the right of the large blood stain the headless sheep had made the previous day. It had turned brown and begun to flake. Andy tried not to look at it.
Race sat in a chair facing Bub. The rest of the group formed a semicircle behind him. Andy sat next to Sun, the holies were on opposite ends, Dr. Harker sat way in the back, and Dr. Belgium stood, pacing back and forth like he was the one in the cage.
“Let’s begin with your background,” Race said. He opened up the old book in his lap but didn’t look at it. “You were found buried eighty feet in the ground in the Culebra Cut in Panama, one hundred years ago. How did you get there?”
Bub titled his head slightly and appeared to think about it, his elliptical eyes flicking left, then right.
“I was in a comaaaaaaa. My people thought I was deaaaaaad.”
“Who were your people?”
“The Kanjobalán Mayaaaaaaa. We lived in a city called Coooooopán.”
“Copán is in Honduras,” Andy said, surprising himself by talking—he’d wanted to remain neutral and simply observe. “That’s eight hundred miles away from Panama. Why were you buried eight hundred miles from Mayan boundaries?”
“I do not knooooow.”
“How long were you with the Maya?” Race asked.
“Threeeeeee hundred years.
“And before that, you lived where?”
“Many plaaaaaces. Across the waaaaaater.”
“How did you travel from place to place?” Race said.
Bub’s wings unfurled behind him as if they were spring-loaded. They opened with the sound of a belt being snapped.
“I caaaaaan fly.”
“Over the oceans?” Sun asked. “Carrying your capsule?”
“I’m strooooong.” Bub’s pectoral muscles twitched and bounced. It reminded Andy of a body builder showing off.
“If you were in all of these places,” Race asked, “why isn’t there any record of you?”
Bub grinned his crooked grin and folded his wings behind his back.
“There isssss,” Bub said. “Look at hisssstory. Many deeeeemons.”
“There are more of you?” Race asked.
“Yesssssss.”
“What happened to them?”
“I don’t knoooooow.”
“Where did you come from,” Race said, “originally?”
Bub’s eyes took on a far away cast.
“From liiiiiiiight,” Bub said. “From light, to darknessssssss.”
“What light?”
“Heavaaaaaaaaan. I was caaaaast out.”
“Cast into hell?” Father Thrist asked, his voice quavering. “Incredible.”
“Yeah, incredible,” Sun repeated. But she didn’t sound convinced. Andy wasn’t sure if he was convinced either, but he forced himself to keep an open mind.
“Explain how the world began,” Race said.
“God created everything. He created angels to be messengers between Hiiiiim and maaaaankiiiind.”
“Why were you cast out?” Thrist asked.
“There was a… disagreeeeeeement.”
Rabbi Shotzen made a snorting sound. Andy guessed him to be skeptical as well.
“What about evolution?” Race asked.
“Evolution is like planting seeeeeeeeds. When there was enough growth, God added maaaaaan.”
“Like the garden of Eden,” Thrist said, looking up from his notes.
“What is your name?” Race asked, leaning closer to the Plexiglas. “Your true name?”
Bub seemed to grow. He stood up to his full height, stretched out his talons, swelled up his chest. When he spoke, it was deep and loud.
“I am the Prince of the Poooooower of Air. The Draaaagon of Dawn. Son of the Mooooorning and Bearer of Liiiiight. The naaame most know me by is Luuuuuuuucifer.”
He settled back down on his haunches. Andy realized he was clenching his fist so tightly his hand had fallen asleep. He shook it, wincing at the tingles of pain as the blood came back in.
“Were you the one who tempted Christ in the desert?” Thrist asked.
“I met him in the desert, Faaaaaather. But not to tempt. Only to warn him of his faaaaaate.”
Thrist’s voice became a whisper. “Was Christ the son of God?”
“Yesssssss. God had sent him down on earth to dieeeeeee.”
“Fa!” Rabbi Shotzen threw up his hands in disgust. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.”
Bub titled his head at Shotzen. “Bad hangover, Raaaaaaabbi?”
The Rabbi stood up and pointed at the demon. “I don’t know what you are, but Satan you are not.”
“Don’t you beleeeeeeeive me?”
“Do not allow yourself to be misled,” the Rabbi told the group. “He shows only what he wants you to see. You are being manipulated.”
“Foooooool,” Bub said. “Jews are not the chosen peeeeeeeople.”
Shotzen’s face lost all color. He turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“You warned Christ?” Thrist asked, apparently unaffected by Shotzen’s outburst.
“Wanted to saaaaave him.” Bub leaned back, assuming his lotus position. “God wanted him deaaaaaaad.”
Thrist shook his head. “Christ died for our sins. He wasn’t being punished by God. He died so God would forgive us.”
“God was jealoussssss,” Bub said. “So he killed Hisssss son.”
Thrist shook his head. “It was for our sins. God forgave us.”
“God doesn’t caaaaare about yooooou.”
“What of the resurrection?” Thrist asked. “Christ rising from the dead?”
“Lieeeess.”
“It had to happen,” Thrist declared.
“His followers stole hissssss body from the tooooooomb.”
The priest shook his head. “No.”
“I saaaaaw them.”
“That simply isn’t true.”
“It’s truuuuuuuuuue.”
Thrist deflated in his chair. There was a silence that stretched on for over a minute. Andy wasn’t sure if any of this were true, but he noticed that Father Thrist looked like he’d been beaten up.
“What of prayer?” Race asked finally. “Does God hear prayers?”
“God doesn’t caaaare.”
“I… I don’t feel well,” Thrist said quietly.
“When we die, do we go to heaven?” Race asked.
Bub brought a talon up to his beard and scratched it.
“I don’t knoooooow.”
Race furrowed his brow. “You don’t know? Or you’re not telling?”
The demon’s face got so ugly Andy had to turn away.
“I. Doooooooooon’t. Knooooooooooooooow.”
“How about hell?” Sun asked.
Bub focused on Sun. The anger on his face vanished, replaced with a sly smile.
“Yooooooooou’ll seeeeeeeee.”
Andy lo
oked at the others, wondering if they were as creeped out as he was. They were, except for Race, who appeared more impatient than scared.
“Did God give you the ability to bring back the dead?” Race asked.
“Yessssssss.”
“How about heal? Can you heal the sick?”
“Yesssssss. I can cuuuuuuuuure your wiiiiiiife.”
Race stood up suddenly, pressing his palms to the glass. “Helen?”
“Yessssssss.” Bub touched the Plexiglas, placing his palm against Race’s.
“Bring her to meeeeeeee”
Race paused for a nanosecond, then headed for the door.
“General,” Sun warned. “That isn’t a wise idea.”
“We’ll be right back.”
Race practically yanked Dr. Harker out of her chair and they exited as fast as he could pull her. Andy saw Father Thrist take Race’s place at the glass, both hands pressed against Bub’s.
“Is there no way to win heaven?” Thrist asked. There were tears in his eyes.
“Such sadnessssss,” Bub said. “God doesn’t want you to be saaaaaaad. Maybe there is a waaaaaaaay.”
Thrist nodded several times. “Yes. Of course there’s a way. You just aren’t aware of it. You’ve never read the bible, have you?”
“Noooooooo.”
“I’ll bring you mine. You shall have mine. I’ll be right back.”
Thrist also hurried out of the room.
Andy looked around. “The ranks are thinning.”
“I have a few questions,” Sun moved to Race’s seat. “You said you were in a coma. How did that happen?”
“I don’t knoooooow.”
“Did you get sick? Injured somehow?”
“I don’t knoooooow.”
“I have studied your physiology. You are immune to all disease. We’ve tried practically every bug known to man, nothing makes you sick.”
Bub stared impassively at Sun. His black tongue snaked out of his mouth and licked the mucus from his right nostril.
Andy flinched. Sun asked, “Ever hear the name Kukulcán?”
The demon’s mouth twitched.
“Noooooo.”
“You’re lying,” Sun said. “How about that hot rock thing. What’s it called?”
J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Page 13