The Eye of Madness

by Mimms, John D;

  Avery rubbed the side of his head. He was about to respond when Garrison interrupted.

  “Enough of this, Avery. We have business to take care of,” he spat.

  Avery’s mood improved as a sly grin spread across his face. He held out his hand and Garrison gave him one of the rifles. “I haven’t used one of these in years,” he said.

  “Since Panama?” Garrison remarked.

  Avery nodded and began to walk toward the fence as Garrison followed.

  “How do you know those people?” Garrison asked as they walked.

  “I may be at the Pentagon, Mr. President, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still involved with intelligence. Those three are some of the best domestic operatives we have. None of them will bat an eyelash at doing what must be done.”

  “Giving the government plausible deniability,” Garrison said with a crooked smile.

  Avery nodded.

  When they reached the fence, Garrison leaned up against the bars and stared at the small group still milling about in the dark. “You sure you got all the useful ones?” he asked.

  Avery shrugged. “I got you the ones I know. Do you want to conduct interviews with the rest of them?” he said impatiently.

  Garrison glared at him. “You’re damn lucky I let y’all in here, yourself included, colonel.”

  When Garrison first heard of the crowd gathering outside, he was terrified. He feared that he had been wrong in his assumption that God chose him. Of course, his terror was short lived. He realized God was testing him, giving him his first challenge of his new administration.

  By the time he arrived at the fence, he was still hell bent on destruction. However, going out and just mowing everyone down was not practical because it was too easy. This was a challenge and shooting fish in a barrel was no challenge at all. He knew God sent these people here for a reason. When he saw his friend, Avery, he had no doubt. He thought of Proverbs 21:5: ‘The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty.’

  He had done his diligence. He separated the wheat from the chafe. He identified those who God sent to assist his administration. The others must die. As long as there were others who could move through the dark, a great shadow of doubt was cast on his divine providence. He could not allow it.

  “Are you ready?” Garrison asked, flicking the safety off and raising the rifle through the bars of the fence.

  “You start left and I start right then work our way in?” Avery asked.

  Garrison nodded then turned and shouted at the group. “Okay, people nothing more to see here, it’s time to move along!”

  As some began to turn and walk away, he gave the word.

  “Now!” Garrison snapped, loud enough for only Avery to hear.

  The deafening roar of automatic weapons fire echoed off the buildings. Lafayette Square was lit up like strobe lights. It was over almost as fast as it began, twenty-eight men and ten women lay dead in pools of blood, a mere stone’s throw from the White House. The guards watching the mayhem tensed and a few raised their rifles across their chests, but no one dared to act.

  Garrison and Avery beamed at each other with wide smiles of satisfaction.

  “Thank you Lord for choosing me and guiding me tonight. Thy will be done,” Garrison said.

  As the two men were about to walk back to the White House with their three helpers, one of the guards summoned the courage to approach them.

  “Sir … why?” he asked.

  Garrison felt a surge of rage because his divine mission was being questioned. Even so, he was not a fool. As much as he wanted to shoot this man, he knew that discretion was the best policy. His quick thinking took over and he created a lie, a very convincing one. It would become his official stance on the incident. If over thirty of these people tried to crash the White House, no telling how many more there were around the country, not to mention the world. He was special and he must remain so. God’s plan depended on it.

  “Sergeant, I couldn’t ask you and your men to carry out judgment, not in good conscious,” he said.

  The sergeant seemed confused.

  “You see, those people were taken over by the damned Impals. Instead of killing them, they were controlling them. We … we had to put them down,” he said with false remorse.

  “But … what about them?” he asked, glancing at Avery and the other three.

  “They were too strong for the Impals; their faith in God is pure. They mustered the strength to resist. Now, I’m going to take them in and let them recover from their traumatic ordeal.”

  The sergeant still seemed confused, but he nodded and stepped aside.

  Garrison returned the weapon to the guard he borrowed it from. “It handles well,” he said with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

  Garrison was about to walk on when something caught his eye above the sergeant’s head. Someone was at one of the windows on the second floor. Steff stood there with her hands cupped over her mouth in horror.

  CHAPTER 16

  LITTLE DONNA

  “It’s fun to have a partner who understands your life and lets you be you.”

  ~Kim Kardashian

  Jack’s heart pulsed in every inch of his body. For someone who was so content and restful moments earlier, the knocking at his window terrified him. Not because he thought it was one of the beings from the dark, but because he was afraid it may be the police or, even worse, his base. Did he thoroughly dispose of the evidence? He never welcomed an uninvited guest before, at least not one who left alive.

  He glanced about the room, keeping one eye on the window. He jumped when a white hand rapped on the glass again followed by the top of a head peering over the windowsill. Whoever was outside was either crouching on their knees or quite short and standing on their tiptoes. He watched paralyzed until he heard the muffled voice of a woman.

  “Hello … I see you … can I come in?”

  When the eyes of the person peeked over the sill again, he absently pointed towards the back door in the next room.

  “Okay,” she said, and then disappeared.

  Jack walked to the other room and flipped on the outside light. When he saw who was outside, he didn’t know whether to laugh or to scream. A young girl, in her early teens, stood in the shadows peering up at him. Her grey eyes beckoned to him from underneath a mop of tangled black curls. Her ruby red lips twisted in a sardonic grimace. The first thing he noticed was that she used way too much make up. If not for her torn jeans, filthy trainers, and an unassuming green hoodie, she would have passed as a short prostitute. Jack hesitated before opening the door. This was not because he was afraid of the girl; it was because he had some honor. He might be a murderer, but he was not a pedophile. He did not believe her intentions to be honorable. He opened the door only a crack, but she bolted inside and plopped down at his kitchen table as if she belonged there.

  “Hi sweetie, what’s your name?” she said in a sultry voice way beyond her years. She propped her feet on the table and gave him a seductive wink.

  Jack didn’t answer at first; instead he studied her in the ambient light coming in from outside. He experienced a mixture of emotions. He wasn’t sure whether he was happy to have someone to share the dark with or whether it was time to get his cage back out. He never caged anyone this young because it served no purpose. It wouldn’t serve a greater good. However, in this case, he could make an exception. He didn’t trust her and he wasn’t sure why.

  Jack sat down across from her at the table. His mood and posture were rigid. Finally, he answered through clinched jaws. “Jack.” He reached up and pulled the string, turning on the light above the table. The room flooded with light, driving the whispers to the far corners of his flat. Once he got a proper look at his guest, she wasn’t quite as she had appeared. She was definitely young, no doubt a teenager. Her physical maturity was blemished by a rough existence. A large scar corkscrewed her right cheek, ending an inch from her eye. Small purple
blotches peppered her neck and the top of her hands. He couldn’t tell if it was due to mottling from drug abuse or a bruise from an injury. Perhaps her makeup was not a symbol of promiscuity, but rather a cover for a life of shame and humiliation. However, her voice and tone suggested otherwise.

  “My name is Donna, darlin’,” she said with a wink, making the scar on her cheek jump.

  He thought it strange that this girl did not have a British accent. She had an American one, although it sounded fake. Donna spoke in an accent of the American south to be exact. She took her legs down and dangled them over the edge of the chair. She leaned forward with her elbows propped on the tabletop and rested her head in her hands. She regarded him with dreamy eyes.

  “Well, Donna,” he began. “Where are you from?”

  She rolled her eyes back and forth as if trying to recall some elusive fact. “Manchester,” she said after several long moments. “I’m from Manchester, England.”

  “I figured it was the Manchester you were referring to,” Jack said. “You don’t sound like you’re from Manchester.”

  She shrugged and frowned at him. “What the hell am I supposed to sound like?” she yelled and folded her arms over her heaving chest.

  “Well, you sound as if you are from the States … Georgia or Alabama or somewhere,” he said, making no effort at apology.

  “Is this bloody better?” she said using an exaggerated British accent.

  Jack stared at her. He was starting to consider getting his cage back out. This girl was not in his modus operandi, but he would still be doing the world a great service if he took care of her. He could be quick and merciful, unlike how he had treated most of his guests … besides he was tired and needed to get some sleep. He didn’t need this aggravation. As tempting a thought as this was, one thing stayed his hand. She was like him. She could move about in the lethal darkness. This small woman-child humbled Jack in a way others had never been able to. He felt foolish that he was naïve enough to believe he was the only one with this special immunity. Of course there were others out there … there had to be. It was a mathematical certainty.

  When she did not immediately get a response, she continued her tirade. “What say we go nick a bloody lorry and roam about town like a couple of bobbies while we search for any tossers hanging about after dark?” she said, thickening the accent and using British slang.

  Jack felt anger rising. He didn’t appreciate being patronized, especially not by a kid. He leaned forward and stared into Donna’s eyes. “Listen Donna, you are in my house and if you want to remain in my house I expect you to show some respect. Judging by your appearance, you don’t respect yourself.”

  He could see the anger kindling in Donna’s eyes, but he didn’t care. “Whatever rules you lived by before don’t mean a bloody thing now. You are in my house. My house, my rules …” he said trailing off with a broad and patronizing smile of his own.

  “You know nothing of me,” Donna snapped, the southern American accent was gone momentarily, replaced by something that sounded British, but different from anything he ever heard before.

  It was true. Jack knew nothing about her, but he didn’t care. He meant what he said. The two of them stared at each other, neither one wanting to show weakness by breaking eye contact. Finally, Donna flinched. The flame in her eyes dimmed a little and she sat back in her chair. She yawned as she propped her feet on the table.

  “So … why doesn’t the dark affect us?” she asked in a neutral accent.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, nodding his head at her trainers. He wanted her to remove them from the table. She ignored him.

  “Maybe this is just a shot in the dark here,” Donna said, studying him from head to toe. “I would guess that you are in the military.”

  Jack still wore his uniform. He only planned on making a quick trip home and back. He had not anticipated staying. He frowned and said, “You could say that.”

  “What do you do in the military?” she prodded.

  “I’m an MP,” he said.

  Donna laughed. “So, you’re an army bobbie,” she said, putting on her bogus English accent again.

  “And you are a skanky scrubber?” he said with a sardonic smile.

  She didn’t understand his meaning. “What is that … domestic service … a maid or something?” she asked.

  “Something like that,” Jack said, his smile broadening.

  “Manchester, indeed,” he thought to himself. “She doesn’t know Liverpool from liverwurst.”

  “No, I never done anything like that,” she said reverting back to her Southern dialect. She studied her hands and then ran her fingers up and down her torso a couple of times. Jack couldn’t tell if she was trying to be seductive or scratching an itch. She then touched her fingers to her cheeks as she spoke. “No, I go to school and work as a waitress part time,” she said distantly.

  “What school?” Jack prodded.

  She regarded him for several moments. The rage he saw earlier was gone, replaced by bewilderment. She resembled a deer in headlights.

  “The girls’ school in Manchester,” she said.

  “Which one?”

  “The main one,” she said, the flame rekindling.

  “Oh,” Jack said, trying to hide his disbelief. He was not in the mood to argue or conduct an interrogation.

  “Yes … that one,” she said.

  Jack was about to offer her the couch for the night, when Donna surprised him.

  “Why do you think we can pass through the dark?” she said. Jack wasn’t looking at her when she spoke. If he had, he might have noticed a knowing grin wash across her face.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “Why do you think we can?”

  “I think the things in the dark like us and give us a break,” she said, nonchalant as if she were discussing the weather.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really … and why is that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know … a feeling,” she smirked.

  Jack had the same feeling. Although he did not trust the darkness enough to sleep with the lights off, he did find it calming. It was like wrapping himself up in a warm blanket, yet a blanket that he feared could smother him if he let his guard down. “Why do you think it likes us?” Jack asked.

  “Because you know them and they know you. Y’all always have,” she said with a tone of indifference.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Jack demanded.

  Donna shook her head and shrugged. “I think it means we have to keep a low profile. I don’t think there are too many people who would understand our aptitude,” she said.

  Jack felt a knot in his stomach. He felt as if someone may be watching. This thought frightened him ever since he woke up with a bloody head. Someone would find out, someone would ask questions, and then someone would ask more questions. Then they would want to know all about him. He couldn’t have it. Jack was careful, but he was not perfect. Someone would find out about his community service work and they would not understand. People were stupid. He avoided personal interaction as much as possible.

  “Okay,” Jack said, half serious and half playing along. “So, what do you think we should do?”

  “Well, first of all, turn all these danged lights off,” she said. “If this were summer, you would be attracting every bug within miles. As it is, you are just attracting questions you don’t want to answer.”

  She gave him with a knowing grin. He was not sure why, but it sent chills up his spine.

  Without another word, he got up and flicked off the outside light. He then turned off the kitchen light, plunging them into darkness.

  “You want to sleep on the sofa?” Jack said.

  “Well I’m sure as hell not going to sleep with you!” she said with a cold certainty. It was a stark contrast from her initial demeanor.

  Jack felt a flush of embarrassment wash over his face. He was glad it was dark and she couldn’t see him.

  “Whatever,” Jack said. “I�
�ll get you a pillow.”

  “Thank you sugar, that’s mighty sweet of you!” she said reverting back to her seductive, southern voice.

  Jack didn’t acknowledge her. He walked in his bedroom, retrieved a pillow off his bed, and then came back and tossed it to her.

  “Here,” he said before turning and walking back in the bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Crazy urchin,” he muttered as he reluctantly took her advice and shut off his bedroom lamp.

  The room fell into complete darkness. Jack stood for several minutes listening to the hissing and clicking. Those ethereal noises sounded as if several people whispered in a strange language. Jack found it an intoxicating lullaby. He walked to his bed and stretched out. Sleep came, but not before he asked the same question a dozen times—who or what is she?

  CHAPTER 17

  THE UNLIKELY ALLY

  “Some allies are more dangerous than enemies.”

  ~George R.R. Martin

  Salvation. This single word had been in the back of everyone’s mind since Musial announced his deepest desire hours earlier. Once the shock of President Garrison’s broadcast wore off, the cryptic word was now first on everyone’s mind. Only, Musial wasn’t talking; in fact he had been in a deep sleep ever since the radio was switched off. Their best efforts to wake him were unsuccessful. When he did finally wake from his comatose slumber, who would they address … Andrews or Musial?

  Everyone bedded down for the night, yet nobody slept. How could they when the only thing separating them from a horrific death was a few well-placed lights? Charlotte and Derek set up cots between the sofa and the kitchen. Cecil stretched out on the floor beside his traumatized wife on the couch. Burt and Sally settled a few feet away.

  “Cecil … you asleep?” Burt whispered after thirty minutes of listening to the depraved chorus surrounding the cabin.

  “What is sleep?” Cecil said, rolling on his side to face his friend.

  “A sweet distant memory,” Burt said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He paused for a moment and asked, “Have you given any more thought as to what we are gonna do?”