The Eye of Madness

  “Is Sam still in there?” he asked.

  Musial nodded. “Of course, and when I am done you can have your hot headed, chemically dependent friend back.”

  Cecil, or anyone else in the group, carried no real affection for Andrews. The man had been useful through the connection with his brother for the ships which evacuated the Impals. In all truthfulness, he was more of a hindrance and royal pain in the ass than anything. Still, he was one of their own.

  “Is he still in there?” Cecil asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Musial said with an impatient shrug.

  Cecil stared at him, finally driving the message home that his answer was unsatisfactory.

  Musial sighed and stretched his legs. “His consciousness is asleep. It was easy enough to keep him this way … he had quite a lot to drink.”

  “But he should be sobered up by now …” Cecil began, but was cut short by a shameful clicking of the tongue from Musial.

  “Major, major, major, I thought you understood. The body and the soul have little to do with each other. This body has been sober now for hours, but the soul, your dear Mr. Andrews’s soul, is drunk with sadness, anger, and despair. To be blunt, he is an emotional abomination. It has been far too easy to keep him under, so to speak.”

  “Is he a dark soul, like you?” Cecil asked.

  Musial seemed bemused. “I couldn’t have taken him over, not if we were similar to me. No, Mr. Andrews is no dark soul. He is just … how do you say it nowadays … a hot mess.”

  Cecil didn’t know whether to be pleased or upset. Pleased because Andrews was just a normal jerk, or upset that his father seemed to be one in the same with the darkness. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. As hard as he tried for the last couple of months, he couldn’t bring himself to completely hate his father. Sure he hated the things he had done, both now and when he was a child. He could hate him on the surface, yet deep down; there was a small ember of a son’s love still burning for his father. It singed his heart. He wasn’t sure he could ever extinguish the feeling and it made him feel guilty.

  “Is there any hope for my father?” Cecil asked in a whisper; he didn’t want the others to hear.

  “Perhaps,” Musial said stroking his chin. “If he overcomes his ignorance. However, with your alcoholic friend here,” he said pointing to his own forehead. “The first step is admitting he has a problem. In his case, admitting he has been ignorant of the truth. The weakness of dark souls is pride. It comes before all else. If he can’t overcome pride, admit he has been wrong and then seek honest redemption, well then … I am afraid he has no hope at all.”

  Cecil heard and understood what Musial said, yet he made no reply. Instead, he walked to the window and stared outside as the morning sun began to drive the darkness back into the woods.

  “How did you overcome your pride?” Cecil asked.

  Musial shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I was tired of living in the void with all those other villains for years and years,” he said then gave a soft chuckle. “Or maybe I had time to think …”

  Cecil watched him expectantly, but Musial offered no more information. He leaned against the wall with his back turned to the room and began to breathe in and out as if he were sleeping. Cecil pulled up a chair and sat with his pistol across his lap, guarding Musial until Burt woke up.

  President Garrison did not have the time or the inclination to chit chat with Carmella and Steff. He reminded Steff that he would expect her for lunch in the president’s private office. He then ordered Carmella to make sure they were served chili. Not the weak stuff, as he put it, but the stuff that makes you sweat. He needed a ‘pick me up’.

  “Does that sound good to you, Steff?” he asked sounding more of a command than a question.

  Steff didn’t care much for chili, and hated spicy foods even more, but she was too scared to argue.

  “Sure. Sounds good,” she said, forcing a smile.

  Satisfied, Garrison closed the door, leaving the two ladies alone and strode back to the Oval Office. The New Order was under way and he must get back to oversee the plans for the United States future. The new United States, with him at the helm enforcing his righteous agenda. When he thought about the accomplishments of his new allies within a few short hours of joining him, he smiled. Garrison failed to stifle a giddy laugh as he descended the stairs.

  “God be praised!” he proclaimed to no one in particular, although anyone within fifty feet would have heard him. “They did it all in one night!”

  A bystander in the bright halls may have thought he was quoting a line from Charles Dickens’s, A Christmas Carol. He never read the holiday fable because ghosts were of the Devil. In his mind, he believed he was quoting an obscure verse from the Bible dealing with a timely miracle. He believed a miracle is what he received last night.

  Robby Johns and Joan Titsworth had paid some strategic visits to various VIP’s around the capital city last evening. In only a few hours, they eliminated most of the opposition to Garrison’s coup d’état. They accomplished this with no violence, at least on their part. They just introduced their targets to the dark. The Speaker of the House, several members of Congress, and several military officers met their demise. The massacre was a bloody affair and a remarkable coincidence. It seemed all these high ranking dissenters forgot to stay out of the shadows at the same time. That’s where Garrison’s longtime friend, Avery, came in, along with geek extraordinaire, Sebastian Gardner. Avery created a speech worthy of a master spin doctor, while Gardner updated internet newsfeeds. This was done in anticipation of connectivity suddenly returning.

  Internet and television had been useless since the storm arrived months ago. Nobody knew what the event was, no one knew when or if television and internet might come back. It was best to prepare for when it did. One errant news report could derail everything accomplished by Garrison’s administration. They must be preemptive. Radio was much easier to control.

  “So, what would you like us to do now, Mr. President?” Robby asked with thick sarcasm.

  Garrison didn’t notice, or refused to acknowledge, the mocking tone. He gave a quick and enthusiastic response. “Splendid work last night … splendid work!” he boasted, and then with excitement rising in his voice he asked, “Tell me … how did the Speaker meet his end last night?”

  Robby and Joan exchanged glances, and then both of them shrugged at the same instant.

  “It was the damndest thing I ever saw,” Joan said with a tittering laugh. “We pulled him out of his lit up house into the dark yard. He then got the garden hose and tied a perfect hangman’s knot. He tossed it over the limb of a big beech tree and started looking about for something. We didn’t know what till he emerged from the corner of the house pulling a wooden bench. Then the idiot proceeds to climb up on it, sticks his head in the garden hose knot, and then jumps as if he was trying to take flight.”

  “It sounded like a pencil breaking in two!” Robby added with a laugh.

  “How did he know how to tie that?” Garrison asked with amusement. “He did an actual hangman’s knot?”

  “Well, hanging is not my specialty,” Robby said with a knowing grin. “But it seemed pretty damn accurate to me. It did the job.”

  “Yeah, it was definitely the most original of the night,” Joan said. “Everyone else drank poison, shot or stabbed themselves, bashed their head into a wall, or jumped out a window.”

  “Oh, you remember the idiot Congressman who threw himself off the roof of his one story house?” Robby cackled. “It took the moron forever to die. He finally managed to crawl to a flower bed and impale himself on a landscaping light. I was about ready to take care of his sorry ass myself, but Avery said to let the dark do the work.”

  “I guess it was his final filibuster,” Joan snorted, causing Robby to burst into laughter.

  Garrison sat listening to their story and their laughter; he didn’t join in though. Not because he found it offensive, no indeed, they were doing God’
s work to get rid of the dissenters. His attention switched to Avery and Sebastian as they entered the room.

  “When is the radio address?” Garrison asked.

  “Noon,” Avery said with a wide smile. “Everything is set.”

  Garrison started to smile, but then it faded to a frown.

  “I have a lunch date today, can it be later?”

  Avery shook his head. “No, this is the best time … all the evac bases will be broadcasting on their public address speakers. The morons who were too stupid to evacuate, well, we figure noon would be the most obvious time they would be listening.”

  “Those morons will be dead tonight unless they have a generator, anyway,” Sebastian said. “The power is going to be cut to most public areas at 3 PM Eastern Time today and diverted to the bases.”

  Garrison stood up and walked to the window, listening to the sound of distant heavy equipment. Beyond the iron fence of the White House grounds, a large front end loader deposited its cargo into the back of a dump truck. Bodies spilled into the bed like a bunch of discarded and bloody rag dolls. The Washington DC Department of Public Works and the National Guard were going to have their hands full today. The corpse clean up and removal across the entire world was overwhelming. Garrison said a silent prayer for those being collected outside and around the world. He pitied the poor people who had fallen victim to the dark, well … all those who didn’t stand in the way of God’s agenda. He knew it was not their faults; it was the fault of the Impals who were now in their true form. They were not blessed as he was. After all, didn’t Psalm 82:3–4 say Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless; maintain the rights of the poor and oppressed. Rescue the weak and needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked?

  This clean up task would be far more daunting than the terrible blizzard that hit the East coast last winter. The bodies coated the streets and neighborhoods of the nation’s capital like macabre snow drifts. But in contrast the storm of last winter, this one was worldwide. If the remains were not disposed of soon, they would have another problem on their hands almost as bad as the dark. Disease would run rampant.

  “Contact the regular military and tell them to get their asses up here and assist the Guard. This mess has got to be cleaned up fast!” Garrison barked.

  “Way ahead of you,” Avery said, tapping his finger against his temple. “I ordered it an hour ago. We should have three hundred more dump trucks and loaders here by the time you go on the air.”

  “Thank God it is not summer,” Sebastian remarked as he waved his hand in front of his nose and squinted. “If it were, the stench would already be unbearable.”

  “Good job, Avery,” Garrison said. “I think before we begin the meeting we should open with a prayer, don’t you?”

  Avery nodded and reverently bowed his head, but the other three were incredulous. They rolled their eyes and sighed as Garrison rambled off a self-serving prayer lasting more than two minutes.

  “Okay, let’s begin,” Garrison said as he raised his head and beamed at everyone.

  “What a damn hypocrite,” they all thought but did not say. However, for personal motivations, they would continue to wear the mask of sycophant. They all had their issues that made them dark souls, only none of them were hypocritical about it. They were what they were … take it, leave it, or shove it. Of course, they all knew why they held a special relationship with the dark. They felt the calm of their kinship each time the lights went out. Garrison saw things differently. What his companions saw as peace derived from a kindred existence, Garrison believed his calm came from God. His pride wouldn’t let him consider anything else.

  “How shall we carry out the Lord’s will going forward?” he asked with a toothy grin.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE BASES

  “Suspicion is the companion of mean souls, and the bane of all good society.”

  ~Thomas Paine

  “Who in the hell is this skank?” Jack wondered as they trudged down an old cow road on the way back to the base.

  Their bellies were full with their custom made Martian Burgers, but they didn’t sit well. Jack’s stomach burned as if a small fire kindled in his gut. There was something very strange about this girl who called herself Donna.

  He thought about killing her when they got to the part of the road known as the tunnel. Its lush canopy forming a cover high enough for a tall truck to pass would be the ideal spot. It was secluded, it was private, and nobody would be any the wiser. She knew about him because she saw him at the moors. Even if she hadn’t seen him dump the body, she knew. A part of him believed she would turn him in first chance she got when they reached the base. The MPs would arrest him and throw him in a cage.

  “How ironic,” he thought to himself.

  However, something stayed his hand. Something that tormented him because he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was a vexing enigma and he couldn’t harm her, not yet … not until he figured her out. He clinched his fists and bit the inside of his lip as he fought his homicidal impulses. She was no longer silent. This didn’t help control his rage as she rambled on about nothing in particular.

  “Would you shut up, would you please shut the hell up!” he bellowed as they passed into an especially dark area of the road. He wasn’t sure if he yelled because he was trying to talk over the noisy hiss and click of the dark or because he was at his wit’s end.

  She glared at him. Eventually, Donna backed down and decided that ‘shutting the hell up’ was preferable to the rage she saw in Jack’s eyes.

  The rest of the journey was tense and silent. Jack found it the most enjoyable part of the day. He considered the relative silence and soothing whispers of the dark to be therapeutic. That’s why it didn’t anger him too much when he was seized and thrown to the ground at the gate of the base. He expected it; after all he was AWOL the last twenty-four hours. What angered him was when Donna pointed and laughed as he spit out a mouthful of grass and leaves.

  Donna, of course, received better treatment. She allowed the guards to give her a perfunctory pat down before admitting her through the gate. They were both escorted on foot, Jack with his hands bound behind him and Donna with her hands in her pockets. They reached the base office where they were separated and each put in a different room with nothing more than a desk, chair, and lamp. A few minutes later, the door flew open on Jack’s room and a large man in a military police uniform dragged in a heavy metal chair. He spun it to face the table across from Jack and then slid into the seat, keeping his eyes locked on Jack the whole time.

  “Where did you pick up the girl, private?” he asked.

  Jack swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t come up with some plausible story, one they could both stick to. He already told the commander and his friend over the phone that he suffered an accident and woke in a well-lit room. This was not entirely a lie; in fact the only false part was where he awakened. He knitted a plausible tapestry of deceit in his mind, and then delivered it as calmly as he could. “When I came too after my accident, she had broken into my house to get away from the dark,” he said in a monotone.

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed with disbelief.

  “What the hell was I supposed to do … kick her back out into the dark?” Jack asked, his face turning red with anger.

  The interrogator did not reply, instead he glanced out the window. Jack followed his gaze and his heart sank when he saw another MP sitting across from Donna at a picnic table. They were in the bright sunlight, which any other day would have seemed unusual since there were so many other tables in the shade. The mood at their table was more laid back as they smiled and chatted.

  “Did you have sex with her?” the soldier asked, turning his attention back to Jack.

  The geyser of Jack’s patience erupted and he shot out of his chair. “What kind of bloody question is that?” he screamed. “I’m no damned nonce!”

  One might think he would have said something cheeky like “I may be a serial
killer, but I’m no child rapist!” Of course, Jack did not believe his killings were wrong, he believed he was doing society a favor, yet he was no fool either. He knew people didn’t understand because most were cowards. The one thing Jack did have in common with the normal world was that he believed child molestation was an abomination.

  Before Jack could utter another word, he found himself sitting back in his chair. A throbbing pain burned his chest. The soldier pushed him back down.

  “Don’t get up again until I tell you to,” the guard hissed as he leaned over the table, inches from Jack’s face. “Do you understand, Private Abernathy?”

  Jack stared at him in utter shock; he didn’t know what to say so he just nodded his head. He threw his hands in the air and forced a calm tone of voice.

  “Look, I have told you everything I can. Why don’t you get the Doc in here to check out the back of my head!” he said, gently touching his wounded area.

  The soldier glanced at Jack’s head, and then frowned with indifference.

  “I have just one more question, private,” the soldier said, regarding him without emotion. “Were you walking about in the dark last night?”

  Jack felt rage churning inside. Had they seen? Did the little ragamuffin out there squeal? If she did, turnabout was fair play. He would fix her wagon by God, he would fix her good. No one could have seen him last night, not unless they were immune to the dark as well.

  “If I did, I would be dead right now,” he said.

  The soldier examined him without blinking for a few moments. He then stood up and walked out the door. Jack couldn’t tell if he believed him or not, the man was good at his job. Jack watched out the window as the soldier and Donna continued their conversation. His interrogator soon approached their table and summoned the other. He got up; leaving Donna with her elbows propped on the table, and joined him several feet away. The two men talked for several minutes. Their expressions and mannerisms didn’t give any hint of the mood or subject of their discussion. Both men were stoic except for a couple of subtle hand gestures. Finally they parted ways and Jack’s interrogator came back inside, this time with a friendlier attitude.