The Eye of Madness

Cecil ignored her rages and glanced back over his shoulder at the vehicle. His heart lifted for a moment when he saw Burt’s door open and him roll out onto the ground. Then his heart sank as Burt knelt and proceeded to slam his head in the heavy SUV door.

  “Jesus,” Cecil croaked and buried his head on Sally’s heaving chest, covering her eyes with his arms.

  Charlotte dropped to her knees beside them and began to sob with her hands covering her face.

  “You bastard!” Derrick shouted and a single shot rang out. Cecil could tell by the sound that he didn’t hit anything. The bullet whistled away through the underbrush.

  A moment later, the sound of the slamming door ceased. They all knew that the eerie silence now engulfing them meant only one thing … the dark had done its job. Burt was dead.

  CHAPTER 23

  IN THE SHADOWS

  “Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?”

  ~Abraham Lincoln

  Steff sat alone in the president’s private dining room. She nervously picked at a bowl of chili, refusing to take a bite. It was too damned hot, thanks to her grandfather. Much to her relief, she would not have to endure the discomfort of his company. Her grandfather would not be attending their lunch date because he had more important matters to attend. His noontime radio address would be in a few minutes. President Garrison took “waste not, want not” to the extreme. He had always insisted that Steff and her sister never take more food than they could eat, and always clean their plates. This might have been sound advice except he always dictated what they ate.

  When Carmella heard Garrison would not be at lunch, she brought Steff a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with French fries. Carmella took the steaming bowl of chili and flushed it down the Executive toilet before returning the empty bowl to Steff. If he came in, it needed to appear as if she had indeed cleaned her plate.

  Steff gobbled the sandwich and fries up before Carmella could leave the room. She had not eaten anything substantial in a couple of days. Her grandfather tried to force a meal of veal and garlic mashed potatoes on her yesterday. He said it was in ‘celebration’ of his victory over the resistance. Steff found veal revolting when she discovered what it was a year earlier in class. She did enjoy mashed potatoes, but garlic made her sick to her stomach. She didn’t have much of an appetite even if she did care for what was on the menu. In spite of her youth and naivety, she understood that a victory over the resistance was a victory over her father.

  “Besides, he hadn’t really beaten the resistance,” she thought, licking jelly from her finger. “Mom, Daddy, and Abbs are still out there, along with a bunch of others.”

  She did not know that her sister was killed in the raid, and had now disappeared with the legions of other Impals. If she did, she would have already tried to escape … darkness be damned. This was why Garrison concealed the truth from her. In his mind, he was protecting her. Carmella was right; Grandpa Garrison is an ignorant man.

  Steff listened to the address on a small radio. There was nothing new. Government good—Impals bad, go to bases for your protection. He once again reminded the public that the power grids would go dark at nine o’clock tonight for an indefinite period of time. All energy would be conserved and diverted to military bases. He mentioned the tragic deaths of key government and military leaders, placing the blame on the Impals. There was one thing different, something Steff did not catch. Social studies and US Government were never her strongest subjects in school. Near the end of the speech, he introduced Avery Cooper as the new vice president. The ring of cronies lounging around the Oval office would be his new cabinet. He announced their immunity to the dark, proclaiming them as a deliverance from God to assist him in the country’s most trying hour. This was his most blatant usurping of the Constitution yet. However, people were so frightened; there would be little more than a whimper of protest. It was the perfect storm for their agenda, both literally and figuratively.

  “Carmella,” Steff asked as her new friend cleared away the dishes. “Can you help me get out of here?”

  Fear flooded Carmella, causing her hand to shake and clatter the dishes. She glanced around as if someone were listening. She sat down beside Steff and leaned in till her mouth was less than an inch from the girl’s ear.

  “Don’t answer me out loud, honey. Do you understand?” she whispered.

  Steff nodded.

  “Where would you go sweetheart … do you know where your parents are?”

  Steff frowned and shook her head.

  “Well, if you left … the only safe place for you to be is at a military base. He would find you there.”

  Steff slumped in her chair; she knew Carmella’s was right. Without knowing where her parents were, she couldn’t go to a single safe place where her grandfather would not find her. A feeling of complete hopelessness and despair washed over her as she began to cry. Carmella pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead. To Carmella’s credit she did not say anything for a long time, she held her tight and let the crying run its course.

  “What am … I going to do?” Steff muttered between choked sobs.

  “For right now, you’ll stay right here and we’ll both keep our ear to the ground for news of your parents. In the meantime, I am here for you.”

  Steff tried to smile, but just couldn’t manage one. Carmella’s eyes lit up as she leaned in and whispered, “Let me know what you like. I’ll make sure you never have to eat off your grandfather’s nasty menu again.”

  Steff grinned, she couldn’t help it. Carmella had a knack of putting her at ease.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Carmella gave Steff a hug and then stood up to leave just as President Garrison entered the room. He rudely announced he was ready for lunch and sent Carmella scampering for a warm bowl of chili. He asked Steff to join him in a self-serving prayer, and then tried to engage his granddaughter in one sided conversation. Steff nodded, offering only a simple yes or no response. If Garrison noticed she was upset, he didn’t show it. He rambled for a half hour about God’s plan, the new administration, and his vision for the future of our country. By the time she went back to her room, Steff felt sick.

  Before Cecil could push himself off the hysterical Sally, something startled him, causing him to flinch and roll to the side. Someone ran past him. He could tell by the quick glance of the lower legs and shoes it was not Derrick, it was Andrews’s clothing.

  Derrick screamed a litany of obscenities mixed with incoherent rambling. “Drop!—I’ll—kill you!”

  Cecil jumped to his feet and saw Musial making his way up the hill to the cabin with Burt draped over his shoulder. He sprinted after him as the women continued to scream.

  As they reached the parking area in front of the cabin, Musial stopped and gently lowered Burt to the ground. He knelt down beside him and began to check vitals. Cecil arrived and gaped at his injured friend. Burt’s head was covered in blood, making him unrecognizable.

  Derrick did not stop. Instead, he sprung like a linebacker trying to stop a runner at the goal line. He flew through the air sending Musial tumbling across the gravel. A second later, he was sitting on Musial’s chest, his gun pressing between his eyes.

  “You tried to kill him you sorry psycho!” Derrick spat.

  Cecil was torn between tending to his injured friend and stopping a potential homicide.

  “Derrick, back off!” Cecil warned.

  “How can you say that when you saw what he did to Burt?” Derrick hissed.

  “Derrick, it was an accident. If he wanted Burt dead, do you think he would have pulled him out and carried him up here? Thank about it Derrick … just calm down and take a moment to think before you do something you’ll regret. Don’t forget this body belongs to Sam Andrews.”

  “The major has impeccable logic, sir,” Musial said casually. “It was an accident and I am truly sorry.”

  Cecil wished that he would keep his mouth shut. Even when Musial was trying to be pol
ite, he came off as arrogant and condescending.

  “Burt needs our attention now, Derrick. He is still alive, but he might not be for long if we don’t help him.”

  Cecil breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tension relax in Derrick’s muscles. He loosened his grip on Musial and started to get up, but not before bringing his fist down with a sickening crunch on Musial’s nose.

  As they tended to Burt’s injuries, Derrick had no idea how close he was to death. If the men had looked, they would have seen hellish rage burning in Musial’s eyes. It took every ounce of strength, every ounce of resolve, and the constant reminder of his motivations to keep Musial in place. He so wanted to pick up a rock and bash in Derrick’s skull. He had not experienced such a strong desire to kill someone in a long time. The temptation to return to his nature was intoxicating. Somehow, someway, he resisted as he wiped blood from under his broken nose. He could feel the pain just as if this was his own body and Andrews felt it too. He could hear his agonized screams somewhere in the background of his mind.

  This was new territory for Musial and he wasn’t sure what to do. Killing had always been a natural, calming experience. While he hated his victims and believed they needed to die; he never killed out of anger. He found this impulse both exhilarating and disturbing at the same time. There was no justice in his desire, only revenge.

  It did not take long for Sally and Charlotte to join them. Charlotte ran inside to get water and towels, while Cecil and Sally examined his injuries. He was unconscious, but still breathing and his heartbeat was strong. Most of the blood was from a large gash on the front of his head. They used the towels and water to wash away the blood and then compressed the wounds until the bleeding stopped. Derrick went inside and found a first aid kit. They were able to do a makeshift patch on Burt’s injuries with butterfly bandages and gauze. Ten minutes later, he resembled a slumbering swami with a sloppy head turban.

  Sally held him in her arms whispering in his ear while everyone milled about with uncertainty. Derrick kept a wary eye on Musial whose nose was now swollen to the size of a lemon. Derrick’s heart skipped when he caught a brief glimpse of the fury struggling to come out of Musial. He gripped his weapon a little tighter as the repentant dark soul turned away from him. He became so intent with watching Musial, he did not even notice when Burt began to stir.

  “Sally?” Burt muttered as his wife planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Burt!” Cecil said, “How are you feeling, buddy?”

  Burt blinked at him with bleary eyes as if he were trying to focus on some distant object, and then shrugged. “Which one of you idiots ran over my head?” he asked with good-natured humor. However, the humor melted as the recollection of what happened sank over him like a slimy blanket.

  “Oh Jesus …” Burt muttered as terror engulfed him. He remembered, he remembered every ghoulish detail. He and Cecil now shared a terrible kindred sympathy.

  “I’m sorry, Cecil,” Burt said in much the same way one would tell a friend they are sorry for the death of a loved one. He took Cecil’s hand and squeezed as cold understanding passed between them.

  “Well Mr. Golden, how was the Führer?” Musial asked as he walked over to them.

  “Shut up you bastard!” Sally hissed. “He wound up in there because of you!”

  “Don’t pay attention to him,” Cecil urged. “He’s full of crap.”

  Cecil could tell by the haunted countenance on Burt’s face, Musial was not full of crap, not in the slightest. Musial took a few steps further and Derrick raised his weapon. He pulled back the hammer with a menacing click.

  “That’s far enough!” Derrick barked.

  Musial raised his hands as if to say I surrender and held open his palms in supplication.

  “I apologize,” Musial said. “I should have chosen my words better.”

  “You’re damn right you should have!” Sally shrieked.

  Musial knelt down in the grass with his head lowered, giving Derrick ample opportunity to take position behind him.

  “I’m sorry, but he was there wasn’t he? I thought I could feel his presence when I pulled you out,” Musial said.

  Burt glanced at Cecil and then took a deep breath, tracing the edge of his bandages with his fingertips.

  “There were at least a hundred of the most vile and despicable things I have seen in my life. I can’t imagine they were ever human, but …” he paused for a moment. “I guess they were in the flesh and blood sense.”

  Before anyone else could respond, Burt turned to Musial who was still staring at the ground. “Yes, you were right. Adolf Hitler was there, and yes he wanted me bad, but …” he paused until Musial turned his face up and looked at him. “He wants you more.”

  CHAPTER 24

  ROAD TRIP

  “If my ship sails from sight, it doesn’t mean my journey ends, it simply means the river bends.”

  ~Enoch Powell

  Musial stared through Burt for several moments. He surprised them all by breaking into a broad and crafty grin.

  “I don’t swing that way,” he said flippantly, and then shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. “Besides, he can’t do anything to me … even if I decided to abandon this poor drunkard’s body and rejoin the dark. But … he could make my eternal existence difficult,” he said, exhaling a deep sigh of satisfaction. “Thank you, Burt!”

  “For what?” Burt mumbled.

  “Why … for reinforcing my motivation, of course. You see, you don’t know how close I almost came to relapsing a few minutes ago. Mr. Vandeputte there,” he said pointing at Derrick, “barely almost got his head bashed in for his troubles.”

  “And who in the hell was going to do it … you?” Derrick said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes,” Musial said, and then pointed at a smooth rock about the size of a bread loaf. “With that rock,” he finished with such a cold and certain finality, Derrick felt frost condense on his spine.

  The truth was, his former colleagues of the dark could harm him, perhaps not in the physical sense, but a wounding of the soul is much worse. Musial knew it too, yet it was not in his nature to show weakness. Besides, as long as he occupied Andrew’s body, he was safe. He was not completely sure of it until he pulled Burt to safety. He had lurked in dark corners of the cabin, but he had not interfered with the desire of the dark souls to satisfy their nature, not until now. They were furious and they wanted to punish him, but they couldn’t.

  A grumbling followed by a loud pop drew everyone’s attention. A sinking sensation ran through them all. It was a terrifying reminder of the predicament they now faced … the generator had run out of gas. There was enough in the tanks to last another day and a half or maybe two if they were careful with their energy consumption.

  “How much is left?” Charlotte whispered.

  “Enough. We will be okay for a while. We need to get Musial on the road as soon as possible,” Cecil said. “Are you up to it?” he asked, turning to Musial.

  Musial gave his customary sardonic grin. “Of course, major,” he replied. “As long as I don’t have to drive in reverse.”

  “Try to avoid that gear, huh?” Burt said, massaging his temples with his index fingers. Then to everyone’s surprise, Burt and Musial began to chuckle as if they shared some unsavory inside joke.

  “Indeed sir, indeed,” Musial said as they continued to laugh.

  Everyone else exchanged incredulous glances. They wanted to laugh along, yet none of them could quite bring themselves to do it. It was like laughing at a plane crash. People often use humor to diffuse tension, but this was different. They could only muster a polite smile.

  “So where do I need to go, major?” Musial asked, turning to Cecil.

  “I think that is a question best put to Charlotte,” Cecil said. “This is her family’s cabin. I’m not familiar with this area.”

  “So, where’s I need ta’ go, Miss Charlotte?” Musial said in a loud pickaninny voice.

&nb
sp; They knew Musial was an admitted racist. Especially since race played into his selection of victims. Yet, they were all surprised by this sudden outburst. In the 1930s it wouldn’t have received a second thought. Now, it was a verbal slap to the face. To Charlotte’s credit, she handled it well, ignoring his tone and answering his question.

  “Well, the Ever So Quick station is about ten miles from here. If they are cutting back power, they were probably shut off because it is in such a rural area.”

  Cecil felt his stomach twist in knots. This was something he had not considered. If the power is cut, how were they going to be able to pump gas?

  “From there is Manassas about thirty miles away. There are a lot of gas stations there.”

  “Power is going to be cut tonight,” Cecil said. “After tonight, you won’t be able to get gas except on a military base and I doubt they would let you leave.”

  “Well then,” Musial said rubbing his hands together, “I better get going then … daylight is wasting.”

  His final comment was as true as it was unnecessary. It served no purpose other than to raise everyone’s blood pressure.

  “Help me up,” Burt said, holding his hands up to Cecil.

  Cecil took his hands while Sally supported him from behind as they brought him to his feet. He clung to both of their shoulders while his legs wobbled like a new born calf. Burt glanced at Musial and, with his right hand draped over Cecil’s shoulder; he motioned for him to come.

  “You have the basics down. Just remember the red octagon sign means to stop. The yellow triangle means yield, a red light means stop and a green light means go. You shouldn’t have much, if any, traffic to deal with. If you see a cop, tell him you are going to Quantico for evacuation. Remember, you are Sam Andrews so use his identification,” Burt said, nodding at his shirt pocket.

  Musial stuck his hand in the pocket and pulled out a thin brown leather wallet. He opened it up and thumbed through the plastic pages. Out of six potential pages, only two contained anything. One held Andrews’s driver’s license and the other his military ID. He squinted at the pictures and gave an exaggerated wince.