The Eye of Madness

  AT THE GATE

  “And capital punishment, however ineffective it may be and through whatever ignorance it may be resorted to, is a strictly defensive act,—at least in theory.”

  ~Benjamin Tucker

  Cecil and Musial sat in silence as the afternoon sun began to cast long shadows from the single window at the end of the hallway. The hiss and clicks of the dark drew ever nearer. Cecil felt as if he would explode if he could not break free from his cell and rescue Barbara and Steff. Standing and facing the wall, he made tight fists and pressed them hard against the cinder block surface. He channeled his frustration into the immovable wall. A foolish part of him hoped a sudden burst of adrenaline would give him the strength needed to push through to the outside. He began to tremble. He wasn’t scared, not for himself. The thought of Barbara and Steff in the clutches of the man he considered a psychopath enraged him.

  “Your dad is a real prick, isn’t he?” Musial said.

  Cecil did not acknowledge him, instead he continued to stare straight ahead.

  “With all due respect to your mother, I think the man needs to get laid,” Musial continued.

  Musial didn’t intend any disrespect towards Cecil; he was just trying to lighten the mood in his own crass way. Cecil did not find it humorous. He pushed off the wall and rounded on Musial who was sitting on the bunk.

  “My mother is dead!” Cecil hissed as he leaned down inches from Musial’s face. “And my father doesn’t give a damn. I’m sure he thinks she deserved to die because of some sin she committed … that’s why he believes I deserve to die.”

  Musial’s mouth opened and closed as if he were trying to form words, but none came.

  Cecil’s eyes narrowed and his teeth clinched as he said, “You said you used to be a magician?”

  Musial nodded.

  “You also said you were seeking forgiveness … for salvation?”

  Musial nodded again.

  “Well, Mr. Magician, what kind of tricks do you have up your sleeve now to get us out of this and redeem yourself?”

  Musial’s face was etched with defeat. Yes, he was a magician. He was a small time magician over a hundred years ago when crowds were much less sophisticated than they are today. He might be able to do a card trick, if they had some cards, or pull a rabbit out of a hat, if they had a rabbit and a hat. Otherwise, he was at a loss. He did perform escapes, but not from a modern jail with modern locks. Musial did the only thing he could do; he stared at the floor and shook his head. For the first time since inhabiting the drunken Sam Andrews, he felt lost and unsure. Had he done enough to get out of the dark void? There was no way to say for sure. There was hope, but fear was always a more powerful motivator in Musial’s life. The enigma of the storm was as much an unknown to him as it was to the rest of the world.

  Cecil turned when he got no answer from Musial and returned to his wall, resuming the pressure with his fists. He leaned in and pressed his ear against the cool surface. Even though he knew better, he imagined Barbara on the other side of the wall, waking up from her traumatic slumber. She would be calling out for him. Maybe Steff was in there with her and they were both calling for him.

  Cecil pressed against the wall until the whole side of his face was numb. He didn’t hear anything other than his own breathing and the darkness in the corridor. As he was about to switch to his other ear, Musial spoke. It was quiet, but clear and calm.

  “You will see your mother and daughter again, I have no doubt.”

  “What did you say?” Cecil asked.

  “There is an upside of death … for you anyway,” Musial said. “You’re a good man, major, and I have no doubt your death will bring the liberty that mine did not. You can stay here or you can move on. In any case, you can be with you mother and daughter.”

  “What about my wife and my other daughter?” Cecil snapped.

  Musial shrugged. “If you all die, then you will all be together. I have no doubt your wife and daughter are good people. If your wife wasn’t, she wouldn’t be in the state she is in now. The dark would not have harmed her.”

  “It seems kind of twisted doesn’t it?” Cecil said.

  “The dark souls are not here to judge and condemn, they are going about their nature. What seems like judgment is simply, let’s say … professional courtesy to their kin.”

  “So my wife is lying somewhere in a catatonic state, Burt has a terminal injury, and Dr. Winder is dead because they are good people?” Cecil laughed without humor.

  “Yes, they are,” he sighed.

  Cecil grimaced. He pressed his other ear to the wall and listened in vain. He heard everything Musial said, but hearing and accepting are two different things. His worry for his family gave little room for acceptance. He did not have long because a few minutes later they heard the metallic clank and squeak of the outside door. The door remained open as a long ray of afternoon sunlight flooded the hallway, driving the darkness away. The sunlight settled like a spotlight on the half solid, half opaque, infinity symbol across the hall. Cecil had seen this painted Myriad symbol weeks earlier when he occupied this cell. It was a sign, a harbinger of something, but of what he did not know. He didn’t have long to ponder. A second later, three people stood outside the bars, obstructing his view of the Myriad symbol.

  “Major Garrison, Lieutenant Andrews,” a vaguely familiar male voice said. The speaker stepped forward out of the glare and Cecil recognized Avery Cooper.

  Cecil and Musial said nothing.

  “Under Article 106a of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, you have both been tried and convicted in a court martial hearing. The charge was treason against the United States of America. Your sentence will now commence in accordance,” Avery said pompously.

  “I don’t recall any court martial hearing,” Cecil snapped.

  “You weren’t invited, son,” President Garrison said as he stepped forward. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Avery. He made ‘son’ sound more like an expletive than a term of endearment. He wore a fresh bandage over his eye, but it still had some blood spots. President Garrison needed more medical attention than a gauze pad taped over his eye. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to worry about it until he carried out justice.

  “Isn’t it my right?” Cecil snapped.

  “Not when you are a danger to yourself or to the court, which you are,” Avery interjected. “We reviewed the evidence and voted on it by a jury of your peers.”

  Cecil was angry and desperate, but he knew that arguing with the man was pointless. He doubted if there was a hearing, at least one in the traditional sense. He knew the sentence, it was a foregone conclusion. His father decided it long before he arrived at the base. What Cecil said next gave Avery a moment of shocked surprise.

  “So, how am I to be executed … hanging, firing squad, lethal injection?”

  “Since you tried to save Impals from the Tesla Gate, I think it is a fitting punishment,” President Garrison said.

  Cecil had not expected this. He knew what the Tesla Gate would do to a living person per his conversation with Dr. Winder. The world was full of irony and Cecil seemed cursed with it.

  Musial said, “Would it make any difference if I told you I am not Sam Andrews?”

  Avery laughed. “Who are you then?”

  Cecil wished Musial would shut up. He knew no matter what Musial said, they were both going to face execution. He didn’t want his father and Avery to be entertained in the process.

  “My name is Musial. I was a magician in Europe in the late 1800s. I inhabited Mr. Andrews’s body in an attempt to redeem myself from the darkness.”

  There it was, the truth was out. The truth in this case amounted to little more than comedic fodder for their captors.

  “Damn you, Musial,” Cecil thought

  “Musial, huh?” President Garrison said with a wry grin. “Well tell me, Stan the man,” he said. “If you’re a magician, why don’t you make yourself disappear? Can’t you get out of something as s
imple as a prison cell?”

  Musial did not answer. There was no way out of this. His father and Avery stood just outside their cell, armed with pistols. A soldier behind them waited with his assault rifle ready. At first, Cecil thought the sunlit hallway was for their benefit, so they could walk unmolested to the Tesla Gate. Then he saw the soldier. The distant expression and sallow face left little doubt this man could not enter the dark.

  Cecil considered his own moral dilemma as well. If they tried to resist, they would be gunned down. At least it would not give President Garrison the pleasure of placing them in the Tesla Gate. Cecil considered the option for a few brief moments, until Barbara and Steff came to mind. The longer he was alive, the better chance he would have of getting to them.

  “I want you to show me your backs now!” President Garrison demanded. “We are then going to enter the cell and bind your hands. Any issues and Sergeant Newland here will blow your head off … understood?” He said, gesturing over his shoulder at the poor recruit drafted into this despicable duty. Cecil thought he saw the barrel of the rifle begin to tremble in the man’s hands. They might get shot anyway from nervousness.

  “It’s okay,” Cecil said in a calm voice, speaking more to the sergeant than anyone else. “There will be no problem, right?” he said, cutting his eyes at Musial.

  Musial shrugged. “Not if you don’t think Lieutenant Andrews will mind if I get him executed.”

  There was laughter from behind them as they turned and faced the wall. A moment later, they heard the click of the cell door and the sudden screech of metal as it opened. Then they heard the unmistakable click of an assault rifle. Their wrists were bound with zip ties which cut into their flesh. Cecil bit his lip to avoid crying out.

  “Can’t use metal cuffs,” Avery said as if discussing the weather. “The iron cuffs on the Impals caused a few problems Metal doesn’t mix too good with the Shredder.”

  “But we do?” Cecil thought but did not say.

  “Why don’t you get them a little tighter,” Musial said, sticking his bound hands back toward their captors. “I’m a magician. You don’t want me to escape, do you?”

  Musial screeched with pain as Avery grasped the end of the twist tie and jerked it tighter.

  “Thank you,” Musial said. “That should add to my difficulty level.”

  “Shut up you ass,” Avery growled and then grabbed Musial’s arms. With a hard yank, he steered him into the hallway.

  “Let’s go, son,” President Garrison said as he grabbed Cecil by the arms and followed behind Avery. There was no gentle or sympathetic prodding as they walked. Cecil may as well have been a mean and vicious animal the way his father jerked and pushed him.

  A few moments later, they emerged in the bright sunshine. They stepped over a smattering of small limbs and leaves cluttered on the grounds. They were no doubt from the storm that brought the tornado down on their cabin. As Cecil screwed up his eyes, he saw the menacing form of the hangar housing the Tesla Gate. He tried to inhale as much fresh air as he could and soak in as much sun as possible during their short walk to the hangar. This would be his last chance to enjoy those simple pleasures of life because he knew he wasn’t coming out of the hangar alive.

  CHAPTER 39

  DISTANT THUNDER

  “Disappointments are to the soul what a thunderstorm is to the air.”

  ~Friedrich Schiller

  Rebekah woke up to find herself lying on a cot in a crude medical tent. Patients occupied rows of cots lining the walls. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and excrement filled the air in a pungent fog. It was a warm early morning and the only relief was from a few large box fans. Rebekah tried to get up when she remembered what happened, but she could barely move.

  “Malakhi!” she called out with a dry and parched throat.

  She heard a voice and jumped. Her heart hammered until she remembered her guest. It was Gestas speaking to her in her mind.

  “Malakhi is okay,” he said. “But … they think you tried to throw him into the dark. It’s going to take some convincing to get you out of this.”

  “How do you know?” Rebekah asked.

  “While you were sleeping I couldn’t see anything, but I listened. There is a guard posted outside the door over there.”

  “Where is Malakhi?” Rebekah demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Gestas admitted. “I just know they took him somewhere safe.”

  Rebekah tried to sit up again and discovered the reason for her inability to move. She was hand cuffed to the cot, both hands and both feet. Anxiety began to drive the air from her lungs. She felt as if she were going to drown in the hot and arid air.

  “Calm down,” she heard Gestas say. “Everything will be okay, you must stay calm.”

  Gestas reflected for a few hours while Rebekah was unconscious. In that time, he had a startling revelation. When he first took control of the old woman, his mindset was quite different. While he craved release from the void, he still harbored a strong desire to return to his nature. If he were honest with himself, his initial motivations were selfish. He wanted to get out of the void and move on, no matter what the cost. He also wanted to rape, murder, and steal. The drive remained with him because he struggled with it daily. He was not sure when the change started or when it took hold. The selfish desires were now almost gone. It was similar to the sudden and miraculous recovery from an illness. He didn’t know when it started, he just knew that the desires were now buried deep in the back of his consciousness. They were still there, yet they no longer owned him. The most incredible thing was he realized his concern for Rebekah and Malakhi was no longer directed at what they could help him do. He cared for their well being.

  “I can’t be calm, Gestas,” Rebekah said. “Not now, not when my son is away from me.”

  Before Gestas could reply, a noise like violent thunder rattled the tent making it sway as if in a high wind.

  “What was that?” Rebekah cried, raising her head up as far as she could.

  Gestas did not answer immediately, but when he did, chills ran through her body.

  “Oh my God,” he said, and then she could feel him drifting away from her until she could no longer sense him.

  Jack awoke from a dream. In the dream, he threw Donna in his cage then pummeled, prodded, and bashed her to death. He felt good until consciousness coalesced. By the time he was wide awake he was no longer excited or satisfied; Jack was pissed. He got up and paced around his cell.

  He was starting to feel caged and trapped. He knew he would never be free again. They found the cage. As soon as it was possible, they would check the marsh near his house and uncover his great service to humanity. It was a great service after all, but he didn’t expect them to understand. Mankind was flawed and imperfect, not to mention ignorant. Man’s arrogance would not allow them to understand the great works he accomplished. He was sure he would die an unappreciated man, yet he could make peace with it. The dark appreciated him; he felt it. Jack started to get a small fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was short lived.

  He was jolted out of his brooding trance by a rumbling noise. It shook the building and vibrated his furniture across the room. It was as if a bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half and struck outside the wall. There was no bright flash nor a burning smell of ozone, yet the thunder persisted for several long and deafening moments. He heard agitated whispers and frantic clicks coming from the dark hallway. Jack’s warm fuzzy feeling went out as fast as dropping a match into a bucket of water. It was soon replaced by terrible fear and dread.

  Two Secret Service agents rode up front. David Fields, a White House junior secretary, rode with Carmella in the backseat of the limousine. Carmella was fidgety. Perhaps it was because David Fields was the most notorious sexist and narcissist she knew. Under normal circumstances, she would rather have a root canal with no Novocain. Today was not normal. David sat uncharacteristically stoic, saying nothing as he gazed out the window at the monuments.
Carmella was sure he was thinking the same thing as she was—“Is this the last time I am ever going to see this town?”

  She gazed out the window too and said a silent prayer. Her stomach churned, but it was not just because they were on their way to kill Garrison. It was also because a few feet behind her back, sat about eighty pounds of explosives in the trunk. The road was pocked with more pot holes than she ever noticed before. They soon passed the Lincoln Memorial and headed out of town towards their date with destiny.

  Carmella studied the massive building and thought of the kind man who lived in the White House for a short time during the storm. He soon left, forced out by his own sense of morality and decency. Where was he now? She did not know the answer. She hoped and prayed all the Impals had moved on.

  A half hour later, they arrived at Quantico where they were quickly flagged through the gate. As they made their way to the administration building, no one noticed the people in the distance trudging across a field toward a large hangar. There were five of them in all. If Carmella had seen them, she might recognize one of them as President Garrison.

  They pulled up at the administration office where Joan and Sebastian met them.

  “You stay and drive!” Joan shouted, pointing at the Secret Service agent behind the wheel. The agent glanced with horror at his companion. What could he say? Any argument would raise suspicion and this would be their one chance to get to Garrison. The other agent was about to open the passenger door when Sebastian slammed it shut.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped. “We are going to need a security detail … keep your ass in your seat!”

  Joan flung open the backdoor and ducked her head inside, glaring at David and Carmella.

  “Who in the hell are you?” she growled.

  “I’m Carmella Danson. I’m the president’s executive assistant and this is David Fields. He is a junior secretary in the Executive Office.”

  “Nobody asked for you to come!” Joan shouted. She reached in and grabbed Carmella by the hair and jerked her outside. She rolled across the sidewalk before slamming her back into a concrete planter. Carmella let out a moan and lay motionless.