The Eye of Madness

  CHAPTER 44

  JUSTICE

  “The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.”

  ~Lois McMaster Bujold

  Abraham Lincoln once said, “I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”

  In the last century and a half, President Lincoln had seen much in his invisible presence at the White House. The lessons he learned since the storm arrived were far more valuable than an extra two hundred years of unseen study. Lincoln would say the two piles of burned flesh behind the wooden platform were some of the richest fruit he had ever seen. He came to realize that sometimes mercy is not deserved, nor is it beneficial to society. Like rotten flesh from a body, some people must be removed from humanity.

  Lincoln was still around, yet he was a long distance away. There was no judgment on the island he had come to call home. There were only Impals, all relocated by the brother of Sam Andrews. They barely left American waters when the eye of the storm passed over the Earth. As the Impals disappeared, the crews of the two boats succumbed to the darkness. It was terrifying for the Impals to stand around, unseen and powerless. They watched, helpless, as their liberators were forced into more and more heinous forms of suicide by the dark. The evil countenance of the dark souls was burned into the heart of each Impal like a branding iron heated in the depths of Hell. The Impals could see them. So could the unfortunate fleshers who found themselves trapped in the darkness.

  The Impals of the slaughtered sailors and the payload of Impals washed ashore a day later. The two boats crashed on the rocks of an uninhabited island somewhere in the Atlantic. There they stayed, unseen and alone, until the eye passed. Some considered duplicating the method they used to traverse underneath the Chesapeake Bay. Of course, they had no idea how far from land they were. The middle of the Atlantic is much deeper and darker than the Chesapeake Bay.

  Cecil went about the task of removing the bodies and placing them on the tarmac outside. He didn’t move his father’s body. He tried to distract himself from the unpleasantness by thinking of Lincoln and the other Impals. He remembered faces, but a few names stuck with him. Of course, there was Lincoln and the recently assassinated President of the United States. His friend, Colonel Danny Bradley, who died in the evacuation. Cecil’s childhood science idol, Nikola Tesla, was also part of the group, as well as the famous Chief Powhatten. Cecil thought of these people, as well as a few who were not so famous. Mrs. Fiddler and her daughter, along with little Chester Henry stood out in Cecil’s mind. He especially remembered Chester, the poor child who was buried alive in an iron casket for a century. He wanted to see all these people again, and began to make plans in his mind to find them. He jumped when someone behind him spoke.

  “Have you seen Steffanie Garrison?” Carmella asked.

  Cecil frowned and asked, “What do you want with my daughter?”

  Carmella’s eyes widened. “Are you Major Cecil Garrison?”

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “I worked for you father in the White House,” she said, staring at the ground.

  Cecil took a couple of steps backward as if Carmella’s very presence was poisonous.

  “My father?” Cecil said with disgust. “What the hell do you want with my daughter?”

  “Please, I … I was trying to watch over her. I never meant for anything to happen to her. I’m so, so sorry,” Carmella said. Tears began to pour down her face, but she composed herself and wiped them away. She took a deep shuddering breath and gazed up at Cecil. “I love your daughter, Major Garrison. Just ask her.”

  Cecil studied her face in the glow of the luminescent night sky. He then glanced at the bodies, all lined up and covered. He turned back to Carmella and gave her a slight nod. “Okay,” he said. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” He turned to go, then turned back to her. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Carmella,” she said.

  Carmella and Steff had their reunion a few minutes later. After watching their interaction, Cecil was satisfied that Carmella was a friend. He left them to their conversation and went back into the hangar. There was much to do, but he did not know where to start.

  The next day, based on the testimony of six Impal women, Private Jack Abernathy was arrested for multiple murders. He laughed and scoffed at the judge for his idiotic proclamations of Jack’s evil deeds.

  “Yes, this man is just another fool,” Jack said pointing to the judge. He turned to everyone in the small conference room, as if he was seeking their approval. There was none, only disdain and disgust. The most sickened face of all was from his former friend, Private Sean Poindexter. Jack made eye contact with him, expecting support from his old friend. Sean was determined not to break eye contact, to show resolve in his displeasure for Jack’s actions, but he couldn’t do it. The darkness hidden behind Jack’s blue eyes for so long had now come to the surface like a dreadful oil spill. He couldn’t look at the real face of his friend, it was too disturbing. He felt as if he was going to be sick, so he turned and left the room.

  “Bloody coward!” Jack screamed as the door slammed shut.

  The judge ordered he be returned to his cell to await trial in in three weeks. In the meantime, the bodies of the women would be excavated. Three weeks was a conservative estimate since the world was now in a new state of chaos and flux. The damage the darkness brought was incalculable. The uncertainty of the future was almost as terrifying as the darkness itself. A murder trial now seemed such a trivial thing. Yet, in his wisdom, the judge recognized the importance of quickly returning to a state of law and civility.

  Jack was led from the room as he continued to scream his vile protests at anyone who was within earshot. Several bystanders, both flesher and Impal, lined the path to the prison. They watched in silence as the private, turned serial killer, marched past. The whole base seemed to have fallen into an eerie silence, making Jack’s ramblings sound as if they were shouted in the mouth of a cave.

  Jack had not been back in his cell more than an hour when one of the guards discovered him hanging beside his bed. He fashioned a makeshift noose from the bed sheets and tied them around a water pipe on the ceiling. His method of hanging was not as elaborate as Lieutenant William Langford’s, but the result was the same. He was dead.

  There was no Impal, sleeping or otherwise. His body dangled from the ceiling, a defiant sneer frozen on his face. The guard who found him swears that just moments before his gruesome discovery, the shadows in the prison seemed to move.

  When Rebekah emerged from the medical tent, she found the entire camp engulfed with a mix of fleshers and Impals. The Impals seemed to outnumber everyone else at least two to one. They cast a brilliant bluish light that mixed with the orange rays of the rising sun. It gave the sky a temporary appearance of glowing blueberry and orange syrup. The morning sky was almost as mesmerizing as the luminescent ocean of Impals beneath.

  They soon made their way through the throng, heading back to their tent. What would have been a five-minute walk took almost a half hour. Rebekah and Malakhi felt a chill at each frequent contact with an Impal, but they did not consider it disturbing. They felt it comforting.

  Many of the Impals exchanged pleasantries with them, while others walked by in a confused trance. There were also a few who stopped to ask Rebekah questions, which she did not know the answer.

  “Where is my husband?” an ancient Israeli woman asked.

  “Where should we go?” a modern Palestinian family asked.

  The oddest question she got was from a short man wearing the attire of a medieval knight. “What time is it?” he asked.

  All Rebekah could do was give a polite smile and shrug. Even though she could tell they all spoke different languages, she understood them, yet she felt as lost as they did. Her head was so inundated with happiness and confusion, she did not notice something when they first entered the tent. When the unexpected presence sunk in, her jaw almost hit th
e floor. Sitting on a small stool in the far corner was the old woman she knew as Ruth.

  Ruth and Gestas stared at each other for several moments. She did not regard him with hatred or fear, but Ruth seemed to study him as if viewing a piece of unusual art. Gestas met her gaze with a smile of gratitude. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. He reached out and grasped her right hand, and then kissed it.

  “Thank you,” Gestas whispered.

  She began to cry. Gestas was confused. This was not the reaction he expected or imagined. If anything, he expected her to be angry with him.

  Gestas glanced back at Rebekah for help then he felt Ruth squeeze his hand. He turned back to see her smiling at him, in spite of her tears.

  “Thank you for saving me, Gestas,” she said.

  “I … I …” he stammered. He didn’t know what to say so he said the first thing that came into his mind. “I don’t even know your name.”

  She wiped her tears with the palms of her hands and said, “My name is Eliezra.”

  A couple of glowing tears dropped from Gestas’s cheeks.

  “Salvation,” he said. “Eliezra means salvation.”

  Gestas ducked his head and began to sob with happiness.

  “I don’t understand,” Rebekah said. “How did he help you?”

  Eliezra released her grip and placed her hand on top of Gestas’s head.

  “My husband died almost a year ago. I had my daughter and her husband to take care of me, but they couldn’t be there all the time. Even though I love her very much, she just wasn’t a replacement for Jacob,” she blinked and rubbed her eyes as she sat up straight. “Jacob was my husband,” she said as if Rebekah did not understand.

  “I’m sorry,” Rebekah said. She considered asking the obvious question, but before she could, Eliezra answered for her.

  “I was moving on, but was still lost when the storm arrived,” she said, then her face hardened and her mouth creased into a thin line. “The damn storm,” she muttered. “I got my hopes up that maybe Jacob had stayed. I hoped I would get to see him again.” She stopped and sighed as tears began to pour from her eyes again. “He wasn’t here … I guess he was too smart to stay.”

  Rebekah took Eliezra’s other hand. The poor old woman squeezed so hard, Rebekah winced.

  Eliezra took a shuddering breath and said, “I saw others around me reunited with their loved ones and felt like I had lost him a second time. I just couldn’t take the pain.”

  “So you began drinking?” Rebekah asked softly.

  “Yes, but it was more than that. I was willing to try anything to get rid of the pain. I hadn’t seen my daughter for weeks. I was passed out in an alley when Gestas found me.” She glanced at Gestas who was listening to her with a sad smile. “He scared the hell out of me at first,” she said as she patted his head. “I could see … I knew all the horrible things he had done.”

  She took her hand away and placed it in her lap.

  “I could also see the goodness fighting to get out … his struggle for redemption.”

  Nobody said anything for a long time. Not even Nehemya understood the significance of their struggle. Only Eliezra and Gestas could appreciate it. They saved each other.

  “I need to find my daughter now,” she said with resolve. She knew there was a good chance her daughter had not survived the darkness, but she allowed herself to hope. She refused to consider the possibility that her daughter might be dead. Gestas may have saved her from her own hopelessness, but if her daughter was gone, she wasn’t sure she could endure it.

  “We will help you,” Rebekah offered. She turned to her father and son. “We all will.”

  The world would be a delicate place in the coming days. Several people would search for lost loved ones, both Impal and flesher. Some would find happiness, but many would find themselves in a nightmare from which there was no waking.

  CHAPTER 45

  A NEW BEGINNING

  “Much as we may wish to make a new beginning, some part of us resists doing so as though we were making the first step toward disaster.”

  ~William Throsby Bridges

  Mary Tudor, formerly Bloody Mary, walked through the streets of a small hamlet about ten miles from the base. She led a nervous young woman by the hand. Donna had not been home for almost a year and didn’t believe her parents would take her back. The drugs, the booze, and the promiscuity had driven her away. She thought it drove her parents away, but she didn’t know the truth. Donna’s parents spent months searching for her, never giving up hope that their daughter would come home again. Her mother refused to accept the possibility she might be dead. She very well may have died if Mary hadn’t found her when she did. Her heart was beginning to fail from a massive overdose when Mary came forward and took control. She was able to give Donna’s body enough strength to live and become sober. Mary managed to give both of them redemption.

  As they travelled the short path leading to Donna’s cottage home, it reminded Mary of a house she used to visit as a child. It was a happy memory. One of the few pleasant memories before becoming entrenched in the arrogance of her self-righteousness royal duties. Mary tried to focus on the positive as they walked. She had witnessed too much blood and violence in her existence. She was responsible for it all. Even though she gained redemption for herself, she still couldn’t slip the memory of her past. It was too painful. The innocuous nature of their serene setting drove the point home. Weren’t her own deeds immortalized in the words of an innocent nursery rhyme?

  Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And pretty maids all in a row …

  “Contrary” is one way to describe a murderous psychopath. This popular English nursery rhyme reads like gardening advice. In truth, it is a recounting of the homicidal nature attributed to Mary. A fierce believer in Catholicism, her reign saw the execution of hundreds of Protestants. Silver bells and cockleshells are torture devices, not garden accouterments. Maids, or maidens, was another name for the crude guillotine used in England at the time. Even as an Impal, she now found it difficult to escape the horrors of her past. She shivered and wiped a tear from her eye. Mary felt unworthy of this grace. She channeled her thoughts back to helping Donna find her parents.

  She had a bad feeling about this trip from the beginning. Once they confirmed Donna’s parents were not at the base, she knew the chances that they were still alive were slim. There was another base about thirty miles away, but reaching it alive would have been problematic at best. She walked a few steps in front of the expectant girl, hoping to shield her against what she feared they would find. She asked Donna to wait on the top step as she passed through the front door to make a perfunctory search of the home. At first, Mary found nothing, but then she looked out a back window and gasped.

  Donna’s parents were in the back yard. They were dead. Mary felt sick and hollow; it was almost as if the dark souls knew she would be the one to find the bodies. Besides torture and beheadings, Mary was well known for another atrocity; burning people at the stake.

  A clothesline, bookended by metal poles a short distance apart, stood several yards from the house. Lashed to each pole were the charred remains of two people. Their blackened heads lolled forward over the binding as if they were paying their respects to the queen.

  She knew they were Donna’s parents. A gasoline can rested on its side halfway between the poles. The surrounding yard and shrubs were scorched. If it hadn’t been for an excess of rain the past month, the house and woods may have burned down. She peered closer and saw several pieces of charred wood lying on the ground beneath them. They had gathered the kindling and placed it on the ground around the pole before tying themselves to it. A burnt line between the two poles suggested one of them lit the fire after they doused themselves in gasoline. She wondered how she ever allowed something so horrific and barbaric in her name, not to mention, God’s. Silver tears began to stream down her cheeks. Mary lost herself in r
egret for a few moments, which is why she did not realize Donna had walked in behind her. She heard a gasp and then turned to see the horrified girl standing there.

  “My parents?” she whispered.

  Mary moved to block her view, and then tried to usher her out of the room. Donna resisted. She pushed right through Mary, taking no notice of the bizarre sensation. Donna stood at the large picture window with her palms pressed against the glass. If not for the occasional rise and fall of her chest, a casual observer might have thought her to be a mannequin. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, and didn’t feel. This was the way she appeared on the outside. Inside, there raged a tempest of emotions, each fighting to come forward and seize the moment. Donna did not let them. At first, she felt guilty that her parents were dead and she was not. If she only hadn’t left, if she hadn’t been stupid then she would have been here with them. If she had, all three of them would be dead. In the end, the only real emotion surfaced. Donna burst into mournful tears.

  “Why?” she sobbed. “Why …?”

  She was startled for a moment when she felt Mary’s cold hand on her shoulder.

  “My dear, I am sorry that you saw this,” Mary said. “You do know your parents are still here, don’t you?”

  Mary’s words did not register at first. Donna was too lost in her own grief. As the truth of what she said began to sink in, she wiped her eyes and took a deep, raspy breath.

  “Do you think?” she asked.

  “I know,” Mary said.

  Donna turned to face Mary and was surprised to see a radiant smile on the former queen’s face. There was something else unusual, something she couldn’t put her finger on at first. Then it occurred to her. The room was brighter than it was a few moments ago. It was a cloudy, overcast day and the power was out. Yet, it was as if someone turned on a bright lamp behind Mary, or … perhaps it was two lamps.