by L. C. Shaw
“Well?”
“My phone died. I forgot the car charger. I just picked up the message.”
He clenched his jaw, swallowed, then spoke evenly. “Have you dispatched someone to intercept them?”
“Yes, sir. They’re on their way now. They’ll arrive within the hour.”
“Contact your people and tell them to call me once they have them.”
“I can take care of it, sir. I—”
“Have them contact me directly.” He terminated the call and pressed the button on his desk.
Jonas entered in under a minute, and Damon handed him a piece of paper. “Give this to Dakota. Tell her she can indulge herself with this one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell her to make sure there is no mistaking her work. I want it to serve as a warning to the others that we take carelessness very seriously.”
“Very well, sir.”
When the door had closed behind Jonas, Damon picked up the crystal goblet and threw it across the room. It smashed against the brick wall, and Peritas jumped up, startled.
“Come here, my boy.” Damon pushed his chair back from the desk to allow room for the dog.
Peritas put his head on Damon’s leg and wagged his tail while his head was rubbed.
Damon closed his eyes and continued to stroke the lush fur. It would do no good to lose control, he reminded himself. They would be in his possession and then Taylor would play her part in leading him to Jeremy—all in good time. In the meantime, he must keep a cool head.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
THE INSTITUTE, DECEMBER 1975
I RETRIEVE THE SHARD OF GLASS FROM MY HIDING PLACE and slip it into my pocket. I don’t dare to try anything in my room or my bathroom—he has cameras everywhere. But today he is taking me to the screening room. He wants to show me the television programming of the future. I plan to ask to use the bathroom in the middle of it, and then I will do what needs to be done.
“Would you like to see an example of one of these shows?”
Not really, I want to say, but I know he’ll show me anyway. I merely nod.
“This first one will be what we’ll call a ‘true-life show.’”
“A what?”
“A show where the characters are real people, not actors. Cameras will follow them, and we’ll get a glimpse into their actual lives. This is the model for one of these shows.”
The room goes dark and the screen lights up. Red letters appear one at a time until the title is displayed: AFFAIRS OF THE STREET. It looks like a normal neighborhood backyard barbecue. There are five couples sitting around a fire pit, drinking alcohol, laughing and talking. One of the women stands up and walks over to a hot tub.
“Anyone want to join me?” She takes off her top and her pants and climbs into the steaming water in nothing but her bra and underwear.
A few more people follow suit until there are just two people left sitting on the patio.
The woman who is left behind goes into the house, and the others are drinking and laughing, seemingly oblivious.
A short while later, the man she was sitting with goes inside.
The camera cuts to the interior of the house, to a bathroom, where the couple is kissing and peeling off each other’s clothes.
The woman throws her head back and laughs. “I wondered if you’d follow me in.”
He looks at her. “I’ve been wanting to do this to you all night.”
The next scene shows them getting into the hot tub five minutes apart. She sits down next to her husband as if nothing has happened.
Damon gets up and turns the light on.
“You get the idea.”
“What’s entertaining about that? Why would anyone watch that garbage?”
“I’ve only shown you the highlights. We’ll make them care about the people. By the time a scene like that airs, the audience will already be invested in their stories. We’ll make them sympathetic to the couple having the affair, make it seem justified. But there’s more. That’s just the beginning.”
I sit riveted over the next several hours watching all kinds of shows that promote promiscuity, the occult, perversion, abortion, prostitution, criminal lifestyles, and more. The villains are the heroes, and I can see how people might root for them. He’s right. Commercials are as bad as the shows: ads for condoms, sex aids, and pornographic materials abound.
Then he tells me about a drama—his favorite idea—one about demons. He calls it Sympathy for the Devil. It’s about a cadre of demons exiled from hell due to an act of kindness. They are sent back to earth to prove that they are worthy of their roles in the dark kingdom. The twist is that these demons have a compassionate side they can’t seem to shake. In each assignment, they start off doing what is expected of them, but somewhere along the way, they meet a human who sparks a seed of sympathy or empathy, thus beginning the cycle all over again. He says he’ll make sure they cast actors with boyish good looks and rakish charm, whose transformation into demons will be mildly appealing.
“You see, Maya, after a few episodes, the fact that these are demons will recede to the background of people’s consciousness. Some people will even like it. In the next few decades, less and less will be offensive. In fact, the only thing that will be offensive is intolerance to these things.”
I glare at him. “You won’t rest until you strip society of every shred of decency.”
“There is no decency in humanity. All I’m doing is stripping away the facade.”
At first, I find it utterly impossible to believe that people will ever accept this type of thing. Deep in my heart, however, I fear that he’s right. Over time, and with the right framing, I think he will accomplish his goals. I shudder when I imagine this bleak future, beset with darkness and iniquity. My beloved child, I am more convinced than ever that I must release you from this dark destiny.
“I need to use the bathroom. I feel nauseated.”
“Can’t it wait until we return to your room?”
I pretend to gag. “No!”
He makes a face and leads me out to the hallway to the lavatory.
“I’ll wait here.”
I go in. There are four stalls. I turn the water on, hoping the noise will be enough to keep him from hearing my screams until it is too late. I choose the stall farthest from the door.
“Forgive me, God.”
One deep swipe is all it will take. Nick the jugular, and I’ll bleed out before he can do anything. I pull out the long shard of glass and take a deep breath. I hold my hand in front of my neck, bracing myself. As I am about to do it, I feel a kick. An overwhelming anguish overtakes me. How can I do this? But how can I not? I position myself again and tell myself to get it over with. It’s the only thing I can do to save my child. Another move inside my belly causes me to pause, and I hear my mother’s voice inside my head. Life is sacred. God has a purpose for each of us. Can he really have a purpose for my child? The battle wages in my heart as I wrestle with myself. My shirt is damp with perspiration, and I am dizzy. What should I do? God, what should I do? A small, quiet voice stops me. If I am to embrace my faith, I must embrace it all. I have to believe that God is stronger—stronger than Damon and Dunst and the evil one they serve. I throw the glass into the toilet and flush it down. I stand and watch as it swirls away, disappearing—along with my last hope of saving my child.
Chapter Forty
IT’S ALMOST DAWN. WHY DON’T YOU TAKE HIM OUT, AND then we’ll hit the road before the sun comes up?” Jack said.
With his face plastered all over the news, Jack was keeping the lowest profile possible.
“Come on, buddy.” She put the leash on Beau and stepped out into the bracing air.
Jack frowned. “Be careful.”
Taylor walked Beau to the back of the motel and gave him enough leash to find a satisfactory place to relieve himself. Why were dogs so particular about that? It seemed to her that one blade of grass was as good as another. She hopped from one f
oot to the other trying to keep warm. The temperature had dropped suddenly and sharply. Now she wished she had some gloves. She shoved her free hand in her coat pocket and tugged on the lead. Enough was enough. “Come on, boy. Go!”
He finally obliged and trotted back to her with a contented expression as they walked toward the front of the motel. Then, he growled, a deep, suspicious snarl from the back of his throat.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He was still growling, and she stood still, paralyzed by indecision.
She pulled on the leash and tried to coax Beau slowly forward, but he refused, seemingly rooted to the ground.
Then she saw them. Two figures in black skulking in the shadows, moving in the direction of their motel room. What should she do? She had to warn Jack, but how?
As if reading her mind, Beau bolted upright, tore away from her, and went bounding at the two men at full speed.
He leaped and sunk his teeth into the first man’s arm. The man screamed as he tried to shake loose of the determined canine.
“What the hell?” he screamed.
The man next to him lifted the hand holding a gun and pointed it at Beau.
“No!” Taylor yelled, and instinctively ran toward them.
The motel door flew open, and Jack rushed out, flinging himself at the man with the gun. They both toppled to the ground wrestling for it. Taylor reached into her coat pocket for the can of Mace and ran toward them. Just as Taylor collided with Beau and fell onto the pavement, the gun went off.
Chapter Forty-One
THE INSTITUTE, JANUARY 1976
I SPENT NEW YEAR’S DAY THINKING OF RESOLUTIONS, AND OF years past, when I had my entire life in front of me. This New Year will be my last. I think of how different things could be if I were free. My precious son would have an entire family to love him. It is too unbearable to ponder. I try to relish the little time I have left and use it for some good. When my thoughts become too torturous, I pray.
My stomach lurches as I hear the familiar clicking on the cold, marble floors.
His boasting begins as soon as he enters the room.
“Maya, how is it possible that you are still so naive? Do you imagine the throngs will resist me? I have Madison Avenue in my back pocket. The fools believe whatever we tell them to. Slowly, very slowly, we have been shifting society’s values. Small steps, moving the line ever so slightly until they don’t even realize the gigantic leaps we have taken. Just a few years ago we couldn’t show a married couple sleeping in the same bed. Soon, they’ll be watching strangers having sex, during the so-called family hour, and no one will blink an eye. By the time we’re through, morality will be a distant memory and the very few that try to hold on to it will be classified radical fanatics.”
His arrogance is infuriating. “What’s in it for you?” I blurt out.
He looks right through me. “I am serving my master. He desires the ruination of souls. It is my pleasure to assist him in that quest.”
“Enjoy it while you can. I can assure you, eternity is not going to be fun for you.”
“Don’t preach to me, Maya. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Too bad you won’t be around to see your son serve the master.”
He knows exactly what to say to shut me up.
Chapter Forty-Two
TAYLOR LIFTED HER HEAD UP FROM THE COLD CONCRETE when she heard a rapid succession of popping noises. Everything had happened so fast, and she looked around in confusion. The man Jack had been fighting with was lying on the ground, blood pooled around his middle, eyes closed. Was he dead? Jack held his gun to the head of the other man, at whom Beau was growling, ready to pounce again. There was a different man, shorter and bald, standing across from Jack with a gun in his hand aimed at Jack. Where had he come from? Taylor winced as she put her weight on her arm and pushed herself up and stood.
“Who are you?” Jack was glaring at the man whose gun was trained on him.
“Name’s Paul. Jeremy sent us.”
“How do I know you’re really with Jeremy?”
“Saint Christopher is on your side.”
“I’ll be a son of a—”
“Come on, we’ve got to move before someone sees us,” Paul said.
“Give me a hand with this guy,” Jack answered. They walked the man he was holding on to over to a black van with its back doors open and engine running. Three men jumped out. One cuffed Jack’s prisoner, while the other two retrieved the dead body. It was all cleaned up within a matter of minutes.
“How did you find us?” Jack asked.
“There’s a tracking device in the St. Christopher medal. We’ve been keeping tabs on you. Jeremy got inside intel that we’ve been compromised. We found the traitor, but not before he alerted the Institute,” Paul explained.
“The what?” Taylor asked.
“No time to explain. Jeremy will tell you everything when you get to him. We’ve got to get going,” Paul answered.
“Can you take us to Jeremy?”
The man shook his head. “Don’t know where he is. We were dispatched for this only. No one has his location. It’s safer for him that way.”
Jack felt inside his jacket pocket for the medal and handed it to the man. “Take it back. I don’t want to throw it out, but I’m not keeping it on me in case you’re compromised again.”
The man took it, ran back to the van, and they drove away.
“What was he talking about? What’s all this with the Saint Christopher medal?” Taylor asked.
“It was a code. I didn’t realize when she said it, until I heard him repeat it.”
“What do you mean, a code?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in the car. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, hurt my arm a little, but I’m fine.”
“What were you thinking diving in front of Beau like that?”
She shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t.”
Jack looked down at Beau. “Come on, furball. You deserve a big treat.” He opened the back door, and Beau jumped in.
Taylor put on her seat belt, still trying to catch her breath and steady her shaking hands. She looked out of the back window as they drove away.
“So are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“A nice old lady gave me a Saint Christopher medal the other day when I helped her to her car. The last thing she said was ‘Saint Christopher is on your side.’”
He continued to surprise her. “When did you help an old lady?”
“When I went to the drugstore for supplies, she was in front of me in line and fell. I walked her to her car.”
“Still the Boy Scout,” she said wryly. His stint in the Boy Scouts had lasted exactly one meeting. She remembered him telling her that it was a little too gung ho for him.
“Hardly,” he said.
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. The image of the man lying on the ground filled her mind and she sat up.
“Jack? Was that man dead?”
He ran his fingers over his lips then nodded.
She shivered. “It’s strange. I know they were there to kill us, just like the man at the cabin.” She swallowed. “But I still feel bad. I mean—they were people. Two days ago, all I could think about was getting ready for my baby. Now we’re being chased by killers. How can that be?” She turned and pressed her forehead against the cold window. Her eyes fixated on the yellow line on the road stretching out forever, toward nowhere. Her future unrolled before her like a foreign scroll, inscrutable and indecipherable.
Chapter Forty-Three
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY GOT AWAY?” DAMON CROSSE barked into the phone.
“We didn’t know the girl and the dog were outside. They snuck up and attacked us.”
Damon shook his head in disgust. “A dog and a pregnant woman attacked you?”
“They had help. Four men showed up out of nowhere. Lucky for me, they threw me out of the van instead of killing me.”
“Too bad they didn’t. They would have spared me the trouble.” They must have been Jeremy’s men. No one else would be stupid and soft enough not to finish the job. Threw him out of the van. How disappointing. Jeremy was weak. How did he think he could ever win when he couldn’t handle the simple matter of disposing of an enemy properly?
“If they’re in New Hampshire, Jeremy’s facility must be close. I want aerial surveillance over the whole state and the surrounding ones. Find them.” Crosse hung up.
Chapter Forty-Four
WHEN THEY PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT OF THE Claremont Library and Taylor opened the car door, Beau jumped up from his position in the back seat.
“You’re hanging here with me, buddy,” Jack said as he ruffled the fur on his head.
Taylor got out and walked to the entrance of the small brown brick building. Once inside, she scanned the signs on the shelves, looking for the fiction section. It didn’t take her long to locate the M shelf.
She found the book immediately and blew the dust from the top of it. She held it close to her, suddenly irrationally fearful of it being snatched away. Sitting down at the empty table, she opened it and began to slowly turn the pages. There it was. A plain white slip of paper with one word written on it. She crumpled the paper, sticking it into her pocket, returned the book to the shelf, and left.
She got back into the passenger seat. “Do you see a road called Clayton?”
“Yeah, here it is.” He pointed to it on the map.
“Then we are off to number thirty-seven.”
“Great going, T.” He held her gaze and smiled broadly.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”
* * *
An hour later, Jack and Taylor pulled onto Clayton Drive. It was another long and dusty road that seemed to go on forever. There were a few small farms and a random house or two, but it was a mostly deserted stretch of road. Just when they thought they had hit another dead end, they pulled in front of a small Cape Cod that backed into woods. There were no other houses around. Jack turned to Taylor and raised his eyebrows.