by Ethan Cross
“Go to hell. I don’t know what insanity you’ve got cooked up, but I won’t be any part of it. You might as well just kill me now.”
“Oh, all in due time, my friend. Besides, I don’t need your cooperation or your permission. You’ll play the part I’ve assigned to you, whether you like it or not. But I’m afraid I don’t need any extra cast members, so these three are going to be cut from the production.”
Loren’s eyes widened with fear. She locked her gaze on his. Her eyes begged for help, but he was powerless to do anything. Besides, the Sheriff may have been warped and misguided, but he wasn’t evil. Marcus couldn’t imagine him actually murdering a defenseless mother and her children. Then again, the Sheriff had a cause of some kind, and throughout history, good men had committed the most unspeakable atrocities imaginable in the name of a cause.
“I guess we’ll never know why you snapped and went on this killing spree, Marcus. First, Maureen. Now, the Brubakers. And tomorrow … who knows. Honestly, I wish you had never involved them in any of this. But what’s done is done, and the task laid out before me is too important to jeopardize.”
Tears formed in the Sheriff’s eyes, and his voice cracked as he said, “I’m so sorry, but I have my orders.”
The Sheriff shook his head in disgust, drew in a deep mouthful of air, and exhaled slowly. Then, he shot all three of the remaining Brubakers dead. Their lifeless bodies fell to the ground in grim succession.
His brain had barely registered the atrocity when Marcus found himself screaming and running at the Sheriff. He made it two steps before a hard blow from a nightstick into the common peroneal nerve at the back of his leg collapsed him to his knees. More blows followed the first and left him face down in the dirt. He looked up to see the face of Lewis Foster, enjoying his work.
“That’s enough,” the Sheriff said, though the voice seemed distant to Marcus.
He looked across at the lifeless bodies of the three Brubakers.
“I wish to God that their deaths weren’t necessary, Marcus. But we’re fighting a war here, and every war has casualties. Every war has collateral damage, and I’m afraid that they got caught in the crossfire. Evil is at the doorstep every day, and if good men like myself don’t stand up to it, then countless innocents like them are going to continue to die for no reason. It’s a quiet war, but it is perhaps the most important battle that anyone has ever fought. It’s not a war against some foreign power beyond our borders and a world away. We’re fighting against the darkness inside ourselves. We’re fighting against injustice and corruption. We stand for everything that this country was founded upon, but we conveniently forget whenever it suits our needs.”
The Sheriff circled Marcus as he spoke. “The fact of the matter is that we’re fighting a losing battle. Evil, corruption, and injustice are winning because we refuse to fight them on their terms. Men like Ackerman are only the tip of the iceberg. There are others who are much more subtle, but a hundred times more dangerous.”
The Sheriff reached down and pulled Marcus back to his knees. The older man leaned in close. “Events have already been set in motion that will protect the citizens of this nation from a threat far greater than any serial killer. I don’t expect you to understand, but I cannot allow anything to jeopardize the events that will take place tomorrow. It’s bigger than them.” The Sheriff motioned at the three corpses. “It’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than any one person. Sometimes, men like me have to make the tough choices and sacrifice the few for the good of the many. I know that doesn’t make it any easier to accept, but it is an inevitable fact of life and someone has to do it.”
He looked up at the Sheriff, cocked his head to the side, and cracked his neck. “Shut up and do whatever it is you’re going to do to me. You’re every bit as bad as Ackerman, maybe even worse. At least he doesn’t think that he’s a big hero for killing innocent people.”
The Sheriff nodded. “Like I said, I don’t expect you to understand.” He turned to Foster. “Our guest looks tired, Lewis. Will you please put him to bed for me?”
Foster smiled down at him with a huge grin. “It would be my pleasure.”
Marcus saw the nightstick descending toward his head before the darkness took him once again.
35
The dusty, green El Camino rocketed down the dark expanse of highway. Its new owner sat behind the wheel, the madness in his eyes shining out like two unholy torches and giving him a different perspective on his surroundings than anyone else who had ever traveled that particular road. His gray eyes shone with a newfound purpose and a frightening determination.
Ackerman had always felt that a strange causal and reactionary relationship bound all things together, but he had been sure that there was no real purpose or plan for any of the events. They were merely strings of random occurrences that perpetuated the day-to-day cycle of a world without meaning. He had never before seen any correlation or found any reason to believe that a grand design or higher power of the universe connected all the dots.
But now, he felt differently.
He had begun to see meaning, where previously there was only despair. He had begun to see design, where previously he had only seen chaos. He now believed that he had caught a glimpse of his own purpose and felt that his life held meaning. It was an exciting revelation. He felt like a speeding train traveling full blast into a head-on collision.
He knew what he had to do. Everything seemed so clear to him now.
He had tried to delude himself. He had tried to deny his true nature, but now he embraced the darkness within. He wasn’t a broken man. He was a demon forged in pain and blood. He couldn’t run from his true self.
Ahead lay the sleeping town of Asherton, the place where his story had been meant to go from the beginning. No doubt, the town was going about its business as usual, unsuspecting and unprepared. He intended to set the peaceful town on fire—literally.
So many things awaited him in Asherton.
He would exact his revenge upon the Sheriff. He would find a way to hurt the man who had intended to use him and then murder him. He would discover whatever he cared about most and destroy it. When he had drained the man of all hope and broken him completely, he would grant him the gift of death.
So much to do, so little time.
But there was more than just revenge awaiting him. There was purpose. He knew that the collision course he had been upon his whole life rocketed toward its pre-ordained conclusion. He knew that this path would bring him to his other half. Even now, he could feel him. He wouldn’t even have to seek him out; the other would find him.
His revenge and his destiny lay ahead, and he couldn’t wait to see them both to their conclusions.
He felt as if he had become the living personification of evil. He was the dark man now. He was the night, and it was time for night to fall upon the unsuspecting town of Asherton.
PART THREE:
THE ROD AND THE STAFF
36
The citizens of Asherton had deserted the streets, but it was easy for him to imagine them teeming with life and activity. Busy little bees going about their daily routines. Working, going home, sleeping, and doing it all over again the next day. Perpetuating the cycle, never breaking the routine. Apathetic, mindless, and unaware of anything being wrong.
Ackerman could picture them now: walking their dogs, getting groceries, visiting the doctor, enjoying a meal at the local diner. He could picture the children on the playgrounds and see them ordering sweet confections from the back of an ice-cream truck. It was easy to see that when sunlight shone on Asherton, it became the epitome of the white-picket-fence, all-American dream.
Just thinking about it made him sick. He had to put a stop to it.
But where to begin?
He needed information, but at such a late hour, only the local watering hole, the Asherton Tap, would be open for business. He had to park a block down since cars filled the parking lot and surrounding
areas. It was the weekend and a small town; the bar would be filled well beyond capacity.
The crowd had spilled out onto the sidewalk, and people laughed and talked out in the fresh air. The establishment’s sign hung askew, and he noted the absence of a few letters from the word Asherton. Neon beer signs lit the windows. He had to shove his way into the squat, brick building. The bar patrons were packed in like cattle, and he had to wind his way through the crowd just to reach the bar.
He straddled a bar stool made from an old saddle. A beautiful, young woman with tight jeans and a white cowboy hat had just vacated the seat. Her long black hair flowed down her back like a waterfall in moonlight. He could still feel the residual warmth left by her body, and a sudden desire crept over him. He imagined her body pressed close to his own. He entertained the fantasy of a normal life. He contemplated what it would feel like to be loved.
But he knew there wasn’t a woman in the world who could accept him for the monster he truly was. Plus, perpetuating the Ackerman lineage was the last thing he wanted to do. He would be the last, and he could feel his long sleep close at hand.
A short woman behind the bar walked over. She couldn’t have been more than four foot ten and had short, red hair. “What’s your poison?”
He noticed the name Big Phil stenciled over a pocket on her bright Asherton Tap t-shirt. “Big Phil, huh?”
“Philomena. What do you want?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
“What kind?”
“Surprise me.”
The diminutive woman rolled her eyes, filled a glass with an expensive imported brand, and placed it in front of him. “Surprise,” she said.
He smiled his best smile and poured on the charm until an aura of likeability seemed to permeate the air around him. “Excuse me, my wife and I are thinking of moving to this area, and I’m currently working as a Deputy Sheriff up in Oklahoma. I had thought of trying to get a job as a deputy for your fine county here, but I’m not sure yet. I was just wondering if you knew the local Sheriff at all? I wanted to get a feel for him before I put myself out on a limb.”
“The Sheriff? Sure, I know him. I know him pretty well, actually. He’s in here a lot, on account of his daughter working for me.”
His face brightened. A daughter?
“He’s a great guy. I’m sure you’d enjoy working for him, but I know that he’s extremely selective on who he hires as a deputy. They’re a pretty tight-knit group.”
“I’m qualified, so I’m sure that I could get the job, if I put my mind to it. You said that he has a daughter that works for you? Maybe I could pass along my number to her, and then he could get back in touch with me and set up some kind of interview. Is she here tonight?”
“No, I gave her the night off. After what happened last night, I figured she could use a breather.”
“Why? What happened last night?”
“A group of guys tried to jump her and this new guy that was walking her home. Luckily, this guy she was with must have known karate or something ’cause he kicked all their asses and saved hers.”
A voice from a couple of stools down interrupted them. “Hey, can I get a beer? Or are you going to gossip like old women all night?”
With a quick snap of her neck and fire burning in her eyes, the little redhead turned her attention to the man. “Hey, shut up! This is my bar, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You don’t like it, then get out.” She turned her attention back to Ackerman with a shake of her head. “Some people. Anyway, I heard there were like seven or eight guys that jumped them.”
His grip tightened around the beer. “Wow, the guy she was with must have been something. What did he look like? What was he, seven feet tall and three hundred and fifty pounds?”
He thought that he already knew the answer, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the possibility of such a clear intersection to all the paths.
“Nah, he was pretty normal. I didn’t get a real good look at him. His name was something that started with an M. Matthew. Michael.”
“Marcus,” he said.
She snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it. You know him or something?”
“Lucky guess.” He laid payment for his drink, plus a hefty tip, down on the bar. “Keep the change, and thanks for all the info. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks. Good talking to you. I hope you get that deputy job.” She turned back to the man that had interrupted their conversation. “All right, pansy, what kind of fu-fu, girly drink did you want?”
He turned away from the bar and took a long, hard swig of his beer. He considered the implications of what he had just learned. He could kill two birds with one stone. Marcus was involved with the Sheriff’s daughter. It was perfect. Any doubts regarding his destiny faded away. He was meant to be here. His life had meaning. He had been traveling the path to this day his whole life, and now the time was at hand. The world was not chaos. The world was an intricate tapestry of synchronicity and interrelated events that combined to form the grand plan, a plan in which he played a part.
For the first time since he was a boy, Francis Ackerman Jr. experienced hope.
And now, the path was clear. He had to find the girl. She was the key to everything.
He looked around the bar at all of the people gathered there. He looked at them with different eyes. The band on stage played another droning top-forty hit performed for the sole purpose of getting people on the dance floor. It seemed to be working.
As he looked around the room, he no longer felt the same hatred and rage that he normally felt toward pretty much all other members of his species. The grand realizations and epiphanies that he had experienced over the previous twenty-four hours had bestowed upon him a different outlook on life.
He no longer hated them. Unfortunately, they all still have to die …
37
Marcus was in and out of consciousness during the entire drive. Scattered, incoherent images passed before his eyes. He floated back and forth between the world of a horrible nightmare and the real world, but he was unable to distinguish which perception was real and which one was the bad dream. He had just enough comprehension of what was happening to realize that he had been moved into some kind of a cellar, but he didn’t know much more than that. As he phased in and out of cognizance, he tried to bring himself out of the haze, but he kept sliding back down the slippery slope into the dream.
It wasn’t the same dream that had been plaguing him, but it was one that stirred just as much guilt. He was in a great ocean surrounded by nothing but dark-blue water and gray skies. He wasn’t alone in the water, though. The four Brubakers, his aunt, and Maggie were all in the water with him. They floated in tranquility for just a moment before the seas stirred and dark clouds spewed forth a torrential downpour. The currents ripped against them, and the rain stung their faces like a million tiny needles. But he held them all together.
He was strong. He could save them.
But Poseidon’s rage continued to bombard the group. His grip loosened, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hold them. His aunt was the first to slip his grasp. The waves took her, and he watched as the distance grew between them. She screamed his name, but her shouts became weaker and weaker.
He squeezed the others even tighter, but he couldn’t hold them. One by one, they all slipped away. Each one screamed his name and pleaded with him to save their lives, but all he could do was watch.
Maggie was the last to go. After she was gone, he howled into the raging wind with a sound of utter helplessness and despair. Then, he stopped kicking and let himself descend into the murky depths.
As he slipped farther into the infinite blackness, he felt himself shaking. He concluded that this was the first sign of his encroaching death. But as the shaking continued, he thought he heard a faint voice in the darkness, not much more than a whisper. It told him to wake up.
But he didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to slip into the dark
ness until there was nothing left of himself and only the darkness remained. He had failed everyone. He didn’t deserve to live after the others had perished. He just wanted to sleep the long sleep and see if forgiveness lay beyond the borders of infinity.
But the shaking …
“Marcus! Marcus! Wake up. Damn it, we don’t have time for this. Wake up.” The man shook him and spoke in a soft but insistent tone.
Finally, he blinked back the last of the haze and sat up. His head throbbed, but he shook off the pain and looked at the man who had awakened him.
The black garments of a covert operation covered the man. Good shape, but average build. Sandy blonde hair, cropped short. The man couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him, but soft wrinkles formed around his eyes that showed a level of hardness.
“I know you,” Marcus said.
“We’ve met.”
“You’re the real-estate guy … Andrew Garrison.” Garrison had offered to sell his property for him when they had first met. Looking back, he wished that he had sold the damn thing and kept moving down the road.
“I’m not sellin’ real estate today,” Garrison said. “You’re on the Sheriff’s ranch. I was monitoring the place when I saw them drag you out of a squad car and into the cellar. I’m risking a lot by helping you, but I’m hoping that you’ve got some information that I need. I don’t have time to explain now. We need to get out of here, so stay quiet and follow me.”
Marcus looked down and realized that he had been tied up, but Garrison must have removed his restraints. He couldn’t determine where the realtor possibly fit into the puzzle. There was something about the man that suggested there was a lot more to his involvement than a sense of civic duty. There was a collectedness in Garrison’s eyes that wouldn’t be present in the eyes of an average person placed anywhere near the current situation.