The Eye of Madness (16 page)

When she did not immediately get a response, she continued her tirade. “What say we go nick a bloody lorry and roam about town like a couple of bobbies while we search for any tossers hanging about after dark?” she said, thickening the accent and using British slang.

Jack felt anger rising. He didn't appreciate being patronized, especially not by a kid. He leaned forward and stared into Donna's eyes. “Listen Donna, you are in my house and if you want to remain in my house I expect you to show some respect. Judging by your appearance, you don't respect yourself.”

He could see the anger kindling in Donna's eyes, but he didn't care. “Whatever rules you lived by before don't mean a bloody thing now. You are in my house. My house, my rules …” he said trailing off with a broad and patronizing smile of his own.

“You know nothing of me,” Donna snapped, the southern American accent was gone momentarily, replaced by something that sounded British, but different from anything he ever heard before.

It was true. Jack knew nothing about her, but he didn't care. He meant what he said. The two of them stared at each other, neither one wanting to show weakness by breaking eye contact. Finally, Donna flinched. The flame in her eyes dimmed a little and she sat back in her chair. She yawned as she propped her feet on the table.

“So … why doesn't the dark affect us?” she asked in a neutral accent.

“I don't know,” Jack said, nodding his head at her trainers. He wanted her to remove them from the table. She ignored him.

“Maybe this is just a shot in the dark here,” Donna said, studying him from head to toe. “I would guess that you are in the military.”

Jack still wore his uniform. He only planned on making a quick trip home and back. He had not anticipated staying. He frowned and said, “You could say that.”

“What do you do in the military?” she prodded.

“I'm an MP,” he said.

Donna laughed. “So, you're an army bobbie,” she said, putting on her bogus English accent again.

“And you are a skanky scrubber?” he said with a sardonic smile.

She didn't understand his meaning. “What is that … domestic service … a maid or something?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Jack said, his smile broadening.

“Manchester, indeed,” he thought to himself. “She doesn't know Liverpool from liverwurst.”

“No, I never done anything like that,” she said reverting back to her Southern dialect. She studied her hands and then ran her fingers up and down her torso a couple of times. Jack couldn't tell if she was trying to be seductive or scratching an itch. She then touched her fingers to her cheeks as she spoke. “No, I go to school and work as a waitress part time,” she said distantly.

“What school?” Jack prodded.

She regarded him for several moments. The rage he saw earlier was gone, replaced by bewilderment. She resembled a deer in headlights.

“The girls' school in Manchester,” she said.

“Which one?”

“The main one,” she said, the flame rekindling.

“Oh,” Jack said, trying to hide his disbelief. He was not in the mood to argue or conduct an interrogation.

“Yes … that one,” she said.

Jack was about to offer her the couch for the night, when Donna surprised him.

“Why do you think we can pass through the dark?” she said. Jack wasn't looking at her when she spoke. If he had, he might have noticed a knowing grin wash across her face.

“I don't know,” Jack said. “Why do you think we can?”

“I think the things in the dark like us and give us a break,” she said, nonchalant as if she were discussing the weather.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really … and why is that?” he asked.

“I don't know … a feeling,” she smirked.

Jack had the same feeling. Although he did not trust the darkness enough to sleep with the lights off, he did find it calming. It was like wrapping himself up in a warm blanket, yet a blanket that he feared could smother him if he let his guard down. “Why do you think it likes us?” Jack asked.

“Because you know them and they know you. Y'all always have,” she said with a tone of indifference.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jack demanded.

Donna shook her head and shrugged. “I think it means we have to keep a low profile. I don't think there are too many people who would understand our aptitude,” she said.

Jack felt a knot in his stomach. He felt as if someone may be watching. This thought frightened him ever since he woke up with a bloody head. Someone would find out, someone would ask questions, and then someone would ask more questions. Then they would want to know all about him. He couldn't have it. Jack was careful, but he was not perfect. Someone would find out about his community service work and they would not understand. People were stupid. He avoided personal interaction as much as possible.

“Okay,” Jack said, half serious and half playing along. “So, what do you think we should do?”

“Well, first of all, turn all these danged lights off,” she said. “If this were summer, you would be attracting every bug within miles. As it is, you are just attracting questions you don't want to answer.”

She gave him with a knowing grin. He was not sure why, but it sent chills up his spine.

Without another word, he got up and flicked off the outside light. He then turned off the kitchen light, plunging them into darkness.

“You want to sleep on the sofa?” Jack said.

“Well I'm sure as hell not going to sleep with you!” she said with a cold certainty. It was a stark contrast from her initial demeanor.

Jack felt a flush of embarrassment wash over his face. He was glad it was dark and she couldn't see him.

“Whatever,” Jack said. “I'll get you a pillow.”

“Thank you sugar, that's mighty sweet of you!” she said reverting back to her seductive, southern voice.

Jack didn't acknowledge her. He walked in his bedroom, retrieved a pillow off his bed, and then came back and tossed it to her.

“Here,” he said before turning and walking back in the bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind him.

“Crazy urchin,” he muttered as he reluctantly took her advice and shut off his bedroom lamp.

The room fell into complete darkness. Jack stood for several minutes listening to the hissing and clicking. Those ethereal noises sounded as if several people whispered in a strange language. Jack found it an intoxicating lullaby. He walked to his bed and stretched out. Sleep came, but not before he asked the same question a dozen times—
who or what is she?

CHAPTER 17

THE UNLIKELY ALLY

“Some allies are more dangerous than enemies.”

~George R.R. Martin

Salvation. This single word had been in the back of everyone's mind since Musial announced his deepest desire hours earlier. Once the shock of President Garrison's broadcast wore off, the cryptic word was now first on everyone's mind. Only, Musial wasn't talking; in fact he had been in a deep sleep ever since the radio was switched off. Their best efforts to wake him were unsuccessful. When he did finally wake from his comatose slumber, who would they address … Andrews or Musial?

Everyone bedded down for the night, yet nobody slept. How could they when the only thing separating them from a horrific death was a few well-placed lights? Charlotte and Derek set up cots between the sofa and the kitchen. Cecil stretched out on the floor beside his traumatized wife on the couch. Burt and Sally settled a few feet away.

“Cecil … you asleep?” Burt whispered after thirty minutes of listening to the depraved chorus surrounding the cabin.

“What is sleep?” Cecil said, rolling on his side to face his friend.

“A sweet distant memory,” Burt said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He paused for a moment and asked, “Have you given any more thought as to what we are gonna do?”

Cecil shook his head. “I don't know, but we're going to have to do something in the next day or so. We've got maybe forty-eight hours of fuel left if we are lucky.”

“I'll take a bunch of lanterns in the SUV and drive to get fuel … it's the only way,” Burt said.

“The hell it is!” Cecil said. “If anyone is going, it's me!”

“No, you've got Barbara to take care of,” Burt argued.

“You have Sally to take care of!” Cecil retorted.

“I don't have any kids … you have daughters to think about,” Burt said, but the instant the words left his mouth he regretted them. “I … I'm sorry, Cecil … I didn't mean,” he said shamefully.

The words cut Cecil, but not from insult. Instead, it was the sorrow of a painful memory.

“It's okay, Burt,” he said. “I still have Abbs; she's just not here right now. So I do have more than one daughter.”

Burt rubbed the back of his head and frowned. “Do you think … they will be back … the Impals?” he asked.

“Without a doubt,” Cecil said as he rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “Dr. Winder seemed to think that this was the ‘eye' of the cosmic storm and, as with all eyes, it will pass and the storm will return. That's what I believe … it's what I have to believe.”

“You forgot one important point,” Burt said.

“What?”

“Your old man is full of shit,” he said flippantly.

There were a few moments of uncertain silence before both men broke into a fit of laughter.

“That he is,” Cecil chuckled, “as full as a septic tank.”

“Yep, the White House needs an enema,” Burt laughed

Cecil felt a sharp pang again deep inside. The pang was more numb and deeper than ever. This was good because he knew exactly what giving the White House an enema meant. His father would have to be removed and most likely it would take an assassination to accomplish it.

The most important thing right now was that it felt good to share a laugh with his friend; it was something they hadn't been able to do for a while.

“What joke did I miss?” Sally said, rolling over and peering through sleepy eyes over Burt's shoulder.

“Nothing … potty humor,” Burt snorted.

The two men laughed until Sally finally turned in a huff with her back to them. Burt reached over and patted her on the rear, but she swatted his hand away.

“Not tonight,” she hissed.

Burt glanced over his shoulder with a comical grin and then back at Cecil.

“You wouldn't mind if we did it tonight, would you?”

“Oh, by all means,” Cecil said. “I'll close my eyes.”

“Oh please don't,” Charlotte called from the other side of the sofa.

They all began laughing again and were even joined by Sally and Charlotte, and then finally Derek.

“So anyone know any good dirty jokes?” Derek asked.

Burt was about to volunteer one when a foreign yet familiar voice broke the mood. It was Musial.

“You all seem rather chipper considering what horror you are facing,” he said evenly.

They all turned their heads in unison toward the chair where Musial was bound. Terror seized them when they realized the chair was empty. A pile of rope and chain was coiled beside it. It didn't take them long to find him. He was standing in a dark corner of the room, an area dark enough to mean certain death to any of them.

“What the hell are you doing, Musial?” Cecil shouted as he leapt to his feet.

“The chair was uncomfortable,” he said massaging his wrists. “I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty to stretch my legs.”

Burt pulled his pistol and aimed it at Musial. “Get your ass back in the chair!” he barked.

Musial slowly stepped forward into the light with incredulity etched on his face. “Indeed, captain?” he said. “If I was a threat I can assure you one thing. You would all be dead right now.”

“Really?” Cecil said, pulling his own pistol.

“Really, major … I have been free for at least an hour.”

Sally retreated back to Charlotte and Derek. Derek stepped forward and stood behind Burt and Cecil.

“I could have flipped these at any moment. None of you would have known what hit you,” he said, flexing his index finger up and down above one of the light switches.

“How did you get out?” Derek asked.

A warm smile washed over Musial's face. “I thought you would never ask!” he beamed. “You see, in life, my flesh and blood life, I was a magician and escape artist.”

“Bull!” Burt retorted. “I bet you got one of your buddies outside to help you.”

Musial shook his head in slow motion. “Major, I am disappointed in the intelligence of the officers serving under your command,” he said. “Did we not already cover that the dark can't interact with the physical world, except through the mind. Once you step into the dark you are driven to death by the suggestion of those butchers,” he said motioning toward the window. For one small instant the insidious chorus seemed to intensify. “They don't pick up a knife and cut your throat,” he continued, “or hoist you up in a tree and drop you to your death like Dr. Winder. They don't do those things any more than they could come in here and untie me.”

“So you were a magician?” Cecil asked.

“Yes.”

“Where and when?”

“In Europe, about a hundred years ago,” he said.

“Is Musial your last name?”

“Musial is my name.”

“But what was your given name?” Burt asked, still holding the gun steady.

“Musial,” he replied, annoyed.

“Huh, he thinks he's a rock star like Madonna or Sting,” Derek muttered.

“Not a rock star, good sir,” Musial said, making Derek jump with surprise. “But I was a star in my day!”

“So what did a star magician—escape artist do to wind up in the dark void for eternity?” Burt asked sarcastically.