The Eye of Madness (20 page)

“Okay, let's begin,” Garrison said as he raised his head and beamed at everyone.

“What a damn hypocrite,” they all thought but did not say. However, for personal motivations, they would continue to wear the mask of sycophant. They all had their issues that made them dark souls, only none of them were hypocritical about it. They were what they were … take it, leave it, or shove it. Of course, they all knew why they held a special relationship with the dark. They felt the calm of their kinship each time the lights went out. Garrison saw things differently. What his companions saw as peace derived from a kindred existence, Garrison believed his calm came from God. His pride wouldn't let him consider anything else.

“How shall we carry out the Lord's will going forward?” he asked with a toothy grin.

CHAPTER 21

THE BASES

“Suspicion is the companion of mean souls, and the bane of all good society.”

~Thomas Paine

“Who in the hell is this skank?” Jack wondered as they trudged down an old cow road on the way back to the base.

Their bellies were full with their custom made Martian Burgers, but they didn't sit well. Jack's stomach burned as if a small fire kindled in his gut. There was something very strange about this girl who called herself Donna.

He thought about killing her when they got to the part of the road known as the tunnel. Its lush canopy forming a cover high enough for a tall truck to pass would be the ideal spot. It was secluded, it was private, and nobody would be any the wiser. She knew about him because she saw him at the moors. Even if she hadn't seen him dump the body, she knew. A part of him believed she would turn him in first chance she got when they reached the base. The MPs would arrest him and throw him in a cage.

“How ironic,” he thought to himself.

However, something stayed his hand. Something that tormented him because he couldn't put his finger on it. She was a vexing enigma and he couldn't harm her, not yet … not until he figured her out. He clinched his fists and bit the inside of his lip as he fought his homicidal impulses. She was no longer silent. This didn't help control his rage as she rambled on about nothing in particular.

“Would you shut up, would you please shut the hell up!” he bellowed as they passed into an especially dark area of the road. He wasn't sure if he yelled because he was trying to talk over the noisy hiss and click of the dark or because he was at his wit's end.

She glared at him. Eventually, Donna backed down and decided that ‘shutting the hell up' was preferable to the rage she saw in Jack's eyes.

The rest of the journey was tense and silent. Jack found it the most enjoyable part of the day. He considered the relative silence and soothing whispers of the dark to be therapeutic. That's why it didn't anger him too much when he was seized and thrown to the ground at the gate of the base. He expected it; after all he was AWOL the last twenty-four hours. What angered him was when Donna pointed and laughed as he spit out a mouthful of grass and leaves.

Donna, of course, received better treatment. She allowed the guards to give her a perfunctory pat down before admitting her through the gate. They were both escorted on foot, Jack with his hands bound behind him and Donna with her hands in her pockets. They reached the base office where they were separated and each put in a different room with nothing more than a desk, chair, and lamp. A few minutes later, the door flew open on Jack's room and a large man in a military police uniform dragged in a heavy metal chair. He spun it to face the table across from Jack and then slid into the seat, keeping his eyes locked on Jack the whole time.

“Where did you pick up the girl, private?” he asked.

Jack swallowed hard. He couldn't believe he hadn't come up with some plausible story, one they could both stick to. He already told the commander and his friend over the phone that he suffered an accident and woke in a well-lit room. This was not entirely a lie; in fact the only false part was where he awakened. He knitted a plausible tapestry of deceit in his mind, and then delivered it as calmly as he could. “When I came too after my accident, she had broken into my house to get away from the dark,” he said in a monotone.

The soldier's eyes narrowed with disbelief.

“What the hell was I supposed to do … kick her back out into the dark?” Jack asked, his face turning red with anger.

The interrogator did not reply, instead he glanced out the window. Jack followed his gaze and his heart sank when he saw another MP sitting across from Donna at a picnic table. They were in the bright sunlight, which any other day would have seemed unusual since there were so many other tables in the shade. The mood at their table was more laid back as they smiled and chatted.

“Did you have sex with her?” the soldier asked, turning his attention back to Jack.

The geyser of Jack's patience erupted and he shot out of his chair. “What kind of bloody question is that?” he screamed. “I'm no damned nonce!”

One might think he would have said something cheeky like “I may be a serial killer, but I'm no child rapist!” Of course, Jack did not believe his killings were wrong, he believed he was doing society a favor, yet he was no fool either. He knew people didn't understand because most were cowards. The one thing Jack did have in common with the normal world was that he believed child molestation was an abomination.

Before Jack could utter another word, he found himself sitting back in his chair. A throbbing pain burned his chest. The soldier pushed him back down.

“Don't get up again until I tell you to,” the guard hissed as he leaned over the table, inches from Jack's face. “Do you understand, Private Abernathy?”

Jack stared at him in utter shock; he didn't know what to say so he just nodded his head. He threw his hands in the air and forced a calm tone of voice.

“Look, I have told you everything I can. Why don't you get the Doc in here to check out the back of my head!” he said, gently touching his wounded area.

The soldier glanced at Jack's head, and then frowned with indifference.

“I have just one more question, private,” the soldier said, regarding him without emotion. “Were you walking about in the dark last night?”

Jack felt rage churning inside. Had they seen? Did the little ragamuffin out there squeal? If she did, turnabout was fair play. He would fix her wagon by God, he would fix her good. No one could have seen him last night, not unless they were immune to the dark as well.

“If I did, I would be dead right now,” he said.

The soldier examined him without blinking for a few moments. He then stood up and walked out the door. Jack couldn't tell if he believed him or not, the man was good at his job. Jack watched out the window as the soldier and Donna continued their conversation. His interrogator soon approached their table and summoned the other. He got up; leaving Donna with her elbows propped on the table, and joined him several feet away. The two men talked for several minutes. Their expressions and mannerisms didn't give any hint of the mood or subject of their discussion. Both men were stoic except for a couple of subtle hand gestures. Finally they parted ways and Jack's interrogator came back inside, this time with a friendlier attitude.

“Okay Private Abernathy, if you'll come with me I'll escort you to the base hospital so they can check your head out,” he said.

Jack didn't know why he was being so formal. Everyone called the base hospital the dispensary because they got prescription drugs from there. Jack didn't argue, he followed the soldier across the parade ground and to the long, two story hospital. One of the base doctors immediately saw Jack. His name was Dr. Peter Kincaid, a man who Jack knew well. The doctor visited the Impal barracks most nights to hear stories from J.M. Barrie, the
Peter Pan
author.

“Jack, what did you bloody do to yourself?” he asked.

“Ah, it was pretty damned stupid,” Jack said. He then proceeded to tell him the bogus tale of his clumsiness, omitting, of course, the part about the old woman in the cage.

“Well … you're going to need about three stitches,” Dr. Kincaid said as he examined the wound. “You're damn lucky you don't have a concussion.”

Dr. Kincaid administered a local anesthetic, and then proceeded to clean and suture the wound. As he worked, Jack took the opportunity to question him about the MP's strange behavior and equally strange questions.

“You know … he asked me if I was wandering about in the dark last night!” Jack laughed. “Isn't it hilarious?”

He expected Dr. Kincaid to laugh along with him, but the reflection of doctor's face in the glass cabinet in front of him was anything but amicable.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Dr. Kincaid could not look him in the eye since he was stitching the back of Jack's head, but he wouldn't have done so anyway. He was too scared and confused.

“Last night … there were a few civilian deaths.”

“What, they wandered into the dark?” Jack asked.

“Yes, but it was why they wound up in the dark in the first place. It was quite disconcerting.”

There was a long pause as Dr. Kincaid retrieved a bandage to place over Jack's stitches. Finally, suspense goaded Jack into asking the obvious question.

“What?”

“There were three folks who lured them there.”

In an instant, Jack knew where this conversation was headed. He knew he must play dumb for his own sake, so he asked a dumb question. “How did they get lured?”

“Well, there were three people who the dark didn't seem to have any effect on. They were wandering about in pitch blackness and taunting everyone. As in most large crowds, there are always one or two morons who can be convinced of anything, or have more balls than brains.”

“What a bunch of idiots,” Jack thought but did not say.

“They convinced about five people to come and join them. At least we think there were only five … we're still picking up body parts by the south tree line. One of them managed to get hold of a grenade and, well, there is enough mess out there to be two people.” Dr. Kincaid grimaced and shook his head. “The others, … one of them managed to almost hack their own head off with a field utility shovel. Then there was a child …” he shook his head and trailed off. “Suffice it to say, last night was a bad night.”

“Why were these people able to walk about in the dark without harm?” Jack asked with sincere curiosity. He didn't know for sure himself and wanted to know if the military developed some plausible theory. He also wanted to cover his own butt.

“I don't know,” Dr. Kincaid said. “They're holding them in the stockade until they get some answers.”

“Do they consider them threats?” Jack asked.

Dr. Kincaid revered at him as if he were mad. Jack realized he was overplaying his hand.

“Well … they did invite those poor people to come out there with them so … yeah, I guess you could say they are a bloody threat!” Dr. Kincaid snapped.

Jack stared at the floor. “Of course,” he muttered.

Jack's mind raced as he thought of what they could be doing to those three special individuals similar to himself. They were locked up just because they were different? Well, okay, they shouldn't have tempted people to come out with them. That was pretty ignorant, but it wasn't as if they dragged the people outside and threw them into the dark. These people, these morons, had done so on their own free will. Isn't it what his grandfather used to call ‘chlorinating the gene pool'? Of course, Jack saw himself as one of humanities' pool boys, a job in which he took pride. A job which he thought he might be getting fired from when two beefy military policemen entered the exam room.

“Is he done, Doc?” one of them asked harshly.

Dr. Kincaid nodded and stepped back from the table.

“Private Jack Abernathy, please come with us,” the other MP demanded.

“Where?” Jack asked as he got to his feet. Fear and anger surged through him like two competing poisons. He already knew where and he knew who to blame. He should have killed her last night.

“We're taking you to the stockade for observation,” the officer replied without emotion.

Rebekah, Malakhi, and the man in a woman's body waited three hours for a shower. Rebekah thought it was well worth the wait. She felt much better and Ruth was much more tolerable to be around … at least in the physical sense. Ruth was strange in the questions she asked, but not as much as the way she watched Rebekah and Malakhi. It was always subtle, when Ruth thought Rebekah was not paying attention. It was starting to give her the creeps.

Rebekah's comfort level was so diminished; she talked to one of the officers at the base, requesting a tent transfer for her and her son. They told her the obvious … space was at a premium and they couldn't move people around now.

“But what if she does something?” Rebekah pleaded.

“Report it and we will deal with it. Until then, there is nothing we can do,” he stopped and grinned before walking away. What he said caused Rebekah to turn red faced with anger. “Besides … she's an old woman, what is she going to do to a strong and firm woman like yourself?”

Rebekah wasn't sure what bothered her the most, his condescending attitude or his lack of empathy. She turned with clinched fists and strode to the edge of a large field where Malakhi was playing soccer with several other boys. She plopped down on the grass and absently stared at the game. She wasn't watching; Malakhi could have scored ten goals and she wouldn't have noticed.

This was the first time she had any time to reflect on the last couple of days. Her mind locked into a repeating playback of events from the last two days and the last few months. She was so thrilled to have her father back. After the initial shock wore off, it was like old times again. When he disappeared and the darkness gained a malevolent life, it was an indescribable pain. A pain she supposed millions were now experiencing; the pain of losing someone for a second time.