The Eye of Madness (25 page)

“Thank you God for giving me this insight,” he muttered under his breath as lightning flashed outside. The thunder followed with an ominous
“You're welcome.”
At least, it's what President Garrison heard in his head.

Cecil's heart leapt into his throat as headlights flashed behind him, casting small shadows on the far wall. They gathered as close to the window as they dared. It was almost completely dark outside and the howling wind competed with the whispers of the dark. Burt was glassy eyed, but he smiled with triumphant vindication as the SUV driven by Musial bounced up the road. It came to an abrupt and jerky stop in front of the cabin.

“I tffld yof he wouff come bath,” Burt muttered.

A chill ran down their collective spines. Not because of the dark souls, the presence of the ominous storm or even Musial's unexpected return. This sudden shared horror was due to Burt's slurred speech. He sounded like Andrews after a six pack or two. He sounded much, much worse.

This new worry overshadowed any joy they may have felt by Musial's return. It may have taken him twenty-four hours, but he came through and came through in a big way. Every canister was filled to the brim.

“I say, what a welcome,” Musial said stepping in the door as lightning and thunder simultaneously cracked.

“You better hurry,” Derrick said. “We only have a few hours of gas left in the genny.”

“Well, it's very nice to see you too,” Musial said with a sarcastic sneer, and then he turned to Cecil.

“You have no idea what I had to go through to get this. It is as if every soul has disappeared from the planet. The damned pumps don't work if there is no electricity and I couldn't find a single gas station within fifty miles of here with power.”

“Then how did you …” Cecil began but Musial cut him off.

“How did I get it? Well major, I may be a dark soul seeking redemption for my wicked ways. Nevertheless, I am not above borrowing, especially if lives are at stake.”

“You stole it?” Sally asked.

Musial seemed hurt. “Why my dear, I merely accepted an involuntary charitable donation to save your lives, nothing more.”

Cecil grinned and glanced at Derrick. He was surprised to find a smile creasing his face as well.

“Thanf yof Mufal,” Burt stammered.

Cecil knew he needed help, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. Even if Musial could drive him to the base, there was no way Burt would make it through the woods alive. There were too many dark shadows.

Musial turned and jogged into the driving rain where he retrieved one of the gas cans from the back of the SUV. Lightning struck somewhere nearby, but he didn't seem to notice as he toted the can around the corner of the house. The sound following the lightning was quite unusual. It was like an ocean wave folding back in on itself at ten times speed. The dark souls hated the radiance from the lightning and they were temporarily driven back into the woods.

A few minutes later, Musial filled the tank. He walked back around front, setting the empty gas can under the covered front porch before coming back inside.

“Well even if this damned storm lasts all night, there is enough gas in the generator to last at least another day. There is plenty more where that came from,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the SUV.

“Thank you, Musial,” Cecil said and extended his hand.

Musial regarded him for a few moments, then reached out and shook his hand. “You are welcome, major,” he said.

This brought on an uncomfortable silence which Derrick soon broke. “I would suggest we gather up all flashlights, lanterns and such. We may be on a generator, but all it would take is one good strike to blow it out.”

Cecil and Derrick gathered the lights and arranged them on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Musial sat back in the same chair where they had tied him up and propped his feet on a small end table and watched. After they counted six high beam flashlights, five camping lanterns, and three penlight flashlights, Musial gave a snort of laughter. “If the lights go out in here, do you think that is going to be enough to hold back the dark?” he chided.

Cecil ignored him as he walked back to the sofa and knelt beside Barbara. Musial shrugged and then stared out the window.

“How is she?” Charlotte asked as she bent over the back of the sofa and touched Barbara's forehead.

“No change,” Cecil said. “I guess no news is good news.”

“She'll be fine,” Charlotte said. “I know she will.”

They both had the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching them. They turned and saw Sally staring at them from the adjacent love seat. Burt's head was on her shoulder and she lovingly stroked his hair. His expression was vacant.

Cecil tried to give her a reassuring smile, yet he was not very convincing. She could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Sally ducked her head and kissed Burt on top of the head as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Nobody noticed the rain had stopped and there was an eerie quite outside. Even the whispers of the dark were absent. Musial noticed. He got up and walked out on the front porch. He stood still and silent for several long moments, before cocking his head to one side as if he were trying to hear a distant noise. He heard it seconds before everyone else did. A low dull roar in the distance, like the approach of a freight train. Cecil stood up and ran to the door. The roar slowly grew louder. Cecil almost fell down as Musial turned and ran back into the house. Everyone stared in disbelief as he began flipping furniture over and tossing a flashlight or a lantern under each one.

“Cecil, damn it, we have to move her!” Musial shouted as he grasped Barbara around the shoulders and motioned for Cecil to take her feet.

Under normal circumstances, Cecil would not have approved of Musial touching his wife. These weren't normal circumstances. There was no time to argue. He sprinted back and took her feet as they sat her on the floor and gently turned the sofa on top of her.

“What is it?” Charlotte shrieked as the roar grew louder.

“It's a damned tornado!” Musial shrieked. “One of those bastards killed me before and I have no intention of letting it happen again!”

CHAPTER 27

PROPER INTRODUCTIONS

“Mary, Mary quite contrary …”

~English nursery rhyme

Gestas awakened in Ruth's body refreshed in the physical sense. The rightful owner of the geriatric physique still cowered in the background. The old woman was afraid to speak, afraid to act, and afraid to remind him she was still there. He knew she was there and, in spite of his nature, he left her alone. He still did not know the poor woman's name nor did he find it important. He did think it important to learn some etiquette tips from her. She did not come right out and tell him. He could sense her reaction, good or bad, to his actions. It had been a long time since he worried about such things as social etiquette. Of course, even when he was alive, it was not important to him.

The one thing he could sense from the old woman is, despite her flaws, she was an honest person. To continue a relationship with Rebekah and Malakhi would he need to be completely honest with them? Tell them he was not an old lady named Ruth, but rather a two thousand year old man searching for redemption? The only real question was how and where to deliver this shocking news.

Gestas thought of surprising them with breakfast in bed. He could talk to them in private after the others left for the chow line. Yet, when he sensed awkwardness from his host, he reconsidered his plan. For now, he would keep his distance and give them some breathing room.

Gestas got up and left the tent, making his way towards the growing crowd of hungry refugees. The chow line was not out in the open today. Instead, it was now inside a large tent the soldiers erected overnight. This seemed more practical, especially since there were darkening clouds in the distance. Could there be rain on the way? If so, it would be the first rain in weeks, maybe even a month. The distant rumble of thunder affirmed the probability.

When he reached the line it stretched about twenty yards outside of the tent. A couple of soldiers took pity and ushered him inside. He couldn't help grinning as a thought flashed through his mind.

“I could get used to being an old lady.”

The grin evaporated when the bizarre nature of his notion sunk in. His masculine side couldn't get used to it, not one bit.

He filled his plate and took a seat at a bench table near the tent wall. He sat and ate, taking pleasure in act and taste. He had eaten in the old woman's body, but this was the first time he was able to just sit and savor the eating experience. For a moment, he had no worries about salvation or keeping his eye on a mother and son. He smiled and relished the pure physical enjoyment. He remembered how much he adored figs and pomegranates when he was alive. By his good fortune, figs were on the menu this morning.

He was thinking about his life when another rumble of thunder made chills run through him. His memory flashed to the day he died, the day he paid the ultimate price for his transgressions. There was thunder that day as well, but not like any thunder heard before or since. It was angry thunder. Each rumble seemed as if the sky wanted to shake the world apart. As he hung outside of Jerusalem and stared at his friend, Dismas, the rumbling shook them from side to side, adding to their agony. He remembered how he felt. Even though he was in extreme physical agony, he was also angry. Not at his accusers, his victims, or even his executioners. He was angry with Dismas.

Dismas had added insult to injury by betraying him, when he sided with the other criminal who hung with them. He berated Gestas for his insolence and told him he deserved to die and this other man didn't. Perhaps it was true, this other man had committed no murder or thievery. In fact, his one and only crime was so ludicrous it was almost laughable. But still … was it any reason to shun the one true friend who had watched out for you for years? All because of the absurd claim made by this man, the claim that he was the King of the Jews? A thought surfaced in his mind, one he never considered before. Perhaps the man was who he said he was. He was not in the dark void and neither was Dismas. Maybe, Dismas's last act of repentance saved him. Gestas felt a new hope rising within. Maybe he had done enough. Perhaps nothing else was required for redemption. Something told him this was not the case. He was not free yet, somehow he could sense that. He would spend the rest of the day thinking about it, and then he would tell Rebekah and Malakhi tonight. Deep down he was afraid of what the consequences would be if they were not supportive. Would he be able to contain his dark nature?

Jack opened his eyes and sat up. Why was someone knocking? He was in a prison for God's sake. As he opened his eyes he heard a muffled voice calling his name. An instant later, the latch in his door turned. With a deep grating of metal, the door swung open. His rage flared when he saw Donna entering the room. A beefy guard followed close behind. With a surge of energy, Jack flew from the bed. He hurled himself at Donna, wrapping his hands around her throat.

He felt her trachea collapsing beneath his thumbs when a brilliant flash of pain stabbed his ribs. The beefy guard booted him off of the tiny girl, sending him rolling. He slammed into the cell wall by his bed. Jack was stunned, but soon regained his focus. He was about to go after Donna again when he felt a sharp sting as if an unseen fist punched him. Every muscle in his body seized, causing Jack to collapse on the floor in the fetal position. He could not move. If he had been able to move, he would have seen the guard standing over him holding a Taser gun.

“Freeze you bloody bastard!” he said and then erupted into a high-pitched belly laugh.

While his body was paralyzed, his mind was not. He thought about all the ways he would kill both of them. Jack saw Donna kneel down in front of his face and place her hand on his cheek. If he could only move …

She spoke in a calm and sweet voice. “Jack, it's okay … I just need to talk to you for a minute,” she cooed.

Donna glanced up at the guard and he shrugged. “Don't know why I'm doing this … both of you are eerie as hell,” he muttered.

“You know exactly why you are doing this,” she said, batting her eyes seductively.

The guard laughed and gave her a sly wink. “He should be out for about fifteen minutes,” he said, tapping Jack's paralyzed leg with his boot. “When you get done, I expect at least fifteen minutes out of
you.”

“Is that all?” she said with a pouty frown.

He gave her a creepy grin and then stepped outside, closing the door with a loud clang. The instant the door shut, her countenance of a randy seductress faded to one of disgust. She would have to find some way to get out of her promise, but she would think about it later. Now, she needed to talk to Jack.

“Jack,” she whispered, leaning close to his face, “I want you to know I did not tell on you … they just knew.”

He rolled his eyes and tried to open his mouth to bite her face, but his body would not cooperate with his rage.

“Listen, I need to be upfront with you. I need you to know who I am. If I tell you and you believe I had no part in turning you over, maybe we can be friends again.”

“We never were friends you stupid moron!” he thought to himself, yet her identity intrigued him. Donna wasn't who she said she was. His curiosity tempered his rage a little. He stopped moving his eyes and focused on her.

She took a deep breath while rubbing his head. Her eyes dropped to the floor as she spoke. “My name is not Donna. I don't even know what this poor girl's real name is,” she said as she patted her face.

He kept his eyes trained on her as she continued to stare at the floor with her hand on his head. He felt an encouraging sign as he wiggled a couple of toes. It wouldn't be long before he could spring to life and strangle her.