The Eye of Madness (34 page)

Gestas hoped when he entered the body of Rebekah it would force the dark soul out. He wasn't completely sure how he had been able to enter her body since she was not incapacitated. Yet, in a way she was. The rightful owner of the body remained in the background. This dark soul now stood in front of him. Gestas didn't recognize the man. The void was a large, dark, and formless place.

The dark soul's eyes bulged from underneath a mop of black stringy hair. His lips peeled back to his gums, exposing a line of teeth so misshapen, they seemed pointed. He wore a generic tan tunic with long leather boots disappearing underneath. His fists clinched at his sides. Gestas knew this soul couldn't harm him, not physically. However, it was still in Rebekah and he could do considerable damage to her if he chose. Gestas knew he must tread carefully.

“So, what were you in for?” Gestas asked.

“For skulling do gooders like you,” he growled.

This brief introduction yielded no name. It left no doubt in Gestas's mind that this was going to be a difficult task. He didn't think he possessed the strength to force him out, not by sheer will. Maybe there was somebody who did. The only way a dark soul could inhabit a body is if the owner agreed to it or were incapacitated.

The rightful owner was always so incapacitated with fear afterward, they were incapable of fighting back. This was the state where Rebekah now found herself. If Gestas could get to her, he hoped he could shake her from her fear; perhaps he could help her force it out.

It was as if the dark soul read Gestas's mind. It began running towards Rebekah who cowered in the corner of what appeared to be a large room with a hazy white floor, walls, and ceiling. Gestas, now unencumbered by frailties, took off at great speed. Even though the setting was all inside of Rebekah's mind, the stakes were every bit as high as if they were in the physical world.

The dark soul got there first, pulling at Rebekah with violent fervor. She screamed and covered her face. Gestas was there an instant later, flying headlong into the sadistic hijacker. It was not a collision of two bodies hitting each other. The impact was more like two waves colliding. Their spirit mass rippled across the room of Rebekah's mind in strobe lit shadows. After a few moments, they each recomposed themselves and dashed back towards Rebekah. She shrieked and buried her head under her arm when she saw them coming.

This time Gestas arrived first and embraced her, shielding her from the dark soul with his body.

“Rebekah, everything will be okay, trust me. You have to tell him to leave, you have to make him leave … you have to resist.”

“Gestas?” Rebekah asked.

She did not recognize him since he was now outside the old woman's body. His long hair and stern features, not to mention his knee length brown tunic and sandals were unfamiliar to her.

“Yes,” he said and winced as the dark soul struck him from behind. This time he did not go careening across the room, he grabbed Rebekah tighter and hung on.

As he pulled her closer, incredible horror and disgust distorted her features. This close vicinity to Gestas caused all his memories and thoughts to pour into her at once. She saw, knew, and felt every bad deed he ever committed. A sickness washed over her. She thought she would rather die than live with the memories of Gestas's sins. She tried to get away, but Gestas pulled her closer.

“No … I saw the things you did … you monster!” Rebekah wailed.

“I'm sorry!” Gestas pleaded. “That's why I have been helping you and Malakhi. I was wrong and I want to atone for it.”

Rebekah thought Gestas had lot more to atone for than helping a woman and her son would cover. Nevertheless, something made her pause. Maybe it was the mention of her son's name. It was only part of the reason. She felt something else coming from Gestas. Despite all his horrible crimes, it made her feel pity for him. She felt sincerity. Rebekah began to empathize with him.

“Please help me,” Gestas pleaded. “I can't get rid of him myself. This is your body, it's time you took it back.”

Rebekah stared blankly for a moment. Soon, comprehension dawned on her delicate features and she rose to her feet.

“I'm going to kill your little bastard,” the dark soul taunted from across the room. “While you two have been cuddling in the corner, I already started taking him back toward the woods. We're almost there!”

CHAPTER 36

A FATHER'S CHOICE

“He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.”

~Proverbs 13:24

Cecil thought his first meeting with his father would be one of snide indignation. He would tell the old man what he thought about him. Then he would make some heroic proclamation such as ‘do with me what you will' before throwing himself on his father's mercy. Of course, this would be under the sole condition he not mistreat Steff or Barbara. It did not work out quite the way he planned. Much to Cecil's shock, his first emotion was pity for his father. He gaped at the bandage covering the old man's eye. Tiny spots of blood blossomed on the sterile white surface making a macabre polka dotted monocle. The face staring through the bars was ashen and sallow, not to mention livid from pain. When he saw the rage burning in his father's good eye, his pity melted into fear. It was like seeing the gaping jaws of a stealthy shark emerging from the deep.

“Where are Barbara and Steff?” Cecil asked.

President Garrison did not respond. He continued to glower at his son.

“Where are they?” Cecil demanded after almost a minute of silence.

“Do you know how you made me look?” President Garrison sneered. “My own damned son acting against me!”

Cecil stared at him, incredulous. This is what it boiled down to? He was more concerned with the embarrassment he felt than the health and well being of his two granddaughters. He knew the old man didn't see it that way. Everything that had happened since the night at the camp was due to the actions of his ungrateful, disloyal son. The prodigal son … the one who his father believed would burn in Hell for his betrayal of him and God.

The long shadow of President Garrison's silhouette extended into the cell as he leaned further in. As the whispering of the dark souls dwelling in the silhouette of the ignorant man got nearer, anger exploded in Cecil. He leapt to his feet. His first instinct was to spring forward and seize his father by the throat, but the shadow prevented it. Instead, he hurled the only weapon available. Cecil spat in his father's face. It was a miraculous shot from almost six feet away, striking President Garrison in his good eye.

Garrison cursed as one of the veiled figures behind him stepped forward and offered a handkerchief. Cecil recognized the individual as Avery Cooper. He never met the man, but he knew the alleged nefarious relationship with his father. President Garrison snatched the handkerchief out of Avery's hand and wiped the saliva from his eye. He then wadded it up and chunked it back at Cecil, hitting him in the chest.

“I don't have a lot to say to you …
son,”
he said with sarcastic emphasis. “I'll make this quick and to the point.”

He cleared his throat and asked his two companions to leave. They did so, but under protest. The other person was Joan, who offered to gouge Cecil and Musial's eyes out before cutting out their hearts with a screwdriver. When they left the building, President Garrison turned and addressed Musial.

“What is your name?” he asked.

Musial remembered his instructions from Cecil before they arrived. “Lieutenant Sam Andrews,” he said, shooting to his feet and standing at attention.

“So, am I to understand my son here forced you into being a traitor?”

Musial glanced at Cecil. It was a split second, but the short delay spoke volumes.

“Correct, sir,” Musial said.

“Son, do you know who I am?” President Garrison asked.

“Yes sir. You are the President of the United States.”

A satisfied grin washed across Garrison's face. This caused the bandage to bunch together, crinkling some of the blood spots into a single crimson blemish. He seemed pleased with Musial's response, yet there was something underneath the twinkle in his good eye. Something that threatened to explode at any second.

“Indeed I am soldier, indeed I am. Chosen and ordained by divine providence. You do believe in God, don't you soldier?”

“Of course, sir.” Musial replied.

The truth was, neither Musial nor Sam Andrews were religious men. In fact, Andrews was closer to being an agnostic than affiliating with any religion. Musial had never considered the possibilities one way or the other, not until the dark void gave him plenty of time to reconsider. Garrison squinted his eye skeptically.

“I have a strong personal relationship with God, lieutenant. Did you know that?”

Musial was not sure how to reply, so he gave a single nod.

“I stepped out of line when I got too close to my work. God punished me for it,” he said, pointing to his eye bandage, which was now much more red than white. “But he has blessed me far more than I could ever hope.”

Musial watched him stone faced, waiting for him to continue.

President Garrison glanced at Cecil and then said, “In spite of the curse of a blasphemous child, the Lord chose me for great things. I am now the most powerful man in the world. I am charged with the task of defeating Satan's armies which hide like cowards in the darkness.”

Musial was finding it difficult to keep from laughing. A flat thin smile creased his face as he suppressed a chuckle. Garrison must have taken it as a smile of agreement because he continued. “These Impals are now showing themselves for what they really are. Nevertheless, I, and a handful for other good servants, are immune to their influence,” he said. He stepped back into the darkness of the hall to prove his point. The whispering and clicking grew louder as he penetrated the dark, and then fell silent.

“You see, they can't hurt me. God protects me from these foul beings so I can protect the world,” said President Garrison from the shadows.

Musial was good at concealing his secret life when he was living, but he was never any good at holding his tongue. Especially when someone made claims that were downright false. He began to laugh; he couldn't help it. This brought President Garrison back from the gloom and he grasped the bars.

“What the hell is so damned funny?” he demanded.

“You,” Musial snorted. “First of all, those aren't Impals in their true forms. They are dark souls who didn't work and play well with others while they were living. I'm guessing they probably pissed
your
God off.”

“Shut up, Musial!” Cecil shouted, forgetting the identity ruse they were supposed to uphold. It didn't matter. Musial was about to blow it to smithereens. Musial ignored him and continued his tirade. “And you aren't immune to them, you ridiculous one-eyed jack! You are one of them! You know … birds of a feather and all that crap!”

President Garrison didn't seem to comprehend the meaning of Musial's words. He did comprehend the tone. “You watch your tone you little prick and remember who you are addressing!” he hissed.

“Musial, shut the hell up!” Cecil yelled again. It was no use. The argument was on.

“Who? A delusional old fool who thinks God is on his side? You aren't immune to the dark souls you pompous imbecile. They don't hurt you because you are one of them! You are a dark soul,
Mr. President,”
Musial finished with heavy sarcasm.

In Garrison's book, it was the worst insult he could have endured, without outright calling him a child of Satan.

Cecil shook his head. All hope of them making it through this alive disappeared on Musial's words. He knew his father and he knew vengeance wasn't in his father's vocabulary because vengeance is not providential. However, he did practice it, but under another name … penitence. Each person must pay for their sins as prescribed by God. A knot formed in Cecil's stomach when he thought of Barbara and Steff. He remembered a sermon his father delivered one time about how the sins of the father are redirected on the children. Yes, there was little doubt that Barbara and Steff would be paying for his so called sins.

Before President Garrison could respond to Musial, Cecil interjected with a plea. “Punish me, I'll take anything you want to do with me. I will ask for repentance if it will satisfy you. Please let Barbara and Steff go. They had nothing to do with anything. For God's sake, let them go!”

His father's stare was icy.

“I think it would be scriptural to give Steff a pass since she repented and turned in all you evil doers. As for your wife, I am sure she was right there with you. Don't try and tell me she wasn't!”

“She wasn't,” Cecil half-pleaded and half-screamed.

Garrison closed his good eye and tilted his head as if he were listening for a distant sound. “God has spoken to me about your guilt and he has entrusted me to carry out what must be done. I'm sorry son, but you know God comes before all else.”

He actually sounded empathetic. Perhaps even a vestige of affection left for his prodigal son. If it were true, it was all lost in what he said next. “I think it is only fitting that you die the way deceitful Impals do. The Tesla Gate is running and I will be back for both of you soon. May God have mercy on you, but I wouldn't count on it!”

He turned and walked down the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

The military police found the cage in Private Jack Abernathy's home. As careful as Jack thought he was, there was still blood residue. The local police department long suspected a serial killer was operating in the area. Now, over 80% of the local police was dead. Manpower aside, it was impossible to mount a proper investigation under the current conditions. They would wait, and so would Jack, alone in his cell with only his hatred of Donna to sustain him.