The Eye of Madness (9 page)

“Damn, you unfortunate bastards,” General Garrison remarked, discovering the remains of the two guards. He then gave an amused chuckle as if he caught a child doing something cute.

Steffanie Garrison was young and naïve about a lot of things. She was immature for a twelve year old and a little spoiled. She turned her family and friends in at the Impal camp because she didn't like the living conditions. She risked everything to call her grandfather, but now he had her locked up. At least at the Impal camp, she enjoyed freedom. Confinement was not the worst of it. Her grandfather's cavalier attitude was not lost on her. He was laughing about the death of two men under his command. He did not seem to care that his granddaughter might be in the same state.

Her insides turned to jelly when she heard the latch click on the bedroom door. A moment later her grandfather stood there with a smug grin.

“Why Steff, are you okay?” he cooed without conviction.

She gazed up at him and tried to speak, but all she could manage to do was nod her head. Her favorite China doll sat propped in a nearby wicker rocker. Its frozen and inanimate features conveyed more pity than her grandfather could ever conceive. Steff was convinced he loved her, at least at one time, but something had changed. He became so consumed with his own ambitions and self-righteousness, there was no room left in him for anything else. Or perhaps his own arrogance made everything else, including his granddaughter, seem unimportant. The worst thought that ran through her mind was simple, yet powerful—“Was his love real in the first place?” She thought it was, but, in the past twenty-four hours she learned a powerful lesson. Things are not always as they seem.

He walked over to her and offered his hand to help her out of the floor. She raised a trembling arm only to be grasped by his large hand and jerked up a little too rough. She gave a small yelp of pain before retreating to the wicker rocker next to her doll.

“Come on, get your stuff together, you're moving,” the general huffed.

“Where?” she chirped.

The sly and arrogant grin smoothed the wrinkles on his face. “The White House, of course. And you are going to be the first daughter, or … granddaughter in this case,” he chuckled humorlessly.

She stared at him for several long moments, not believing her ears. “Why?” she asked.

Steff saw a flash of anger in his eyes that vanished almost as fast as it appeared. He took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, never taking his eyes from her.

“Well, for starters everyone is dead,” he said with a smile that seemed inappropriate. “But most important, God has chosen me.”

“How?” she asked with wide eyes.

He stood up and walked to her closet door where the dark chorus hummed. He opened the door and the noise filled the room, sending chills down Steff's back. The general then gave a sly grin over his shoulder and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. She shrieked with horror and covered her mouth, but after several long moments of silence, something began to occur to her. How had he gotten to her room in the dark hallway? He didn't seem to have any kind of light with him. As she pondered this, she almost jumped out of the chair when a heavy knocking resounded on her closet door. She stared at the door, transfixed with terror. A few moments later, there was another knocking at the door. This time it was followed by the sing-song voice of her grandfather.

“Oh Steff … let me out
…”

She forced herself to stand, and then wobbled to the closet door. She grabbed the latch and took a deep breath, before turning it and stepping back. As the door swung open, it revealed her grandfather grinning with satisfaction. Steff recalled a vampire movie she watched at a friend's house. It caused her nightmares for weeks about the coffin lid swinging open, revealing the monster inside. A fright induced sickness overcame her. Steff stumbled backwards and collapsed on the foot of her bed.

The general stepped out of the closet, no worse for wear, and closed the door behind him.

“Do you see?” he boasted. “Do you see how I am chosen?”

All Steff could see was the room swimming about her. She clutched her stomach and shut her eyes tight. She did not have time to catch her breath before her grandfather jerked her off the bed.

“Come on, let's go!” he snapped.

“How did you do that?” Steff asked.

“God,” he said as if it should be obvious. He then forced her to her knees; before dropping to his knees beside her. “I need you to pray with me before we leave.”

She looked at him as if she were expecting a punch line to a joke. Steff said her prayers every night and was not opposed to praying with her grandfather, but not now. She saw his eyes were shut tight with deep concentration on his face. When she realized he was serious about his invitation, she shut her eyes and clasped her hands under her chin. Her eyes were not completely shut though. She watched the general through parted eyes as he began his prayer.

“Dear Heavenly Father
,

I and my granddaughter, Steffanie pray this prayer in the power of the Holy Spirit. In the name of Jesus Christ Your one and only Son who died and rose again for remission of sin, we bind, rebuke and render powerless: all division, discord, disunity, strife, wrath, murder, criticism, condemnation, pride, envy, jealously, gossip, slander, evil speaking, complaining, lying, false teaching, false gifts, false manifestations, fear of spirits, deceiving spirits, religious spirits, hindering spirits, retaliatory spirits, occult spirits, witchcraft spirits, spirits of antichrist and all familiar and territorial spirits
.

WE ARE GOD'S CHILDREN! WE RESIST THE DEVIL AND DECLARE THAT NO WEAPON FORMED AGAINST US SHALL PROSPER. WE ARE THE RIGHTOUSNESS OF GOD IN CHRIST JESUS … AMEN!”

He recited the prayer almost word for word as the one he prayed earlier in the Oval Office, but with one small revision. He used plural instead of the singular. Garrison increased the volume gradually, reciting the last paragraph in a defiant yell. This caused Steff to gasp and cringe, but she held her composure. She answered her grandfather with a final,
“Amen.”
This caused the general to grin with satisfaction. This relieved her some, but only a little.

General Garrison rose to his feet. With the gentlest of motions, he stroked Steff's hair and lovingly scooped her into his arms. She shivered like a frightened rabbit as he whispered in her ear. “It's okay, you're safe now. Grandpa will protect you.”

He then began to carry his granddaughter towards the hallway door. Even the general was not certain if this were an act of faith or an experiment. Garrison was so arrogant in his faith; he believed God would give him the ability to carry Steff through the darkness. If she did not survive then it was the Lord's will.

Steff cringed and pulled herself tight against him. She heard the hallway door creak open, giving way to the terrible choir of the dark. In her mind's eye, Steff saw the hallway populated with a multitude of insects and snakes. She held her breath for whatever horrific fate awaited. In the end, nothing happened. She remained snug in her grandfather's grasp as he trudged through the darkness and descended the stairs.

She began to whimper as she felt the sensation of icy cold fingers running up and down her legs and arms, through her hair and between her legs. She shrieked as every muscle on her body clenched, but he held her tight.

“Away you deceiving Impal!” he barked with venomous hatred. “Go back to Hell where you belong!”

A few moments later, the whispering and icy fingers were gone. She felt the warm sunlight on her face as they emerged out the front door. A dozen soldiers encircled them and escorted them to a waiting Humvee.

As the convoy began to pull away, Steff opened her eyes just in time to see the dangling feet of the hanged man across the street. One of his shoes was untied. The next two miles of the trip took the better part of an hour. They drove back and forth in an attempt to avoid the multitude of bodies littering the neighborhoods. On a few occasions, there was no way around them. The vehicle jumped with a sickening splat and crunch as they rolled over victims of the darkness.

They eventually pulled up in front of the White House. Steff gaped in awe at the famous residence. She had never been this close before. She got out and followed her grandfather inside, a torrent of thoughts and emotions swirled inside her. She thought she made a mistake by calling him, but after seeing how he defied the darkness, she wasn't so sure. Either way, it still scared the hell out of her. Still skeptical, yet willing to keep an open mind, she followed him inside the monstrous doors. They slammed shut with an echo reminiscent of a tomb.

CHAPTER 10

MUSIAL, THE MENORAH, AND THE MURDERER

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”

~Robert Frost

Sam Andrews, or at least the body of Sam Andrews, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Burt wielded the fireplace poker and clubbed him across the back of the head. Everyone in the group wanted to club him at one time or another in the past few weeks.

As warranted as their reasons seemed before, Burt did not act on those impulses. He acted out of pure fear. The thing speaking through Andrews's mouth and watching through his eyes was not him, and it was not the alcohol talking. They didn't know how, but they were certain that this new persona known as Musial was a product of the dark.

“What happened?” Charlotte shrieked as she ran into the room and cupped her hands over her mouth.

“He finally pushed the envelope too far?” Derek asked with an amused grin.

Sally was speechless. She could only stand in the doorway and gape from her poker-wielding husband to the slumbering jackass on the floor.

Burt and Cecil stared at each other as if they were trying to psychically communicate the best answer. Finally, Cecil said, “It wasn't Andrews.”

Everybody except Burt seemed incredulous.

“What do you mean it wasn't him?” Sally croaked.

Burt gave them an explanation. Their faces fell gaunt with horror. The thing possessed Andrews somehow; it didn't drive him mad with an unyielding desire to end his own life. It seemed calm and collected. It now walked among them, even in the light. The realization that it could be any one of them at any moment brought a deathly silence to the room. They regarded each other with great scrutiny.

Cecil and Burt hoisted Andrews into a large oak chair in the corner. They held his feet and shoulders while Derek bound him with a combination of rope and iron chains. They all sat down and stared at the slumbering … what? Andrews, Musial … it? They found it hard to focus on anything else, even though night would be coming soon. There was something unusual, something sinister about the sleeping form in the chair. He could be pretending to sleep, or ‘playing possum' as the saying goes. He might throw open his eyes at any moment and yell
boo
.

Malakhi shrieked with horror before the menorah hit the ground. He felt the terrible oppression of the dark moving in and encircling him. Surrender consumed him. Malakhi saw the bullies who had so tormented him in school. They were relentless in their persecution, but today they were unbearable. He was ready to grasp the menorah and bash his own head in because he wanted the torment to stop at any cost. It was the one escape the bullies offered. He might have accomplished this if he were not bound to his mother. All he could think of was how bad his head hurt, how hopeless life is, and what a terrible burden he was to his poor mother. In all this darkness and despair, he held one small glimmer of hope. His knowledge that ending his own life would make things better, would make things right, and would end his suffering. This was what the voices told him. The voices that were mere hissing and clicking moments earlier now spoke with crystal clarity.

As he struggled against his bonds, he pulled his mother backwards, almost causing her to lose her menorah. Her back was now bathed in the darkness and she could feel the icy fingers again.

“Malakhi, stop!” she shrieked, but it was no good because he did not hear her.

The only thing he heard was the cunning words of the chorus, over and over, “Take the Menorah … be quick … put it to an end … sleep, peaceful sleep.”

Rebekah pulled forward as hard as she could in an attempt to pull her tormented son toward the outside door. As she took a few steps, something popped in her back and she screamed with agony. The stabbing pain radiated every time Malakhi struggled. When the pain became unendurable, she saw a bright light behind her, as if someone opened a window. However, it wasn't sunlight; the light was much too erratic. It flickered and jumped, casting her shadow toward the far door. Then it began to spread and grow. She felt the heat and knew exactly what it was. Malakhi's menorah had caught the hallway on fire. What would have been a horrific situation suddenly sent a wave of relief over Rebekah. As the fire blazed higher, the darkness shrank and retreated.

Empowered by a newfound hope, she bit her lip and pushed the pain aside. She began to trudge forward, dragging the dead weight of her limp son. The question as to whether he was unconscious or dead didn't have time to register with her. Rebekah's only thought was to get them outside before the fire consumed them or it went out and the darkness returned. Still holding her menorah in front of her, she stumbled forward like a person in a one-legged relay race.

Smoke began to fill the hallway, threatening to obscure the light and bring the darkness back. Rebekah didn't have the time or luxury to worry about it, so she picked up the pace. As breathing became almost impossible, they reached the metal door. She pushed hard. It wouldn't open. She shrieked with determination and pain as she threw herself against the rusty metal. Finally, with a loud scraping, the door swung open and warm sunlight poured in. Rebekah coughed and sputtered before inhaling a lungful of fresh air. She tumbled onto the landing of the stairs, and then unfastened the belt binding her to her Malakhi. She turned and laid him across her lap.