The Eye of Madness Read online

  The women went back inside and started to prepare lunch. Nobody was hungry, however they had to eat. Ranking person or not, Major Garrison ordered it so. He felt like a jerk telling everyone to eat now, but he knew it was important they all keep their strength up. Most of all, he worried about Barbara. She couldn’t eat.

  Cecil sat down and gently rubbed her throat. He wasn’t sure if she was in shock or a coma. She didn’t appear to have any outward signs of injury, which was good. If her comatose state was psychological, it would be easier to deal with. The one thing he did know was that she could not eat or drink in her current nonresponsive state. To Cecil, this was as bad as anything else they faced. He knew Barbara could go for weeks without food, but she would only last a few days without drinking.

  He thought about sitting her up and trying to get her to sip on a glass of water, but the last thing he needed to do was pour water down her lungs. Remembering his Army medical training, he went back into the kitchen and put several ice cubes into a metal mixing bowl. He then found a meat-tenderizing hammer and crushed them into a fine icy powder. He then took the bowl back into the living room and sat down beside her. Taking a pinch of ice between his thumb and forefinger with one hand, he parted Barbara’s lips with the other. He then placed the pinch of ice between her cheek and gums. Cecil grabbed another pinch and repeated the process. After a few attempts, he sat back and watched with hopeful anticipation.

  At first, she did not move and Cecil’s heart began to sink. He tried to fight back the tears when the reaction he hoped for didn’t occur, yet just before he lost hope, it happened. Barbara’s throat moved ever so slightly; she swallowed the melted ice. Cecil’s tears turned to tears of joy as he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He then sat back down beside her and began the slow process of feeding her ice.

  Cecil was so engrossed with Barbara, he did not notice Andrews come in from the porch and now stood a few feet away. He remained quite steady for a man who put away a half case of beer. The strange thing was that his countenance was lucid; one might even say he was stone sober. Andrews stood as rigid as a statue, watching until Burt entered the room.

  “What the hell are you staring at?” Burt snapped.

  Andrews’s body remained still while his head swiveled ninety degrees until his eyes fell on Burt. The unnatural movement gave both men a moment of pause.

  Terror flooded over them when they saw his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the temperamental jerk and alcoholic they knew. There was somebody else staring out through Sam Andrews’s eyes. Someone calm, someone sober, someone calculating … someone who called the dark their home.

  “What … what the hell?” Cecil stammered, moving to protect Barbara.

  “Who the hell are you?” Burt demanded as he snatched a fireplace poker from the hearth.

  Four words came out of the mouth of Andrews’s. These four words were in his voice, but annunciated in such a way there was no doubt that Sam Andrews was not the one doing the speaking.

  “My name is Musial.”

  CHAPTER 8

  REBEKAH AND MALAKHI

  “In Israel, in order to be a realist you must believe in miracles.”

  ~David Ben-Gurion

  Rebekah held her son in her lap for what seemed like hours. The world outside was a faraway and distant concept. The only thing they were conscious of was their hammering hearts, and the hideous hissing of the dark. Emergency vehicle sirens wailed outside. The living darkness was responsible for it all.

  They were shaken out of their terrified state when another scream rang out from somewhere below. Even though it was muted by distance and walls, it drowned out the high pitched wail of the sirens. Someone else was in the dark.

  Rebekah poked her head up and peered down into the street. She took a deep, shuddering breath when she beheld the chaos. People ran, jumped, climbed, crawled and drove over one another in a mad dash to escape the dark. It was a bright sunny day, but it didn’t matter because the dark was everywhere. It was in every shade and shadow. The darkness waited for the next person to stumble into the shadows like an insect in a web.

  Rebekah clutched Malakhi as another blood curdling cry erupted from the street. A woman crawled about in the darkness beneath a large city bus. She shuffled on all fours from one tire to the next, screaming and throwing her head from side to side. She finally settled on the right rear tire. With a sudden serene calm, she laid her head in front of it as if taking a nap, letting the massive bus drive over her head. Rebekah gasped and ducked under the window. She still heard the sickening crunch and pop of the poor woman’s skull in spite of the other noise.

  “Momma, what is it?” Malakhi wailed. “Where did grandpa go?”

  “I don’t know baby, I’m sure he is fine,” she lied. She wasn’t sure about anything.

  Sensing movement, she turned back towards the closet. Had the door opened more? She could have sworn it was only open a couple of inches, but now the dark slit was at least a foot wide. The volume of the dark chorus grew. It seemed to both echo and permeate from the walls around them. They must get out, but she did not know how.

  The hallway was the only direct route to the stairs and elevator, yet it was completely dark and windowless. The only other way was air vents, which were too small for both of them, not to mention they were dark inside. The building had no fire escapes; however there was an exterior metal staircase at the end of the hall past the elevator. The problem was they needed to traverse about sixty feet of dark hallway to get there.

  There was only one small flashlight in the apartment and it was not bright enough to search for loose change under the sofa cushions. The one thing they had an abundance of was candles. Being a waitress was not a lucrative profession. It was not uncommon for them to have power shut off for a day or two before Rebekah could scrape up the money for their bill. Candles and a small battery powered radio helped then to get through those times. They owned a large Menorah they kept for Hanukah which held nine candles. She also had two regular seven candle menorahs. There were enough candles to fill all of those with several to spare.

  It just might provide them the light they needed to make it down the hallway. A spark of hope started to grow until she remembered the candles and the menorahs were in the closet. Their tiny flashlight would not make a dent in the closet’s dark interior.

  Rebekah searched for a solution to their dilemma. Desperation was about to consume her when something met her eye, something bright and shiny. As she moved her head backwards she was blinded by a brilliant flash of light. The sun was reflecting off of the bathroom mirror. Inspiration took over.

  “If I can reflect light into the closet,” she thought. “It might be enough to drive back the darkness long enough to grab the candles.”

  Another thought hit her, one more exciting than the last.

  “Could the mirror be used to reflect light down the hallway?”

  After a quick mental calculation she did not believe so. No, the closet would have to do.

  Rebekah tried to rise to her feet, but Malakhi clung to her.

  “Don’t go, momma!” he pleaded, burying his head in her chest.

  “I’m not leaving you baby,” she said, stroking his dark locks. She kissed him on top of the head and whispered. “We are both going to leave, sweetheart.”

  Reluctantly, he released his grip and slid to the floor, curling into the fetal position. Another scream stabbed the air, making them both flinch. Rebekah knew they must act fast. It was still late morning, but the afternoon sun would cast long shadows through their small apartment. If they didn’t hurry, they would be trapped.

  She looked at the closet. The door had not opened any wider, yet the darkness seemed to radiate an unnatural excitement. It was like throwing breadcrumbs into a pond of hungry fish. It watched her, it anticipated, it longed for her to come inside. However, Rebekah had no intention of being fish food today. She strode to the bathroom, where she had left on both the overhead and vanity
light.

  She fumbled with the large mirror frame for a few moments. Once she pulled it free of the wall, she turned to leave the bathroom. As she cleared the bathroom door, something happened that scared her to the very core of her being. The power went out. Her back had not cleared the door frame yet when the bathroom was plunged into darkness. For an instant, she got a sample of what the darkness held. Every square inch of her body felt as if it were violated by a wickedness transcending anything she knew. In an instant, she experienced an eternity of hopelessness and hate. If she had lingered a second longer in the bathroom, she would be as dead as their landlord. Maybe not a dive from the window, but perhaps a broken mirror and a glass shard to the neck or wrists. Her heart throbbed in her ears. She leaned against the door, panting and clutching her chest. She opened her eyes and shrieked when she saw movement in the mirror as it reflected the bathroom door.

  The darkness swirled. The insane chorus intensified and changed cadence, almost as if it summoned her. Rebekah pulled herself together and positioned the mirror on the wall opposite the closet. She turned it at different angles until a blinding bright beam of sunlight reflected on the closet door. The darkness disappeared from the crack and the hissing quickened as if agitated. Satisfied the mirror would stay in place; she cautiously approached the closet and flung open the door. The inside of the closet was cast into full relief. The darkness disappeared with an unsettling noise like ripping sackcloth.

  Inside were their coats, shoes, and a few assorted boxes. At first, she did not see it. Then she glanced to a side shelf. There sat a box marked ‘candles’ and on the shelf above were the menorahs. Taking great care, she reached in and grabbed the items that would potentially save their lives. “How fitting they were Hebrew religious items,” Rebekah thought. She said a silent prayer as she placed the menorah and candles in the middle of the living room. Malakhi watched her with round eyes. She managed a smile and beckoned him to join her.

  “Did you find grandpa?” he asked.

  “No, baby,” she said, and then pointed to the items on the floor. “But I found something that will help us leave here and search for him.”

  A small trace of hope started to spread across his face. “Did you get matches?” he asked after checking the items.

  Rebekah’s stomach lurched.

  “Did they have matches?” … “Were they out?” … “Had she picked more up on her last trip to the market?”

  “No,” she said and began to search the room.

  “It’s okay, Momma. I know where they are!” he said springing to his feet. He was about to run and retrieve them when he stopped in his tracks. The darkness swirled in the bathroom at the prospect of another victim. He stared with horror as the malevolent chorus urged him to enter.

  “Don’t look at it, baby,” Rebekah said. “Just stay out of the dark and shadows and you’ll be fine.”

  Malakhi was terrified, but he trusted his mother. He tiptoed into the well-lit kitchen as if the slightest noise might send the darkness charging after him. He retrieved a box of matches concealed behind a stack of dish towels. He returned to his mother’s side and handed her the matches.

  She told him her plan, trying to be as casual as discussing a trip to the beach. Both of them were terrified, but the knowledge they would be doing this together gave both of them an uneasy peace. Malaki helped her arrange the candles in the menorahs. When she was satisfied the candles were stable, she lit one of the extra candles. Rebekah proceeded to drip hot wax onto the bottom of each candle for a little added reinforcement. Once complete, she used the candle to light the remaining ones. She then told Malakhi to stay put as she picked up one of the flaming menorahs and crept to the hallway door.

  Holding the menorah in front of her as a shield, she threw open the door. As expected, the dark was the same as their bathroom and closet. The hissing and clicking noise rose to a maddening volume. The dark in the bathroom and the hallway sounded as if they were communicating with each other, plotting a plan of attack. Reminiscent of Moses parting the Red Sea, she poked her menorah through the door and the darkness parted in front of her.

  She poked her head into the hall then withdrew it when a disturbing thought crossed her mind. She remembered her recent experience in the bathroom. Her back was in the darkness for a split second. She knew if it had been longer, she would have died. What would happen if she ventured into the hall with the candles in front of her, allowing the darkness to close in from the rear? She knew the answer and was grateful for the second menorah. Stepping back inside, she told Malakhi her revised plan.

  “I’ve got to walk backwards, momma?” he frowned.

  He was not an athletic child, so coordination was not one of his strongpoints. Stumbling and falling was a real possibility.

  “It’s okay, baby … I’ll be right there with you.”

  He didn’t seem very assured, and she needed inspiration. Her eyes fell on one of her father’s old trench coats in the closet. She saved them after he passed away because she intended to give them to Malakhi when he was big enough. She also kept it for herself. She missed Nehemya as much as Malakhi did and the coats still smelled like him. Just opening the closet on occasion was enough to give her a small degree of comfort. She almost forgot about the coats since Nehemya returned with the other Impals. Now, there they were like a long lost friend.

  She walked over; shielding her eyes from the reflection cast by the mirror, and took a coat off the hanger. She held it up inches from her nose and inhaled, taking in the nostalgic and comforting scent of her father. She then reached down and removed the long belt from the waist of the coat.

  “Look here Malakhi,” she said, holding the belt out reverently. “This was your grandfather’s … with this you will always be safe.”

  Malaki regarded the belt with a frown. He reached up and stroked the leather dangling from his mother’s hands.

  “How?” he whispered.

  She handed the belt to him and then turned him around. She fit the belt snug under his arms and then turned around. When they were standing back to back, she took the loose ends of the belt and tied them tight around her waist. They were tied so secure; there was no way for Malakhi to fall down if he tripped. He was a small child and even if he lost his footing, Rebekah could still support his weight. The next trick was for each of them to squat low enough to pick up their menorah. They accomplished this with relative ease.

  “Okay, baby … remember to hold your candles out in front of you at all times … no matter what happens. I’ll go slow, so don’t worry about tripping.”

  The concern now was not so much for tripping as it was for dropping the menorah in the event of a stumble.

  Malakhi did not answer, but she felt him nod his head against her lower back.

  Steady, they made their way into the hallway, parting the darkness in both directions. Once they were squared in the middle of the hall, they resembled the beacon of a great lighthouse, frozen in mid turn.

  The darkness parted, yet the gruesome chorus grew in intensity like a nest of agitated snakes. The dark was angry for this violation; angry and ravenous for the prey now in its midst. They trudged along at a snail’s pace; the fifty feet or so to the door leading to the outside stairs seemed fifty miles away. Their hearts hammered and their breathing was labored, but still they inched forward.

  They were a little over halfway to salvation, when a breeze wafted up the hallway. It came from Mr. Zahavi, the landlord’s, open apartment door. Under normal conditions, this might have been a welcome refreshment considering what a warm day it was. However, normal conditions no longer held meaning in the world.

  The breeze caused Malaki’s candles to flicker. The sudden disruption made shadows bounce off the walls, causing him to panic and stumble. His grandfather’s belt held him tight to his mother’s back, but the menorah flew from his grip in a wide arc. The child watched helpless, as if in slow motion, while the menorah flew out of his hand and onto the carpeted fl
oor of the hallway.

  CHAPTER 9

  STEFF

  “A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child.”

  ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  The Georgetown brownstone home of General Ott Garrison was an elegant residence. It rested in the center of one of Washington’s most elite and historic neighborhoods. He lived there by himself since his wife died. He did not host guests often, outside of select dignitaries and an occasional mistress. Of course, he made sure that these iniquitous women never stayed all night. If they did, his staff escorted them from the premises with great discretion. A Godly man could not let such knowledge become public. He believed God made certain allowances for those who are righteous. The general was not blasphemous enough to believe himself perfect, but he was chosen by God for his righteousness.

  One of his upstairs guest rooms looked out onto the quaint cobblestone street below. The street was normally busy with tourists and the typical metro area traffic. This morning, however, it was quiet as death itself. The current atmosphere was a stark contrast from a couple of hours earlier; before the Impals were replaced by the darkness.

  The street in front of the general’s home was shaded from the morning sun. The high rooflines and a plethora of ancient elm and oak trees gave the streets the appearance of dusk. It was October and the shade lasted longer in the fall than any other time of the year.

  In the high arched window of the upstairs bedroom, a single figure sat. She stared at an invisible point outside the window. This person saw both the gruesome aftermath left by the dark and, at the same time, saw nothing at all. She was lonely. For twenty-four hours she had stayed in this room with a pair of Army sentries stationed outside the door. She had not heard anything from the Army men since the screaming started. They were dead now … she was sure of it. So were the dozens of corpses littering the street. She tried to count the variety of ways these people met their demise, but she stopped somewhere around thirty. It made her both numb and sick. She wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.