Chapter 6

“Why me?,” Joe asked after contemplating the theory for several minutes. His responsibility in the case had instantly become a significant degree greater.

“I wish I could tell you, Joe,” George answered as he watched the long streaks of rainwater roll down his office’s windows. “You have to understand that when he arrived at the prison he was more of a zombie than any sort of human being. His face showed just as much emotion as a vegetable. We thought for sure that his brain had gone South. The only way we could be sure he was alive were the times that he ate and walked around his cell. His eyes held their color, but were dead and empty. Whatever it was that happened in that small village in Africa stayed with him in his head. I wouldn’t doubt for a second that it’s still in there somewhere and am pretty sure that he wants you to take it out of him. The rest is up to you. Anything else I have to offer will have to come in the form of advice or mere speculation. Remember Joe, my office is always open.”

George closed his mouth and cleared his throat. He offered what he could best manage of a smile to Joe. His effort was a vain one.

Joe’s own attempt at a smile seemed even sicker. Realizing the futility of the situation, he nodded. “Thank you, George. I really appreciate…”

“Don’t thank me yet. Wait until this is over before you do that. Remember, you are the second of two people who have dared to explore the depths of Grady’s mind. The one before you is dead now. Be careful.”

“Why haven’t you tried to counsel him?,” Joe leaned in on his knees.

George looked at his hands and cleared his throat with obvious discomfort at the question.

“I never had the courage to try and face Jess myself. I could only bring myself to talk with Grady as a friend in passing and hope that it would help even a little bit. He’s never told me much.”

Joe nodded, but had no response. Instead, he gathered his files and left the room. As he shut the door behind him, he let a deep sigh escape his chest. He walked down the short hallway towards the front door and his eyes were again drawn to the photograph of his father and George Carmichael fishing. He stopped in front of it and hung his head low to stare at the hardwood floor in the same manner as a scolded kid. He could imagine his father telling him that he was in way over his head. The words practically rang in his ears.

“I know it dad, but I have to try.”

His father’s face kept its same open-mouthed smile and his eyes remained wide with amusement. Joe turned on his heel and walked through the door.

* * *

George sat alone in his office. His body slouched in the large leather armchair as he stared into his half-empty coffee mug. His eyes sank deep in their sockets as the ocean of his mind roared in his ears. None but the bad thoughts surged and resurged within him to weigh their heavy burden on his heart. The whole situation had the sour stink of tragedy floating from every possible corner. It couldn’t end well. No matter how much talent Joe Richards thought that he had and no matter how bad Grady wanted freedom from “the other one”, Jess had a disturbing knack for destruction. He was the unavoidable fact that Joe would have to confront. He has no idea what he has gotten himself into. The thought crept from the depths of the warden’s soul and traveled by means of the uncomfortable shiver that ran the length of his spine into his head. I’m leading him right into the slaughterhouse. He thinks his hand hurts now…

A deep rumble resounded from the back of his mouth as he cleared his throat of the uncomfortable knot that had been gathering there. He straightened his back and stretched his long, thick arms from his body. A few muffled pops rippled under his shirt as he turned to examine the mess that collected outside. The wind surged among the trees around his home—first in one direction, then the other. The veil of rain lightened and thickened with a mocking pulse over the scattered debris of his lawn, which he had prided himself with for many years. Now it lay in ruin.

“The storm is coming,” he heard himself say as he lifted his mug to his lips. The semi-warm fluid rushed down his throat in a soothing large gulp.

The door to his office cracked open and his wife’s head appeared. “Did you say something, baby? Are you all right?”

“Oh, I was just thinking out loud, honey. I’m okay. Why haven’t you gone to bed yet?” He hadn’t realized that he had been speaking so loud. He glanced at her over his shoulder. Her hair brushed her shoulders in a delicate sweep, while the silk, pink nightgown he had given her for her birthday hung over the curves of her body. She never wore it to bed unless she had motives other than sleeping. Her beauty radiated in a thick heat wave that warmed his office enough to give him the sudden urge to join her upstairs.

“Just reading up on some old cases,” she smiled and started to turn away.

George wrinkled his nose at the prospects of reading court decisions and law semantics. He was always glad that she was a lawyer and he had settled for prison work, although he did find some amusement in faking jealousy over her significantly larger salary.

“Don’t spend too much time thinking in here,” she spoke again. “I think we should have a meeting in a short while. That is, if you are up for it.”

A thin smile curled his lips. She had read his mind again. “It’s a date. Just give me a few more minutes.”

“Don’t keep me waiting too long. You know how short my attention span is.” She closed the door behind her with a soft click. George chuckled as Nicole’s soft footfalls disappeared down the hallway. He swallowed the rest of his lukewarm coffee in two swallows and switched his desk lamp off. As he stood, the pops that ripped through his knees forced a quick grunt from his belly. He began his approach toward the door as a bright flash of light streaked the sky and filled the office with dull, white light. Freezing in his tracks, George’s mind echoed the haunting thought that had plagued him moments before. I’m leading him straight to the slaughterhouse and the storm is on its way.

* * *

As George was making his way upstairs to make love to his wife, Joe Richards was asleep in the large bed in room 231 of the Hovington House. His eyes twitched under his eyelids as he found himself in the depths of the most vivid and frightening nightmare that he had ever experienced. He was sitting alone at the large, mahogany table in the center of the Pine Haven prison’s conference room. As he wrote in his black spiral notebook his right hand surged with a screaming, torturous pain, though no matter how hard he tried he could not stop writing. The walls outside and around him creaked and groaned with the banshee howls of twisting metal, while the screams of the other prisoners kept a steady harmony. It was a noise that Joe associated with the essence of Hell. Moments later and all at once, the entire building fell into silence. It was a silence that ached his ears even more than what had preceded it.

The door swung broken on its hinges with a thick thud and fell to the floor with a loud, heavy clang. The light that poured in over the dark silhouette of the man who loomed there caused him to appear more as a shadow thatn any living, breathing human. The shape was Grady’s. Joe knew that much. His eyes had obtained a deep, fiery glow—a dark, bloody red for the contrast of his colorless body. As the shape took a seat across from Joe, he could see the twisted outline of Grady’s face in the sloping point of his nose as well as the long ragged locks of his hair.

The shadow’s lips started to move with fierce intensity, soundless yet somehow telling all. They moved with increasing speed and soon after spouted a thick mixture of fire and smoke. Smoke rolled from the monster’s throat to fill the room with a dark haze and the sick, sweet smell of death. As the smoke poured and Grady’s lips moved faster, the red glow of his eyes grew brighter. Joe thought for sure that he would come away blind if he stared too long, but could not bring himself to look away. He found himself being pulled towards Grady’s face as if the eyes themselves were magnets that drew him toward an inevitable demise. As his own face neared that of the dark beast, the flames darkened to total black. It was a darkness that lashed his face as he neared the figure of the man before him. Seven lives, the voice intruded the silence with a soft hiss to echo again in Joe’s aching ears.

As he backed away, Joe saw shapes moving through the darkness. The clouds of smoke parted and he stared frozen in horror at the figures across the room. They were all bound in chains and their faces stared straight ahead into oblivion. Joe felt something deep inside of him stir as he realized with sudden terror that seized his heart that they belonged to the darkness. The monster that held him here held them as well.

The first was a young boy whose head was crushed and disfigured. Beside him, along the wall, Joe saw a man in an expensive-looking suit with one eye hanging from its socket. Standing apart from the other two were George and Nicole Carmichael, their eyes black and emotionless. Beside them, Grady sat on the floor with his head buried in his hands. The last two remained covered by the thick smoke that spread across the room.

Joe returned his attention to the red glowing embers of the eyes of his captor. “Show me,” he demanded as he pounded one hand against the table.

Beg me, the hiss returned to his mind. Joe faltered for a second, then stared into the darkness.

“Show me, now!,” he screamed.

Very well.

The clouds parted around the two remaining zombies—the prisoners of the dark. As Joe stared in shock at the remaining two captives, he felt the wave of emotions rush from his eyes in hot, wet streaks down his face. He choked under his tears and bawled into the smoke. “You son of a bitch!,” he whimpered as he tried to hide the image from his mind. It was too late. The scene had been burned in. The two hostages stared at him with sad, empty faces. He found he was staring at himself with Elaine sitting nestled in his twin’s arms. His wife’s eyes no longer twinkled. They had lost all of their life.

Joe stood away from the table and stumbled against the wall. He fell to his knees and opened his mouth to scream. Before a sound could emerge from his throat, the thick cloud of smoke and darkness pushed into his mouth, down his throat, and into his belly. It flowed for what seemed like eternity, filling him with the foul air and void of nothingness. He felt his insides stretch and cry out against the weight of the burden. Then it was over. The smoke was gone and the room was once again normal. He was alone except for the dark shadow that now towered above his crumpled body. Frozen with fear, he whimpered once more. The monster loomed over him and smiled. Tilting its head, it leaned over and pressed its lips against Joe’s ear.

Joe felt the hot breath pour over his face with a sharp thrust of air as the muffled sound of the hissing voice disappeared into his mind. He did not hear what it said at first, but as the sound entered his brain it repeated as if it were a record needle trapped in a groove. The whisper resounded within him to infinity and would only stop when he awoke the next morning.

I am the plague.