Agents of Shadow Page 8

  “We most likely will never see each other again, and if perchance we do, you won’t recognize me anyway. But I will leave you with something important, Penny.” Mr. Dawkins then leaned forward and whispered something very quietly in the hypnotized girl’s ear. He continued whispering for some time. Penny did not respond or repeat any of what he now whispered to her, like she had with every other instruction he gave her. She only nodded slightly.

  Finally, he pulled back from her ear and started to loosen his grip. “We’re going to count now, Penny. Begin.”

  Very slowly and with eyes still closed, Penny began counting in a slow but steady rhythm… as slowly as she now breathed. Mr. Dawkins stood up quietly from the chair, left fifty dollars in cash on the table in front of her, placed his jacket on, and walked to the living room sofa where the little girl Theresa sat. She was mostly mesmerized by Max and Ruby, but the man’s presence stole a little of her attention.

  “Are you going bye-bye now?” she asked as she looked up at him.

  “Yes Terri, I have to go see a friend.”

  “Okay,” the girl replied, “Tank you for finging to me!”

  “You’re welcome,” the man smiled.

  “Bye-Bye!” Terri hopped off the sofa to hug her new hero around his legs.

  The man who called himself Dawkins placed a gentle hand of the girl’s head. “Now you sit here and watch your show. And don’t forget to save some of those precious hugs for Mommy when she comes home.”

  The little girl sat back on the sofa and reaffixed her attention to the television. The man gave her one last look before heading out the way he came. He could hear Terri humming the Oldies song, the same one he used to sing often, long ago, and his smile left his gentle yet hardened face. Once he exited the screen door of the patio and headed back to the quiet street in that simple, small-town West Virginia neighborhood, he pondered momentarily on Penny’s intuitive question during her trance in which he put her…

  Why are you sad, Michael Dawkins? Why are you in pain?

  Penny looked around the kitchen, briefly gathering her bearings. What was I just thinking about? She noticed the cash on the table. She somehow knew it was her money, and that she was saving it to take that C.P.R. class, but how or why she took it out of her purse was beyond her. She must have been counting it to make sure it was enough, but she didn’t exactly remember doing so. Shrugging her shoulders, she picked it up and put it in the back pocket of her jeans. Then she casually made her way to the sofa to sit next to the little girl that she was taking care of. It was always nice to quietly watch Nick Jr. cartoons with her before her naptime, especially after her excitable incident at the pool earlier. “Well you’ve had quite an experience Terri.” The girl didn’t answer, only hummed a simple tune. Penny found it strange that Terri was humming during one of her favorite shows. She had never done that before. “It’s a good thing I was right behind you to pull you out of that cold water. You have to promise me you’ll never go on the back patio again okay?”

  “Okay,” Terri said with little interest in what Penny was saying, then went back to humming.

  “What is that you’re singing, sweetie?” she asked.

  “I dunno,” the girl replied. “my friend taught me.”

  “Really,” Penny fancied. “One of your friends at the park?” Terri didn’t answer, she only hummed the song quietly. “Well it sounds nice.”

  “Miff Penny,” the girl suddenly asked, “why were you counting?”

  “Counting? What do you mean Terri?”

  “Are we playing ‘Hide and Feek?’”

  “No honey. It’s almost time for your nap.” Counting? What is she talking about? Penny eventually dismissed it for something the little girl must have seen on her show. She did not remember that she had been counting to twenty mere minutes before. She did not remember Terri almost drowning, and she had no recollection of the strange man she had met. Even if she had, she never would have known that his last name was not Dawkins after all.

  Chapter III

  Professor Madsen quietly walked up the side aisle of St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church. It was quite empty as there were no masses scheduled, being the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, but the priest was holding confessions for anyone who found the time out of their busy schedules to remember their religious obligation. He noticed about four scattered individuals amidst the pews, kneeling with their heads bent in prayer or meditation, either spiritually preparing themselves for their forgiveness of sins, or already having seen the priest and conducting their prayerful penance. Respectfully, Madsen showed himself to a deserted pew and knelt in isolation. He lowered his head, not with any intention to pray himself; he had no interest in such, only to focus all his attention on the enclosed confessional room, many yards in front of him.

  Madsen closed his eyes and allowed the organs in his ears to focus. He was bored, and found simple enjoyment on snooping to kill the time. He inhaled and exhaled deeply until his own breath was blocked out of his mind and his thoughts were blank. Within seconds he could hear the voice of a woman inside the confessional as clearly as he could if she were right next to him…

  It’s just that my husband’s been away on tour in Afghanistan for several months now, he heard the woman admit, and I get so lonely without him, Father. I mean, I’m proud of him serving our country, but at times it just doesn’t seem fair that I’m left to take care of the house and our kids. When they’re in bed, after an exhausting day of checking their homework, feeding them, cleaning, and running countless other errands, I sometimes cry. I miss him, I do, but sometimes I need… I don’t know.

  This one sounded interesting to Madsen. He’d heard several confessions in the past; most of them were dull, but he was intrigued as to where this one was going. How have you sinned, child, he heard the priest’s voice.

  The woman continued: It was when I had to take our minivan to the mechanic. It was giving me problems because the air conditioning wasn’t working. I thought it just needed Freon. It’s only April, so I haven’t needed the air, but I had the day off, and figured it would be a good time to get it filled before it got warm out. Turns out the van needed the whole radiator replaced. The bill was much higher than I was expecting because of it. I tried to bargain with the mechanic, but he insisted that the parts were the cause of the expense, and that he was already charging me a minimal amount for the labor. I asked him if there was any other option. I admit I was being flirtatious. He’s quite attractive… for a mechanic anyway, and I thought I could convince him…

  Go on, the priest cued her.

  Well, the woman’s reluctance grew, and Madsen licked his lips in anticipation. It was close to closing time, and the mechanic… I’d rather not say his name… he made some… inappropriate suggestions.

  Did he propose that you engage in sexual intercourse? the priest inquired.

  Yes, Father. I said no. I did, but I was flattered. It felt good to be wanted. To be desired. I wanted to, but I said no. He started to smooth-talk me, and at first I was very reserved, but I made some… regrettable agreements with him. I…

  It’s alright, the priest empathized patiently. Your confession is confidential. Only myself and God will know, but it’s important to absolve your sin. What happened?

  Madsen heard the woman hesitantly continue, I… removed my blouse… and let him feel my breasts.

  Silence again. Is that all? Madsen heard the priest ask the woman innocently; he strangely asked the same question to himself simultaneously, in disappointment.

  No, the woman went on. Well, yes… at first. He just stood in front of me, cupping my breasts and…pinching my nipples. But soon he unzipped his pants and started to… fondle himself. I don’t know what came over me. I just watched him please himself as he squeezed my breast, and I started to enjoy what he was doing. The woman’s voice quivered in embarrassment and shame. Madsen could tell she was crying. In her shaky speech she finished her recount of her infidelity: Before I knew
it I was… playing with myself too. Right in front of him. I didn’t even realize that my hand was up my skirt. He pushed me against the counter with his hand that was pressed against me; I didn’t know who I was then. I just watched him continue to stroke himself while he watched me… what I was doing. Then he pushed me down to my knees and ejaculated on my breasts. I… also climaxed.

  The priest said nothing. Madsen heard the woman weeping uncontrollably yet discreetly so as not to be heard by anyone else in the church. She had no idea that there was one besides the priest who knew every word she spoke. The priest’s silence only made her guilt augment into utter shame and humility. I’m a terrible wife, Father. I hate myself for what I did, and I hate myself even more for liking it. I may not have gone… all the way with him, but I wanted to. I think I would have done the same thing even if he didn’t give me a discount.

  Perhaps you should tell your husband what happened, the priest advised. There is counseling available to help married couples, especially those who are separated due to careers and military duty. I’m not telling you that you have to confess to him, but it may bring you the atonement you seek. Regardless, you should never go back to that mechanic.

  Yes, Father, the woman conceded.

  And in the future, should you feel these urges overtake you again during your husband’s deployment, pray. Prayer is very powerful, and can lead you from sin. Are you sorry for your sin, child?

  Yes, Father.

  God the Father of Mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has brought forgiveness of sin to the world. Through the ministry of the Church, I grant you pardon and absolution for your sin, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. You are forgiven, sister. Pray to the Blessed Mother, say the Act of Contrition and the Our Father, and go in peace.

  The woman sniffed and whimpered. Thank you, Father.

  Professor Madsen opened his eyes to watch the young woman emerge from the confessional booth. She was a pretty thing, though her makeup was smeared from her weeping, looking to be about in her mid-thirties. He could tell, despite having finished her obligation of confessing her sins, that guilt overpowered her. He was quite sure that she never intended to tell her story with so much detail, that she most likely planned to be as vague as possible when confessing to the priest, probably only to admit that she had some “relations” with another man in her husband’s long absence and leave it at that, but the priest had a way of getting the whole story from his parishioners when he wanted to.

  As the attractive woman slowly walked by, the heels of her shoes creating little tapping echoes throughout the empty church, she glanced over at Madsen, as she could feel his eyes on her. Madsen simply winked at the woman with a sly smirk on his face; giving her the “Gotcha” look, as his prior student Jamie Partell called it. He liked that term, and decided he would adopt it. The woman, somewhat paranoid from his wink, quickly looked away from Madsen, hung her head, and quickened her pace out of the front door.

  Madsen fought back a chuckle in his throat as he patiently waited for the few remaining parishioners to make their confession. He continued to intrude each one with his enhanced hearing, but none were as pleasantly entertaining as the young woman’s. One middle-aged man confessed that he was cheating customers at the hardware store he ran. He explained how he would leave a broom by the register, and when people would come to pay for their items, he would include the broom when ringing them up. If they caught the extra charge on the receipt and question him, he would innocently ask, “Oh, my mistake. I thought you were buying this broom too. I’ll take it off.” If they didn’t catch it, he would pocket the difference. He pleaded with the priest that he was only doing this due to the hard economic times, and that he was just trying to put food on his table for his wife and five children. Madsen felt this man to be pathetic, and became quickly uninterested. The remaining confessions were just as dull, and Madsen soon ceased to listen in. Instead, he simply waited.

  When the last person had departed from the church, Madsen casually rose from the pew and made his way to the front of the church. Quietly, he entered the confessional booth and kneeled on the rectangular pad near his feet, placed his clasped hands on the wooden rest, and lowered his head. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” he began. “It has been one month since my last confession.”

  “What are your sins, my son?” the priest spoke from behind the black screen.

  “I have many Father,” Madsen explained. “To name a few: deception, coveting…” he paused and opened his eyes, staring at the black screen just inches from his face; “…abduction, murder, and worshipping dark gods.”

  “Murder?” the priest repeated with interest.

  “Yes Father. Not just murder. Sacrifice. A virgin. A young woman like three others before her. They were all part of a cycle. Except this one was a student of mine. She had such potential. She was my favorite student. I had reservations about sacrificing her body and soul to my purpose… our purpose but she was selected by our fellowship, and it was necessary to continue the Cycle.”

  The priest remained silent. Madsen continued: “This girl, Jamie; our fourth sacrifice, was incredibly gifted in her field of study. It disappointed me a little when I learned she was to be next, and that I, being her mentor, would have to be the one to deliver her to our circle of dark agents. Part of me hoped that we would have found a replacement for her, but I knew that could not be. So, despite the conflict within me, I did what had to be done.

  “Before you ask Father, the answer is yes. I am sorry for my sins. But I’m also hopeful. You see, even though I was not pleased with what I did, and we did such terrible things to the girl before we ended her life, I realized that if I could bring myself to betray, torture, and brutally murder someone who was so dear to me, then I will certainly have it in me to sacrifice others. There will be others, Father. Nine more to complete the Cycle. Then, it will all be worth it. Then, we will obtain such power beyond anyone’s imagination; so much that we will be able to control the masses, and the world. I keep looking to the end, when the Cycle will be complete. I keep that close in my thoughts, and it keeps me motivated to see this through to the end. The end will justify the means, Father. I look forward to the end. I look forward to the power we will receive from the dark lord when we finish his bidding. I look forward to the next sacrifice.”

  The priest let out a wisp of breath when the professor had finished. “Yes,” he responded in a low, raspy voice. “I look forward to it as well. Meet me at our usual spot in one hour. We will discuss our plans.”

  Professor Madsen smiled. “Yes, Father.” He rose from the kneeler and left the booth, strolling out of the church as casually as he had entered.

  Chapter IV

  On an ordinary day, in her ordinary town, Barbara Mitchell sat behind the wheel of her old, blue Honda Civic Sedan, driving down an ordinary street, heading to her ordinary neighborhood… lost in extraordinary thoughts. She had turned on the radio to her favorite station, softly so as not to awake the little boy sleeping in the car seat behind her, hoping to distract her from painful memories, but the usually soothing music did not comfort her this day.

  Normally, she did not reflect on the past. The past only brought her sadness… most of the time anyway… and she was intent on living only in the present. No looking back. No worry or conscious consideration for the problems of the world, for the trying times she felt would lay ahead. She would only live her life with her son, peacefully, and stay out of humankind’s way. Humankind was going to Hell in a hand basket, but she and her little Ethan would isolate themselves from it all and make do with a simple life. It was one of the reasons, though not the primary one, that she moved to the quiet town of Hedgesville, West Virginia in the first place.

  Today, however, Barbara found herself reminiscing. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she decided to leave work from the nursing center, reporting to her supervisor that she was fighting a stomach flu, and pick Et
han up from pre-school early. She had no logical methods for her actions; only the desires to spend the rest of the day at home with her son, to play with him, read to him, and hold him for all he was worth to her. Little Ethan was all she had left.

  As if her thoughts of the boy were audible, Ethan stirred in the back seat. Barbara glanced at him through the rearview mirror to see him groggily looking around in the back of the Civic. “Mommy,” he whimpered with sleepiness straining his little voice, “can I have Teddy Grahams when we get home?”

  “Sure honey,” Barbara placated. “Just a few though.”

  Ethan, not taking notice of his mother’s melancholy tone, rested his head back against his car seat, and in minutes fell back asleep. He was so precious. It was unfair that his loving father was taken from him three years before, when he had not yet reached his first birthday. He would never know his daddy… would never experience that important bond that sons should share with their fathers. She would have to take him camping or fishing, remove his training wheels from his bicycle, do her best in teaching him how to throw and catch a ball; she would have to be both mother and father, in honor of her husband Glenn, whom the boy did not even remember.

  In addition to this tragic situation was the understanding that Ethan would never know his grandparents, aunts, or uncles. Though they were scattered throughout the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic regions, she reluctantly, and with great pain, cut all ties with family. Indeed her support system of decent role models for her son was practically non-existent, but it was essential to remain isolated from all her loved ones. In short, it was just safer that way. Unfair yes, but safer.

  It was only natural for a mother to want more for her son, but she shouldn’t have to want for him the basic structure and lifestyle that he deserved: two loving parents, grandparents, plenty of playmates (which wouldn’t be the case since she would have him home schooled); an all-around good life… a normal life. Was that so much to ask? No, of course not, but she knew this would never be given to her beautiful boy, and the reminder of this reality brought tears to her eyes.