Agents of Shadow Read online

  Unable to shake the feelings of sorrow away, Barbara found herself reflecting further back in time as she neared her neighborhood. For the first time in years, she thought of her younger days of high school and college, of old friends long gone. Many of them, like Glenn, had died tragically. There were few remaining that she knew of, but she had also deliberately lost touch with them. Now, looking back on those days, she wondered how they were, what had become of them, and if they had also buried their pasts and retreated deep into “middle-of-nowhere” places, to do nothing but live and let the years slip by as peacefully as possible, the way she did. She mainly wondered about one particular close friend… a boy her own age from her college years, whom she once cared deeply for. Barbara hadn’t thought of this boy, now grown into adulthood, in a long time. In the past couple of months however, he was often on her mind.

  Barbara couldn’t kid herself. She knew the country, possibly the world, was in the midst of a Dark Year, and that knowledge that haunted her was the reason she had been thinking of the past, and of loved ones. After all, it was during the last Dark Year, what seemed like ages ago, that she last saw many of them. And it was the consequences of her involvement in that year, that caused her to lose Glenn sometime later, and therefore have to distance herself from the rest of her family and friends. It only made sense that, now that another Dark Year was occurring, that she would think so nostalgically of everyone.

  Only on this day, the “stroll down Memory Lane” was the strongest it had been since this year started. She wasn’t sure why, but it troubled her that she would be so occupied with the past on such a random day, and it made her feel a strange need to go home… as if something was telling her to, as if she would feel a relentless itch that wouldn’t go away until she did. Logic on the other hand, suggested she was ridiculously making something out of nothing; that it was all in her head.

  Nevertheless, the itch was somewhere inside her subconscious, concocting up a feeling of anxiety inside her. She had a strange idea that something different was going to happen today, and it made her uneasy. At the same time however, there was the slightest sense of wonderful warmth inside that itch. It was barely noticeable, but she also felt a touch of happiness, as if she had come across, for the first time in years, an old picture of a pleasant memory that brought back simple joys of a time when life was perfect, before things had gotten so bad. It was so confusing and exhausting to have a swarm of butterflies in her stomach, and not be able to tell if they were the butterflies of anxiety or of girlish excitement. All she could grasp was the need to scratch the itch; the need to hurry home.

  So, even though her reasoning told her she was being ridiculous and overdramatic, home she would go, if only to get a grip and center herself. Meditating always helped. It had been weeks since she had last done so. She wasn’t out of practice, but she also hadn’t kept a routine schedule with it the way she used to. Nevertheless, she decided it would do her good today. Hopefully it would help her make sense of it all. In the meantime, she would just have to deal with the tears, the overload of memories she wished to forget, and the butterflies.

  At last, Barbara pulled into her quiet neighborhood, and it wasn’t long before she was making the usual right-hand turn onto her street. The butterflies… the itch… intensified. She dabbed the slight welling of tears from her eyes with a tissue from the glove box, carefully so as not to smear her eye shadow (she didn’t know why it was suddenly important to her to keep her makeup intact; she was just going home after all), so she could accurately scan the street and houses that ran parallel to it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything was as it had been when she left in the morning. Still, she slowed the vehicle as she approached her driveway. Pulling in, she still noticed nothing different, but decided to remain in the car with the engine running. Better to be safe than sorry. She kept her foot on the brake and shifted the gear in reverse, just to be ready. Then she closed her eyes and focused.

  After several minutes, she was finally content that her home was empty as she sensed nothing alarming. The butterflies were still with her, but they no longer gave her a feeling of anxiety. She took a few deep breaths as she put the gear into the park position. “Okay Barbara,” she coaxed herself, “nothing to worry about. Stop freaking yourself out.” Everything seemed in its place, so she turned the engine off and unbuckled her seatbelt. Normally, she would follow the same routine whenever she came home: place the car keys in her purse, unlock the doors, get out with purse hanging over left shoulder, walk around to the back door of the passenger side, open, unbuckle Ethan, pick him up, shut the door, walk back around to the open driver’s door with Ethan in her arms, engage the lock on the inside of the car door, shut door, carry Ethan to the front door of her house, remove house key from the pocket of her jeans, unlock, open, enter, then finally shut and lock front door. She almost always followed this routine step for step, only this time she removed her house key from her pocket before she got out of the car and held it in her right hand, positioning it to protrude from in between her index and middle fingers: a simple self-defense technique she knew. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about, but just in case…

  Barbara was now in the process of unbuckling Ethan from his car seat. She had to bend low to get her head through the car door while standing in the driveway. Her sweet boy was sleeping soundly, so she made sure to slide his tiny arms from the straps gently, taking care not to pull or tug on them in a manner that might disrupt his nap. He looked so peaceful when he slept, which always brought her joy to see, and she didn’t want to deprive him of that placidness. She took a moment to gaze at her son lovingly. How lucky she was to have such an angel in her life.

  Suddenly, she noticed a shadow slip its way into the back of the car, blocking the afternoon sunlight where she stood. Someone had very stealthily approached her from behind, and she froze for only a split second. Then, instinct and years of training took over in an instant. She pretended to continue unbuckling the little boy from his straps as if she had not noticed the figure behind her, but secretly tightened her grip on the house key between her clenched fingers. Whoever was there on her driveway was not close enough, she could tell, so she would not turn around until the figure would come within striking distance. She was unusually calmer than what this situation would call for, but she held her breath and mentally readied herself for action. Barbara was more than knowledgeable on how to defend herself, and if this intruder meant any harm to her or her dear, sweet Ethan, she would not hesitate to kill if need be.

  The hostile approach never came from the figure behind her. Instead, Barbara heard a male’s voice speak from where he stood: “I was hoping to get a good look at that swimmer’s ass of yours,” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your figure after all these years.”

  Barbara’s eyes widened with surprise as she unconsciously let go of the buckle of Ethan’s car seat. She had been complimented on her backside dozens of times in her life, but there had been only one person who, in all her years, ever referred to it as a “swimmer’s ass.” She pulled her top half out of the back of the Honda and spun quickly around. Dreamily, she found herself staring into the bright blue eyes of the tall, attractive man she once knew as a boy. Inattentively losing her grip, the house key fell from her hand. The “plink” of the metal item bouncing onto the pavement was the only sound for what seemed like miles.

  “Hi Babs,” the man said quietly with the slightest noticeable smile. “It’s been a while.”

  She couldn’t speak. She could only continue to stare into those stunning eyes that had always mesmerized her. A mixture of shock and joy overwhelmed her as she stood face to face with a man she never thought she’d see again, though she had always hoped secretly that she would. Though her heart felt warmth, the feeling one would supposedly get walking down familiar places of a childhood hometown that had not been visited in many years, allowing happiness to follow the nostalgia, she kept those feelings in
reserve. Fear was also inside her, as if she were doing something illegal and grew fearful of getting caught. Her knees were weak. Her body quivered. There were so many things she wanted to ask him: how he was, where he had been, what he had been doing with his life. So many things she wanted to tell him about herself. She had a million things to say, but all she could muster up in her surprise was a breathless gasping: “Oh my God… Michael!”

  The man said nothing. He remained still, that speck of a smirk still lingering on his face. He seemed to be giving her the moment to take everything in and allowing her time to come to grasp with the reality that he was there before her, in the flesh. At last, Barbara found her voice to some extent: “How… how did you get here?”

  The man glanced behind him. “Drove,” he answered plainly. “I parked along the cul-de-sac at the end of the street.”

  “No,” she stuttered a bit, “I… I mean… how did you find me?”

  “The usual way,” he shrugged. “Wasn’t easy though. I have to admit it took me a lot longer than I’d hoped. Either because I’m out of practice, or…” he stared a little more intensely into her deep, brown eyes, though no malice lay in his, “…you’ve been making quite an effort to stay hidden.”

  Barbara lowered her eyes from the man’s stare. She had indeed taken great measures to block everyone she knew from being able to get in touch with her. She felt no remorse for this, only the melancholy understanding that this was how things had to be. She turned around and reached into the car to unbuckle Ethan from the car seat. “What are you doing here then?” she asked. She decided, as soon as she said this, that she was being short with him and was sorry for it. Rudeness wasn’t her intention, but her tone of voice was interpreting her real question for him: Why would you come to find me if you knew I wanted to stay hidden? Why wouldn’t you respect my privacy?

  After a brief pause, the man spoke again: “I need your help, Babs. I wouldn’t have come to you if I didn’t.”

  “My help?” Barbara raised her eyebrows innocently, though she knew where he was going with this. “With what?”

  He tilted his head slightly to the side as if surprised by her question, the microscopic essence of the smirk completely vanishing from his countenance. “You already know what.”

  Barbara lowered her head. She never could get away with anything with him.

  Chapter V

  Professor Madsen sat patiently at the wooden park bench that paralleled the cement pathway, which most frequenters of the placid county park would use for jogging, biking, or walking their pet dogs during pleasant weekend mornings and afternoons. Being a weekday, like the church, the area in which he waited was slightly more private than usual. When his colleagues would show, there would be little worry of anyone else overhearing whatever secret plans they would have to discuss, even if the occasional jogger or biker did pass by. Most citizens of Lancaster County kept to themselves, and he knew his conversations would be spoken quietly enough so as not to attract any unwanted attention by any outsiders. He watched a flock of pigeons nearby, scrounging for seeds or little bits of food particles left by careless employees of the nearby commercial and industrial establishments, who would visit the park on their lunch breaks. He himself was enjoying a particularly tasty egg salad sandwich on a Kaiser roll while he sat, though he was neat and tidy enough not to drop any morsels of egg or lettuce on his tweed jacket.

  He was mostly finished with his lunch when he noticed the priest approaching him along the pathway. “Father,” he acknowledged when the grey haired pastor was in speaking distance. He was middle aged, like Madsen, only slightly older, but in decent shape for his age. He was sporting a long, gray trench coat that hid most of his black attire, though the white collar was still visible at the center of his neck.

  “A bit of a drive from Gettysburg, Professor,” the priest noted as he approached. “No classes today?”

  “Not for me,” Madsen smiled. “I’m in Indianapolis, you see.” He winked slyly at him.

  “Ah yes,” the older man nodded as he sat upon the bench next to his acquaintance. “I see you’ve visited Cookie’s Deli, as usual.”

  “I’ve always thought their rolls were the best,” Madsen admitted, “especially slightly toasted. Just the right amount of crispiness. Would you like my chips, Paul?”

  “No thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  “They’re too salty for me,” Madsen sighed. “Perhaps the pigeons will like them.” He took a few complimentary potato chips from the white takeout bag and crunched them in his fist, then tossed the pieces along the grass and pavement in front of them. Several pigeons hopped over to their new treat and began pecking at the crumbs.

  Father Paul sat still, contently watching the small gathering of birds enjoying Madsen’s generous offering. “How are you Stephen?” he asked, not turning to face him. “Something troubling you?”

  “No, I’m just peachy Father,” Madsen stated with a slight sigh. “Should we take a walk?”

  “Not yet,” the priest replied. “Some of the others will be joining us shortly; we’ll wait for them. Gives you time to finish your meal anyway.”

  “Finished,” Professor Madsen responded through a small mouthful of his last bite. He thoroughly wiped his mouth and chin with a napkin, then brushed his hands back and forth to release any particles of chips from his palms.

  Father Paul continued to watch the pigeons nearby. “Your confession led me to believe you regret our recent activity.”

  The professor ripped the tiny packet in his hands and pulled a moist wipe from inside. He began to rub his hands naturally. Though he had a passion for good food, he was more concerned with cleanliness afterwards. “I regret the selection, Paul. As I said, she was my best student.” He placed the used wipe and empty packet back into the lunch bag, then tossed it into the nearby trash can.

  “Her sacrifice was necessary. Besides, I don’t remember you ever allowing yourself to become so attached to anyone, Stephen,” the priest commented. “You’ve always been good to show false dedication to your students and your work, never bringing even the slightest suspicion upon you, but for your feelings for this girl to be so genuine for once; it’s not usually your style. Could it be you’re going soft?”

  Professor Madsen grunted in protest. “I think you’ve misinterpreted my character, Father. I’ve little care for these spoiled college kids who think they’re entitled to everything. I’ve no need to care or show regard for anyone who is beneath us… which consists of anyone not in our circle. But don’t let that cause a ridiculous perception that I’ve no care for anything. My dedication to my work is by no means false. I’ve studied psychology and the human mind for longer than you’ve studied theology. It has always fascinated me, and it has made me more efficient in controlling them. The people of the world are our tools. We use them in the necessary ways to further our cause. We do with them how we please, and we make ladders of them; stepping on them like the worms they are in order to elevate ourselves. If we are to control them, use them and dispose of them for our own benefit, then it’s quite advantageous to understand how their feeble minds work. Their personalities, methods of thought and reason, neurotic tendencies, habits, fears, dreams and desires; every fiber of their id, ego, and superego is to me like taking a clock apart and understanding the function of every internal part. Diana understands this; it’s why she’s so passionate about the same discipline. One thing that is genuine about me is my line of work. Unlike you… Father.”

  The priest stifled a short laugh. “You have to admit, my friend, that it’s the perfect camouflage. No one would suspect a gentle pastor of a small congregation to be the head of such a circle as ours.”

  “No,” Madsen retorted, “only of molesting young altar boys.”

  “And girls,” Father Paul added as casually and carefree as a man commenting on the weather. “Well regardless, dear professor, it seems I’ve struck a nerve.”

  “Hardly,” Madsen denied calmly. “The
re’s no need to doubt me, Paul. I wouldn’t exaggerate my ‘attachment’ to Miss Partell. She was nothing more than a number among the worms, but she was, as I’ve mentioned, an intellectual like us. She had such a love for my field of study, and a tenacity to master it to no end. I admired that. I was merely disappointed that she was selected as one of the thirteen. As unlikely as it sounds, part of me secretly hoped…”

  “That she’d one day be one of us?” the priest finished for him.

  Madsen almost didn’t answer him. “It never could happen anyway,” he finally admitted. “Jamie had some potential, but unfortunately she would have been incorruptible. Her silly faith was too strong. She reeked of it. Funny though, how easily tempted she was. I had no trouble getting inside her head and implementing a selfish desire for personal gain within her. It’s what made me start to wonder if she was truly unfit for our agency.”

  “She was a virgin,” Father Paul reminded him, “which is uncommon nowadays for someone her age.”

  “Yes,” Professor Madsen agreed, “the older the virgin…”

  “…the more power we receive from her sacrifice,” the priest finished.

  “And although I would’ve preferred someone other than my top student, what’s more important to me is the result.” Madsen cracked a smile. “I listened in on some of your church members’ confessions today. It was intriguingly satisfying that I was able to do so with much less effort than ever before.”

  “Of course you were,” the priest acknowledged. “With each sacrifice our power grows.”

  “Yes, I know,” Madsen nodded, “but to think, after only four… the growth is rather noticeable. Imagine how we will be when we complete all thirteen. You can’t help but to quiver with excitement at the thought.”

  “Then hold onto that thought my friend,” Father Paul replied, “and I’m sure you won’t allow the particulars of who is selected to hinder your path.”