Tour of Darkness - Epilogue

Samuel Riley's tour in Vietnam ended, but his nightmare is just beginning

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1971

Berkeley, California

Sam Riley paused for a moment in a narrow corridor of the Berkeley University Library and grabbed a textbook off the shelf. Just like a kid getting ready for elementary school, he thought. Setting it down on a nearby table, he confirmed the title: Criminal Psychology: The Killer’s Mind. He was cognizant of the irony of his chosen major. For someone who had stared into the abyss of another dark dimension, somehow it was fitting to continue to learn about the unspeakable recesses of the human mind.

Quickly securing the book in the crook of his arm, he found his way up the steps leading to the main level of the library. A group of students passing him in the hall stared wide-eyed, each of them sporting long, shoulder-length hair and bell bottoms. They wore stylish aviators and clutched canvas school bags while pointing. It wasn’t everyday that a uniformed cop strode through the library carrying a book in his hands. Riley didn’t even seem to mind when one of them inevitably whispered, “Pig” , and “Fascist” as he parted the way between them. He had other things on his mind.

Riley walked through the large wooden double doors of the library and down the marble steps towards the squad car. The bright gold tin on his blue uniform glinted in the afternoon sun, nightstick and .38 Colt Police dangling from his utility belt. Garcia was standing leaning up against a black and white 1970 Dodge Monaco, big slabs of chrome and steel, smoking a cigarette. The clean lines of white painted on the doors gave the vehicle its authoritative look: “S.F.P.D” it said.

“Look at this! You look like you’ ready for 1st grade man,” Garcia said, his hispanic accent emphasizing what he felt was the humor in the situation. He patted the heavy paunch under his belt and readjusted his trousers. Garcia had been on the force for about 15 years and never rose above the rank of patrolman. He wasn’t exactly promotion material, but everyone at Metro trusted him with their lives. He had done it all and seen it all, but couldn’t lose the 30 pounds required to pass the sergeant’s test.

“Jesus Garcia, would you knock it off already? You ever read a book before?”

“You know me Sarge, I jussa’ gotta’ bust your balls, man.”

“Maybe you should try busting some traffic violators now and again, then you wouldn’t be so fucking behind on tickets,” Riley said. Opening the squad door on the driver side, he secured the book in the middle seat next to the .12 gauge Mossberg.

“Haha, cm’on Sarge, lighten up man, what you got goin’ to be so sour, man? Startin’ up your egg head school in a couple days, real fun. Baby on the way and everything... ”

“Yeah, real fun, man, Real fun. ” Riley slammed the door to the cruiser after they both jumped in. “Captain’s been riding my ass about tickets, man. Fuckers like you need to step up to the plate if you know what I mean,” Riley turned the Monaco over and the eight cylinders roared to life.

“I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to burn through back at station. This job ain’t all about bad guys and car chases buddy,” he said.

“Ay Dios Mio, man. Who the fuck told you that fairy tale?” Garcia looked over at him.

“My fucking recruiter,” Riley said, half-smiling.

***

Savannah Riley sat in her study. Several large, polished stones lay strewn across her desk as she sat in silent repose. Notebooks containing sketches, notes and other academia sat in no particular order throughout the study space along with odd statues, obelisks and idols. The small room represented a lifetime of collecting rare artifacts. An ancient sundial from some long forgotten Sumerian era sat on the window sill overlooking a picturesque lawn complete with white picket fence.

The Riley household was small. Sam had already chided her for allowing bits of her “former” life as a world-wanderer to drift into other parts of the house. Easier said than done, she thought. The truth was that she had spent so much of her life prior to meeting him exploring far off, remote countries in search of what many would consider worthless trinkets that she had never bothered to separate her personal and professional life. Hand written notes and books typically would be left absent-mindedly on the kitchen table, bedroom and throughout the house without a second thought. Sam brought that typical Marine Corps attitude to the home with his rules and regulations. She had fought this bitterly at first. Now, though, she had begun to appreciate his clean and tidy demeanor.

She sat back in the ornate, leather office chair and sipped her green tea. She peered down at her belly and smiled at the swell that had begun to take shape over the last several months. Welcome home, Samuel, she thought as she rested her hand on her stomach. She had wanted to name him something exotic, something that reminded her of some of the locales she had frequented during her roaming days. While Sam was easygoing, she knew he didn’t approve of anything too “out there”. “Sam junior” would work well enough, she thought.

Although they earned little money from their respective occupations, they made ends meet and were happy. Dr. Froemme had retired, leaving her in charge of both the Archeology and History Department, not something she had wanted with a newborn on the way. However, it meant a promotion, and promotions were all too scarce in the academic world. As a tenured professor at Berkeley, she was expected to produce research papers and continue to expand her repertoire of subject matter.

“Always so much to do, Sam,” she said to the unborn child in her womb. A telephone rang suddenly. With a wince of pain, Savannah set her tea down and walked carefully into the kitchen.

“Oh, hello Edgar!” she answered.

“Hello Savannah, great to speak with you finally,” returned Dr. Edgar Froemme, an elderly sounding man on the other side of the line. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a couple weeks!”

“ Oh yes, I know. I’m so sorry Edgar, I’ve been swamped with this new thesis and now I’m managing two departments. Plus there’s little Sam on the way…”

“Ah yes! Congratulations again to you and Samuel. I know you’re incredibly busy but I’ve been working on something I thought you might find interesting,” Froemme coughed suddenly, a deep whooping from down inside his chest.

“Oh my, Edgar are you feeling alright?” Savi asked.

“Excuse me, yes sorry. When you get to my age sometimes these rather unpleasant things happen occasionally. Don’t worry - fit as a fiddle, as they say! Anyway…”

Savannah suddenly had another shot of pain as the child inside her kicked suddenly, forcing her to close her eyes and place a hand weakly on the wall for a moment.

“Savi? Are you there?”

“Yes, sorry Edgar, go ahead.”

“Yes, well as I was saying…” Froemme pontificated, “There’s something incredibly fascinating going on in Boston - a professor from Harvard is leading a dig up there.”

Savannah loved the old man but she was beginning to wish he would arrive at the point sooner than later.

“Oh, Boston - a domestic dig? That is interesting,” Savi stifled back a yawn.

“Yes, truly. Tell me, Savi, have you ever come across something in your work called The King in Yellow?”

There was a moment when reality suddenly faded for Savi, as she thought the world was spinning. The phone fell from her hands with a solid thud noise as the plastic receiver smacked the kitchen wall and dangled for a moment.

“Edgar - wha...wha..what did you say?”

“Savi, are you alright? You don’t sound well,” the old man sounded concerned. “No, no I’m fine - sorry. Being pregnant and all I’m afraid I have moments.. Please go on.”

“Anyways… this King in Yellow business. No one here can identify the era or symbology. A fascinating chamber and well has been found near the campus in Boston. Fascinating stuff you should really come out here and see it. Doctor Buller is preparing to excise the well opening this afternoon,” Froemme said.

“Edgar… listen to me… listen to me very carefully. You have to tell the dig leader to fill that site in immediately,” Savi’s voice started to rise a pitch.

“Savi, excuse me? Why on earth would I do…”

“Just tell them to do it!” Savi yelled into the receiver.

“Savannah, what in the world is the matter with you?” Froemme was beginning to get angry.

“Edgar… you don’t understand! That’s not something that is supposed to be opened! Now or ever!” Savannah’s voice was filled with panic.

“Now, stop this, Dr. Stein, um, Riley “ Froemme’s voice was filled with fatherly scolding. “This is an important research step for me, don’t let your ego get in the way, Savannah. Just because myself and Buller found it first doesn’t give you the right to barge in now…”

“Goddamnit Froemme! This has nothing to do with me or the university or my damn ego! Fill in the fucking hole now!”

“I see there’s no point in discussing this with you now,” Froemme said calmly. “I’ll call you back when you’ve come to your senses and controlled yourself. Perhaps this is your womanly hormones acting up or something,” Froemme said. There was a click.

“Damn you Froemme!” Savi slammed the receiver down and made a dash across the kitchen for her car keys next to the stove. Grabbing them, she was sprinting for the door when she felt a liquid slickness run down her leg and onto the linoleum floor. Looking down, she saw the red wetness for only a moment before the world swam and then went dark. The sound of the car keys striking the floor filled her mind for a moment and then there was nothing.

Somewhere near Area 51-Groom Lake, Nevada Desert

Patrick parted his jet black hair with a comb and placed it inside his jacket pocket. Adjusting his aviator sunglasses, he walked through the hangar bay to greet the group of generals standing on the tarmac baking in the hot Nevada sun. Most of them were special forces, an array of stars and patches from all the branches.

“Gentlemen, thank you for coming. I think you’ll be interested to see the progress of our research.”

A few head nods and grunts followed.

“Right this way then, please,” Patrick turned and the group followed him into the hangar and down a narrow set of steps into the bowels of some unknown facility.

The group continued into a massive laboratory. There were scientists in white lab coats bustling about, beakers with substances of unknown origin and very well armed security men. They passed through the lab and into a narrow corridor that looked much like prison cells. Patrick approached a lab coat clad scientist carrying a clipboard.

“Dr. Veers, I’d like to show the generals just what we’re dealing with, if you’d excuse us,” Patrick motioned the doctor away with a wave of his hand.

“Yes, of course sir,” he set the clipboard down and scurried out of the room.

“Gentlemen, this weapon is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before,” Patrick began. “ This is something we began work on back in 67’. We weren’t able to positively control the substance back then, but we believe we have successfully been able to weaponize it in the form of a liquid delivery system.”

General Stevens, U.S Army, Special Forces Command, stepped up. “What are we even talking about, Company Man?”

“Take a look for yourself, General.”

General Stevens gave Patrick a look of disgust, grunted and then stepped up to peer through the fiberglass reinforced two way window in front of him. He couldn’t see anything, as it looked like whatever was supposed to be in the cell had literally destroyed all the furniture in the room, and there was a weird flickering of the light that had been semi-bashed in by whatever was in there.

“I don’t see a god damned…” General Stevens didn’t finish his sentence. The reason he didn’t finish his sentence was that instead of words there was the gargled sound of his mind crying out for some semblance of reason to explain what he was seeing.

A creature of immensity occupied the entirety of the room, a multi-limbed monstrosity with multiple eyes and talon-like claws that sat in the center of the room eyeing the group menacingly. Stevens realized the reason he couldn’t see earlier: a fog was being created by the creature’s heavy breathing.

“Jesus titty-fucking….”

“Yes, General. Substance X is what we are discussing. As you can see, it has incredible effect upon the subject,” Patrick stated blankly.

“ What in the sam hell is that thing?” Stevens said, stepping backwards and coughing.

“Who might be the more suitable question, General. Who is that thing?” Patrick’s slim lips twisted into an unsettling smile.

General Steven’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “ You mean to tell me that thing is a person?”

“Well, was a person. An unfortunate victim. Bitten during the war, you see. We were able to get him into quarantine before he was able to spread a possible outbreak.”

“Fucking Christ,” Stevens said. Murmurs and and cries of “I can’t believe this,” were heard from behind him. “It transforms people into that?”

“Oh yes,” Patrick replied. “ You see, something like this could be very useful in counter-insurgency. An infected water supply could be utilized to turn the population against itself in a very destructive way.”

“I’ll fucking say so,” Stevens said. “This is nuts, company man. I can’t see how something like this can be controlled - or how it’s even ethical to conduct testing on this person.”

“The latter doesn’t necessarily apply to this situation, General. The man in question here was already in the service and qualified technically as deceased before he was brought here to the facility.”

“Hmm...yeah I guess you sneaky fucks find loop holes for everything,” Stevens said. “Alright, well I think I’ve seen enough of this shit, Patrick. I want to go back to you telling me everything you know about this operation and how it fits into the Special Forces picture.”

“Indeed, sir. Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me to the briefing room I can bring you up to speed on everything,” Patrick said.

Before leaving the corridor, Stevens looked to the right of the fiberglass window and saw the plastic label inserted over the doorway: SUBJECT: SHIGA, AKIRA YAMAZOTO.

Somewhere in the Northern Territory, Australia

The sound of a shot glass getting slammed against the bar reverberated throughout the pool hall. Wilson sat back in his rickety wooden chair, adjusted his eye patch and closed his one good eye as the hard, burning Bushmill’s cascaded down his throat.

“Give me another’,” he said to the disheveled barkeep. He had been out in the territory for over a year now. Ever since the Company Man, Patrick, had released him from his official CIA duties, Wilson found comfort from the horrors of Southeast Asia in the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Sure, he’d act as a guide for tourists looking to do their honeymoon safari in the bush, but that was all the action he’d seen in some time. Well, it pays the bills, he thought.

“Oy’ fella’, I think you’ve had enuff,” the barkeep said.

“Piss off! I’ll tell you when I’ve had enuff, you bloody heap of piss,” Wilson replied, sloshing his words. “Bloody face like a dropped pie, that one.”

The shit he had seen was enough to want to jump into a vat of Bushmills, Wilson thought. He thought a lot about what had happened out in the jungle with that madman, White Mason, but mostly he thought about The Book. What had become of it? Did Patrick stow it away somewhere in some forgotten CIA vault? He knew the secret to what had happened in the jungle was in that book. Curiosity always was his weakness. If only he had concealed the book well enough, he might still have it. Instead, the bloody American government had it. Bastards. Well, look where it got em’. The poor wankers lost that bloody war anyway.

“You there, Pirate Bill,” said the barkeep. “You gotta phone call, fuckin’ yebbo.”

A phone call? Who in the world knew that he was even in this shit heap of a bar.

“Roight’ roight’” Wilson slammed a few notes onto the bar and stumbled towards the corner where the booths were.

“Wilson here,” he said, trying his best to conceal his obvious drunkenness.

“Wilson, it’s Patrick,” came a non distinct voice from the other end.

“Well I’ll be! Patrick mate’, how in the fuck you been doing?”

“You’ve been drinking, I see.”

“Fuckin roight I have,” Wilson almost started laughing.

“Listen up, you drunken wreck. We’re pulling you back in,” Patrick said without emotion. Wilson’s expression changed instantly. Suddenly he didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Bullocks I am, you little twat’,” he replied, slurring again.

“Listen to me. They’ve found another chamber. Near Boston. We’re assembling a team. Gordon’s already here. You’ve got plane tickets leaving out of Kununurra in 24 hours. Get ready,” the line clicked.

That little twat Patrick was up to his old tricks again, Wilson thought. I’m always at their beckon call. He despised The Company and everything it stood for. Still, this was an opportunity to learn more about whatever it was that plagued the jungles. Maybe, just maybe, he could get another look at that Book.

Wilson slammed the receiver down, hurried outside the bar and climbed into his Jeep.

Berkeley General, Berkeley California

The sound of sirens filled the air as the ambulance pulled up to the emergency room. Paramedics lept out of the back of the vehicle, followed by the gurney on which Savannah Riley lay prostrate. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as the IVs above her weaved back and forth, paramedics hurryingly pushing her towards the operating room.

Mrs. Hershel, the Riley’s neighbor, had found her on the floor of her kitchen. She was an elderly woman but still had her wits about her and dialed 911 immediately. Luckily, the paramedics said, she hadn’t been bleeding long and probably wouldn’t require a transfusion. Several doctors rushed in from all around, grabbing clipboards and assessing vital signs.

“Operating room 7 - the baby’s coming now!” One of them said.

****

Riley burned rubber as the Monaco skidded into the hospital parking lot, tires squealing.

“Que carajo! She’ll be okay Sarge, you’ll see!”

“Stop talking Garcia,” Riley said, peeling the car into a space. Slamming the parking brake up, he whipped open the door and took off running towards the main entrance.

“Um… I’ll catch up!” Garcia said, already puffing.

Busting through the two heavy main doors, he approached the reception desk.

“Savannah Riley - Just came in - where is she!” He yelled at the dumbfounded receptionist.

“Sir, um, officer, please lower your voice - I’ll help you find who you’re looking for…”

“They told me something about the baby...fucking hurry up and tell me where she is!”

“Officer… please… one second…”

Riley paced back and forth for a minute before she was able to say,“Fifth floor, Operating Room 7, but wait.. officer...officer!”

It was too late because Riley was already vaulting up the stairs. He approached yet another desk on the fifth floor.

“You can’t go in there right now - she’s in surgery,” said the nurse on station.

“Surgery? Surgery for what?”

“Listen, Officer...Riley. I need you to stay here and I’ll get as much information as I can. For now, please remain here…”

“Fuck you, lady,” he said and barged past her. Her look of dismay didn’t phase him as he entered the surgery observation hall.

Running past a few rooms, he found OR number 7 and peered through the glass. Savi was unconscious and hooked up to machines and an oxygen mask, two surgeons looming over her. Riley wanted to barge in there as well, but knew that interrupting the doctors wouldn’t help the situation. Feeling helpless, he found the nearest chair and pulled it close to the window and sat.

The nurse he had past suddenly appeared again,

“Sir, this area is restricted from visitors,” she said. “If you don’t leave I’ll have to call security.”

“I’m a cop. I’m just keeping an eye on my wife. Don’t you have something better to do?” Riley asked

She made a defeated, annoyed grumble. “Just stay here and don’t wander anywhere else,” she said and left.

A doctor came out of the OR and spotted Riley sitting there.

“Your wife is stabilized, Mr. Riley. We’ll know how the baby is doing in a little while,” he said moving briskly down the hallway.

After another few moments, Garcia came panting in, the front of his uniform doused in sweat.

“Holy shit, Sarge, is she...is she…”

“She’s okay for now, Jose,” Riley said.

“Jesus, man. I’m so sorry. She’s a tough, beautiful lady though Sarge, she’ll be okay.”

“ Hey man, I know. I do. Thanks for saying so anyway,” Riley smiled and tried to make some levity in the situation.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need me, man.”

“Thanks Jose.”

An hour went by and the two cops sat waiting in the OR observatory. Riley didn’t say anything for the entire hour, just stared at his hands . Garcia did the same. A nurse appeared in the hallway.

“Uh, one of you officers, um, there’s a phone call here for one of you,” she said.

Garcia looked up and just said, “I’ll handle it,” and walked towards the phone. “I’ll be back later.”

Riley nodded and watched him go.

***

After a couple hours had gone by and several cups of coffee, Sam stared into the black liquid of his fourth cup. Savi - you’ve got to make it baby, you’ve got to make it! His hands began to wrap tightly around the coffee mug as despair finally began to sink its cold teeth of reality into his soul. We didn’t go through all that shit in Nam’ for you to die on an operating table in the States! He didn’t hear the sound of a pair of black oxfords coming down the hall toward him. The echo they made in the hall reverberated and got louder as they approached. Riley looked up.

There stood White Mason. Riley wasn’t sure if this was some hallucination, dream or what, but the immaculately dressed, bearded man in front of him was the same one he had poured bullets into in the Jungle, just before the cave exploded nearly four years ago.

“Good evening, Riley,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Wha...wha...wha..” Riley’s voice was a mess of confusion and disbelief.

“Don’t worry, Riley,” he said calmly with a smile. “I’m not really here. I’m what psychologists might call a persistent traumatic event within your own psyche - usually triggered by some unfortunate life event…” Mason looked through the glass. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Childbirth is painful. Just think. Back in the Middle Ages women were lucky to survive birthing a child at all. Most didn’t,” Mason smiled, revealing a perfect row of white teeth.

“I’m going to kill you...again… you sonofabitch,” Riley sneered.

“Riley, Riley…. Like I said, I’m not here. You lash out, and you’ll look like an insane man trying to kill his coffee mug,” Mason seemed like he was enjoying himself.

“What the hell is this? Why am I dreaming of you?”

“Well, to tell you the truth Riley, I’m not sure,” Mason said. “ There is one thing I am sure of, however,” Mason paused to adjust the French cuffs on his suit. “Death is not the end.”

Riley looked into the man’s face. Something there was beginning to change. Not all at once, but slowly. There was another presence there. Something that wasn’t human at all.

“I’ve traveled a long way, you know,” Mason said. “Beyond the black reaches of the stars, beyond the known limits of human understanding. They

have shown me a lot. ”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean...They...Riley. They. The Old Ones. You didn’t think that just because you and your band of misfit toy soldiers managed to destroy a gate or two that the Old Ones would simply stop coming?” Mason laughed heartily. “Oh my boy - this is beyond you. It is beyond me. It is beyond all of us - all of humanity, that is. Nothing can stop what is going to happen, my friend. Nothing. The King has assured us all of our destruction. All we can do is bare witness to it. And I have, Riley. I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. Although my body is destroyed, my consciousness has traveled to unknown dimensions to witness these beings’ true power.”

“You’re an insane, psychopath. Please get the fuck out of my dream,” Riley said, flatly.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Mason’s voice was beginning to deepen, take an air of menace.

“I understand that you’re dead. I remember putting a bullet in your head myself,” Riley said, unflinching.

“Do you remember when that old Vietnamese told you that you had the mark on you, Sam?” Mason’s voice was somehow even deeper, like something inside of him had now taken control.

Sam didn’t speak for a moment. “ I remember,” he said.

Suddenly, Mason vanished and the surgeon appeared from outside the operating room. Sam looked stunned for a moment as he looked around the hallway for the man who seemed to cease to exist.

“Mr. Riley, great news! The baby and mother are fine, congratulations,” he said.

“Can I see her?”

“Yes, but please remember she’s very weak from blood loss - can’t be too long a visit”

Riley didn’t hear the last bit because he was already moving past him into the operating room.

“Sam...honey,” Savannah said, weakly. Her eyes were barely open and she clasped the small child in her arms. “Look at how beautiful he is.”

“Just like his mom,” Sam said. He moved to embrace her. Tears poured down her cheeks.“Little Sam junior,” He said and Savannah gave him the small bundle to hold in his arms.

“I was so afraid for so long, Sam,” she said. “I knew you’d come through, though, you always do,” she smiled as they kissed. I love you.”

He looked down at her. Even in the chaos of the past several hours, the tousled auburn hair and matted blood, she still looked beautiful.

“I love you too. You scared the hell out of me, baby. I shouldn’t have been at work for so long, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault. It’s your job, Sam. How was class?”

“Tough. Professor says I need to work on my essay writing,” Sam managed to force himself to laugh. “ I can sit comfortable with a C.”

“ I can help you with that, “ Savannah said, then coughed weakly. “No C’s for my man.”

“I’m sure you can,” Sam smiled. “You’re the brain around here. I’m just the muscle.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. You’ll do great.”

Suddenly Riley felt the grasp of a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning around, Mason was standing directly behind him like a father watching the birth of his son’s child.

“Now, isn’t that a lovely little boy? Who knew that Riley would produce such a picture perfect child?” Mason smiled.

“Get the fuck out of here. Right now,” Riley said.

“Honey? Sam? Are you okay? Who are you talking to?” Savannah asked.

“What? Sorry, no one,” Sam said trying to sit in the chair next to Savi’s bed.

“It’s useless, my boy. You see, I’m everywhere. And I’m nowhere. I’m in your brain, in your soul. The Old Ones sent me back here with a very specific task, and I plan to fulfill my promise,” Mason said, moving towards the bed.

“I told you I’ll kill you, you fuck!” Riley screamed.

“Oh my god, Sam what the hell is going on?” Savannah yelled and Sam Junior began to whine.

“Savi… I see him…” Sam whispered.

“What? Who do you see?” She asked.

“White Mason...he’s...here.”

“Sam you’re scaring me....”

Sam un-holstered the .38 Special. He panned the room looking for a target.

“Sam, please put the gun down, please! I don’t understand what’s happening. Maybe….wait...the phone call,” she said.

“What phone call? Go on! Tell me!” Sam said, his breathing erratic.

“I got a phone call from Professor Froemme, talking about a new dig site,” she started talking rapidly. “ I was running for the car to come tell you before...my water broke and all this happened.”

“This is a nightmare that won’t end,” Sam said and let the pistol fall to his side. “What dig site?” he asked.

“Somewhere near Boston - something about another gateway, Sam. They found another one.”

“Jesus,” Sam put the gun down and put his face in his hands.

“Sam… what do we do?”

“We do what we have to... We fight this thing.”

“How?” She asked, appealingly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

White Mason appeared inside the edge of the room again. His eyes were bulging and distended on his face. A strange black liquid was leaking from his mouth. Something inside was trying to claw its way out.

“It’s time,” he said. “ I’ve played enough games, Riley. Wish your loved ones farewell.” Mason disappeared again.

Something inserted itself into Riley’s brain and turned a key. The key unlocked a door that let the demons through. All of the madness of the last five years became a naked instant in his mind.

Riley turned to face the bed. His face was distorted, hazy. Something was guiding his hand. There was a passing moment when his soul cried out in its attempt to stop whatever was happening inside, but soon there was silence.

“Sam? Sam!” Savi watched in horror as her husband raised the .38.

“Jesus Christ! Someone get security in here!” A doctor yelled.

***

The sound of three loud blasts could be heard down in the reception area. Garcia looked up and ran towards the OR.

Boston, Massachusetts

“Well, that old guy bit the dust,” Gordon said, heaving a wrapped body into the Massachusetts Bay.

Wilson lit a cigarette and watched as the body of Edgar Froemme sank to the bottom of the bay. “What patriots we are. Murdering old men for a living now,” he said while taking a long drag.

“Someone had to do it, man. He was about to open another one of those creep chambers. You remember Nam’ man, that shit doesn’t play,” Gordon said.

After they had finished demolishing and filling in the dig site, disposing of the two scientists had proven to be fairly easy.

Patrick parted his black hair with a comb and stepped up to where they were standing on the pier.

“Guess we’re done here. You gentlemen will receive payment upon return to your respective homes. Excellent work, as usual,” he said.

“Listen, mate. I’m done with your dirty work. This was the last time,” Wilson grumbled.

“Indeed. I assumed it would be, Wilson. Thank you again for your service,” Patrick retorted.

“Me too, buddy. Can’t do this stuff for too long. It starts to mess with your mind,” said Gordon.

“Interesting you should say that,” Patrick said, unfurling a newspaper in his hand. “You might remember one of your compatriots from the war. Seems he reached his breaking point.” Patrick handed Wilson a USA Today newspaper. Coughing, Wilson grabbed the newspaper and started walking back to the parked rental on the edge of the pier.

Curious, he opened the paper to the marked page and read the headline:

“HERO COP MURDERS WIFE AND CHILD”

***

Patrick sat alone in his hotel room in Boston. Tomorrow would be another day. Multiple operations were already being planned to test the efficacy of Substance X in a controlled environment.

He took off his suit and hung it in the closet, brushed his teeth and lay down on top of the large queen bed. After a beat, he heard a creaking coming from the corner of his room.

“What? Who’s there?” he said, and reached for the silenced .45 auto on his pillow. There was another creak of the floorboards.

“Oh it’s just me, Patrick ol’ boy,” said White Mason.

“What? How the….how are you alive?”

“Oh, alive is a relative concept Patrick,” Mason said. “For now, I’m a humble servant.”

“Get away! I’m armed - I’ll shoot!” Patrick said.

“I was counting on that,” Mason said. “It makes my job alot easier. I hope you have a nice trip, Patrick”

Patrick screamed. His mind went blank. There was the sound of brain matter splashing the headboard behind him as two .45 rounds went through his skull.

White Mason grinned. Soon - maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow - but soon. The triumphant return would be upon them. The day of reckoning would come. The Gates would be open. The King would smile.