WAR ZONE
THE FINAL EPISODE
1
A Brazen Whisper
A cold chill was in the air that time of night. The little, yellow cottage at the cul-de-sac, snuggled against clusters of shrubs was dimly lit. Yet, the beam of the front light unabashedly exposed the surface of the porch with all its cracks and crevices.
A light in one of the back bedrooms went out and the six-foot gentle giant of a man slowly turned the knob and eased the door shut. "She's fast asleep," he whispered to his better half in the hallway who was dressed for bed and had an adoring smile on her face.
Stan Bergund was wearing his dark blue overalls. The scent of aftershave he used just minutes earlier pervaded the air.
"I'm sorry you have to leave so late," Jane said, sliding her arm around his waist.
Stan placed his huge arms around his wife's curvy frame and looked into the piercing blue eyes of the woman at least a foot shorter than he was. "We need the money, sweetheart. I'm so glad they have me on call."
"Is it a bad one?"
"A large water main broke downtown, so I reckon it'll be good overtime. At least the extra money can pay a bill around here." He sighed, then pecked her on the lips.
"It will get better, honey. We've had a snag, that's all, with me losing my job."
"I know." He nodded and tried to force a smile. "A snag."
She followed him to the front door. Stan grabbed his two-toned grey jacket from the coat rack and his black tam, then opened the door. "I'll see you in a while," he said.
Jane nodded.
"Stan…"
He stopped at the threshold and looked back at her.
"Please be careful. You know what's been going on lately with all those…"
"I know," he interjected. "I will. Lock the door behind me."
Jane immediately heeded Stan's instruction, then shifted the thin curtain to the side and watched as he jogged toward the small, white pick-up truck. Fog gathered in front of the vehicle after Stan switched on the engine. Jane could see him speaking into the mobile phone as he reversed, then he drove off around the cul-de-sac towards the main road.
Stan set the phone back onto the dashboard mount and switched on the radio. The air-conditioning in the truck was percolating although there was no need for it as the temperature outside was in the high sixties. But Stan was a big guy and he sweated easily. When most people were freezing cold, he was often dropping tiny pebbles of perspiration in his way. However, the jacket was staying on. He could never forget Grandma Joyce's admonition to him and his brother Frank: "When it's cold out, you must always keep the chest protected," she'd say. "You don't want to end up with a bad case of influenza." Grandma Joyce was the only one Stan ever heard refer to the flu as 'influenza' when speaking casually.
Giles was on Crisp 93.8fm as was his weeknight schedule. His deep, low voice was just right for the horror flicks, Stan always thought whenever he listened in. Giles spoke slowly—almost in a dragging voice—and made you want to look through the rear-view mirror to make sure no pasty, straggly-haired old lady was peering at you from the back seat. Not good for the faint-at-heart to tune in to the Late Show with Giles while on the move. Definitely, not a good thing.
"It's midnight in the land of the lonely and the free. Do you know where your kids are?" A smile cracked Giles' milk-chocolate face as he methodically licked his dry, chapped lips. "If you can't say, 'They're in bed,' then you'd better get up off your rusty rumps and go on the hunt for those wandering brats. You don't want the slasher to get them now, do you?"
A sinister, drawn-out grin ensued that made the very hair on Stan's arms rise at attention. Giles seemed to take immense delight in taunting his unseen listeners.
"Jackass!" Stan muttered before changing the channel. "That guy's gotta be into some dark, creepy stuff on the sly."
An old Diana Ross song was playing. Stan bobbed his head and started tapping the steering wheel lightly as he drove further along the thoroughfare. The streets appeared especially dark after he had been driving for a few minutes, almost pitch black, in fact. Lampposts' beams seemed to be struggling to serve their only purpose, which made Stan reach forward to switch on the bright lights, feeling they couldn't be a bother to anyone anyway since the streets were, for the most part, empty.
The night draft caused huge circular balls to form in front of the headlights, then dissipated more like scattered mist that traveled along with the truck. Stan arrived at an intersection and slowed to a halt at the stop light. His truck was the only vehicle on the road right then. He glanced at the car clock. It was 12:13am. His work site was just another block away.
Suddenly, he heard the loud screeching of car tires, then a dark-colored truck similar in size to an F150 pulled up beside him in the other lane. The windows were all rolled up; the interior concealed by dark tints.
Stan's bobbing and tapping from the music had long stopped and he now focused his attention on the eerie stillness of the area and the tenebrous sensation he was feeling from the vehicle sitting next to his. He glanced up at the street-light.
"Why the hell is it taking so long?" he murmured. He looked back at the truck. The ominous gut-feeling wasn't shaken, but stubbornly remained.
"This is crazy," Stan said, glancing back at the light still holding red. "Let me get outta here." Just as he switched pedals, the truck next to him suddenly sped off across the intersection. The light was still on red. Stan, looked both ways before driving away.
"Something's gotta be wrong with that light. Guess I'm the idiot for sitting there so long when no cars were even on the bloody road!"
A couple of minutes later, Stan pulled up onto the already busy scene that Todd Vermont had aptly supervised shortly after making the call to him. The area was well lit by streetlamps and overhead spotlights, and Stan parked on the side adjacent to a newly constructed side-walk. Orange cones had been placed along the street covering approximately a mile and road signs started from several hundred yards up to approximately fifty feet at the scene of the water spill. Three additional white, pick-up trucks were parked nearby seemingly haphazardly and a large tractor assisted in blocking access to that part of the road. Angel Boot, "Rasta", as they called him was busy on the backhoe digging out the trench near the main pipe. The machine's lights were bright and glaring.
Todd met Stan as he was getting out of the truck. "Hey, boss. I turned off the main valve already so we can get started."
"Good. Everyone's here?" Stan asked him.
"Yep."
The men walked over to where Angel was trenching. The top of the large pipe was already visible and four workers were standing around the area in question.
"Gentlemen…" Stan nodded.
They all hailed back.
Jake Roberts, a rather burly guy jumped into the part of the hole that had been cleared.
"Pass me the shovel!" he said to Burt, his long-time partner who had started out with him ten years prior, just after finishing high school.
Henry Lucas, a thin man in his early fifties, veteran at the corporation, but holding the same laborer post as the other three joined Jake in the hole. Burt handed him a shovel as well and he and Jake cleared out whatever remnants of dirt necessary to get to the pipe after the backhoe's bucket had completed its reach.
A young man in his early twenties by the name of Aaron Rocha used his shovel to pull back the dirt from the edge of the trench that the other two guys had tossed up there.
Angel was now on the eastern side of the pipe. The backhoe's stabilizer legs unmovable as the front of the machine tilted slightly off the ground while being competently maneuvered.
"Dig closer!" Todd hollered.
Jake threw his shovel back up. "I see the problem." He smoothed off a rather small area of the pipe with his gloved hand. It was a ten inch split at the side of the pipe.
"Are you able to clamp it or do we need to cut?" Stan asked.
Jake took a good look before bothering to
answer. "It doesn't look like it has to cut," he finally replied. He turned to Burt. "Pass me the clamp!"
Todd went to assist the guys as Stan oversaw the scene.
After a while, he heard an annoyed Todd say from the other side of the trench. "Man, y'all workin' or y'all talkin'?" He was referring to Henry and Jake who suddenly found something hilarious about Aaron while in the middle of attempting to properly seal the split.
The laughter eventually tapered off and everyone was quiet until Henry suddenly hurled a sixty-pound curse word after accidentally hitting his knuckles against the inner trench wall.
"That's what you get, old man!" Aaron laughed out loud. A cocky lad, he had absolutely no respect for the guy who spent thirty years as a laborer at the corporation because he couldn't control his insatiable appetite for booze. "Maybe if you didn't always have a hangover, it wouldn't have happened."
"You mother——! One day, I'll plant these same knuckles up the side of your snotty little head!" Henry fired back.
"That's enough!" Stan warned. "Aaron, keep your mouth shut."
"Yes, sir," the young man replied.
Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires caused Stan to turn around. He noticed a black truck with dark, tinted windows similar to the one he saw on the way there had just pulled up. He was shocked it got through in spite of the tractor blocking access and several other workers who were stationed alongside the road. For a few seconds, the truck just sat there with the engine running in the cool of the night. Stan was now convinced it was the same vehicle since the eerie feeling which blanketed him when it pulled up next to his truck at the traffic light had returned like a huge tidal wave.
Todd noticed the strange vehicle too and watched near the trench as Stan walked toward it. His co-workers paid no attention to what was happening outside of the trench.
Stan proceeded around to the driver's side door as the truck sat there suspiciously still. He tapped on the window, which moments later rolled down to only a few inches. Stan noticed that in spite of the glaring beams of light in the area, he could see nothing but darkness through the window gap inside the truck. The driver's head was barely visible, but those eyes — almost a silver luminescent hue caught Stan by surprise.
"Um…" Stan felt the need to clear his throat. "Can I help you? This road is closed. How did you get through here?"
"Closed?" the man asked almost lazily.
"Yeah. Closed. Can I help you with something?"
The man's focus slowly shifted from Stan and instead straight ahead. Stan strangely felt the need to look in the same direction. That's when he saw Burt being hurled through the air like a baseball, landing hard against the pavement at least fifty feet down. He was completely still. Stan's eyes widened with shock. Then four hooded figures whose heads were facing downwards moved in as one grabbed Henry by the throat and planted him in the hardened earth within the trench. Jake, with all his might was fighting off another one, but his neck was effortlessly snapped as he attempted to clobber his attacker with a crescent wrench. Todd and Aaron took off running in opposite directions, but both were met with long, shiny spears that flew seamlessly through the air. Stan was momentarily frozen next to the truck in disbelief of his own eyes.
He reluctantly looked back to the stranger and immediately saw a glaze of multi-colored light pulsating from where his eyes would have been. No longer invisibly chained to the pavement, Stan took off with more speed than he ever thought possible toward the little white company truck. Just inches away, he fumbled for his keys, but his hand was shaking too much to even grab hold of them from his deep pocket. He suddenly heard a sinister, raspy laugh behind him and timidly daring to look back, he noticed a man wearing a long, black robe with a hood covering his head within a foot of reach. The luminous silvery eyes are what convinced him that it was the same individual he had started speaking with in the F150. What Stan thought was weird at that moment was that there was no face — just the eyes, now with the array of colors sickeningly quivering around the silvery hue that now looked like slits.
"Please don't hurt me!" Stan pleaded with his back pressed against the door of his truck. "I have a wife and a baby at home. She's just three years old." He started to cry, simultaneously wetting his pants. The figure with an icy-cold countenance diverted his stare down at Stan's crotch area and along the legs of his trousers that were being streamlined with the man's warm urine.
He made eye contact with Stan again. The bizarre array of colors were still encircling the eye sockets, yet now rapidly and the man moved in even closer to his intended target.
"Please…" Stan's voice was breaking as fear piqued its natural level to the terrific extent that his pounding heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest.
The figure shifted his head slowly to the right, then left. The uncanniness of the blank space above and below the eyes gave Stan the feeling that death itself was staring him right in the face and there was nothing he could do about it. The man raised an arm, then firmly placed his rough, scaly hand on Stan's right cheek. Stan immediately felt an unbearable burning sensation that seemed hotter than water bubbling inside a whistling kettle. He screamed in agony, but the hand remained until Stan felt his life escaping him. That's when the figure slowly removed his hand, yet light smoke sizzled between it and Stan's face, and Stan knew without a doubt that he had been branded as with a hot iron. He nearly collapsed to the ground when the figure held him up by the throat and closely and brazenly whispered one word into his ear:
"Matheson…"
2
Suspicion
As Tina rolled over to her side, she felt her hand land on top of the cold, bare sheet. Peeling her eyes open, she noticed that Trent was not in bed. The alarm clock blinked at 4:01am. She got up, slipped on her bedroom slippers and headed for the open doorway.
The house was dark and utterly still. Tina quietly peeped into Little Foster's room and found him fast asleep. As she proceeded further down the hallway, she flicked on the light switch which dimly lit the area, then headed downstairs.
"Trent," she called out in a loud whisper.
Heavy silence responded.
She stepped into the living room that held a slight draft as it normally did in the early morning hours. Trent was nowhere to be seen.
"Honey…" She bent the curb towards the kitchen which she found empty.
Back into the large, open living space, she caught sight of the sliding door where the lounge chairs were. He clearly was not there as the outside light was on. Moving along, she finally spotted him through the lightly tinted glass door of his study. The tall, lanky desk lamp was on, but only gave a dim glare. Tina slowly turned the door knob and walked in.
"How long have you been down here?" she asked. "Couldn't sleep?"
Trent was sitting at his desk. His face looked haggard and he appeared in dire need of sleep. He shook his head and shifted in the chair. "What are you doing up? I came down here so I wouldn't wake you."
Tina sat across from him. "I rolled over and realized you weren't in bed."
"The baby's still asleep?" he asked.
"Yeah." She noticed the newspaper in front of him. He had concealed it as much as he could with both hands. "You're worried about her; aren't you?"
Trent released a heavy sigh.
"I am. Her and everything else that's going on."
"It's going to be all right, sweetheart. Luke's made sure you'll get to see her today, remember?"
Trent nodded. "If he didn't pull all the strings out and forced their hands, they would've had the hearing and extradited her without even allowing me to see her."
"Look at what they're charging her with. It's ludicrous!" Tina exclaimed. "And then this talk of an eye-witness."
"All I know is my sister is not a cold-blooded murderer. You know her; Solange doesn't have it in her."
Tina was contemplatively silent for a few moments. "I agree. I know we haven't known her very long, but I do know she has a good hear
t. She's a caring, wonderful girl - a gentle soul."
"It really means a lot to hear you say that, honey." Trent said with a grateful smile. "I doubt she can say much when I see her though. She's spoken to Luke privately and he has well-advised her."
"I understand."
He gazed at her for a moment.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Every day I look at you I realize how lucky a guy I am to have you in my life - a life that many times I wished never was," he responded dolefully.
"Honey…"
He quickly shook his head as if the very thought of his existence was painfully unbearable for him.
Tina got up and went over to him. She slid his hands away from the newspaper and pushed his chair away from the desk. Standing in front of him, she said, "You didn't have to try and hide it. I saw already, remember?" She leaned forward and hugged him, caressing his jet-black hair, then she cupped his face with her slender hands. "I love you, honey. Don't you know how precious you are to me and Little Foster? With all you've revealed to me and as horrid as it was to digest, I still can't imagine my life without you. We're going to get through this — just like everything else — together."
Trent was struggling to maintain his composure.
"I can't tell you how this feels, Tina," he lamented. "I'm barely just existing under this curse that I didn't have a damn thing to do with! I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask to be born. If it wasn't for those God-forsaken beings, my life would've been normal. It would've been different. Whenever things start to look up for me, something goes drastically wrong again. It's a vicious cycle. I'm the cause of it all. It's my DNA."
Tina leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Well, if you're cursed, then I am too."
Trent did not like the sound of that.
"You said your life would've been different if only you weren't who you are, but how different do you think it would've been?" Tina posed. "Would you have been the strong, courageous man that you are today? Would you have had that heart of gold that beats inside that chest of yours?" She gently pointed. "Would we have ever met? Would our baby have ever been born? Would you have been so respected in this community?"
Immortals- The Complete Real Illusions Series Page 33
