The Leviticus Club

by Sydney Addae

  “Mr. Sloan, Dr. Higgins will see you now.” Again that soft smile.

  Moving quickly with a hopeful early departure expectation, he entered her office and sat in the chair in front of her desk.

  Young, smart and decent looking with reddish blonde hair, green eyes, and a nice figure, Dr. Higgins inhaled and released her breath slowly. There was no smile, no warm greeting. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well last night either. Well, damn. Why was the receptionist smiling?

  “Good morning, Master Sargent Sloan.”

  Noah didn’t react. Had she forgotten he no longer responded to his military title? He crossed his legs and looked at her.

  An image of a woman in pain flashed across his mind reminding him of something he had seen in his dreams. He closed his eyes for a second and counted to five.

  “Bad dream?” she asked when he opened his eyes again.

  He didn’t respond, never did when she poked into his nightmares.

  “It’s been a while since we talked, Noah. How’ve you been?” Her glance flicked from his face to something on her desk and back to him again.

  “Been good, Doc. How’ve you been?”

  She smiled but it was off, not quite right. “Headaches? Pain? Still going to physical therapy?”

  He hadn’t been to PT for two months, she knew that. What was going on with her? “Like I said, I been good. No complaints.”

  Another flash, he heard a scream, sensed a struggle before it disappeared. This time he counted to ten. When he was tired, exhausted, his dreams tended to follow him.

  “What’s wrong, Noah?” her voice softened, concerned.

  “Nothing, just remnants from a dream. Don’t make much sense.” He looked at her.

  “Tell me about your dream.”

  She didn’t want to hear about the ugly things he saw, the underbelly of society.

  “Master —”

  “Don’t call me that. Not anymore,” he snapped.

  “Sorry, but I need you to talk to me. The sooner you share something, the sooner I can let you leave.”

  “You don’t understand. They’re not real dreams, more like snapshots of action, like a bad movie clip of a jackass slapping a woman around in the back of a white jeep. She hit her head, sees stars, there’s blood. Fucking asshole.” He rubbed his forehead to ease the pounding in his skull. When would this stop? “See? Not a dream, just stupid shit that pisses me off messes with my sleep.”

  “What did you say?” Her voice wobbled.

  He waved his hand, not wanting to see it again. “Nothing. Just rambling. Not even sure anymore.”

  She stared at him.

  “Listen, Doc, are we doing a full session today? I didn’t get much sleep last night or the night before and would appreciate it if you could cut it short.” When she didn’t say anything, he released a long breath and fought down the rising anger of being in this chair.

  Her face was white as snow with a few red blotches on her cheeks. She stared at him with lips trembling.

  “What’s the matter, Doc?” Concerned, he stood and headed toward her.

  She held out her hand. “No. Sorry. One moment.” She raced out of the room.

  Frowning, he looked at the door, returned to his seat and closed his eyes. He must have dozed off for a few minutes because he heard her calling his name.

  “Sorry,” he said wiping his mouth. “You okay?”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything for a while. “That was very unprofessional of me, I apologize. Please, I’ll let you leave early today but before you go, tell me about your dreams? Are they violent? Places you’re familiar with? People, you know?”

  He didn’t want to discuss the dreams. They were a pain in his ass. Since the surgery the nightmares were bad, but walking through his dreams, seeing the things he saw, was worst.

  “Not violent always.” Just most of the time. “Sometimes I’ve been to the places I see in the dreams.” Doesn’t happen often, though. “I don’t see faces, so it’s hard to tell if I know the people in the dreams. I get more of an impression, know what I mean?” Most times I see faces. But I also know the people even without their faces.

  Just like he now knew, she had been the woman in the back of the Jeep being beaten.

  The horrified surprise on Dr. Higgins face made him smile. Maybe she’d back off, stop asking so many questions. The smile faded. There had been so many faces and attacks and crimes in his nightmares. Not being able to help tore him up inside.

  CHAPTER 2

  TIRED AND READY TO be home, Noah took a short-cut through the town of Littleton. He had just turned onto a side road to cut through a neighborhood before hitting the feeder road out of town.

  He slammed on the brakes as a pale, dark-haired woman ran toward the street yelling at the top of her lungs covering her mouth with one hand while waving the other wildly.

  “Oh my God, oh my God., no, no, no...help,” she screamed with desperation. She heard the screech of his brakes and ran toward his truck, oblivious to the near miss of him hitting her. “Please help,” she yelled as tears streamed down her face.

  He swerved to the side and parked. “Please help Nate, please God, help him.” She bent forward at the waist and cried harder.

  Noah looked around, saw nothing out of the ordinary, just a van and a car parked in the driveway nearby. There was no sign of danger that he saw. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he stepped out and walked closer.

  “Nate.” She pointed to the black van parked in the driveway. “Please help him.”

  He walked over and looked inside. “Shit.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, but it was too late. He’d already seen. Pissed and resigned, he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1. “There is a dead man in a van.”

  <<<<>>>>

  Two hours later, exhausted, Noah stood on the sidewalk watching the black coroner’s van drive off with the body of Nathaniel Green.

  He closed his eyes but still saw the broken body of the older man in the back of the van. Who would kill, not just kill but brutalize an invalid like that? It wasn’t right or fair. The old man had no way to run or fight back.

  The police had already interviewed him and the woman, Lisa, who worked at the library with the dead guy. When he didn’t show up for work, she came to check on him and found him in the driveway. The officers told him to expect the Detective later today or tomorrow.

  Noah glanced in Lisa’s direction, she was still having a hard time coming to terms with what she’d seen. It had been a horrible sight, but not the worst he had seen. After five tours in the Middle East, and 21 years in the military, he’d seen much worse than this and would probably see worst in his dreams later.

  He hated what his life had become. Some days he wished he had died on the battlefield instead of being resuscitated and sent home to live a half-life. Resigned to the idea of difficult days ahead, he turned, headed for his truck and drove out of town to his 15-acre ranch.

  In his living room, news blared on the TV as background noise, something he needed these days. His favorite sitcom had come and gone while he was out.

  Beer. He needed a beer and remembered there was none in the house, thanks to his cousin, Liam coming over yesterday, cleaning him out.

  Unable to sleep, he took several deep breaths, sat in the leather recliner in front of his 60” flat screen TV and half-listened to the news. Instead of the current events, he saw the handicapped van, the way it was left parked in the driveway.

  Why hadn’t they driven it into the garage? Did they want him to be found sooner, rather than later? Why bash in his head? Where was his wheelchair? Why so violent? The man was a librarian and churchgoer. After the death of his wife from cancer, Nate lived alone and had no kids, at least that’s what the woman who found Nate told the police.

  His phone rang, he glanced at the caller ID. “Liam?”

  “What’re you doing?” his cousin asked.

  “Just got in.” No matter what he was doing, it wouldn
’t stop Liam from asking for whatever he called for.

  “What’s wrong?” Liam asked.

  Noah had no reason to keep the information to himself. He explained the shortcut through town after his appointment. “Found an old cripple murdered and called the cops.” He didn’t want to get into how he’d respond later tonight. Liam knew about his nightmares and PTSD but didn’t know about walking through his dreams. No one knew about those.

  Liam whistled. “You moved to the country to get away from the bloodbath in the city and it happens in your neighborhood? That sucks.”

  “Wasn’t out here, saw it in town,” he said wondering how Liam confused the two.

  “How much did you see?”

  “The body? All of it.” The bludgeoned face, crumpled body, bones, dried blood and guts.

  Liam cursed. “I’m coming over.”

  “No, I’ll be fine,” he lied.

  “You won’t be fine, and you know it. Damn it. You still have nightmares and don’t need to be alone with that shit.”

  Noah wanted to disagree but wouldn’t know until later, much later when his dream woke him.

  “You drank the last of my beer,” Noah said, giving in.

  “I’ll pick up a 12 pack on the way.”

  “Buy two.”

  Noah disconnected and ordered two extra-large pizzas, it was going to be a long night.

  <<<>>>

  That night, Noah flinched at the sound of gunfire in the distance. Missile strikes exploded nearby blinding him in white-hot bursts. He couldn’t see because of the smoke. The mists curled around him, tightening, fouling the air, robbing him of breath. His skin burned. Moans of his men pierced his heart as he dragged himself to the closest sound.

  Gotta help’em.

  Just as he reached Johnson, more rounds went off in the distance and some close enough that the ground vibrated.

  “Hold on, let me help you,” he whispered as he scooted closer and looked into Johnson’s vacant eyes. Too late. He took in a bit of air, hoisted his rifle and prepared to defend himself. If death came looking for him, so be it but he’d take a few of those bastards with him. Ignoring the pain on his left side and the blood running down his face, Noah searched the area for anyone he could help.

  There were a few moving on the ground. He moved toward the closest as the dark mist rolled in blinding him. Remembering the direction of the fallen soldier, he continued as the mist became heavier, deeper with a satiny texture that made breathing hard. Still, he pushed forward, using his outstretched hands to find the fallen.

  “You can’t help anyone until you help yourself.”

  Noah whipped around with his weapon ready to fire.

  “You can’t even control the mist. It stops you from doing what you really want to do. Help others.”

  Blinded by the mist, Noah refused to give away his position to the enemy even as he continued moving forward, searching for his fallen team-mates.

  “Will they ever learn?” Followed by a long-suffering sigh. The mist rolled to the side as a man dressed in black with long white hair and gleaming green eyes strode forward. Grass, green as an Irish spring, lay on the ground beneath him instead of the bloodied battlefield from a few moments before.

  Shocked, Noah stared at the bare feet of the stranger, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. When the man stopped. Noah slowly looked up and swallowed hard.

  “You’re on my turf. In my backyard bringing war and death with you. If that’s your thing, fine but you need to contain the mist, it’s not healthy for the pups.” He waved and Noah saw several dark puppies yipping and playing in the distance.

  “I’m...” Noah cleared his throat and tried to rise. Surprised by the lack of pain and the absence of bloody injuries, he stood. Clearing his throat again, he wondered why the mist recoiled from the stranger and always wrapped around him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why the mist shows up or why I dream of the war.”

  The stranger’s look called him a liar.

  “I’m former military, seen a lot in the war, no doubt that’s the cause of the bloody dreams. But this mist.” He waved his hand through it, instead of it recoiling it seemed to wrap around his arm. “Don’t know what it is or why it’s here.”

  It dawned on Noah that he was dreaming again. “Hey, what are you doing in my dream?” He looked around, saw the puppies. “This is a dream, right?”

  “Yes, it is. I have free rein in dreams, I’m called Grandfather and you are?”

  “Master...Noah Sloan.”

  “Well, Noah, you’ve got quite a problem with that mist, I hope you find a way to fix it, otherwise you’ll be miserable while awake and asleep. That’s no way to live.”

  Noah stared at the man standing close but without the annoying mist wrapped around him. “How are you able to be free of the mist in here?”

  Grandfather smiled. “I’m a lot older and wiser. Some things must be learned to understand. You’ll be waking up soon and forgetting this conversation. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Noah Sloan. You’ve got heart and good character, the world needs people like you.”

  “What?” Noah asked, surprised as Grandfather disappeared into the mist. His words rolled over Noah.

  “You can’t help anyone until you help yourself. You can’t even control the mist. It blinds you to what you really want to do. Help others.”

  CHAPTER 3

  GENERAL STRAIT SAT in his office at the Pentagon reading a brief regarding several enlisted men in their Olympus Project. He looked at the photos of the men. All good candidates if they could complete their training and control their gifts.

  His phone buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “You have the files?”

  “Looking at it right now. There’s only ten, that won’t be enough to replace the Knights. We’ll need more,” the General said.

  La Patron, the Alpha of the Wolf Nation had allowed a specially trained group of full-blood wolves to serve in the military for a few years. Those men were unparalleled in their abilities to win against any enemy. Unfortunately, La Patron removed those men from the military and refused to allow them to return after learning that a few of them were being used in the labs for testing. Their departure left a void for high risk, covert jobs. The General believed, hoped, the Olympus Project would fill the void, even if half-way.

  “In time the unit will grow.”

  Considering the serum was injected to enlisted men in the field as a last resort to restart their hearts, the General understood. Those who survived the shot underwent some kind of mutation. Some were stronger than a dozen men, some manipulated the elements, emitted noxious odors or poison, all were faster, with enhanced vision, hearing and smell, just as the Liege research and notes said.

  “We could use Zeus and the others now,” the General said. All of the soldiers in the project were given names of from Greek mythology and were called Olympians.

  “Patience, they’re being formed into a solid team learning to use their unique skills. Which brings me to the reason for this call. We need to be moved somewhere private. An island or a facility that cannot be tracked until we can go public.”

  The General grunted and looked at the pictures again. These men might be their only defense against the Wolf Nation. They were just as fast, with similar vision and strength. At least their skills were similar to some wolves. So far, no one was on the same level as the Knights or KnightForce. According to the Liege files and notes, the mutations evolved over time so it was possible that one day this team would defeat the Knights. The General prayed it happened in his lifetime.

  “Understood. I’ll have my assistant contact you and secure a location. Don’t stop training, bring them up to speed as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What about the others? The ones who didn’t die from the shot and left the military?”

  “We’re monitoring them through their doctors to determine if they’re developing gifts. So far, most of them are m
ental and beyond help. We knew that was also a risk with the serum.”

  The General nodded. “True. I’ve got some personal family matters to deal with. Death in the family. Might be out of town later this week. Get in touch with my assistant if there’s an emergency.”

  “Will do, Sir. We’re on the right track with this team. They’ll be able to fight and protect against our enemies.”

  But will they be able to protect against La Patron? General Strait wondered as he disconnected and looked at five names. Five soldiers who received the shot didn’t die but were undergoing treatment for mental instability.

  “Such a waste,” he murmured as he closed the file and locked it away. He took a deep breath and allowed his thoughts to return to the stoning death of his cousin, Nathaniel. He couldn’t believe it, stoned? In the U.S.? In recent years there were reports of stonings in the Middle East, mostly women, but not here. Was this a terrorist group? Homeland Security was looking into it as well. It made no sense.

  He flipped through the pages of the investigation report and shook his head. This wasn’t the first time either. The FBI investigated five other occurrences across six states. It was a miracle and blessing there were so many other things happening, the press hadn’t gotten a whiff of it yet. Still, for this to happen on American soil shook him.

  He looked at the photo on his desk with him, his wife and Nathaniel last year at a Florida resort near the theme park. They’d spent five days together and it had been fun. His wife was beside herself with grief.

  He wanted justice on behalf of Nate. Anger clenched his chest as he weighed the fallout of getting involved with an active investigation. It wasn’t a good idea, he understood that. But neither the FBI nor Homeland Security had made any credible progress since discovering the first stoning.

  Determined to get answers, he made several calls pulling in favors until he was granted a small window. Five days and access to classified information. Now to dangle the carrot to get what he needed. He placed the call to a number he wasn’t supposed to have. General Jim McNeill accidentally gave him the information when this group got him out the country when he ran from La Patron.