The Rapture Dialogues: Dark Dimension (The Second Coming Chronicles Book 1)

by Terry James

  Vietnam was the only hope. The growing discontent might, just might, possibly, convince the Texas tyrant to retire, rather than seek a second full term.

  Not likely, O’Rourke thought. Johnson lived for power. He, like the Kennedys, would never put aside his own love of power for the love of country.

  Robert Cooper. He was a hard one to figure. A strange bird, indeed. His rise from a courier for the State Department, to Director of Covert Operations for Defense, was meteoric, phenomenal. The death of Daniel Eganberg was equally strange.

  Weirder things had happened, than in-house assassination.

  The President, the pretend President, wanted to know all there was to know about Covert Operations at Defense. He obviously didn’t trust McNamara, a Kennedy man--and a Republican at that--to do the necessary investigative documentation of Covert Operations’ doings.

  Johnson--rather, somebody close to him, gave the job of finding out about Project Jehovah, and all attendant to it, to NSA. Johnson wanted to create a checks and balances system the President hoped would get to the truth, so he would know all there was to know. Lyndon Johnson always had to know it all; it was his key to ruling with an iron fist.

  What they didn’t realize was that the job of beginning to root out the truth of the connections flowing from Roswell in 1947, through the Jehovah Project in 1967, had been turned over to a Kennedy man.

  At the same moment, Taos, New Mexico

  The Director of Covert Operations would take no chances. The consequences of failure were unthinkable. He--personally--could know all that was going on, only by wearing the PND. Nothing the instrument could do to him would be worse than failure to maintain an absolute grip on the situation about the fugitives.

  Cooper stood on the metal platform, his mind reeling with sensations he had not experienced. Kaleidoscopic colors and shapes transformed his cognitive processes into imagined excursions that took mind and spirit from body.

  He viewed the world of the Dimensionals for the first time. Before, they had entered his realm of cerebral inner-space. Now, he had entered theirs, and, through the technology, he seemed…was…transported into the time/space orbit of the dark beings who had taken him under their…wings? Was that the proper term for it?

  He saw, now, not through his own eyes, which Lucy Holland, when she entered the oval chamber, noticed were turned so far upward, that only their whites could be seen between the quivering eyelids spasming beneath the precognition neuro-diviner. He saw clearly and with preternatural vision, through the transfixed eyes of Clark Lansing.

  “Mr. Director,” the young woman said, seeing Cooper standing atop the gleaming platform. “Are you all right?”

  Cooper didn’t hear or acknowledge the secretary. He saw only what Clark Lansing saw, a large room, filled with test tubes, shelves of chemicals, and myriads of laboratory paraphernalia.

  “Mr. Cooper,” Lucy Holland said, moving closer to the director, who continued to look toward the room’s ovaled top, his eyelids fluttering.

  Lucy Holland stood at the base of the platform, riveted by the scene, wondering what she should do to get his attention. The President of the United States wanted his attention. She must, somehow, make him aware.

  A dense, black mass, the shape of its host’s body, emerged from Cooper. The girl’s eyes widened in terror when she saw the creature, its huge eyes like burning coals, its slitted mouth widening to expose a cavernous void with fang-like teeth guarding its opening.

  Chapter 19

  Lori let the warm water hit her face. She reached upward to adjust the old shower nozzle. She guessed she was lucky that such an old house had a shower. And, it did seem out of place, more-or-less modern shower fixtures protruding from the wall at one end of the huge, antique bathtub.

  The water felt good, and that was all that mattered.

  She reached again to the fixtures, turning the left handle that was the hot water. She would make it as hot as she could stand it, because hot water streaming hard against her skin always seemed to help her relax.

  She could relax now, she considered while she reminisced about time she and Mark had spent together today, enjoying the trip to Sharkton. The quaint shops that were not quaint at all to the almost stereotypical New England natives of the little town at the inward most point of the inlet.

  She turned both knobs more fully to achieve a harder stream of hot water, then had to pull the shower curtain together at each end of the tub to prevent spray wetting the walls outside the tub.

  This third-floor bathroom was perfect. She could take her time. There were plenty of other bathrooms; no one would need this one…

  Mark led his father by the arm and directed him to be seated on the edge of the bed of the second-floor bedroom. The room was huge, with 14-foot ceilings and a large door at least 8 feet tall, with a transom above that.

  Mark figured rooms of homes of this vintage were probably so constructed to take advantage of the sea breezes during the warmest months. But, the house was no doubt full of unwanted draftiness during the brutal cold time of year, the home sitting atop the bluff where Atlantic gales could find their way through every crack…

  The place was fascinating, but the upkeep would be expensive. He and Lori would find, or build a house of a more practical sort…

  “Dad. I’m going to take my shower, now,” Mark said, bending to look his father directly in the eyes. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?”

  Clark Lansing glanced at his son, and then resumed his straight-ahead stare.

  “Here,” Mark said, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his father’s shirt.

  “Can you take it from here?” he questioned, trying to capture and hold Clark’s attention.

  His father began the process of slowly unbuttoning the remaining buttons but continued to stare straight ahead.

  “I’m turning back your bed,” his son said, pulling the cover neatly back from one corner of the big bed. “See, here.” He patted the area he had just cleared. “You lie down, when you’re ready. I won’t be long.”

  He looked again into his dad’s eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated, but Gessel Kirban had assured it was the result of the extended use of the PND. The pupils were already decreasing in size, the Israeli had said.

  What would he tell his mother? Despite his happiness at being with Lori again, the one thing that bothered him was that he had to tell his mother…

  How would she react? His mother loved his father. He knew that, because of the hours she spent going through pictures, and his father’s things. Mark, when a boy, often found her going through them, even when she wasn’t showing her son the many tangible memories.

  He would find a way to make it okay, he thought. His mother was happy with her husband, and his father was…he had another lifetime to live.

  “I’ll be back, Dad,” Mark said, patting his father’s shoulder, then bending to kiss his forehead. “Won’t be long.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Clark turned his head to see the sheer curtain that wafted in the breeze that blew suddenly into the room through the open window.

  Thunder crashed again, this time louder, the storm moving from the sea less than a quarter of a mile below.

  Clark Lansing stared straight ahead again, his eyes upon the door through which Mark had walked a minute earlier. His pupils dilated wider, and his hands began shaking, as if afflicted by palsy. His eyes turned upward until the irises were all but covered by the upper lids.

  His whole body convulsed in one sudden spasm before it settled to absolute stillness. Thunder rumbled above the old home again. Wind blew harder through the window, causing drapery to slap against a vase that sat on a table. The vase shattered against the portion of the hardwood floor not covered by the large oval rug.

  A black mass left the man’s body while the host sat on the edge of the bed. The featureless thing stood, its human-shaped limbs sparking with ominous arcs of electricity-like flashes.

  The crea
ture moved across the room and stepped through the shut bedroom door. Lori shut her eyes, turning her head upward to let the riverlets of hot water pour down her face, then her body.

  A shower was not the best place to be in an electrical storm, she thought. But, it felt so good…What were the odds? A random strike that would affect her here…in this wonderful, hot shower?

  When she opened her eyes, she saw the lights in the bathroom dim, then blink. They went out briefly, and then returned to full illumination.

  Guess it would be best to get out, she thought, turning to face the shower knobs. The lights flickered again, before she could turn the knobs, and she reflexively turned to see if they would go out again.

  The storm seemed directly over the old house, a clap of thunder shaking the dwelling to its foundation. The lights dimmed again, went out, then flashed on and off for several seconds.

  Lori saw, between the shorting out of light, a black figure pass through the wall at the end of the tub. She tried to scream, but the scream got caught in her throat.

  The thing stepped the rest of the way through the wall and the end of the bathtub. It stood glaring at her. Its eyes seemed to be burned, red-hot coals from the sulfurous embers of the creature’s own dimension.

  Lori stood, her terrorized mind calling upon the only source able to help her.

  “God! Jesus! Help me!” she managed to blurt.

  The monstrosity would possess her…as it had done in times past. It would have her soul!

  The beast lurched forward, its limbs and tentacle-like fingers sparking while it reached for her. Lori backed as far in one corner of the ancient tub as she could, cringing, her eyes wide, her mouth unable to expel her fear.

  The massive human-shaped beast slammed against her, with intention to indwell its one-time host. When the thing touched her body, the entire room flashed and crackled in a deafening electrical discharge.

  Lori felt nothing. The black, convoluting form seemed to come apart, to disintegrate then quickly reform. Its mouth was agape, its shark-like teeth gnashing, its blood-red eyes pulsing with the intensity of embers fanned by a sudden rush of wind.

  It reached to put its long, undulating fingers upon her arms. Again, a powerful burst of electric-like discharge lit the entire room in a blinding flash.

  Lori shut her eyes and prayed while she cringed, awaiting the next assault. When she again opened her eyes, she found herself alone in the shower; she heard only the running of water cascading from the shower nozzle, and muffled thunder from the storm that had passed and now receded in the distant.

  She screamed… At last, she could scream!

  Robert Cooper’s eyelids fluttered, his eyes again able to take in his present surroundings within the oval chamber. He looked to the rounded walls. All were in place, each wearing their PND device. Something was amiss, and he tried to clear his thinking, removing the PND helmet from his own head.

  Something was wrong. Something had intervened…

  Cooper saw his secretary, who stood near the double doors. She was frightened, and could only stand, cowering, unable to speak or move.

  He stepped from the platform and placed the PND on the platform’s surface, then quickly walked to the girl.

  “What are you doing here, Miss Holland?” he demanded, grabbing her forearms. She didn’t respond.

  “Lucy! What are you doing here?!” he shouted, shaking her.

  She blinked, as if clearing her senses. She looked at him, her eyes filled with terror.

  “Sir…the…the President…rather, Mr. O’Rourke has a message from the President for you…” she said in a whimper.

  Lori’s father was the first to arrive at the third-floor bathroom door. He tried the door. It was locked.

  “Lori! Are you in there?!” he shouted, shaking the doorknob.

  Christopher Banyon joined James Morgan, who again shouted.

  “Lori!”

  He started to put his shoulder to the door when the door unlocked and opened.

  Lori stood shivering in her robe, water still beaded on her face.

  Her father hugged her. “Are you okay, Sunshine?”

  She said nothing but nodded “yes.”

  “What happened?” Christopher asked, seeing that the girl seemed in shock.

  “Lori!” Mark said, while rushing into the hallway, still dripping water, wearing only his jeans.

  Morning of June 28

  “I don’t know, Daddy, maybe it was just the storm. Maybe lightning struck the pipes, and that’s what I thought was … whatever I thought.”

  Lori was still frightened. Still wasn’t ready to talk about the terror of the night before. But, she knew her father, the pastor, Dr. Kirban and her mother had to be told.

  They had waited, let her have a night’s sleep, before going over everything again, more slowly, to make sense of it all.

  “It’s okay,” Mark said, while sitting with his arm around her on the sofa. “We’re here. It’s over. Nothing can scare you now.”

  “Just take your time, Baby,” Lori’s mother said. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You won’t be left alone again.”

  “The lights were flickering--because of the storm, I guess. Then, this dark, man-like thing. I don’t know. It was probably my imagination from the lightning strike--because of the stories of the dark creatures in Mark’s and Dad’s nightmares, or whatever. The whole room sounded like the electric chair or something was operating. The whole room was buzzing with the sounds of electricity.”

  Lori’s memory cleared.

  “No. The thing, I saw it, before the lightning strike. Not after the lightning.”

  “The house was never struck by lightning,” Christopher Banyon said, giving a concerned glance to James Morgan, then to Laura and Kirban.

  “We had no lightning strikes, just some browning out,” Gessel Kirban affirmed.

  “Then, what was it?” Lori asked.

  “You say this dark being walked right through a solid wall?” the Israeli scientist asked.

  “Yes, and through a solid bath tub. If I haven’t gone crazy, that’s what happened,” Lori said.

  Mark felt a shiver convulse her body, while he held her close.

  “I am afraid they have found us,” Kirban said. “Or something other…”

  “Something other? What are you talking about, Doc?” James asked.

  “Perhaps they have been with us all along, or, have come to us through Mark’s father,” the Israeli said.

  “Dad?” Mark said

  “Possibly. We shall see,” Gessel Kirban said, with a scientist’s resolve.

  Robert Cooper had been kept waiting long enough. More than 10 minutes. The fact that he had stayed on the line meant he was worried about what was in the offing from D.C.

  “Bob? You there?” the familiar voice asked through the phone receiver at Cooper’s ear.

  “Mal! How are you?” the heavily perspiring Cooper said, forcing a smile.

  “Sorry to keep you on the line,” Mallory O’Rourke lied, himself sporting a feigned smile.

  “Been with the President just now,” O’Rourke said, with smug satisfaction in his tone. “Wants us to do the regular check-up--nothing to fret about.”

  Many thoughts ran through Cooper’s mind, and he dabbed at the sweat on his face while he spoke.

  “Great! We welcome the agency,” he lied.

  The National Security Agency was home to a bitter bunch of people whom he didn’t want rummaging through his kingdom. Project Jehovah was begun at NSA. Defense had stolen it from them. Now he, Cooper, alone, had full knowledge of the true nature of the things stemming from Roswell--and before. They wanted to come in to Covert Operations and plow up all of it. They couldn’t be allowed…

  “Bob, now, we’ve had our differences in the past, and I know the position you’re in, with your having just assumed the job of director. We intend to make this as quick and as painless as possible.”

  “No problem, Mal. We’v
e nothing to hide at Covert Operations,” the Director said with a laugh.

  “We promise not to steal any secrets, Bob. We just want to give the President what he needs to understand everything that’s happened with regard to these sightings, and so forth.”

  O’Rourke’s feigned gentleness and singsong whine didn’t fool him. NSA snoops were going to give his operation an anal exam such as it had never experienced.

  “Really, the President just wants to have a clear understanding at this particular point in time, Bob, because of the change in administration head. Your taking Daniel’s place, and so forth.”

  “Hey…understandable. As I said, we will cooperate. Whatever it takes to get Mr. Johnson the information he needs.”

  “Good! Good! We begin Monday. Nine o’clock, bright and early!”

  When the connection was broken between Taos and Washington, D.C., Cooper sat, glaring into his surroundings, seeing nothing, his brain in hyper-drive. Two words kept stabbing into the deepest reaches of his mind: “Dark Dimension.”

  He was the only one who truly knew the scope and breadth of the heart of Covert Operations. The creatures from Roswell, they somehow had seen to it that no one but himself could look into the totality of “Dark Dimension.”

  They would have again –in their own special ways—to keep these presidentially appointed NSA bloodsuckers from getting to the project.

  NSA already knew about Majestic-12, and later Jehovah, the seminal projects that came from the Roswell era. Another President –Dwight Eisenhower--had appointed NSA to handle things, then. Einstein and Oppenheimer were the geniuses who held the accumulating secrets during that era. The Department of Defense had taken over through cabinet-level maneuverings when Einstein and Oppenheimer had passed from the scene. Project Jehovah, the name given the matters involved in the Roswell incident, seemed a gift from the Almighty. The many technologies that flowed from reverse engineering things found within the wreckage were far too crucial to be trusted to NSA.