If God Doesn't Show

by R. Thomas Riley

  If God Doesn’t Show

  R. Thomas Riley & John Grover

  Published by Permuted Press at Smashwords.

  Copyright 2012 R. Thomas Riley & John Grover

  Cover art by Zach McCain

  www.PermutedPress.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Part I – Thaddeus Archer

  Part II – Gibson

  Part III – Endgame

  About the Authors

  Part I

  Thaddeus Archer

  “Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.”

  —Carl Gustav Jung

  Chapter One

  Seventeen Months Ago

  Washington, D.C.

  Thaddeus Archer sighed as the alarm blared in the dark bedroom. It felt as if he’d just closed his eyes minutes before. He rolled over and reached out a hand to discover his wife’s side of the bed empty. He felt the depression of her body and found the covers were cold. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He peered about the darkened bedroom, and saw her silhouette rocking in the chair in the corner.

  “Honey? Everything all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”

  “How long have you been up?”

  “For a few hours.”

  Thaddeus slid from beneath the covers and padded over to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. He grimaced at the frailness beneath his hand. She was losing weight, and it worried him. Thaddeus was a proud man, and it pained him to see his wife in this condition, where he was powerless to help in any way.

  “The dreams again?”

  “Yeah.” Tracy sighed.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No, I’m fine. You need to get moving or you’re going to be late for work.”

  With that, she brightened and rose from the chair, embracing Thaddeus and breathed deeply of his morning scent. The embrace caught him by surprise. She hadn’t been intimate with him for months now, even cringing at his touch if he initiated contact. He hugged her close to him, once again noting the unsubstantial feel of her body against him. He sucked in a breath to steady his nerves and ventured, “Maybe you need to talk to someone…”

  Tracy pulled back and eyed him like a cornered animal. Thaddeus tried to offer her a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a terrified grimace.

  “I’m fine,” she growled, eyes flashing with anger. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “OK, OK.” Thaddeus retreated. “Get some rest. I should be home early today. The president is staying in-house.”

  He disengaged from the embrace and moved towards the bathroom to start his day. At the doorway, he paused and glanced back at his wife. She stood where he’d left her. Her right hand twitched as she watched him, but her eyes were vacant. Her look scared him more than any armed assailant’s stare ever had.

  He spent longer than he wanted in the bathroom, but he didn’t want to face his wife just yet. He eyed himself in the mirror as he shaved, wrestling with a decision he was quickly coming to. Unbeknownst to Tracy, he had used his power as a Secret Service agent to pull her medical records. The general public was under the impression that medical records were private, but in this new age of The Patriot Act that was no longer the case. With all the disturbed individuals writing angry letters to the president, the service had the ability to secretly look into anyone’s medical history without their knowledge or consent.

  He’d been loath to do this to his own wife, but Thaddeus had to know. What he found made matter even worse. Tracy’s family had a long history of mental disorders. He’d never known any of this, nor had Tracy ever mentioned her family’s history. With research, he had discovered that mental illness sometimes skipped a generation or two, and he rested his hope on this. He thought of Casey, their daughter, and hoped this was the case.

  Still, knowing about this history was one thing, dealing with and approaching it would be an entirely different issue. The moral quandary of violating his wife’s private medical records would wound her if she found out. They’d always been open and honest with each other from the first time they’d met, or so he’d thought. She’d be furious he’d used his Secret Service powers to look into her past as if she were a common criminal.

  He heard her moving around in the bedroom and quickly finished up. After exiting the bathroom, he watched as she made the bed. As he watched her move, he sighed with happiness. She still had the ability to make his heart race just by looking at her. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Just watching. And enjoying the view.”

  “You’re going to be late,” she admonished.

  Thaddeus smiled as she blushed. “I love you, you know that?”

  “You’ve mentioned it a few times,” she said playfully.

  “I just want you to be OK.”

  “I am. Trust me. I’m just tired, like I said.”

  “Baby? If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

  She turned to fully face him and crossed her arms. Thaddeus tried not to read into her posture. He’d been trained to intuit people’s body language, and hers was screaming defensiveness. He would have to tread carefully. He hated treating her like a suspect, but that was exactly what he was doing.

  “I always tell you everything,” she said. “I always have.”

  Thaddeus sighed, but plunged ahead. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Maybe you should go see a doctor…”

  Tracy’s eyes narrowed at this, but she held her peace. Her body language became more pronounced, more defensive.

  “Whatever it is, I’m here for you,” he said. “You know that. We’ll get through it together.”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice went tight.

  “No, you’re not.” He’d already come this far. He wasn’t going to retreat now. “Something is wrong. I’m worried about you, honey.”

  “Stop treating me like a damn suspect.”

  The change in her demeanor was instantaneous. She rushed him, and he barely had time to react. He caught her wrist and scarcely avoided the slap. She gasped as he squeezed her wrist in his powerful hand.

  “You’re hurting me, Thaddeus.”

  “Mom? Dad?” Both of them started and glanced at the doorway, where Casey watched with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

  Thaddeus quickly released Tracy’s wrist and retreated a few steps. “Nothing, sweetie,” he said, slightly out of breath from the adrenaline rush. “We’re fine. Everything is OK.”

  “It’s OK, baby.” Tracy eyed Thaddeus and nodded. “Fine. I’ll go see the doctor.”

  “Doctor?” Casey echoed.

  Tracy came over and embraced their daughter. “It’s fine, baby. It’s probably nothing, but your father is worried, and I really should have a checkup. It’s been a few years.”

  As she comforted Casey, Tracy gave Thaddeus a cold look. The love he’d seen earlier was completely gone from her face.

  Thaddeus wanted to be anywhere but that bedroom. He raced over and grabbed his jacket and attached his gun to his hip. His wife and daughter were blocking the doorway, so he waited, rather than push past them.

  “Dad only wants the best for you.” She looked at Thaddeus, and offered a sweet smile as the embrace broke.

  She’s good, he thought.

  Casey had been bugging him for permission to go into the city with friends, and he’d been holding fast on saying no, but she was using this fight between him and Tracy to score some points by taking his side. He loved her for that. Yes, it was manipulative, but
it was pure him as well.

  The tension in the room dissipated as quickly as it had formed. Tracy broke the hug and motioned for Thaddeus to join the embrace. He gladly joined in, embracing the two most important women in his life close to his massive chest. Breathing both their scents in, he wanted to cement this moment in his mind as best he could. It was moments like these that allowed him to wade through the human filth he dealt with at work. It let him know there was still some good in life.

  Chapter Two

  Fifteen Months Ago

  Washington, D.C.

  Thaddeus pawed through the magazines on the table before him. He hated hospitals, had always hated them, and their reading materials sucked. He tossed the copy of Good Housekeeping aside with a sigh.

  Casey glanced up from the latest issue of Rolling Stone and grinned. Thaddeus frowned as he saw the boy on the cover. Really? SUPER BOY! the headline exclaimed. What had happened to music? he thought with disgust. This kid was everywhere, and teenage girls went wild for him, but he had no talent that Thaddeus could see. He was just a cute boy with a ridiculous haircut, and he was on the cover because he cut that hair. Really? Thaddeus missed the old days—the days of Motown and the classics—where singers actually wrote their own songs and possessed real talent.

  “Take it easy, Dad. You’re gonna explode.”

  He got to his feet and paced. He hated everything about hospitals—the smell, the death and sadness.

  A door opened and Tracy emerged. Thaddeus stopped pacing and tried to gauge how the meeting had gone, but Tracy’s face offered nothing.

  Casey leapt up from the couch and rushed her mom. She hugged her, but Tracy didn’t return the embrace. Thaddeus saw Casey sensed something was the matter. The girl pulled back and eyed her mother.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tracy ignored her and looked at Thaddeus. “The doctor would like to speak with you.” With that, she shrugged Casey away and walked out of the room.

  “Dad?” Casey’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “It’ll be OK, honey.” Thaddeus made his way to the door of the doctor’s office. He paused and hugged his daughter to his chest. “Why don’t you go find your mother? Get some food from the cafeteria or something. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Thaddeus faced the door and steeled his nerves. He wasn’t this nervous serving a search warrant. As he entered, the doctor glanced up from a medical file and smiled warmly. He came out from behind his desk and briskly shook Thaddeus’s hand.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Archer, please.”

  He sat in the chair, and wasn’t impressed it was lower than the doctor’s desk. He’d used the same tactic with interrogations.

  The doctor returned to his chair and sat, peering down at the file before him. Thaddeus let the silence lengthen—his one advantage in this loss of control. The doctor finally glanced up and closed the file before him.

  “Mr. Archer.”

  “Just cut to the chase, Doc.”

  Dr. Klein, according to the brass nameplate on his desk, sat back in his chair and tented his fingers. He looked to be about forty years old, but Thaddeus figured he was closer to thirty. He wondered how many people the kid (he thought of him as a kid) had actually given bad news to before. Thaddeus shifted in the chair and tried to sit up straighter, but it was no use.

  “Are you aware of Tracy’s drug use?”

  This was unexpected. He blinked in confusion, and Klein eyed his reaction.

  “I can see you weren’t. OK, first things first. The drug use is a direct result of an underlying condition. Address that condition, and the drug use should be easily reconciled.”

  “Underlying condition?”

  “Your wife is ill, Mr. Archer,” Klein said. “Look, you want me to give it to you straight, so I am. Tracy is suffering from the onset of early dementia, made more serious by attendant circumstances of hereditary schizophrenia.”

  Thaddeus felt as if the chair would swallow him whole. He wrestled his bulk from the lush leather and stood. Klein leaned back in his chair slightly, but Thaddeus waved him off.

  “Don’t worry, Doc, I’m not going to do anything…crazy.”

  Thaddeus was the only one to laugh at this attempt at humor. “So, let me see if I know what I’m talking about. Symptoms of schizophrenia include, but are not limited to, paranoia, hallucinations, trouble understanding or speaking a native language, religious mania, sudden bizarre behaviors, such as setting a room on fire and sitting to watch the flames, inability to take care of oneself, and problems with long-term and short-term memory. How am I doing so far?”

  Klein nodded. “I see you’ve been doing some research on your own. How long have you suspected?”

  “About a month.” Thaddeus sighed. “But Tracy hasn’t exhibited—”

  “She’s in the early stages,” Klein said. “We will still have to run a few tests, MRIs and the like. Schizophrenia is profoundly difficult to diagnose, as it mimics many other mental illnesses. But after having a brief discussion with Tracy, I feel she is indeed suffering from it, based on my experience.”

  “The dreams…”

  “Yes, she’s told me a bit about them—reluctantly, of course. Mr. Archer, your wife is scared, confused, and feeling alone at the moment. The illness is making her paranoid and unsettled. Her reactions to me, to you and your daughter, are not really hers—it’s the disease. The faster we treat this with medication and therapy, the better chance we have of managing it.”

  Thaddeus stopped his pacing and placed his hands on the desk, leaning in close to Klein. “You’re saying put her in a facility?”

  “No, not at all. There’s no need for that—at least not yet. I know what you do for a living. I know you have an idea of what schizophrenics do, and how they act. You deal with them at their worst in your protection of the president. This is not your wife. This can be managed if we begin treatment right away.”

  “OK. Lay it out for me, Doc. What are the options?”

  Chapter Three

  Twelve Months Ago

  Washington, D.C.

  “Casey! Casey, have you seen my wallet!” Thaddeus called, as he rushed about the kitchen. He was already going to hit traffic if he left now. Any more delays and fifteen minutes late would bleed into an hour. Just as his daughter drifted into the kitchen, he spied the wallet on the far counter. With a sheepish grin, he held it up as she rolled her eyes.

  She’d been out all night again, he noticed. Eyes blood-shot and half-lidded, she fumbled for a bowl and cereal. Thaddeus opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He couldn’t afford to start a fight now, and he loathed leaving for work with each in their respective corners.

  “Any plans today?” He tried to sound as innocent as he could.

  Casey fixed him with a blank stare as she reached behind her for the milk on the counter. “I think I’m just going to sleep for a bit.”

  “Rough night?” Thaddeus cringed as soon as the retort left his mouth. “Sorry.” He sighed. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

  “I’m fine.” Casey gave him a sullen look, then burped and grimaced.

  “Hey, kiddo… I know things are hard. They’re hard for me too. I miss your mom—really I do. Maybe we can go see her this weekend?”

  At first, Tracy had responded well to the treatments. She had seemed to be getting back to normal, or what passed for it. She still had her bad days and nights, but they had appeared less frequent. Once they’d figured out the correct dosages of meds, Thaddeus thought they’d be on the road back to regularity, but then Tracy relapsed and returned to drug use. Thaddeus tried to deal with the issue himself, but eventually admitted defeat, and checked Tracy into a rehab facility against her will. He still cringed at his wife’s reaction—the scathing things she’d said to him and Casey.

  Casey had had to watch the woman who given birth to her, bathed, fed, and clothed her, disintegrate right before her eyes. It’d been extremely hard on their daughter, and
he’d done his best to comfort her, but in her eyes, he was the one who’d taken her mother away, shutting Tracy away in some facility.

  Casey sighed and turned her back to him, hunched over the bowl, and shoveled cereal into her mouth.

  Thaddeus wanted to say more, but instead shoved the wallet into his pocket and walked out through the door into the garage. In a better time, he would’ve pecked his daughter on the cheek, but he hadn’t been able to do that for months. She bristled at the mere attempt these days—ever since he’d put Tracy in the facility.

  As soon as her dad disappeared through the door, Casey pushed the cereal bowl back and quickly got to her knees, opening the cabinet below the sink. She removed the rolls of paper towels and flung them behind her. Next came the cleaning supplies, flung with just as much disregard. A sigh escaped her lips as her fingers closed on the small, cellophane-wrapped package.

  Chapter Four

  Twelve Months Ago

  Rugby Rock, North Dakota

  The candle flames wavered in the wind, but didn’t go out. Any normal candles would have done just that, but these weren’t normal circumstances. A small group, numbering seven, stood about the rough circle of flames and hummed a single, mournful note. The tone was somehow pleasant and terrifying at the same time. On the rock, in the middle of the circle of candles, a young girl struggled against her bonds, but to no avail. Her eyes glistened with terror in the glow of the purple light. She fixed each person around her with a pleading look that would’ve melted any sane person’s heart. They merely stared at her and continued their chant.

  The girl’s name was Mountain Spring Runs Deep, if any of her captors had bothered to ask. She was on her way home from school on the Turtle Mountain Reservation, when a dust-covered van rushed up beside her and opened its doors to certain death. She knew no more until she awoke on this piece of bone chilling rock in the middle of the plains.