Into the Light

Chapter 35: gets weirder

Chapter: 35

And I saw what appeared to be a sea of glass mixed with fire, and those who had conquered the beast and its image and the number of its name, standing beside the sea of glass with harps of God in their hands.

The Book of Revelation 15:2

So dramatic that bible. But that's why so many loved it. It's like the soap operas of antiquity.

In a cement bunker underneath the streets of D.C., Darius is held without bond. Halogen bulbs above spit harsh light and he explains over and over that he was only doing research on cults. The interchangeable agents, men and women with brown hair and dark wool suits, ask the same questions about his lectures and his acquaintances. The sleep deprivation begins to soften his resolve. They of course don't believe him and tell him they know his kidnapping was a ruse.

"Who do you work for? What is their agenda?" echoes as if the walls of the interrogation room were hard of hearing and playing along with the minds games.

"Blake. Blake Moxely," Darius says.

The psychiatrist behind the two-way mirror taps his chin and thinks he's lying. He's using the Stockholm Syndrome defense.

He is detained indefinitely and his properties seized and searched. Days become a week and the search for Blake and a mendacious group Darius created called the Laser Light Coalition goes on. The television media has acquired certain leaked information about Blake the Feds hope will help flush him out and one anchor on a 24/7 news channel coined it the case of the "Crotchet Killer".

Blake has not heard of his new title nor has he heard from Stiggy. He has not dared go online in fear of revealing his position in the safe house arranged by credit card. He packs up and prepares to go to Canada and then on to Iceland now that his story is finished, complete at a refined twenty-five pages, and ready to be emailed to three media outlets including a conspiracy theory website named Apocalypse-the-unveiling.com. He stands watch at the window with a pair of binoculars at his side and sees a car pull up the road. He lifts the binoculars and sees Stiggy parking a red car on the soft shoulder just like they planned. A smile rises as the binoculars fall.

Evening gleams in the distance over the tree line and Stiggy, bundled in plaid shirts, parks his rusted red junker and walks up the winding, one lane, gravel road surrounded by snow covered trees in the pine forested piedmonts of Pennsylvania. Up the crumbling country road he spots the cabin just hours before Blake decided to make his leave. He knows this is the right place since he rented it. Numb hands go into his pockets and walks up the hard incline. A rustling in the brush makes him turn his head and he is greeted with an ambush. A gun hovers from the concealed bush and Stiggy stands still.

Blake turns on the kerosene space heater in the bedroom. The army surplus jacket keeping the chill off his skin is tossed on to an unzipped duffel bag. Stiggy is given orders and let go. He reaches the cabin door and knocks with a shaking hand. The door opens as the wind picks up.

"Where the Hell have you been? Thank the universe you're here," Blake says with crooked half smile.

"It took me a while to get the funds. You have all the money."

"Shit, sorry, I was kind of in a rush. Nice flattop and some earrings. Not really the best of disguises, but are they looking? I have not seen the news or anything so?"

"We are the 'Crotchet Killer', or you are."

"How unoriginal. I assassinate demons and they make me into some guy with a knitting fetish. So on to Canada soon and then the rest of the plans can be enacted. Are you coming?"