Midnight of the Soul-The Conclusion

CHAPTER 22: FAMILY TREE

After Jack returned to his room, he felt he had everything he’d be able to get that might help him. Nonetheless, two details escaped him. One pecked at his curiosity, and since he could do nothing for another two weeks, he figured he’d check it out as best he could.

Jack returned to Jefford’s place. This time, though, he didn’t order a meal. Instead, he approached Mr. Thompson, the restaurant’s current owner. “Yes, sir,” Mr. Thompson said, “can I help you?” Carl Thompson, of course, recognized Jack. Jack had been a decent, if quiet, sort.

“Mr. Thompson,” Jack replied, “I understand that Sam Jeffords used to own this restaurant. His condition prevents him from recalling details about his past that might be of current importance, so I was wondering if he had left any papers when you bought the restaurant that could help me out.” Carl had heard that Jack was visiting Mr. Jeffords regularly, so he didn’t need any verification for Jack’s request.

Carl shrugged. “Well, there were some papers. I went through the most recent books, and never really needed to check the rest. Don’t know if there’s anything in those that you’d find helpful, but I don’t have any problem with you looking.”

Jack thanked Mr. Thompson and went back with him to the room where those unopened books lay. He began to review them.

It took Jack a few days to find what he was looking for. He reviewed old recipe books, financial records of the restaurant from the day it opened, and other items of no real interest. In thanks to Carl, he laid out what he thought might be helpful to him, organized and categorized. Then he found what he had been looking for.

It was an old notebook. Based on the final dates, it had been compiled in 1949 or 1950. It was a simple thing, really, though with a tremendous secret for someone who knew what to look for.

It was a family tree. Samuel Jeffords must have been compiling information on his family’s past in order to establish it. He’d gone back to 1753, when he’d found the item of interest to him and, over 50 years later, to Jack.

It seemed that Jeffords’ ancestors had been brought to America in the mid-18th century and sold to the owner of a rice plantation in South Carolina. The plantation owner’s name was George Peterson. It listed births from that point forward. Then it reached a branching that finally made its way to Samuel himself. Abigail Jeffords. At age 23 she’d given birth to a son. However, there was no line drawn to her husband. Instead, there was a “G.P.” next to her name, then a branching to that child.

Jack leaned back in the chair Carl had loaned him. Jack had seen Eleanor. If Abigail had had the same good looks, she might have attracted the eye of any man. And if the plantation owner had taken a fancy to her, well, who would stop him? He probably didn’t even need to use force. With the power to keep her from the more dangerous aspects of the plantation, that might have been enough to compel her cooperation. Jack shook his head, deciding that it wouldn’t have been. However, Abigail did have a husband and two children by him at the point when Samuel’s ancestor had been born. All three of them lived longer than would have been expected in that environment. What wouldn’t Abigail have done to make sure that they were safe? Jack felt that he had his answer now as to why Abigail would have given in to George Peterson’s desire.

Apparently the Petersons weren’t the sort to let consequences get in the way of their desires. Whatever strange ability the Petersons had, George’s actions had brought it into the Jeffords’ family line as well. However, Samuel and Eleanor were the antithesis of George and Rutherford. They were kind and decent people, not callous, cruel beasts like so many members of the Peterson family. Where Rutherford had used whatever gift nature, or God, or who knows what, had given him for personal gain, Sam would have used it to help other people, just as he’d been trying to help Jack.

Jack nodded. He had the answer to his second-to-last question. Of course, it was the answer to Jack’s final question that was the real bitch, and this time he knew there’d be no easy way to find it.

His last question was as simple as it was critical. Now that he had an understanding of what had happened, what existed now, and what was coming, how in the hell did he stop it from taking the lives of himself and his son?

CHAPTER 23: JEFFORDS GOES FOR A STROLL

Jack struggled with his final question for a week. He turned it over every which way in his head. He even logged onto New Age web sites, hoping for some answers. Nothing came remotely close to looking like a solution to his situation. Everything he thought of was no good, and he watched the days trickle away like water through a sieve. His resolve began to weaken. Why confront what you can’t beat? His desire for self-preservation began to work on him, and he came close to leaving Wickman, even if his son and his soul would be damned for it.

Then, on the afternoon of December 27th, he received a telephone call. It was Eleanor, and she sounded frantic. “Jack,” she pleaded, “can you come to Shady Oaks? Right now?”

Jack agreed, and hurried to Shady Oaks. When he got there Nurse Crawford led him into Samuel’s room, where Eleanor was looking through his closet. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Eleanor turned to him. “Dad’s gone.”

Nurse Crawford expounded on that statement. “After Mr. Jeffords got up he came downstairs like always. He ate a pretty big breakfast, then came back up to his room. That was a bit unusual,” she reflected, “since his general pattern was to go into the common area. However, it wasn’t so unusual that we took particular note of it. When he didn’t come down for lunch I went up to check on him. That’s when I saw that his room was empty.”

Eleanor turned to him. “Jack,” she said, “do you have any idea where he might be?”

Jack thought about it for a moment. “I can’t be certain,” he said, “and I don’t have any idea where he is now. But I think I know where he’s going. Don’t ask me to explain,” he cautioned, “but come New Year’s Eve, I think he’s going to be in the big resort up the mountain.”

Eleanor looked at him in confusion. She’d never heard of the place. Jack explained where it was. Nurse Crawford promised to send people out to look but Jack knew they’d never find Samuel Jeffords. He was too crafty for that and, Jack suspected, too powerful.

Jack was right on both counts. Jeffords knew the area well enough to evade those who were looking for him. He took a round-about path to the resort. Even if one of those looking for him were to see him, Jeffords could simply reach out with his mind and make them believe that the area he was standing in held only empty air. That’s what he’d done to the staff members at Shady Oaks who had stood between him and freedom. It was a terrible strain on him, but he was in the home stretch now so there was no reason to hold anything in reserve.

Jeffords knew where shacks existed, ones with old wood-burning stoves that still worked. He was able to melt ice and snow for water, and live on the food he’d smuggled out. He’d gotten his warmest clothes on before he left Shady Oaks and one other item, crucial to his plans to help Jack put an end to the evil that resided in the old resort. He actually used it for its intended purpose a couple of times, which he found a bit amusing. Now that he had burst his cocoon so completely, he knew he’d never be able to rebuild it. That was fine, because no matter how this turned out he wouldn’t need it again.

Jeffords’ mind wandered back over the events that had brought him here. When he’d first realized that he was different he was frightened and confused. It soon became clear that his ability to read and manipulate the minds of others was pretty much unique. Fortunately, his father had recognized the signs in his son and had helped him. He explained that ever since a slave master had had his way with one of Sam’s ancestors, the men in their line had these abilities, though with varying levels of power. Sam’s was apparently one of the greatest levels ever seen.

With his father’s guidance, Sam was able to learn to control his gift. For most of his life he used it to help people. He never used it to take an unfair advantage or for personal gain. He’d ended up living a fairly simple life, and was content to do so.

Then, on New Year’s Eve, 1948, everything had changed. When Rutherford took his first child in order to fuel his mad construct, Samuel had sensed it and, thanks to the blood he shared with that selfish, murdering bastard, had to endure every hideous detail. New Year’s became Samuel’s private hell from then on. Through his intelligence, insight and instincts, he’d learned who his enemy was, and began trying to stop Rutherford.

Samuel’s initial attempts had been to confront Rutherford directly. They had all ended in failure, and very nearly in his own death more than once. With the psychic energies of his “guests,” to draw upon, and with the life force that he stole from each child, Rutherford was simply too powerful. The fact that he lacked an actual physical body also made him immune to many of Samuel’s attacks. Therefore, Samuel had been forced to try something else.

By carefully observing what Rutherford did when he began the cycle anew each year, Samuel learned that whenever Rutherford stole a child, he had to extend his horrific web out into the area where the child was. Samuel used that against him in a sort of psychic judo. Rutherford had been unable to prevent Samuel from taking those tendrils and roping in the mind of the father of the stolen child. This gave the father insight into what was happening, and he certainly had a strong motivation to stop Rutherford.

Samuel thought at first that that would be enough, but it wasn’t. The first father had been unable to do anything but go insane and then die when he confronted Rutherford. The following year Samuel tried to help his proxy hero directly. That didn’t work either, and almost got him killed along with the father and his son.

Despite these setbacks, Samuel never stopped trying. Rutherford had worked to break him down by projecting waves of negative energy at him. However, Samuel’s mind was strong, and alive, and he’d been able to defeat those attempts, at least at first. Unfortunately, Rutherford never stopped trying, never weakened, never aged. With the patience of the dead he continued wearing away at Samuel’s mind like water wearing away at a rock.

Over the years, Samuel tried again and again to turn Rutherford’s power against him and use the father of each stolen boy to combat Rutherford. Sometimes the father’s mind would be so unreceptive that the tendrils wouldn’t take. Even some of the ones who had been receptive, and had come to Wickman, had been unable to accept what they had found and ended up leaving without even challenging Rutherford’s evil. Those who came and actually did challenge Rutherford had died, one after the other. Every tactic that Samuel and the fathers had thought up had failed.

Failures of such scope would beat down even the strongest mind. Furthermore, each year Rutherford could recharge while Samuel had only the strength with which he had been born. Each hellish New Year’s Eve also broke Samuel down a little bit more. Eventually, Samuel had sensed that Rutherford was on the verge of cracking him apart, and thus he had woven his protective barrier, which he opened as necessary to bring another champion into the fight. He’d done his best to continue fighting, but knew he had nearly reached the end of his strength. Deep within his cocoon of amnesia, he began to know despair.

Samuel thought about Jack, and a ray of hope shone through the darkness of his memories. Fortunately, Jack had been good, better than anyone Samuel had previously worked with. This made Samuel decide to go for broke, and he could only hope that his plan would work. Either way he’d given it everything he had, and according to his father that was all a man could be asked to do. As he drank a cup of melted snow and ate from the store of food he’d smuggled out, he just prayed that it would be enough.

CHAPTER 24: SELFLESSNESS

On New Year’s Eve, when all attempts to locate Mr. Jeffords had failed, Jack suggested to Eleanor that they be at the resort at 11:00 P.M. Jack decided that he would arrive earlier, planning to be ahead of her. However, when he pulled into the lot at the old resort at 10:45, Jack saw Eleanor’s car was there already. She’d one-upped him, and he just hoped she wouldn’t die for it.

Having been unable to figure out what he’d do for himself or his son, Jack was at least resolved to try and save Samuel and Eleanor.

He parked, and entered the old resort for the last time. As it turned out, he had no need of a flashlight. Jack knew that the resorts lights would blazing even before he opened the door. With no surprise, he saw that the resort looked brand new, and the grandfather clock he’d smashed was now back in place, working perfectly. The sounds of laughter, conversation and music came from upstairs. Soon enough for that, he thought. For the moment, he had to deal with what was on this floor.

Jack saw Eleanor standing on the opposite side of the registration desk, where a clerk would have stood when the place had a purpose in the “real” world. He didn’t know what she’d thought of the noise or the lights, but he guessed that she’d been too pre-occupied with her father to care. He hurried over to her, and when he reached her she looked at him with raw panic. When he stepped into the office where, what seemed a lifetime ago, Jack had secured the employee register he saw why.

Samuel was sitting in a chair that looked like new. He’d taken off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves. In his right hand he held the straight razor he’d brought with him from Shady Oaks, and he obviously intended to use it to end his own life. He didn’t appear sad or desperate, just resigned.

“Hey there,” Jack said in a conversational tone, “mind explaining what you think you’re doing?”

Sam looked up and smiled. “I knew you’d come. I’m trying to help you.” His light tone belied the act he was about to commit.

Jack was confused. “How does killing yourself help me?”

Samuel looked at him with kindness in his face. The razor didn’t waver, however, and remained poised to cut his arm open from wrist to elbow. Jack knew that if he moved any closer, or tried to physically restrain Samuel, he would make that cut. Given Samuel’s age and frail condition, he’d be dead before they could possibly get him to a hospital.

“He’s wanted me dead for a long time,” Sam told Jack. They both knew whom he meant. “He focused a lot of his energy on that effort. Well, I’ve let him reach me. Thing is,” Samuel continued with a wink, “when someone’s got you caught in a lasso, it can get a mite confusing as to who’s in control. I opened myself up and grabbed some of that energy he was pouring in. It’s in here,” he said, gesturing with the razor. “Once I’ve used it then you can take it and try to wield it against him. I don’t know how much good it’ll do, but it’s the best I’ve got for you.”

Jack took this in, and focused his own mind on the razor. He felt it pulsing with dark energy, powerful and destructive. Yes, this might just be something he could use. He then turned back to Samuel.

“Sam,” Jack said quietly, “you’ve done it. You’ve gotten a piece of his power in there. Now you can walk away. Just leave.”

“Nope,” Sam said, “man’s got to pay the piper when the bill comes due. Now’s my time to make that payment.”

“Maybe,” Jack said quickly, knowing it was futile to argue that particular point, but then striking on something that might work. “But what about her?” With this, Jack gestured back to Eleanor, who was so confused and frightened she couldn’t have moved if her feet were on fire. “Is this how you want her to remember you? Is this the image you want her to carry for the rest of her life?”

Jack’s words reached Samuel. He’d opened himself up so fully to Rutherford’s energies that it was now a compelling desire for him to end his own life. However, Samuel had a core of decency that nothing could destroy. He cared for others more than he cared about himself. He always had, and always would. In the end, that was the key difference between himself and Rutherford, bloodlines and power be damned. The pain he would cause Eleanor outweighed his desire to take his own life. It was the only thing that could have reached him.

“Well son,” Samuel said to Jack, speaking to him for the final time, “I guess you’ve got a point there.” He then handed Jack the razor, got up, and walked over to Eleanor.

“Take your father home,” Jack told her, and she moved to obey. Sam didn’t resist. Eleanor looked back at Jack as she reached the door. “What about upstairs? Are those people supposed to be here?”

Jack did his best to take on an unconcerned air. “Not really,” he told her. “But don’t worry, I’ll go up and take care of it.”

Eleanor nodded, though she had no idea what was going on. She just knew she had her father back, and that Jack seemed confident everything was all right. She headed out into the cold and Sam went with her.

Jack hoped he hadn’t been lying to Eleanor, but if he had then it was the last lie he’d ever tell. He looked up the stairs. Despite the blazing lights, he felt the darkness. He sensed the reality of the hotel, but also felt how it was held at bay for these precious hours. He therefore saw the staircase both as lit and dark, physical and unreal, ancient and eternally young. With no real choice any more, he began to ascend the stairs, placing the razor, pulsing with dark energy, in his pocket.

CHAPTER 25: THE PARTY

When he reached the top, the sounds of the party were clearer. He went unerringly towards the main party room, and came to the wide double doors. He knew that over fifty years ago Mary had seen her husband for the last time while standing in this doorway. He took the steps that she did not, entering the room.

The newspaper pictures had truly not been able to do this place justice. It was wide and airy, with large windows showing the night sky. He looked around, noting everything while searching for the only thing that mattered to him.

The broad wooden tables were filled to overflowing with excellent food and drink. Roasts, corn on the cob, pastas, chicken, fruit, steaks, lobster tails, cakes, pies, mousses and custards were available in abundance. Scotch, Sherry, a dozen different kinds of wine, Run, Vodka, and many other beverages were all elegantly displayed. The waiters were resplendent and professional. The musicians were first rate. The floor was covered in a gorgeous carpet. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

It was among the guests that Jack looked, realizing finally where his goal would be. The guests were dressed in tuxedos and dresses of the finest quality. Some were at the tables, others near the musicians, dancing, and still others were chatting. Jack missed Rutherford’s keen gaze sweeping over him because Jack’s attention had finally latched onto the object of his own search.

Andy was at the sweets of course, stuffing himself with chocolate cake, his favorite. When Andy had awoken from the long slumber that Rutherford had imposed on him, he had seen the impossible. To him, one moment he had been standing in the woods, and felt someone grab him from behind. The next moment he had opened his eyes to this strange party. A sense of unreality had washed over him and he could only surmise that he was dreaming. After all, where else could such a thing take place? Rutherford had latched onto this thought, and used his mental powers to reinforce it.

“It’s only a dream” was such a comforting idea. Secure in the knowledge that he had simply fallen asleep after his picnic lunch, and that he would wake soon enough, Andy had wandered happily about the room, eating heartily. When he saw his dad, he figured that the dream was simply taking an even more reassuring turn.

Jack bounded across the room, tears filling his eyes, and scooped up his son, hugging him. Ordinarily Andy would have squirmed out of his father’s arms, especially in front of so many people. Now, however, sensing deep down how wrong things were, he hugged his father back, dropping his cake. “Dad!!” he cried out in joy.

They should have attracted odd stares, this boy in jeans, a cotton shirt and gym shoes, and his father in a heavy, casual sweater and boots, but they didn’t. The guests were quite used to the strange intruders that came in, and knew that they were of no consequence. If they didn’t fit the dress code, well, it’s not like they’d be back next year now, was it?

Jack finally put Andy down. His father’s presence began to eat away at Andy’s sense of safety. He looked about uneasily, and decided that this wasn’t such a nice dream after all. He even began to wonder if really was asleep. Andy then looked back at his father. “Dad,” Andy said, “can we go home?” Jack looked at the doorway, but knew that trying to just walk out wouldn’t work. It was like a pitcher plant, seductively easy to enter, but now that they were in getting out wouldn’t be so simple.

“Sorry kiddo,” he said, “not just yet.” Andy wasn’t happy with this, but had no choice other than to accept it.

Then Jack looked over at Rutherford. At that moment, the Master of Ceremonies was flirting with an attractive blond woman. Jack suddenly knew her name: Wanda Wrenford. He was linked deeply into the matrix now, and these thoughts came to him almost instantly. That was how he also knew that she’d been called “Willing Wanda” when she was younger, and that her husband was standing nearby, unhappy with what was going on. Albert Wrenford wasn’t going to do anything about it, though. He was wealthy, but his businesses hadn’t recovered fully from the Depression. He assumed, based on the extravagance of the party and on the Peterson family’s long history, that Rutherford was doing far better, and thus Wrenford felt he wasn’t in a position to act. Had he known the truth, things would have been different, but of course Rutherford had created this illusion with the idea of keeping everyone fooled, and he had done a good job of it.

Jack nodded. It was exactly as he had surmised. Rutherford had inherited enormous psychic power from his bloodline. When he saw that his fortune was failing, he put what remained to its ultimate use. At the moment of the toast, with all thoughts joined as one, he bound every mind in the room into a web of interlocking mental energy. As those in the room died from the poison in the champagne, he pulled their mental energies, and indeed their very souls, into his construct. With death coming so suddenly and unexpectedly, he was able to wash away their understanding of what had happened, and fill it with the illusion that they still lived. With their minds shying away from the thought of being dead, those in the room with Rutherford were willing accomplices to their own enslavement. Each New Year’s Eve they awoke and continued their party.

Jack also understood the role Andy was to play in all of this. He knew that either this construct that Rutherford had created would die or else Andy would die. In order to prevent that, Jack had to sever the web at its center. Jack decided that now was as good a time as any to take his shot. He pulled out the razor Samuel Jeffords had nearly killed himself with. Its dark power was beating like a living heart. Razor in hand, Jack started for Rutherford.

As Jack began to push through the crowd, Rutherford put up his own defense. He nodded at another guest. This was Troy, someone who had been his ally for years prior to the time when this party had had living guests in attendance. After getting Troy’s attention, Rutherford flicked his eyes at Jack. Troy had learned over the years that it was better to obey Rutherford without question. Thus, with no thought of his own safety, Troy stepped forward and intercepted Jack. He grabbed at Jack’s arm. Jack pulled free, but Troy continued to bar his way, heedless of Jack’s weapon. Enraged, Jack slashed the razor down into Troy’s face, expecting to cut him with it, hoping to back him off so that Jack could attack his true enemy.

Instead, the razor went into Troy like a stone into mud. Troy’s mouth opened wide and he screamed. The sound jarred Jack, but he grimly held onto the razor. Troy’s face then split apart, followed by his body. There was no blood, no bone and no internal organs. Instead, Troy fell into pieces that rained down and seemed to fade into nothingness.

The music stopped. The guests looked at where Troy had been standing. Jack felt a surge of elation. “Bless Sam!!” he thought. “This is going to work! All he had to do was . . . .”

Then he looked at the razor. It was cracked and dull. All the power it had held was gone. Jack’s mind went blank. His only weapon had depleted its charge, and he hadn’t come close to defeating his enemy.

Rutherford was able to detect what had happened as well. He laughed. “Well, I guess Troy won’t be joining us for our next party,” he exclaimed. Everyone but Jack and Andy laughed at this dark humor, then the music began again, and the party continued, just as it always had and, if Rutherford had his way, always would. The clock approached midnight.

Jack watched numbly as Andy came over to him. They stood together as Rutherford walked over to the ladder that would allow him to reach up to the top of the champagne glasses. He grabbed the bottles, which were in a leather pouch, and climbed to the top. The climb was difficult with all of that weight, and it would have been easier to have someone hand the bottles to him. Of course, if he did that, that person might have noticed the tiny holes in the top of each cork, the holes made by the syringe that Rutherford had used to put the poison in each one.

Rutherford began to pour the champagne. It made for a mesmerizing sight as it traveled down from glass to glass, a champagne waterfall. As it always did, it had a hypnotic effect on the guests. Coupled with Rutherford’s mental abilities, this was the first step in drawing everyone’s thoughts together, placing all of that mental energy into a form that Rutherford could use for his own ends. Jack sensed what was happening. So long as everyone was joined together and focused, Rutherford could not be stopped. He could mold this power into whatever he wanted, crush the laws of physics, bend anyone in the room to his will, and gain his selfish desires. This was what Jeffords had never been able to stand against, stop or defeat.

Jack shook his head, yet another piece of what had happened to bring him to this moment slipping into place. The champagne waterfall. The waterfall at his picnic spot. That was all the connection Rutherford had needed in order to get his avatar to Andy and back again to this place.

The champagne poured, Rutherford handed down the now-empty bottles, and then began handing down glasses. They were passed around, everyone excited and ready to savor their treat. When the glasses were handed to Andy and Jack they took them. Jack knew that it would do no good to resist, but Andy tried. His idea that this was a dream was no longer a comfort. Andy couldn’t help himself, though, and his hand wouldn’t obey him when he ordered it to let go. Jack knew that he’d be equally helpless to stop it from lifting the glass to his lips, or to stop himself from drinking the poisoned champagne.

What Jack had long since understood was that while Rutherford had created this matrix with his own powers, combined with the life force of the 102 other people who died in this room so that this matrix could come into existence, it required new life energy to return each year. The dead could only bring so much to the party, as it were. To keep this thing coming back needed not only life energy, it required young, vital energy to replenish itself for another year. That was why Rutherford had to steal a child each year, in order to sacrifice that child on the altar of his own selfish desires. And if the father came along, well, there was enough champagne for everyone.

Rutherford’s smile was especially broad as he descended the ladder. He knew that Samuel was used up. Even if the man who’d been a thorn in his side for so long lived through the night, he’d be powerless and no longer any sort of threat. Rutherford’s only true enemy was gone. Rutherford had won, and would keep his night of triumph and deception alive again and again, throughout all eternity. Deserving of Hell, he’d created for himself a sort of Heaven, and he was now confident that he’d never be forced to leave it.

Jack knew he had only moments to act. He thought about the door, or about trying to warn everyone that the drinks were poisoned. These were sane, rational thoughts, and he was sure that prior men had tried these strategies before and failed.

In a burst of insight, Jack realized just how completely useless the sane and rational were in this situation. This place was home to insanity, a skewed sense of priorities, and instinct. These were his only hope.

A madman had created this, and Jack knew with utter certainty that only a madman could destroy it.

The time it took for Jack to absorb these realizations almost stole his time away. Jack now had only a bare instant in which to act. Rutherford was about to begin the toast, and once it was started, Jack knew it would be impossible to stop. Had Jack paused to wonder at the odds of his fledgling idea working, or to examine the situation for another option, he would have been too late. However, Jack was past such considerations now. Thought and action were one for him.

“LIAR!!!!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, the accusation clearly directed at Rutherford. Rutherford paused in shock, his control over his creation momentarily going slack. Everyone looked at Jack.

Had Rutherford acted immediately to regain control he might well have prevailed. However, what Jack was doing was beyond Rutherford’s comprehension, and thus beyond his ability to counter. So far as Rutherford was concerned, Jack should have been screaming in fear, sobbing in resignation, begging for release, trying to run for the door, or convince everyone around him that they were dead and needed to let go of life once and for all. These were actions taken by the other men who had come this far to rescue their sons. The action Jack was taking was completely unprecedented and unexpected. Rutherford had been so certain Jack was no threat after his razor was exhausted. He was, therefore, stunned and had no idea how to respond.

Rutherford’s moment of hesitation was all Jack needed. He seized control of the psychic matrix, only dimly aware of what he was doing. He then began to turn it back on its creator, a Frankenstein’s monster that had slipped its leash and turned on the man who had given it life.

Jack advanced on Rutherford, who was still frozen in confusion and disbelief. Rutherford suddenly sensed how completely Jack was turning his own power against him and the direction he was taking matters. Helpless against his only real fear, Rutherford couldn’t marshal the will to stop Jack.

Jack spoke, ostensibly directing his words at Rutherford, but truly speaking directly into the construct that had allowed Rutherford to maintain his mad scheme. Fueled by fury and gripped by madness, Jack stabbed each word out as he would a dagger into Rutherford’s flesh. “I know that you’re ruined. You’ve lied to everyone here. You have nothing. You’ve lost your fortune, and spent the last remnants of your wealth on this party. You’re a fake, a fraud and, worst of all, a pauper.”

All eyes shifted from Jack to Rutherford. He took a step back. Only then did he truly recognize the danger Jack represented to him. He tried desperately to regain control of the mental web he had fashioned with such loving care, but it was too late. It functioned properly only when everyone was focused on a single mindset, but that was no longer the case. That focus was lost, and the shades he had controlled for so long now had questions for him to answer. Rutherford sensed they would not continue with the toast until Jack’s claims were dealt with.

Rutherford was therefore forced to face Jack’s accusations. He desperately wanted to deny them, to lie yet again to everyone assembled here. However, given the depth of the mental connection needed to keep things in place, that was no longer an option. He could lie only by inference. On this night, at this moment, he was too closely connected to his guests to lie directly. To break that connection now meant to destroy the matrix. To not break the connection meant failure as well. Rutherford was caught on the horns of this dilemma, and there was no way out. His guests saw the truth in his mind. He could do nothing to defend himself against this assault, nothing to maintain the illusion he had tended with such devotion, and ultimately nothing to save the pseudo-life that he had maintained on the blood of murdered children.

Wanda was the first to tilt her champagne glass and let the deadly liquid pour out. It had nothing to do with saving her life, which had been forfeit long ago in any event. It had nothing to do with stemming the tide of dead children, or freeing those who had been caught in the web that Wickman had become.

No, Wanda’s action was one of derision. How dare this pauper try to fool her, try to pretend that he still belonged in her world after losing his money? How dare he woo her with trappings of wealth he no longer possessed? She would not drink with, and certainly not to, this man.

Wanda’s husband was next, a smirk on his face. Rutherford was the poor one, Rutherford the one who didn’t belong here. Flirt with Wanda would he? Well, we’ll have no more of that.

One after the other, the guests began pouring out their champagne. Then the waiters followed suit, seeing how Rutherford had no money left to pay their salaries for the evening, and had never intended to do so. The band was next. On and on it went in a tidal wave of rejection, cresting ever higher. Each person who tilted his or her champagne glass and let the liquid flow onto the floor was like a sword thrust deep into Rutherford’s body. The powerful yet delicately balanced matrix that Rutherford had created began to fall apart. His hold over Jack and Andy slipped away.

Rutherford tried with all his might, all of his desperate fear and sick desire, to regain control. He tried to seize them all with his mind, force them to drink, force them to accept him. However, faced with contempt over his poverty, the one thing that he could not handle, Rutherford was helpless. His frantic efforts came to nothing, and he finally learned that he had lost all control of this thing he had created. His monster had come to bite him with the venom he had created it to avoid. Try as he might, it refused to yield to his will.

Jack and Andy were swept up in the tide. Even if they had wanted to, they were as unable to keep from pouring their drinks out as they had been to let go of them earlier.

As the energy that had powered Rutherford’s immortality ran out, and no new life force took its place, everything began to fade. As the clock struck the midnight hour, Rutherford felt his grip on reality slipping, and his long-delayed destiny take hold. What he saw himself sliding towards was something that Jack and Andy would never see. As he faded from view, slipping from the world forever, he had time for only one shrieked “NOOO!!!” and then was gone.

Jack and Andy stood in an old, dark, crumbling room. It was now only that and, for the first time in so many dark years, no more. Jack held his hand out to his son. “What do you say we head home?” he asked. Andy broke into a grin, took his father’s hand, and together they left the hotel, never looking back.

At the outskirts of Wickman, Samuel Jeffords broke into a smile. “At last it’s over,” he said, then slipped into the waiting arms of his own just rewards. He went to his afterlife mere moments after Rutherford, but their destinations could not have been more dissimilar.

CHAPTER 26: HOME

Angela Sanders had a blessed call to make.

Jack had just left, heading back to the job that, somehow, he still had. Andy was at school, working to make up for the time he’d missed. She waited until she was alone, then took the divorce papers, tore them up, and threw them into the trash. Next she called the attorney who had prepared the papers for her review and told him that his services would not be needed.

She thought back to when Jack and Andy got home. She had been amazed to see either one of them again, let alone both. The phone call she had received previously hadn’t quite seemed real, but seeing them in the flesh was so much different. Jack had gone upstairs, showered, changed, and gone to bed. He’d slept for almost 24 hours. At that point he’d gotten up and began putting his life back together with a vengeance.

She’d thought of asking him what had happened, but then hesitated. He’d gotten their son back. What else mattered? Her family was together again, and it looked like they’d made it past quite a dark patch. Did she really want to know just how dark?

Five months after Angela destroyed the divorce papers, some anonymous soul sent Jack a letter at his place of work. He vaguely recognized the return address-Shady Oaks, Wickman, Colorado. He opened it up and saw a newspaper article. It was from the Wickman World News, entitled “Nurse Crawford, We’ll Miss You.” It talked about Linda Crawford’s upcoming wedding to Andrew Jeffords, and subsequent plans to move to South Carolina. “We met at my grandfather’s funeral,” Andrew was quoted as saying, “we started talking about him, and well. . . .” His voice trailed off, according to the reporter, and his face took on a goofy grin.

Jack sat back and searched his feelings. He was glad to find only happiness there.

He shredded the article and never thought about Wickman, Colorado again.