The Dark at the End

10

“Hello, Mister Drexler.”

Ernst had just stepped into his dark and supposedly empty apartment. He fumbled with the grocery bag he was carrying, almost dropping it in shock at the sound of the voice.

The One would occasionally surprise him by suddenly appearing in his office or apartment. But this was not the One’s voice. Ernst almost wished it were. It would mean…

“Who are you?”

“An old acquaintance.”

Ernst felt for the wall switch, found and flipped it. The light revealed a nondescript man in his midthirties relaxing in a chair on the far side of the room. He looked like someone off the street: jeans, baseball cap, sweatshirt. He was clean shaven, with brown hair, brown eyes… and was that one of Ernst’s Grolsch lagers in his hand?

Something about his face ignited a spark of familiarity, but not bright enough for recognition.

“You look familiar…”

“Remember your little sojourn at the Lodge in Johnson, New Jersey?”

And then it all came crashing back.

“Jack.”

The man nodded. “Your former groundskeeper.”

Controlling his initial shock, Ernst walked across his front room and set the bag on the counter. As the answers to a number of long-running questions began to flash through his mind, he realized he might be in mortal danger.

Might be. Jack certainly had changed from the skinny teenager Ernst had known. He’d filled out but remained wiry instead of bulky. He didn’t look the least bit threatening. In fact, he appeared perfectly innocuous.

But if what Ernst suspected were true, he was anything but. Hard to believe, looking at him now, but no one knew better than Ernst how appearances could deceive.

Talk… get him talking.

“How did you get in here?”

“The door.”

“And how did you reach the door?”

“The stairs.”

Ernst clenched his jaw. The building was supposed to have excellent security. He’d have to have a talk with the management.

“I have armed guards from the Order who routinely…”

Jack was shaking his head. “No, you don’t. Weeks ago I followed you from the Lodge and I’ve been watching this place on and off since. You don’t have any extra security. And why should you? No one outside the Order knows who you are.”

True. He had no enemies. Except perhaps the man seated before him.

Stay cool and keep him talking.

“Rather ironic, don’t you think, that while you’ve been stalking me, I’ve been looking for you?”

“I assumed that,” Jack said.

“Am I so predictable?”

“After you learned that Weezy Myers was Weezy Connell of Johnson, En-Jay, and her brother Eddie was a member of the Order, I figured it wouldn’t take you long to start wondering what had happened to the third musketeer.”

“Yes, it was idle at first. Then I learned that you had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth.”

“Still on Earth, just off the radar.”

“But now you’re here. Any particular reason?”

“A little conversation.”

“Nothing else?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how the conversation goes.”

That had just enough of an ominous ring to bunch the muscles at the back of Ernst’s neck.

“Will we be a while?”

“Depends.”

Ernst didn’t ask again on what. Instead he pointed to the green bottle in Jack’s hand.

“I could use one of those. Shall I get you another?”

“Thanks. I’ll come with you.”

He realized it had been too much to hope for Jack to leave him alone in the kitchen, but it had been worth a try.

“I need to put some food away as well.”

A few months ago he’d found a wonderful German butcher, a man who made superb bratwurst. Brats had always been a comfort food for him, but over the years he had avoided too many of them for health reasons. After yesterday he didn’t see much point in worrying about his health, and he was in desperate need of comfort.

Jack hovered as he placed the perishables in the refrigerator, and Ernst thought about that term.

Perishable… we’re all perishable, but am I about to perish?

He removed a pair of bottles.

“Hope you don’t mind that I helped myself,” Jack said. “Not too many people stock Grolsch. Hard to resist.”

Keep him talking…

“Yes, the Dutch make excellent lagers, but not quite up to my favorite-Marzen.”

He found an opener and popped the caps. He handed a bottle to Jack and grabbed a Pilsner glass for himself-he didn’t drink from bottles. They returned to the front room where Ernst made a show of searching for coasters. He knew exactly where they were but opened two wrong drawers first. He pulled a Taser from the second and palmed it, thumbing the ON switch before quickly slipping it into his suit coat pocket as he pretended to discover the coasters in the third.

Now he felt a little safer. He had no idea how this might turn out, but at least he could protect himself.

He handed Jack a coaster and they settled into upholstered chairs, facing across a glass-top table.

“If I may ask,” he said, keeping his tone light, “how did you, as you phrase it, drop off the radar so completely? After a cursory search found no trace of you, I put some very skilled people to work looking for you. They came up with nothing.”

He shrugged. “I was never on the radar. Never bothered applying for a Social Security number, always worked for cash.” A quick smile. “You always paid me cash, remember?”

Ernst nodded. He remembered. Petty cash.

“A long time ago.” Half a lifetime.

“Why were you so intent on finding me?”

“You were a blank space that needed filling in. A mystery man. Brother Connell said you were a repairman, but I began to wonder if you might be related to another mystery man.”

“Really? And who might that be?”

How did he phrase this? Should he choose his words carefully? Why? Jack’s appearance here pretty much confirmed his suspicions, although he still found it hard to believe.

Might as well simply come out and say it.

“Someone involved with the Connells was using deadly force against the Order.”

Not a trace of surprise in Jack’s eyes as he said, “Now why would anyone do that? I mean, considering the caliber of people you sent against them.”

Ernst felt his saliva began to evaporate. Jack had just admitted to being that man. One thing to suspect, but to have it confirmed in such a matter-of-fact tone…

The skinny, innocent kid who had mowed the Lodge’s lawn had grown into a cold-blooded killer. Granted, he had been facing equally cold-blooded killers, but he had proved just as ruthless and much more efficient.

Ernst was trapped here with a very, very dangerous man. Was he armed? Of course he was.

Keep him talking.

He forced calm and shook his head. No need to fake bafflement. “How did that boy pulling the lawn mower behind his bike wind up…?” He shook his head again.

“Necessity.”

“What could-?”

He held up a hand. “I didn’t come here to tell my life story.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I’ve got a question, and you’ve got the answer. At least I’m assuming you do.”

Only “a” question? That was a relief. But what would happen if he couldn’t answer it?

“You seem awfully sure of that. Let’s see if you’re right. Go ahead: Ask.”

Jack spoke and the question seemed to hover in the air between them. Clear, succinct, to the point. He could almost see the words floating before him, but he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning. It sounded as if he’d said… but no… he couldn’t have.

“Pardon?”

“How do I go about finding the One?”

Ernst’s muscles seized, freezing him in place. His first impression had been correct. He’d truly asked about the One. But… impossible. He couldn’t know about him.

And then Ernst flashed back on a conversation with the One, perhaps a month ago. He had appeared in Ernst’s office and asked what he knew about the Order’s Lodge in Johnson, New Jersey. He’d made Ernst recount his stay there in excruciating detail. Ernst hadn’t perceived it at the time, but in light of what was transpiring at this moment, it occurred to him that the One had seemed especially interested in the young groundskeeper and his girlfriend who had invaded the Lodge one night with near disastrous consequences. Ernst had thought he was interested in the event, but now it was clear he’d been interested in Jack.

An unexpected symmetry: the One asking about Jack, and now Jack asking about the One.

“The one?” Ernst fought to maintain a neutral, mildly curious expression as he took a sip of his beer. He noticed the glass shaking in his hand. “The one what?”

Jack looked annoyed and the mild brown eyes hardened. “No games. I asked you a straight question. I expect a straight answer. You know exactly who I’m talking about: the One… the point man for the Otherness… Rasalom.”

Ernst choked and spewed beer across the table.

“Don’t speak his name!”

But a bigger shock than hearing the name said aloud was the realization that Jack knew it. Only the High Council of Seven and precious few others were privileged with the One’s name. Even Ernst wasn’t supposed to know it, but he’d heard it from his father shortly before he died.

Jack merely stared at him, waiting.

Ernst stared back as other connections formed. Jack knew something only a few in the Order were aware of. So had another man… the bearded man who’d accosted him in Central Park. He’d known about the One and the Fhinntmanchca. He’d pressed a good Austrian pistol under his chin and asked him questions.

And then Tasered him.

He remembered the feel of the current jolting through him, running from the back of his neck down his spine and limbs, coursing through his chest. Pain and helplessness-his useless muscles felt as if they’d melted.

He remembered the humiliation.

He imagined a beard on Jack and-yes… no question. Ernst had never seen the adult Jack, so he hadn’t recognized him through the beard. No doubt about it.

In a burst of anger he slid his hand toward the pocket where his own Taser hid. He’d bought it after the incident, hoping someday he’d have a chance to return the favor when he caught up to the mystery man. His fingers brushed against the comforting lump, then withdrew.

He was too far away. He’d bide his time till Jack was closer. Then…

“Last summer,” Ernst said. “In the park. That was you.”

Jack nodded. “I was in a rush chasing that Fhinn -thing, and neglected to introduce myself. Sorry.”

“The man I was with-”

“Hank Thompson.”

No surprise there. If he knew the One’s taken name, he probably knew as much about Thompson as Ernst did.

“Yes. He didn’t see you but is under the impression that you’ve met before.”

Jack nodded. “We have.”

“You do get around.”

“Not by choice.”

Ernst wasn’t sure what that meant, but didn’t want to waste time pursuing it when he had another question burning to be asked.

“How do you know about the One? How do you know his name?”

“We’ve met-a couple of times, in fact.”

The words struck like a blow. “Met? I don’t believe you. How could you have met the One? And if you really know him, why do you need me to find him?”

“We’re not on the best of terms.”

And then it became clear.

“You’re aligned with the Enemy.”

That was the reason for the One’s interest in him.

Jack frowned. “‘Enemy’?” Then nodded. “Oh, right. From your end, I work for the Enemy. From mine, you do.”

Ernst remembered secretly testing him for the Taint as a teen.

“How does someone so rich with the Taint come to oppose the Otherness?”

Jack shook his head. “Only the Ally can answer that. But you tell me: How does anyone with half a brain-and you’ve always struck me as an intelligent man-come to work for a force that is out to put some serious hurt on humanity?”

“Because the Otherness is going to win. I have no doubts about that and neither should you. Those who help it win will not, as you put it, have the hurt put on them.”

Jack gave him a lopsided grin. “You really believe that? You really think you can trust something like the Otherness?”

“As much as you trust your so-called Ally.”

Something flickered across Jack’s features. Pain?

“I don’t trust the so-called Ally. Not a bit. It keeps the Otherness at bay. That’s all it’s good for. And not for our sake. It has its own agenda. I learned that the hard way.”

Interesting. The Enemy-Jack’s Ally-was reputed to be as ruthless as the Otherness.

“Really? How?”

Instead of answering, Jack said, “You don’t strike me as a man with many illusions, so why do you think you’ll be spared if the Change comes?”

“ When it comes,” Ernst said, “the One will ascend to power, and those who aided him will ascend with him.”

“Right. You and your buddies in the Order will be seated at the right hand of God.” Jack laughed. “At the risk of sounding like John McEnroe, you can not be serious.”

“The multimillennial existence of the Septimus Order has been devoted to that. Our lore confirms it.”

He laughed again. “And you’re basing this on what-the word of a guy who feeds on pain and misery? Not exactly what I’d call an ironclad guarantee. After the Change he won’t need you or your Order anymore, Drexler. He’ll be top dog and all bets will be off. New rules will be in place and he’ll be the one making them.”

The words cut to the heart of Ernst’s own misgivings. He’d taken it as a matter of course that if the Change occurred during his lifetime he would be part of it. But would he?

Jack wouldn’t stop.

“What kind of leverage will you have, Drexler? Do you even have a promise? Did he ever say to you, ‘When I take over, you’ll be one of my lieutenants’?”

“Enough!”

Jack ignored him.

“I’ll take that as a no. But think about it: Even if he did promise, you’d have only moral leverage, and we know what kind of moral code this creep lives by. We’re talking about the guy who convinced Vlad that impaling people was an entertaining hobby.”

“That’s quite enough.”

“Face it, Drexler: If the One gets his way, you’ll be as screwed as the rest of us.”

Ernst felt something snap within him. With a cry he leaped across the room, pulling the Taser from his pocket as he moved. When Jack raised an arm to ward him off, Ernst rammed the prongs of the Taser against it and pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again with the same result.

Still seated in his chair, Jack stared up at him, his smile almost sad as he shook his head.

Ernst felt a pressure against his throat and angled his gaze downward. He realized with a start that the pressure originated from the muzzle of that same Austrian pistol.

Where had that come from?

“Drop it and get back to your seat.”

Ernst did just that, and watched as Jack rested the Glock on his lap and took a sip of his beer. He shifted his gaze to the Taser on the floor. What had gone wrong? It had been turned on, had had plenty of time to build a charge… It should have reduced Jack to twitching helplessness. What sort of man was this?

Jack looked at him. “Hit a nerve, huh?”

Ernst didn’t answer.

What is happening to me?

Where was the icy control that had been his lifelong pride? His father would be ashamed of him for letting someone-his former teenage groundskeeper, of all people-goad him like that. And it was clear to him now that Jack had been doing just that.

Was that what this visit was about? To demonstrate that Ernst was not in control-not of who entered his home, not of his own emotions?

“Where is he?” Jack said.

That question again. Was this his true reason for coming?

“The One? I don’t know.”

Jack stared at him. Ernst tried to read his face. What next? Torture. Ernst didn’t see Jack as a torturer, but he was rich with the Taint, and someone with so much of the Otherness in him might be capable of anything.

“It’s true,” he added. “The One answers to no one and has never felt the need or obligation to keep the Order informed of his whereabouts. Communication with the One is, fittingly, a one-way street. When he wants something from us, he contacts us. We do not contact him.”

Jack kept staring in silence. He was beginning to make Ernst uncomfortable. Finally he broke it.

“When was your last contact with him?”

“Weeks ago.”

“After your Jihad virus failed?”

How did he know that? Did he have a contact inside the Order? Oh, yes. Edward Connell. It must have been him.

Ernst saw no use in playing coy.

“Yes.”

“Is that when he put out the hit on the Lady?”

Ernst stiffened and tried to hide it. “Yes.”

Jack frowned. “You hesitated.”

In truth, he didn’t know when the One had ordered the attack. Szeto never mentioned it.

Ernst dodged that. “May I inquire as to why you wish to know his whereabouts?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Ernst barked a laugh. He couldn’t help it. He waved a hand. “I apologize. Kill the One? Your hubris borders on the surreal.”

Jack seemed unperturbed. “You think he’s invulnerable?”

“Well, no. But he’s so much older and wiser than you. If you know his taken name, then I’m sure you’re aware that he’s survived countless attacks over the thousands of years of his life, many of them launched by one of equal longevity who is far more capable than you. And yet he is still standing.”

“So is the one who made those attacks.”

“Ah, yes. The so-called Defender or Guardian or Paladin or whatever he’s called these days. But where is he?”

Jack rose from his seat. “That was my question to you: Where is the One?”

“I told you: I don’t know.”

Jack closed the distance between them and stood over him, reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

Now what? Ernst wondered. A knife? A bullet?

No… something small and metallic in his hand. Ernst flinched as it landed in his lap.

“Your little gizmo will work better with that.”

Ernst glanced down and saw the Taser’s battery, then looked at Jack’s retreating form.

“That’s it?”

Jack turned at the door and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his baseball cap. “That’s it.”

“But…” Ernst didn’t know what to say.

“You say you don’t know where he is or how to find him, and I believe you.”

He was baffled. “Why?”

“Because if you knew, you’d tell me. Right?”

It hadn’t occurred to Ernst until this moment, but if he did indeed know the whereabouts of the One…

“Yes… yes, I believe I would.”

“Because you think I don’t stand a chance against him, and you’d like to see me get my just deserts for thinking I can take him on. Right?”

“Exactly.” This was uncanny.

He shrugged as he opened the door. “So there’s no point in continuing this conversation.”

He stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, leaving Ernst alone.