The Evil Within the Woods Read online

  The limo pulled into the turn-around without slowing, and plowed to a halt. Smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe like breath from the nostrils of a steely white dragon. Joshua saw through the viewfinder a single word emblazoned upon the license plate: LYON. He watched as the front door of the limousine opened and a tall man dressed in a jet-black suit got out. The man’s arms hung loosely within his jacket as he looked around, expressionless. He went to the back door of the limo and opened it. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from the open door, making it look and feel like the entrance to an ancient lair. Joshua couldn’t be sure, but it seemed he could smell the smoke, even from this distance. The odor adulterated the otherwise-clean, fresh air of the morning. As Joshua watched, a large, fat man rose slowly – painfully – out of the backseat of the car. Joshua couldn’t help but notice how much the car rose once the man rolled out. It creaked, as if in relief.

  The two men stood next to each other—an amusing sight. The fat man was a good two feet shorter than the taller, skinnier man, and at least that much wider. Their dark suits drew a striking contrast to the world of white all around. Even though the morning sky was dull and overcast, both of them wore sunglasses—the darkest Joshua had seen. The fat man jammed a cigar between his lips and bit down with a grimace. The thin man produced a small shiny object and held it to the cigar. It was a lighter. Joshua thought it looked interesting and zoomed in. The fat man puffed for a moment, his jowls rippling as he pulled at the cigar. Then, the fat man turned and lumbered up the steps to the front door of the house.

  Watching him move, Joshua had the sense this man’s size was not merely fat; his movements were strong and solid and betrayed no look of being out of shape. He simply looked BIG—bigger than any man should have been!

  The door opened and Rosita greeted him pleasantly. As Joshua watched, it certainly seemed the fat man’s response was courteous enough. He followed Rosita inside the house and the door closed with a hollow thunk.

  Only somewhat disappointed, Joshua brought the camera back to study the tall, thin man again. The tall man’s hair was lank and greasy. He sported a pencil-thin mustache just below his long, hooked nose. The dark sunglasses seemed too big for his face—except for his ears, which looked more like the handles of a coffee mug than ears. What caught Joshua’s attention more than anything was the scar. It started just below the man’s chin and ran all the way up his face, along his cheek, and disappeared behind the dark glasses. Joshua watched the strange man through the viewfinder, but forgot about doing any filming.

  Despite the fact that the man’s eyes were hidden behind those dark glasses – and although Joshua could not actually see his gaze shift – it seemed as if the man stared directly at him. Joshua could feel it, like a weight. Joshua’s breath quickened, pluming in the frosty air before him. For one terrible moment, Joshua thought the man might reach up and remove the dark sunglasses, revealing a scarred lump of flesh beneath, where his eye should have been. For one insane second, Joshua wanted him to! He wanted to see behind those dark sunglasses. As Joshua thought about this, the man’s head shifted slightly, and now he did turn and look at Joshua. Joshua fought the urge to scream. But the tall, thin man only smiled and nodded at Joshua; a gesture that seemed out of place for him.

  For some reason, Joshua lost all interest in filming.

  §

  “What are you doing here?” Theo asked. He was annoyed, but unable to mask the deep sense of pity he felt toward this man. When the fat man arrogantly gnawed his stinky cigar without answering, Theo stared from behind his desk, and felt his tolerance wear thin.

  “Oh, I was just . . . driving around,” the fat man remarked. He twirled the cigar between sausage-like fingers and looked at Theo with mocking earnestness. “It’s lovely country up here, Theo!” The fat man smiled and looked around Theo’s office, as if he were taking stock—as if he had no intention of leaving any time soon.

  Theo let him observe. It had been some time since these two had spoken—not since their last encounter in “The Garden” so long ago. Of course, both had gone on; always aware of the other’s mutual existence, living with the undeniable sense they would one day meet again. Sitting across from him now – this time in his own home (uninvited I might add) – one might have balked at the idea that Theo would even allow Lou Lyons into his presence. But that would have been to ignore the true, gracious nature of Theo himself.

  “What do you want?” Theo asked again.

  “I want to talk about The Kingdom,” Lyons sighed. He concluded his assessment of Theo’s office and looked directly at his former employer.

  Theo sat with one hand propped below his well-cut jaw. He did not speak.

  Lyons knew he had struck a nerve with Theo, and it pleased him. He leaned forward, smiling. “This preserve of yours,” he waved a hand. “I know all about it, Theo.”

  “What about The Kingdom?” Theo asked. He blinked slowly, calmly, the way one will when they are in total control.

  “I want it,” Lyons said simply. His smile faded, and he stared at Theo with cold eyes over the top of his sunglasses. A moment later, Lyons laughed and sat back in his chair. He slammed his feet onto Theo’s desk (his most haughty move yet), and jammed the cigar into his mouth again. “Yes,” he reaffirmed, “I want it.”

  Theo rose to his feet without a word. Lyons removed his feet from the desk, like a caught schoolboy, and quickly added: “I want it to back me in the unveiling of my own project.” He cleared his throat.

  “What are you talking about?” Theo’s eyes narrowed. He folded his arms and came out from behind the desk. He towered over Lyons, looking down at him. Theo was beyond putting anything past Lou Lyons.

  “Well, no doubt,” Lyons stood and moved away from Theo. He didn’t like the way Theo loomed over him. He found even Theo’s breath was a little too righteous for his taste. Lyons straightened his tie, and wiped a thin runnel of sweat from his brow. He glanced at Theo. “NO doubt,” he emphasized, “you’re well aware that I will be revealing the Scientific Improvement Network to the public very soon. It’s sure to go over well with people. Our main facility is located not far from here, on the old grounds of Haydesgate Estate, out on Devil’s Head.”

  “Haydesgate?” Theo uncrossed his arms, genuinely interested. Theo knew several potential buyers had inquired about the old castle grounds on Devil’s Head over the years, but it had remained unacquired. Until now, he thought. “How did you secure that location?” The fact that it was Lou Lyons who had acquired the estate concerned Theo. But it was also concerning because Devil’s Head was not far from where The Kingdom – the large animal preserve Theo was setting up – was located in the heart of the Prahmist Mountains. It was nestled deep within a long vale called Abraham’s Rest (most likely named for a forgotten hero from time-out-of-mind). And yet, here was Lou Lyons, showing up out of nowhere on Theo’s doorstep (on Christmas Day, I might add!), suddenly asking questions about The Kingdom. The whole thing seemed suspicious.

  What are you up to? Theo thought, and put his hands in his pockets.

  “Oh, come now, Theo,” Lyons remarked, as if sensing his adversary’s thoughts. “There’s no point in discussing all that, is there? You know I have my sources . . . As do you.” He smiled at his old master, despite the wave of contempt he felt.

  “Tell me,” Theo said, leaning back against his desk, undaunted by Lyon’s attempt to unnerve him. “What exactly is the Scientific Improvement Network, Lou? I’d love to know more.” Now it was Theo who smiled.

  Lyons paused a moment, annoyed. Theo’s confidence always unsettled him. Perhaps it was because Lyons was secretly envious. Or perhaps he hated the sound of his own name spoken on Theo’s lips. It was a sound he had tried to forget for many years.

  Lyons paced across the large office. “All right, Theo,” he said. “You’re an intelligent man. Let me pay you the compliment of being blunt. You know what the Scientific Improvement Network really is. These things are all about power, aren’t th
ey? Let’s face it, you have tremendous influence with the public, Theo—The Kingdom has power!” Lyons paraded his large frame in a wide circuit until he loomed over Theo, in spite of his innate fear of him. There was a hungry, intense sound in his voice—a quality Theo wholly disapproved of. It was not begging; it was more like seducing. Lyons paused and looked into Theo’s eyes. “I can use The Kingdom,” he whispered, breathing heavily. “I want you to get behind me, Theo, and—”

  “That’s far enough,” Theo said. He looked directly into Lyons’ face and stood again. Lyons’ nostrils flared like an enraged bull; his mouth pulled back in a type of grimace. He looked like a man in need of a fix. “The answer is no,” Theo said calmly.

  The two of them stood there, locked in a gaze. Their faces were inches apart, the picture of a showdown of wills. Theo walked calmly behind his desk. He could feel Lyons’ stare upon his back. If Lyons’ eyes had been blades, they would have drawn blood. It did not bother Theo.

  “And why not?” Lyons leaned onto Theo’s desk, his hands balled tightly. He tried not to sound like a pouting child, but it did not exactly work. He finished the question, but his mouth hung open.

  “Because,” Theo sat, “although these things may be about power to you, Lyons,” he said, and then added, “As near as I can remember, most things are. The Kingdom is something more than that. I won’t have it reduced to a playing card in your deck, Lyons.” Theo spoke mechanically, without looking up. He returned to something on his desk, scribbling furiously, indicating that – once he understood Lyons’ intentions for coming – the conversation was over. Whatever was spoken from this point on was mere formality.

  Lyons stood over the desk, staring at Theo’s head, seething. He turned from the desk and paced the office again. Theo added quietly, “My son is going to inherit The Kingdom, Lou.”

  Lyons stopped abruptly. “Your . . . son?” he asked slowly, but did not turn to face Theo.

  “That’s right,” Theo said. “My son.” He looked over the top of his reading glasses, waiting for Lyons’ response.

  Lyons lowered his head and his shoulders slouched. He looked like the picture of defeat. As Theo watched, Lyons lifted his head again, and rolled his shoulders up. He placed his hands on his hips and let out a huge sigh. After the slightest hesitation, Lyons walked to a large bookshelf and picked up a framed photograph of Joshua. Theo’s brow furrowed and he put the pen down. He leaned back in his chair, watching, waiting.

  “Joshua,” Lyons whispered, but did not look at Theo. Lyons meant it to sound like a question, but it did not. It was cold, and flat, and contemptible. He passed a trembling hand over the smiling image of Theo’s son.

  Theo’s eyes narrowed. Suddenly, his lack of appreciation for the way this fat man, his old adversary, had showed up today – Christmas, of all days – uninvited and unannounced, pulling him away from his family, chewing one of his stinky cigars, lounging in his office like he owned the place, having the audacity to ask for backing in a project that Theo was certain Lyons knew he disagreed with, and caressing a photo of his son, caused Theo’s frustration to boil. “He’s the only one I’ve got,” Theo said curtly.

  “Your son is going to inherit The Kingdom!” Lyons heaved. Spittle showered the picture of Joshua. He raised the picture high over his head, and spun. “This whole thing is for him?!” he demanded and strode towards Theo.

  “Yes,” Theo said simply. “The whole thing is for him.” He stared at Lyons.

  Lyons smiled and seemed to calm down. He once again sat in the comfortable chair across from Theo and held up the photograph. “You know,” he said politely, “he sure is a good-looking kid. He must love you a lot, huh?”

  “Joshua would do anything I asked of him.”

  Lyons leaned forward and looked directly into Theo’s eyes. His fabricated smile evaporated into a flat stare. His voice was cold and gravelly: “It would be a pity if anything ever happened to him.”

  Lyons could never recall seeing Theo actually get out of his chair and come from behind the desk. It was though Theo had been sitting behind the desk one minute, and, in the next, he was gripping Lyons’ lapels, lifting him out of the seat. Their faces were centimeters apart. At some point, Lyons’ cigar fell from his mouth.

  “Are you threatening my son?” Theo’s teeth clenched and his eyes were aflame with righteous anger, but his voice remained calm and even.

  Lyons dropped the frame of Joshua to the floor with an undramatic clatter. Glass starred in a spider-like design, poking Joshua in the forehead like a thorn. Lyons’ mouth worked, but no sound came out. Within Theo’s eyes, Lyons saw thoughts too deep to contend with, plans he had not even begun to comprehend. Sweat beaded on Lyons’ forehead. Theo shook him – just once – and pulled him closer. A choked cry escaped Lyons, and the two of them were frozen like this for a moment.

  Then, Lyons began to laugh—slowly, at first. A nervous, uncomfortable, phony sound, it grew in intensity until it filled the entire office. Theo stared at Lyons a moment and then thrust him towards the door.

  Lyons was practically carried down the front passage of the mansion by Theo. Something which – based on the men’s comparable sizes – would have seemed impossible. Lyons’ laughing cascaded up and reverberated through the house like a tolling bell, conjuring up dark, foreboding images, and threatening to drive all peace away. By the time they reached the pearl-colored front doors, the sound was a maddening and unholy chorus.

  Theo yanked the front door open. “Get out of my sight!” he said, and cast Lou Lyons from his presence.

  Lyons bounded down the steps. He noticed with displeasure that the door was not slammed behind him, but quietly closed. It annoyed him greatly. If nothing else, Lyons had wanted to get under Theo’s skin. For a moment, it had seemed he would be moderately successful in this endeavor. But the moment had passed, and now he was left with nothing more than a lingering sense of futility and dissatisfaction.

  Lyons looked at the door, and could think of nothing to do. The old, deep, familiar rage churned within him. Several yards away, the thin man with the scar – his driver – looked on without a word. Lyons straightened his tie, pushed his dark glasses up his nose, removed a fresh cigar from the inside pocket of his suit, and bit the end off. He spat it onto Theo’s front doorstep. Feeling as though he had at least accomplished something in that, Lyons smiled and started toward the car, where Apollo waited.

  “Well,” Apollo said, “that seemed to go well.” Sarcasm filled his voice. He withdrew the lighter and lit Lyons’ cigar. “Where to now, sir?”

  Without looking at Apollo, Lyons paused. He surveyed the grounds of Theo’s estate. Through a line of trees he could just make out Dakota Lake in the distance. He turned his gaze towards the rear of the large house. It seemed as though he were looking for something in particular. He sniffed the air, listening amidst the quiet of late morning, the way a wild beast will. Then Lyons seemed to catch sight of something along the side of the house. A kind of knowing crept across his face, and he looked at Apollo.

  “Take me up into the wilderness,” Lyons said. “I have an appointment.” Lyons smiled and got into the car,

  “Yes, sir,” Apollo said, and closed the door.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Up Into the Wilderness”

  Joshua could not stop experimenting with the new camera.

  He had turned his attention away from the tall, thin man with the sunglasses and scar, and wandered around the back of the mansion. He glanced over his shoulder one time, wanting to put some distance between himself and the mysterious stranger. Soon, he became lost in the ongoing search for the most interesting subject to film. He had quite forgotten by now it was still Christmas day.

  Joshua made his way past the nearby pond, all the way to the end of the spacious garden, to where a line of trees began their steady ascent into the Prahmist Mountains. Joshua scanned the forest through the camera’s viewfinder. His warm breath fogged in front of him. The world around se
emed silent, as though anticipating, or hiding something—perhaps aware of something Joshua himself was not.

  Through the viewfinder, Joshua noticed a flash of white against the dark, cold December trees. He took it to be a falling clump of snow, but a few moments later he saw it again, this time moving upwards. Joshua lowered the camera, and blinked against the dull glare of the morning.

  Perched on a low branch of one of the outermost trees of the wood, Joshua saw a huge dove of the purest white. Its beautiful chest was puffed in front of it, and its eyes were slightly closed. The bird looked very wise. Joshua stared for a moment then raised the camera to film it. As he did, the dove flew from the branch of the tree and landed upon the branch of another, several yards away and further up the hill. Joshua looked from the camera again to locate it. He lowered his eyes to the viewfinder, but once again the dove took off and went to another tree further up the slope. Joshua tramped through several yards of deepening snow to where he could get a clearer shot. He didn’t mind. The dove was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It seemed radiant, as though glowing slightly, its majesty heightened against the stark backdrop of barren woods.

  Joshua spotted the dove again and halted to capture it on the viewfinder. The dove took to the sky and navigated through thickening trees, to where it landed on a high branch in a tall oak. Its solemn expression never changed.

  This process went on for some time: Joshua going to film the dove, the dove flying to another branch, Joshua following, the dove flying away again. It was like a dance. Joshua crashed through the woods, pushing against the cold, wet branches. Wet pine needles squished beneath heavy boots. Branches scratched at his face. His loud breathing echoed in his ears. But he never lost sight of the dove. Joshua followed the bird up through the forest until – quite unaware they had reached the crest of the southernmost slope – Joshua blundered out into a clearing. He paused, out of breath. Looking around, Joshua did not recall ever being in this place before—even though he had grown up in the foothills of the Prahmist Mountains.