The Eyes of Darkness by Dean Koontz

Posted by admin_akashic on Aug 7th, 2022 in Prophecy, Stories

Elliot met the stranger’s eyes and didn’t look away.

At last Vince said, “Be reasonable. We’ve just got to ask you some questions.” Determined not to let them see that he was frightened, aware that any sign of fear would be taken as proof of weakness, Elliot said, “Well, you’ve got one hell of a weird approach for someone who’s just taking a public opinion survey.”

“Move.”

“What are the hypodermic needles for?” “Move.”

“What are they for?”

Vince sighed. “We gotta be sure you tell us the truth.” “The entire truth,” said Bob.

“Drugs?” Elliot asked.

“They’re effective and reliable,” said Bob.

“And when you’ve finished, I’ll have a brain the consistency of grape jelly.”

“No, no,” Bob said. “These drugs won’t do any lasting physical or mental damage.” “What sort of questions?” Elliot asked.

“I’m losing my patience with you,” Vince said. “It’s mutual,” Elliot assured him.

“Move.”

Elliot didn’t move an inch. He refused to look at the muzzle of the pistol. He wanted them to think that guns didn’t scare him. Inside, he was vibrating like a tuning fork.

“You son of a bitch, move!”

“What sort of questions do you want to ask me?” The big man scowled.

Bob said, “For Christ’s sake, Vince, tell him. He’s going to hear the questions anyway when he finally sits down. Let’s get this over with and split.”

Vince scratched his concrete-block chin with his shovel of a hand and then reached inside his jacket. From an inner pocket, he withdrew a few sheets of folded typing paper.

The gun wavered, but it didn’t move off target far enough to give Elliot a chance.

“I’m supposed to ask you every question on this list,” Vince said, shaking the folded paper at Elliot. “It’s a lot, thirty or forty questions altogether, but it won’t take long if you just sit down over there and cooperate.”

“Questions about what?” Elliot insisted. “Christina Evans.”

This was the last thing Elliot expected. He was dumbfounded. “Tina Evans? What about her?”

“Got to know why she wants her little boy’s grave reopened.” Elliot stared at him, amazed. “How do you know about that?” “Never mind,” Vince said.

“Yeah,” Bob said. “Never mind how we know. The important thing is we do know.” “Are you the bastards who’ve been harassing Tina?”

“Huh?”

“Are you the ones who keep sending her messages?” “What messages?” Bob asked.

“Are you the ones who wrecked the boy’s room?”

“What are you talking about?” Vince asked. “We haven’t heard anything about this.”

“Someone’s sending messages about the kid?” Bob asked.

They appeared to be genuinely surprised by this news, and Elliot was pretty sure they weren’t the people who had been trying to scare Tina. Besides, though they both struck him as slightly wacky, they didn’t seem to be merely hoaxers or borderline psychopaths who got their kicks by scaring defenseless women. They looked and acted like organization men, even though the big one was rough enough at the edges to pass for a common thug. A silencer-equipped pistol, lock-release gun, truth serums— their apparatus indicated that these guys were part of a sophisticated outfit with substantial resources.

“What about the messages she’s been getting?” Vince asked, still watching Elliot closely. “I guess that’s just one more question you’re not going to get an answer for,” Elliot said. “We’ll get the answer,” Vince said coldly.

“We’ll get all the answers,” Bob agreed.

“Now,” Vince said, “counselor, are you going to walk over to the table and sit your ass down, or am I going to have to motivate you with this?” He gestured with his pistol again.

“Kennebeck!” Elliot said, startled by a sudden insight. “The only way you could have found out about the exhumation so quickly is if Kennebeck told you.”

The two men glanced at each other. They were unhappy to hear the judge’s name. “Who?” Vince asked, but it was too late to cover the revealing look they had exchanged. “That’s why he stalled me,” Elliot said. “He wanted to give you time to get to me. Why in the hell should Kennebeck care whether or not Danny’s grave is reopened? Why should you care? Who the hell are you people?”

The Ursine escapee from the island of Dr. Moreau was no longer merely impatient; he was angry. “Listen, you stupid fuck, I’m not gonna humor you any longer. I’m not gonna answer any more questions, but I am gonna put a bullet in your crotch if you don’t move over to the table and sit down.”

Elliot pretended not to have heard the threat. The pistol still frightened him, but he was now thinking of something else that scared him more than the gun. A chill spread from the base of his spine, up his back, as he realized what the presence of these men implied about the accident that had killed Danny.

“There’s something about Danny’s death . . . something strange about the way all those scouts died. The truth of it isn’t anything like the version everyone’s been told. The bus accident . . . that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

Neither man answered him.

“The truth is a lot worse,” Elliot said. “Something so terrible that some powerful people want to hush it up. Kennebeck . . . once an agent, always an agent. Which set of letters do you guys work for? Not the FBI. They’re all Ivy Leaguers these days, polished, educated. Same for the CIA. You’re too crude. Not the CID, for sure; there’s no military discipline about you. Let me guess. You work for some set of letters the public hasn’t even heard about yet. Something secret and dirty.”

Vince’s face darkened like a slab of Spam on a hot griddle. “Goddamn it, I said you were going to answer the questions from now on.”

“Relax,” Elliot said. “I’ve played your game. I was in Army Intelligence back when. I’m not exactly an outsider. I know how it works—the rules, the moves. You don’t have to be so hard-assed with me. Open up. Give me a break, and I’ll give you a break.”