J. Gonzalez - They

“They said he looked like a murder suspect,” she said. “The composite drawing looked kinda like him, but… Frank had cut his hair a day or two before his murder. Were you with him when he did that?”

“I was,” Vince admitted it. “I actually cut it for him. He asked me to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You cut it? In your home?”

“Yes.”

Once again, Brandy Black had that look about her; sharp, penetrating, as if trying to see past the lies Vince was feeding her. Vince didn’t drop his gaze.

Brandy reached into her purse and extracted a tissue. She wiped her eyes with it and then wadded it up, stuffing it in her purse. “I’m sorry Mr. Walters. It’s just… I’ve tried so hard to get to the bottom of Frank’s death that I simply didn’t want to believe what the police told me… that they found traces of drugs in his system. It’s just hard to believe that he would have…”

“Backslid like that?”

Brandy nodded. “Yes.”

Vince stepped forward and laid his hand on her shoulder. He began to lead her away from his desk toward the door to his office. He was gentle, and if he was forceful Brandy didn’t notice. She went willingly. “I’m sorry I’ve avoided you but, as I said, I didn’t want you to think less of Frank. Whatever problems he had… they were too strong for him.”

Brandy nodded, her face screwing up again, and Vince could tell she was struggling not to cry. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him for comfort. “He was a brave man,” he said, his voice soothing. “He was trying to beat whatever demons he had in his past but they were too strong for him. They overwhelmed him. I’m sorry.”

Brandy nodded and sighed. She looked up at him with red, watery eyes. “Thank you.”

Vince offered her a smile and grasped the doorknob to the double oak doors that led out to the lobby of his office. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and composing herself. She grasped her purse. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Vince opened the door for her. “How are you and the kids by the way? You’re still on the east coast, right?”

Brandy stepped through the double doors and put her sunglasses on. She paused in the lobby, facing him. “Yes. We’re in Maine, at the house Frank set us up in before all this happened. We’re doing fine. My mother and I sold our agency, and I’ve got some money from Frank’s literary estate. We’re doing okay.”

“Good. If you need anything be sure to give me a call. Even if it’s just to talk.”

“Thank you,” Brandy said. “I will.”

“Take care of yourself, Brandy,” Vince said, touching her hand in a farewell gesture.

He watched her exit the lobby, not even paying attention to Barbara as the younger woman walked past to the elevator. Vince stepped back into his office and closed the doors behind him, pausing briefly as he rested his back against them.

Brandy Black would be fine. He had no idea how she would play into all this, but she had not been a thorn in his side before. Today’s episode was minor, really. He smiled to himself as he replayed the moment in his mind when he told her about the satanic aspects of Frank’s case. He knew she wouldn’t believe it, which was precisely why he’d told her. Her subconscious had already accepted the fact that Frank had relapsed into drug use again; she just didn’t want to accept that emotionally. What he told her had nudged her firmly into that corner of opinion and that was exactly where he wanted her.

Vince moved across the room to the large pane-glass windows and looked out over the parking lot. The visitor’s parking lot lay to his right and five minutes later Brandy exited the lower lobby, walking briskly across the atrium. He smiled as he watched her meander through the parking lot.

Vince Walters watched Brandy Black as she climbed into a white sedan, the corners of his mouth turned upward in a lupine grin. The file he’d swept to the side of his desk lay open, the words Al Azif clearly shown in the waning afternoon sunlight. He thought about the project, thought about all the hard work he’d put in on it, and as he thought he concentrated, pushing himself into that hallucinatory dream world he’d entered over and over again.

His vision blurred through a haze of smoke. He felt the heat rise around him, comforting, warm. Below him he heard screams of horror, but he ignored them. He looked out over the vast city of skyscrapers, the people below resembling tiny ants in a network of veins now growing littered with debris. And then he drifted up through the smoke as a faint rumbling erupted below .

He opened his eyes, the smell of smoke in the back of his throat. His smile grew wider. Al Azif’s funds were going to be well protected.

Al Azif .

Arabic for the Customs of the Dead.

And a great fury will come from the Middle East, the great tribulations will open up, and the Anti-Christ will begin amassing his army in the Battle of Armageddon.

The great fury was coming. Al Azif had funded it. Thanks to Samuel Garrison and his vast network.

Vince Walters—Andrew—was orchestrating it. The stars were closer to being aligned than ever before. When the soul-cracking occurred, it would coincide with a military operation in Iran, an operation that would be conveyed to most of the world as a small-time bombing run to quell rising tensions between Muslim extremists and reformers.

But it would be so much more.

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

But it was what he wanted. Even if most Christians tried to deny the fact, the simple fact of the matter was, it had to happen for their Savior to return.

Otherwise, why call yourself a Christian?

And why was he—the son of the Great Tempter—seen as such a bad guy in the Christian mythos?

Andrew smiled. None of that mattered. Sure, it was all written in the great spiritual texts of old. Sure it was foretold that he and Samuel and the others who had helped set this end of the battle up would be defeated. That wasn’t the point. The point was, it was what He wanted, and Andrew and Samuel, and the rest of the Children who had helped orchestrate this would bask in the glory of the Lord. Was not Judas Iscariot doing the Lord’s bidding when he betrayed Jesus with a kiss? Wasn’t he fulfilling God’s prophecies in the old Hebrew manuscripts?

Of course he was!

And so were Andrew and The Children of the Night.

And while he was at it, he was going to have some fun.

He laughed as he watched Brandy Black’s white sedan rental car recede in the distance.

J. F. Gonzalez is the author of over fifteen novels of horror and dark suspense including Back From the Dead , Primitive , Bully , The Beloved , Survivor , and is co-author of the Clickers series (with Mark Williams and Brian Keene respectively). His short fiction is collected in four volumes, of which the latest, The Summoning and Other Eldritch Tales , is available as an exclusive digital title. He also works in other media including film, the technology sector, and other areas of publishing. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania and is currently working on his next novel. For more information, visit him on the web at www.jfgonzalez.com.

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Phillipsport, Maine is a quaint and peaceful seaside village. But when hundreds of creatures pour out of the ocean and attack, its residents must take up arms to drive the beasts back.