Predatory Ethics Book I - Mad Gods

Chapter 09 - Separate Views -

TIME: DECEMBER 10TH, 1962. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A

Balzeer looked around his chamber of summons. After making his usual grisly preparations, he turned to the center of the chamber and saw his pentagram pulsed with life. It was a raspy breath, drawn in and out with the effort of having traveled a great distance in a very short period of time.

“What do you seek?” came the disembodied, guttural question.

“What does the Darkness say?”

“Lately, there have been gaps around the boy.”

“It’s like he’s hidden under something we cannot penetrate,” Balzeer muttered under his breath as he paced.

“And have any of the seekers caught him?” Balzeer stopped his pacing and slowly turned to follow the response.

“We have gazed though their eyes and have seen the boy. He is growing quickly, owing to the unexpected change of his birth.”

“You have seen him? Show me!”

An image of a small town appeared in front of Balzeer.

“Closer, show me the boy!” He was anxious to see his messiah. He would finally see, in the flesh, what he had only viewed in his imagination and in fearful scripture.

The image was obscured, the boy behind a glass window. It remained agonizingly so until he stepped out of the store’s door and was ushered into the backseat of a grey, boxy, decade-old car. At the sight of him, Balzeer was filled with wonder. The brown hair and questioning eyes captivated him. When the car pulled away, Balzeer snapped, “Stop!! Get closer to the back of the car.” The image was now clear enough for him to see, and memorize, the Arizona license plates.

“Tell me where this is. All I have is an Arizona plate.”

“Lord, the seeker, who brought all you see, is gone. We found its remains in northern Columbia.”

“Dispatch another then. Dispatch thousands. The seeker’s remains can’t be too old, or they would’ve crumbled to dust.” Balzeer’s mind raced, trying to come up with alternate ways to locate the boy.

“As you wish, so it shall be.”

“Double, quadruple, multiply everything you’re doing exponentially. Use every possible avenue and everything, everyone we have — everything — do you understand?”

“Yes, we shall do this, lord.”

TIME: DECEMBER 21ST, 1962. YOAKUM COUNTY, TEXAS, U.S.A 

Buford watched the evening news with the new fella, Cronkite. He’d been on since April and told it the way it was. That suited Buford just fine. Buford worked the night shift at a full-service gas station. Most nights, he sat in his comfy chair and watched whatever was on the idiot box. This night, however, he had to leave the chair to respond to the ringing service bell.

He went through the closed convenience store and passed a squawking radio, echoing Cronkite’s news. Some patriot burned down a Baptist church in Georgia, and out in Germany, a boy, trying to cross over from the East to the West was shot dead.

He opened the front door and saw a dusty Chevy cab. Boy, that would easily take at least $10 to fill. Buford flashed a smile at the driver and gave his best, “How’re ya doing?”

“Fill ‘er up,” was the man’s only response.

“Check the oil?” He was still going to push for the full service treatment.