The Essence of Darkness Page 4

  He chose his words carefully, preferring not to mention the phenomenon he had observed.

  “. . . is unknown to me. It is extraordinarily dense. I couldn’t extract even the smallest fragment. I’m almost forgetting the purpose of my mission.”

  His gaze again rose to the upright stones in the milky night, almost in spite of himself. He felt a hypnotic fascination that he immediately dispelled.

  “I’m going to go back to the cabin and regroup. I’ll use the opportunity to take a different route and extend the area of surveillance.”

  4

  “Cooper, you wimp! It’s your turn! Jump!”

  “Go ahead, Eliott! Don’t chicken out!”

  Over eighty feet of nothingness stretched just below his toes, which were clinging as tightly as they could to the rusty steel railing.

  “Cooper, don’t listen to him, dammit. You’ll end up as flat as a cherry pie. It’s gonna be ugly!” shouted his friend Will.

  The two of them were always in on that kind of escapade together, behind the walls of the boarding school. Eliott turned toward Will, his back to the void, with a wide smile that lit up his angel face. Still wearing an expression of delight, he launched himself from the bridge, flapping his arms and imitating the cry of a raven. The fall seemed endless. His stomach rose so high into his throat that his bird cry turned into a gurgle. He plunged into the eddies without too much trouble.

  But getting out of the rapids was more difficult.

  “Excuse me, are you Mrs. . . . ?” The white-coated young intern was pale.

  “Cooper. Lorna Cooper,” replied the slender, mousy, young woman who was hiding her tears behind a white handkerchief. “I’m young Eliott’s mother.”

  The man swallowed and looked grave.

  “Mrs. Cooper, your son Eliott is suffering from multiple contusions, including a severe head injury. He’s—”

  “Tell me if he’s going to be all right, Doctor!” she interrupted in a wrenching tone, overwhelmed with grief.

  “Your son is hanging between life and death, ma’am. We’ll do our best to bring him back.”

  The young brunette stood motionless, letting her tears stream down her cheeks like an autumn rain, facing the window of the intensive care unit where her son was lying in bed.

  As for Eliott, he wasn’t there. He felt neither bedridden nor even that he was in a hospital room. He was perfectly happy and fabulously free, swimming in the foamy waters of the river and joking with his classmates in the sunlit waterfalls.

  He was unaware that his vital functions were growing weaker minute by minute and that his heart would eventually stop beating if he let himself fall into a deep sleep.

  He kept on swimming, laughing, and playing on the riverbanks.

  Eliott’s father, a colossus almost six and a half feet tall, was of Native American origin through his mother Kanda, a full-blooded Tolowa woman. She had been praying and performing rituals throughout the week that Eliott was in a coma. She was the only person allowed to enter the intensive care room when Eliott’s vital signs were almost nonexistent. She came to sit by his bed and whispered sacred words to him. She knew that, from the depths of the darkness into which he was gradually retreating, he had heard and understood them. Her words in the Tolowa language thanked the spirits and asked them to welcome him back into the world of the living.

  The young raven survived.

  Since that accident, Cooper connected with what the shamans called “the other side.” Grandmother Kanda deliberately did not pass on to him the knowledge she had inherited from her ancestors. But she told him the teachings followed strict rules. Eliott’s journey into the spirit world made him an Iyayenagi, living on the side of the living with his spirit on the other side. The gift he had received without knowing it prevented him from initiation into shamanic practices, even the simplest rituals. These abilities had great power. Yet they could have a negative effect on his human experience if he used them too early without proper introduction to them. Maybe one day he would discover them for himself. On that day, Kanda or another wise one would be there to teach him how to master this gift. But then again, maybe he’d never discover it. The rule was that only he could recognize it. No shaman would help him reveal his abilities.

  Like the Lewis River rapids, Cooper’s young life didn’t flow smoothly. His parents had to take him out of the Portland boarding school due to ongoing disciplinary problems. He was then sixteen years old, stubborn, arrogant, and rebellious. His father, discouraged, entrusted the problem child to his own mother.

  Kanda was almost a recluse, living in a village that clung to the slopes of Mount Jefferson south of the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. Even though Eliott wasn’t thrilled with the idea of living with his grandmother, he had no choice. But it was in these mountain valleys, far from the world, that he lived the most beautiful and richest years of his life.

  Grandmother Kanda had remained the young flower she had always been: a former hippie who had gone to Woodstock and fought for all the lost causes of the time. With patience and love, she healed his teenage wounds. Eliott spent most of his days helping her with the crops in her fields. She made a meager living from selling her medicinal and aromatic plants. Before the long winter months, Eliott chopped wood in the early morning with an ax—the chainsaw was harmful to the environment. How many lively evenings had he spent with her, remaking the world while listening to old records from Creedence Clearwater Revival, Ravi Shankar, the Grateful Dead, the Doors, and others…

  Three years went by. When he was old enough to decide for himself, he dreamed of traveling the world, thirsty for adventure. He left the farm and moved to Portland, thanks to the modest savings he had managed to accumulate. He lived on his own for a few months in the chaos of the city. He then decided to join the army on the advice of his father. “You can see the country, and it will discipline you. You need it,” his father told him.

  Grandmother Kanda didn’t approve of this decision. She was sorry to see him go. However, after giving him a traditional Native American education for three years, she had brought out the best in him. Eliott was still young, but he was kind and ready to experience his life as a man in the tumult of the modern world.

  5

  When Cooper woke up, his watch read 6:18 a.m. He got up, splashed water on his face, and stepped out the front door to check the sky. Although the sun hadn’t yet risen, the day was shaping up to be gloomy. A dry breeze was blowing, heralding a harsh, early winter. He came inside and revived the fading embers with old newspapers he’d found stacked at the bottom of a closet. He put more wood into the stove and waited for the fire to start heating the cabin before resuming his research.

  In front of him, he set up the two screens he was going to use to view the surveillance images. He had his own laptop in addition to the secure federal service material. He connected everything to a portable server that was, in turn, connected to the American defense satellite network. This sparse equipment, which fit on the small table, was actually a distillation of the latest generation of military technology. Cooper had recent training on how to take full advantage of it. He found all of this much too complicated, even though designers had made the interface intuitive. The Bureau now trained all new special agents in the use of these tools. It was no longer conceivable to do without the considerable tactical advantages the new technologies offered. Cooper had joined the party a bit late. He had kept it to himself, but he felt completely lost with all of this equipment. In his opinion, nothing beat intuition in the field. He was old school.

  He started by connecting to the internal communication network and then paid his friend Matt a virtual visit.

  Matt’s chubby, geeky face appeared on the screen, topped by a New York Giants baseball cap. His shaggy brown curls sprung out around the edges. His voice expressed a happy surprise.

  “Hey! Hi, Cooper.”

  “Hey, Matt.”

  “Is it the light, or do you really look like death warme
d over?” Matt asked.

  “I’m staying in a forest ranger cabin. There are only candles for light, or else I have to wait until daylight.”

  “You old dog—you’re looking for news about the 5d file, aren’t you?”

  “Do you have any news?” Cooper asked.

  “Not yet, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “I’m all ears,” Cooper said.

  “I have a meeting this afternoon with a guy who will surely have some information for me. He works in the specimen department at the central repository. Anyway, that’s all I can tell you right now.”

  “Perfect. We’ll touch base at the end of the day,” Eliott decided.

  He was about to end the call when his friend stopped him.

  “Cooper?”

  “Yeah?”

  From under his visor, the forty-year-old teenager squinted and peered at his friend suspiciously.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I’ve walked over forty miles in two days. I’m just a little tired; that’s all.”

  “That’s nothing but a little fitness walk for you! There’s something else going on. What is it?”

  “Everything’s fine, Matt. I’ll be expecting your call.”

  “Okay, talk to you later, Cooper.”

  He went to reheat some coffee and then opened the surveillance software. A question occurred to him. How far did the area of desolation he had seen in the woods extend? As he zoomed out, a geometric shape emerged: that of an enormous circle about twenty-five miles in diameter inside which the thermal sensors detected no organic heat. It was a perfectly proportioned circle, absent of all life.

  A terrible thought went through his mind.

  He immediately zoomed toward the center of this circle and saw a milky spot through the clumps of vegetation, like the whitish pupil of a demonic eye staring at him. He shuddered. According to the satellite data, the misty valley was at the exact center of this macabre circle.

  His watch started vibrating. It showed the name David Mullay. Supervisors usually didn’t contact their field agents directly.

  The call surprised him.

  Cooper turned his webcam toward him and accepted the video call. It was Mr. Mullay, forty-eight years old and proper, with his fitted gray suit and golden-boy looks.

  “Hello, Agent Cooper.”

  “Hello, Boss.”

  “Well, what do we have in these forests, Cooper?”

  “Not much, so to speak.”

  “Could you clarify?”

  “I started going through the area with a fine-tooth comb. There’s no evidence to suggest any suspicious activity—not a trace anywhere.”

  He was going to tell him about the circle of desolation, but he changed his mind because Mullay would have thought he was crazy. Besides, as incredible as this phenomenon might seem, it had nothing to do with the case.

  “If the perpetrators of the abductions are in this forest,” Cooper continued, “they must be ghosts—or else professionals, which is unlikely . . . unless someone commissioned the abductions.”

  “That’s not very likely, Cooper, but we have to consider everything. In my opinion, this type of monster is more a matter for psychiatric professionals.”

  “Of course. Only extremely disturbed minds could be behind this.”

  “We’re currently searching the files of hospitals responsible for these types of patients.”

  This was Cooper’s opportunity to raise the omission of the documents from the 5d file.

  “Speaking of files, my folder is missing the forensic team’s full report on the deaths of Garett and Kaitlyn Pearson, the parents of the last victim.”

  The supervisor’s face went blank.

  “You’ve been assigned a very specific mission, agent Cooper. Don’t go beyond the scope of your investigations.”

  “It seems to me that the Pearsons’ death, or rather their assassination, is totally related to my investigation. The details define the modus operandi of the perpetrators of the crimes. Having them in my possession would be . . .”

  “Must I remind you,” the supervisor cut him off in a frosty voice, “that you are in these forests to locate and stop the threat posed by these criminals, whoever they are? Let the expert teams identify them. Have I made myself clear?”

  The supervisor glared at him like a reptilian predator ready to pounce on its prey.

  “Perfectly clear, Boss.”

  “Good. Keep me personally informed of the progress of your investigation. I will leave you a phone number where you can contact me at any time.”

  An attachment appeared at the bottom of the screen.

  “Got it, Boss.”

  “Perfect. I won’t delay your work any longer. I expect to hear from you soon, Cooper.”

  The screen immediately switched to a dark blue background displaying the FBI emblem. A statement was blinking in the middle: “End of communication.”

  For a long time, he stared at the three words that appeared and then disappeared on the screen. This unexpected call from Mr. Mullay only added to the strangeness of this whole situation.

  Cooper settled back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. Outside, the breeze had become gusts, which were rattling the cabin’s tin roof. The sky was still as gray as ever, and aside from the wind whipping the branches around, the forest was still just as gloomy.

  Without expecting much, he reviewed the data from the network of sensors he had set up in the woods. As expected, nothing had triggered any of them yet. Then he tackled various searches on the federal service intranet. Next, he studied the geological heritage of Pennsylvania and the history of its ancient indigenous civilizations. He even compared the circular structure of the ruins with every type of remains recorded around the world. Several hours had passed, and the daylight was already fading. He had spent the day in front of his screens, almost for nothing. He remembered that his friend Matt was supposed to call him back to give him information. He was surprised that he hadn’t yet heard from him. That wasn’t his style. Matt usually kept his word.

  The next day passed the same as the day before. Matt hadn’t called back, and when Cooper tried to contact him, he got his voicemail, which said his friend was on leave. The bastard could have told him.

  The following days were just as dismal. His trips into the woods to extend surveillance coverage were becoming a heavy burden. He had the overwhelming feeling that the sepulchral force was working against him, as if the death at work in these valleys was trying to paralyze him in a miasma of sluggishness. His research on the origins of the ruins didn’t allow him to draw any conclusions, let alone identify the builders. Besides, was it really about the ruins? He wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. In this cabin in the middle of the woods, he was starting to feel like a shipwrecked man clinging to a buoy drifting on an unknown ocean.

  October 14

  On the night of the twelfth day, at precisely 11:41 p.m., an alert went off.

  Cooper rushed to his workstation. An icy tension gripped him as he viewed the images. They were coming from sector E. More precisely, they were coming from one of the two cameras placed at the top of a megalith in the ruins.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered, adjusting the sharpness of the picture, “whoever or whatever you are.”

  At first, he could only make out three shadows. They stood motionless in the open area at the center of the maze: three silhouettes. They were slender and delicate—obviously young women. One of them held an object with both hands. He thought it must be a book, a large volume. The perfect triangle created by the three shadows remained in place for quite a while, equilateral under the almost-full moon as it rose.

  He quickly established communication with the satellite relay agent.

  “This is Cooper, in the coverage area north of St. Marys. I see movements in sector E; do you see them too?”

  “This is satellite surveillance. We’ve got them, Agent Cooper.”

/>   “I’m going to the site. Keep me informed of even the slightest movement.”

  “Copy that. We won’t budge.”

  In a few seconds, he strapped on his equipment, checked his weapons, and left the cabin at a run.

  He dived under fallen trees across the path and leaped onto rocks, nimble as a cougar, adrenaline flowing into his arteries to the rhythm of his rapidly pounding heart. He maintained a constant speed without exceeding his limits, as he had seven miles of running ahead of him.

  “Agent Cooper, it’s moving. Repeat: It’s moving.”

  “Copy. How is it moving?”

  “Slowly—toward the south.”

  “In a vehicle?”

  “No, on foot. Wait . . . It’s stopping now, in the vicinity of the ruins.”

  He reached the abandoned railway bridge and jumped from one tie to the next, careful to avoid falling through the gaps where they were missing. He climbed the hill and then ran down the other side after cresting the top, hurtling down the stone scree at full speed.

  Six more miles to go. He crossed the last hills, picking up speed. He paused high on a rock to take a break. He could see the valley in his binoculars from the rise where he stood. He gave himself five minutes to catch his breath, and he was off again, as quiet and agile as one of his Native American ancestors.

  He had crossed the last stream and was climbing the last hill to the promontory when his earpiece crackled.

  “Agent Cooper, we’ve lost them! I repeat: the targets no longer appear on our visuals.”

  He stopped short and checked the screen on his wrist. The three points that satellite surveillance had locked on had in fact disappeared!

  “Shit! That’s impossible!” he shouted.

  Silently, he climbed the steep slope overlooking the valley, and when he reached the top, he secured himself to the rope to descend in a stealthy rappel. He crept to the entrance of the maze and walked the paths, peering at the surroundings, his senses alert.