sitting up there waiting. Of course, Israel will stick its bulldog face in the mess. If we’re lucky, we’ve got Muslims killing Hindus and Buddhists killing atheists, and Uncle Sam rides in like the cavalry.”
“It sounds like the revelations,” Forsyth said. “Wars, pestilence, famine, and one horned beast on the seat of power.”
“Damn, Wallace, I’m almost starting to believe you’re sincere. But don’t say that stuff in public. People will label you a wacko and I need you for the presidential run.”
Forsyth gritted his dentures. He’d originally backed Burchfield because Burchfield had promised to allow churches to receive federal funds for charitable purposes, which Forsyth felt was the next step toward getting school prayer before the Supreme Court.
Burchfield hinted that a couple of the more liberal justices were due for some ill health that would force them to step down. Forsyth knew from his own political background that timing was everything when it came to paradigm shifts, and wise use of these potions could help shape the next administration. And in a world weakened by war, that administration could be very influential indeed.
And if Burchfield saw a more prominent role for Christianity in government, such a push was sorely needed. When the angels poured out the seven vials of God’s wrath upon the world, the Lord would need foot soldiers, not just a white horse and a sword and the strong arm of righteousness.
Burchfield pressed the “Call” button on the back of the driver’s seat. Winston’s voice came through a tinny speaker. “Yes, sir?”
“Change of itinerary,” Burchfield ordered. “We’re heading south on I-95.”
“Yes, sir.”
“South?” Forsyth asked.
“North Carolina’s a five-hour drive. We take a plane, everyone will know we’re coming. This way, it’s like a surprise party.”
Forsyth wasn’t sure he liked Burchfield’s grin. But he found himself curious about these mysterious drugs that corrupted people’s minds and eroded their will. When Burchfield had exhausted its military and corporate applications, perhaps it could have a place in Forsyth’s arsenal for the bigger battleground.
After all, Armageddon was also a matter of timing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Help me, hurry, we’re in the factory where we killed Susan.”
Roland stared at the dead cell phone, contemplating several reactions. He wanted to hurl the phone against the wall, but he no longer trusted his instinct. And a small part of him wanted to race into the bedroom and pummel Wendy with his fists. Not for any particular reason he could think of, but just because she was the latest contestant in the Blame Game.
“What was that all about?” Alexis said. She was visibly nervous, picking at her fingernails.
“They have Anita. They’re waiting in the Monkey House.”
Alexis sat down hard. “That place wasn’t real!”
“Shut the fuck up,” Roland said, and she looked at him, blue eyes wide. He realized his hands were clenched into trembling fists and he immediately opened them, cool air enveloping his sweating fingers.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s happening.”
Alexis pointed to the three pill bottles on the coffee table. “Take your Halcyon. This could get ugly fast.”
“I’m afraid to take it,” he said. “I don’t even know what the hell it is.”
“You’re on Seethe, Roland.”
“Seethe?” The word rang a distant alarm in Roland’s head, but it was in a mental vault he didn’t want to enter.
“The trigger. The drug that stimulates fear response. Seethe shocks the amygdala and floods the nervous system with neurochemicals.”
He couldn’t avoid sarcasm. “Thanks, Doctor. Maybe you were sleeping with Briggs, too.”
She was angry, but Roland didn’t care. If she had a hand in all this, maybe she should have been the one to die instead of Susan. But maybe it wasn’t too late to set things right.
“Look, I was just a young researcher fascinated by the potential. I didn’t know what was going on. It all appeared so…legitimate.”
“Since you’re the only one who remembers Seethe, what exactly does this shit do and how can I get it out of my head?”
Alexis rubbed her mouth, face twisted in concentration as she struggled to remember. “He had an injected form back then, but it needed an amplifier. That’s why the trials were set up to shock us, to see how far over the edge we would go.”
“And then he’d give us Halcyon to float us back from la-la land without remembering a thing?”
Alexis nodded. She bit her thumbnail, tearing off a ragged piece. She spat it out and said, “Halcyon is temporary, but Seethe is permanent.”
Roland thought of all his drunken blackouts and wondered what acts he might have committed. He could have been Seething all along and never even known it. “You mean this shit’s been sleeping in our brains for ten years?”
“Briggs has probably been planning this for a long time, and he finally found the backers to help him pull it off.”
“Who are these ‘backers’?”
“I don’t know, but they must have deep resources if they can move us around like chess pieces.”
Roland picked up the closest vial and read: “D. Underwood.”
“What if I got the wrong pills?” Roland said.
What if I killed that woman in Cincinnati? I know I’m capable. Because I helped do it to Susan.
“You need to take it now, Roland,” Alexis said.
“Or else I’ll remember?” he asked.
“Yeah. It could get ugly. And we don’t know what we’ll turn into, what we might become…”
Or what we already are. Like maybe both of us are murderers and we don’t know it.
“We better tell Wendy,” he said.
“And then we find Anita.”
“No. Goddamn it, can’t you see that’s just what he wants? All his little monkeys back in their cages?”
“We have to stop him.”
“Yeah.” Roland glanced at the door as if expecting arrest just for thinking about it. “The cops are out of it, because we all have normal, happy lives now. Well, except me. And there’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“I need to call Mark.”
“Mark?”
“My husband.”
“Damn. I forgot.”
“He’s with CRO Pharmaceuticals and they have connections. Maybe we can-”
“What did you say?” The red rage was simmering at the edges of his vision again, like sheets of rain building to a hurricane.
“Mark can help us.”
“CRO,” he said, half to himself. “Those initials were in Cincinnati.”
“Cincinnati? What’s in Cincinnati?”
“The last person I killed.”
She came at him then, her fingernails raised like the talons of a wildcat. “We’re not killers, goddamn it. Shut up.”
Wendy’s muffled voice grunted from the bedroom doorway, and she awkwardly ran toward them, hands bound behind her. Her shin hit the coffee table, knocking over the remaining two bottles, and she lowered her head
