Evil Returns by Cave Hugh

Author:Cave, Hugh [Cave, Hugh B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2011-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-four

Like many others who earn their bread in the capital, Rutherford Franklin Dawson lived across the river in Virginia. His apartment fit the lifestyle of a man who worked in the White House as a close friend and colleague of that establishment's number-one resident.

This Sunday morning he chose to prepare his own simple breakfast of prune juice, toast, and coffee. Then he elected to relax in bathrobe and slippers with a new book. Being the work of a columnist who was one of the President's most cynical detractors, the book would undoubtedly raise his already high blood pressure, but he felt it his duty to sample the thing, at least. By the time he had read a chapter or two he would probably throw it across the room in a fit of temper.

Rutherford Dawson's favorite chair was a recliner well suited to his six-foot-three frame. Settling into it, he glared for a few seconds at the author's photo on the book's dust jacket, then began reading.

His phone rang. With a soft "Damn!" he got to his feet and strode across the room to the telephone table.

"Your son is here, Mr. Dawson." It was the security guard in the lobby.

"From Haiti, sir."

"What in God's name—All right, Eddie, send him up."

"Your son is here," Dawson echoed in a growl on his way to the door. "Don't bother to phone first. Don't let anyone know you're coming. Damn it, suppose I'd had somebody here?"

Someone of the opposite sex, he meant. It was a situation he enjoyed often, but not one he wanted known at the White House. A man of his influence was expected to be more discreet.

He heard the elevator doors open in the hall, and then footsteps. His doorbell buzzed. Opening the door, he made no attempt to hide his displeasure. But his frown was quickly displaced by an expression of concern.

"My God, Brian! What's wrong with you?"

They shook hands. It was as close as they ever came to embracing. "I'm just a bit beat, Dad," the son said.

Leaving the South Carolina restaurant last evening, Brian had returned to his car and closed his eyes, intending only a brief nap before resuming his journey. When he awoke it was after midnight, and through the rest of the night he had pushed on like a zombie. Did he now have the strength to carry out Margal's orders?

His father led him to a chair. "When did you leave Haiti?"

"Well, I—oh, several days ago."

"Why? You in trouble?"

"No, no. I had to talk to people in Miami about the immigration problem."

"People in Miami? Then why are you here, damn it?"

This was not the way it was supposed to go, Brian told himself. He was forgetting what the man in Gilford had so painfully taught him.

"Dad." Leaning forward, he fixed his gaze on his father's face. "Look at me, please."

"Damn it, I've been looking at you! And all I see is a man who must have been on a bender for. . ." The voice of Dawson Senior began to fade.

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