And hatred grew in his soul. He fought it—the commandments were clear on this, love thy neighbor as thyself—but he couldn’t stem the tide. It built until it flowed over and he felt he had no choice, no recourse, other than to fulfill its destiny.
The release he felt at this decision made him realize that this was the path he was supposed to follow, and if he were successful, the hatred would dim, and the child’s mother would join him, and they could raise their child in peace.
In peace.
But to create that peace, he must first remove the impediments, and there would be death to those who wronged him.
So he prayed for forgiveness from his God, bought a small, third-hand laptop computer, enrolled in a community college class and embraced technology, for it would mean he could fulfill his plan while staying home to educate his daughter. The one piece of him that mattered.
Now, he watched the fallout of his actions online, and reveled in his power. He hadn’t planned to do more than scare the people, and eliminate the ones in his way, but the pleasure of seeing his actions discussed everywhere he turned was more than he could have hoped. The plan had been executed perfectly, the diversion laid in, and no one had a clue where to look for answers. It was a masterful performance.
He knew his compatriots would be discussing it. The people he’d left had a website now, openly discussing their lifestyle. Idiots. He went to the site and sure enough, there they were, talking about him.
He cruised through the other sites he frequented, before trying to get in to the one he really enjoyed, the supersecret quiet site. He’d been given the password, emailed to him on an anonymous Yahoo.com address he used when he needed a log-in and password.
It was his favorite place. He knew he was among like-minded individuals. He sometimes felt like they were talking to him directly. Giving him ideas. Allowing his already rampant imagination to flow. He could do anything, be anyone, when he was within its confines. It made giving up his hatred of technology worth it. They were his friends.
The site was embedded within another, an ingenious hack that the website owner had no idea was there. You had to know where to click on the picture to open the portal to the private site. He clicked the eye of the smiling woman and waited for the log-in box to pop up, but nothing happened.
He tried again, switching eyes, trying the nostril, the mouth. Nothing.
The site must have gone down.
The first edges of worry started to gnaw at him. Why did they disappear? What had driven them away? Unless...the government jackboots had figured it out and gotten into the site. That could be problematic; he had perhaps made one slight little mention of his plan there, not looking for accolades, but to share in their fervor. To fit in. He was getting lonely, just he and the girl in the woods. He’d thought about returning to his group, but they’d been rather adamant when he left that he was not welcome back. Ruth they’d be happy to take in, but not him.
He closed the laptop. Worry fled, and anger took its place.
They were keeping him out on purpose. The site wasn’t down, they’d moved, and made sure he couldn’t track them.
Anger was a sin. He fought it, pushed it down in his gut where it wouldn’t assail him, turning him black with rot, but it was no use. The blackness consumed him.
There was only one thing left to do then. Reach out in person, with a message especially for them. And he knew exactly how to get their attention. They wanted something to talk about? He’d give it to them.
Chapter 17
Denver, Colorado
Alexander Whitfield
The plane’s wheels touched down with a juddering impact, and the engines wailed in protest at their violent juxtaposition, reversed to help the screaming bird land and stop before running out of runway and plunging into the prairie land below. Xander had always liked landing. He liked takeoffs, too, but the feeling of 400,000 pounds of metal being slung at the flattened earth and stopping on a dime was especially fun.
They taxied for a few minutes, and he looked out the window toward the mountains of his childhood and felt a great peace stealing through his system. It was good to be home.
He grabbed his bag from the overhead bin and exited the plane, back ramrod straight. Some things he couldn’t let go of, his posture and physical fitness only two of many pieces of him the Army still owned.
Sam must be beside herself with fury at him. He didn’t particularly want to call, but he’d be in much worse trouble if he waited.