A Time to See

By A J Berea

The nations of the world have realigned themselves after the latest war. Ryah Olmen, an ex-military intelligence officer with combat experience, is offered a job he isn’t allowed to refuse at the United States Council. His days are tedious and demeaning. His nights are restless, filled with terrifying visions that seem too real to be nightmares. After a chance encounter, he finds himself caught up in a conspiracy where lies and treachery follow him at every step. Ryah’s search for the truth takes him from the new capital of the United States to Rome and the Middle East, where the past and the present, desire and destiny collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A J Berea
• Release date: Mar 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463542248

A J Berea

I have been writing for thirty years, choosing to go a different direction and using the name A.J. Berea to do so. My works don't fit within one genre but tend to fall within either the thriller or satire categories. You will find the influences of Ken Follett, Daniel Silva, Terry Pratchett, and C.S. Lewis in my writing, with my own style created by the way I see the world. My primary hope is that you enjoy the story. If I can make you think a little also, then that would be OK as well. After stops around the States, I now reside in Texas where I live with my wife and kids as well as a couple of dogs that aren't exactly on the down slope of the intelligence bell curve. When I'm not writing, you might find me rowing slowly on an erg, working in the kitchen, or online trying to figure out how to fix something that broke in the house. The latest novel, A Time to See, is a psychological thriller that takes place in the not too distant future. It is the first of a planned series of four, with the next two books in the editing process. (I waited to release the first one until after I had finished the next two.) There is also a satire coming your way titled, The Rural Squirrel Horror. Look for it possibly this year.

Book preview

A Time to See

© 2019 A.J. Berea

Chapter 1

Evan raised his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with his fingertips. He stared up at the pale blue sky and searched for any sign of rain. There wasn’t a single cloud, just the constant haze that hung like a veil over the valley. He walked to the next row and took a knee by a mound of dirt. Reaching down, he dug out the drip line which had been buried by the silt from the latest flash flood.

If it’s not enough water, it’s too much water, Evan muttered to himself.

He scraped the mud off the hose to ensure the line was working and then got up and repeated the process every ten feet. One of his sheep, a dirty, white ewe with a black face, ambled up behind him and nudged him under his armpit.

Not right now, Stasia, he told her, I’ve got to finish before noon, or I’ll bake in this sun. The ewe nudged him again and let out a soft bleat. I hear you, but you’re gonna have to wait. As if she understood, Anastasia wandered back to join the rest of the herd. I don’t know why I’m doing this, Evan chastised himself. I make twice as much selling wool, yet I spend all my time digging up these weeds and trying to get these fickle plants to grow.

Evan grew up on the farm, third generation on that same plot of land. He preferred to be called a rancher, though. That’s what he really enjoyed doing. Raising his sheep and cows. Sheering, milking, shoveling manure. Any of that was better than trying to get mother earth to cooperate with him. If it wasn’t for Liz …. His voice trailed off before he said anything else. He would never disparage the woman that had shared his life and owned his heart even though she wasn’t around to hear him anymore. She had saved him. Saved him from his past and brought him out here to the valley, far away from the killing fields.

A low rumble, half-absorbed by the ancient mountains that surrounded the valley, made its way across the open plain. Sounds like thunder, Evan thought. He scanned the horizon for the source. Towards the East, a small black dot rose into the mid-morning sky. It hung over the patch of land that belonged to his closest neighbors who lived on the other side of the ridge.

Looks like the Carsens will be getting some rain, he noted. Good for them.

A parliament of ravens, the largest group he had ever seen, flew out of the still rising sun, passed directly over his head, and spun in a large circle above him, blocking out the light for almost a minute.

Never bring anything but bad luck, them birds. I should take a couple of them out now. He reached down for his pistol but thought better of it. What’ll I get? One? Two at most? That’s if I even manage to hit them. It was times like this he wished he hadn’t sold the shotgun. But desperate times. Liz needed the medicine. And no one would buy his Mosin-Nagent bolt action rifle from him. Told him it was an old piece of junk.

I can hit the eyes of a coyote from a thousand yards with it. In a cross wind. He began to mutter to himself. Old piece of junk. They have no idea what they’re talking about.

The ravens headed towards the river and made a sharp left when they reached the edge of the forest that grew at the end of the farm. Oak trees that stood tall when Evan’s grandfather was a young boy guarded the beech trees which grew in their shade. The groves were thick on the banks of the Carmel River but thinned out as they scaled the slopes on either side. Halfway up, the pine trees asserted their dominance, and only a few lonely oaks survived amongst them. All types of creatures lived in the great forest, including packs of wolves and the occasional brown bear that coveted an easy meal from off the farm. Evan kept four Kangals to protect his herds. Vicious, ferocious animals. If Cerberus had mortal offspring, it would have been them.

The sun continued to beat down as Evan headed back to the truck, kicking at clods of mud and rocks he found on his way. A couple of cows carried on a casual conversation with Stasia by the passenger side door and strode over to Evan to voice their displeasure. They could smell the bags of feed in the bed of the pickup and demanded their share. Evan ignored them and sat down in the driver’s seat, his feet hanging out the door. As he rested, a shadow passed over the truck and blocked the sun, causing a chill to shudder down his spine. He pulled his feet inside, closed the door, and reached back in the space behind the worn out seat of his beat up pickup to pull out a red, white, and black wool blanket that he hadn’t needed since late February. It was a family heirloom, at least two hundred years old, that his great-great, he couldn’t remember how many, grandfather had bought at a Navajo trading post on his travels around the country. His ancestor had stored it in an old wooden chest and pulled it out on special occasions to show his visitors what he considered his most prized possession. Over the years it had been passed down to the first born male as a legacy, but by now it had lost most of its inherent as well as sentimental value. As Evan wrapped himself in the dusty, ragged threads, he felt the chill dissipate and thought about his own connection to the past. Things had changed. They had changed at a pace that made him feel uncomfortable in a direction that he wished they weren’t going. But what could be done about it? More importantly, what could he do?

Nothing right now, he said out loud. He reclined as best he could, leaning his head in the corner where the rear windshield and the side door met. Just a quick nap. Five minutes, no more, he promised himself. I’ve got too much to do. From his position, Evan could see the cloud, which had formed over the Carsen’s farm, traverse the Northern boundary and pass over where his house stood. Well, maybe a bit longer. It looks like it’ll rain for awhile.

Evan fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. He snored softly and dreamed of sunny days and blue skies, thoughts of simpler, happier times. His dog Zoe. His little sister Cate. Her soft blonde hair flying back and forth as she ran up to hug him. She was six years old in his dreams. She was always six years old just like the last time he saw her. He felt her frail arms wrap around his neck and heard her laugh as he picked her up and swung her around and around. Her eyes were dark emeralds that flashed sparks of light when she smiled. He missed her. Oh how he missed her. But here she was, and his sadness eased for a moment. Evan put her down, and she grabbed his arm and gave it a tug. The expression on her face had changed. Cate whispered something but he couldn’t understand her. She pulled him down and whispered in his ear. Evan still could not make any sense of what she was saying, and he raised himself back up. As he did, a young woman was standing in front of him. She wore a mask that covered her entire face except for her eyes which shone through, green and empty. Clumps of blonde stuck out from between the charcoal hair of the mask. Save me, she said. Evan wrinkled his brow in confusion. Save me, she repeated, and she pointed to the sky.

He looked up to see a cloud hovering above his truck. It was black. Unnaturally black like the deepest cavern on the darkest night. The light was behind it, fighting to make its way through, but it couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. The cloud shifted shape and took the form of a dragon. Evan imagined a battle taking place in the heavens like the ones he read about in his book of medieval tales when he was a child. He had always wondered what it would be like to be a knight, dressed in shiny metallic purple armor like in that Jimi Hendrix song, fighting the forces that were around him and those which were inside. He ran around the farm dressed up in a magical shirt sewn for him by his mom with a sword and shield cut out of a cardboard box on which he painted his own purple coat of arms. He slew ogres and trolls, which to the casual observer appeared to be sheep and cows, on his mission to save a damsel locked away in a cave by some malevolent, fire-breathing creature. Each time he started his quest, he doubted if he had the courage and the purity of heart to save her, but in the end, he always came out victorious.

As Evan observed the dragon, its jaws opened wide, and black figures spewed from its mouth. Shadows without form that floated and danced in front of Evan’s eyes. Shadows which appeared beautiful, enticing on first glance like they held some splendid secret hidden away in their darkness. A secret that Evan had to learn. He called out to them to come tell him their mystery, but they didn’t answer. So he watched and delighted in the movements of the shadows as they danced their mesmerizing, ethereal ballet. Rolling and twisting but ever beautiful. Evan felt himself caught up in the music of motion and whirled around with the shadows, inebriated by their movements until the dance stopped and his head spun. He collapsed to the ground, content but empty at the same time. He wanted more, needed more, and he cried out to the shadows, begging to be filled. They began to move again but not as before. The shadows jerked and stretched. Blobs of darkness mutated into misshapen bodies without faces, converting into creatures which were neither human nor animal. Wings sprouted from their twisted bodies only to be torn off by a pair of giant, invisible hands, and the shadows fell to the earth screaming in anguish and hate. The dragon opened its mouth again, and a thousand winged horses stampeded out, hastening through the sky to catch the shadows before they hit the ground.

A terror gripped Evan, and he wanted to run. But he froze. He froze and watched as hundreds, perhaps thousands more of these creatures exited the dragon’s head. He heard the hoof beats that thundered as if they were galloping across an imaginary plain and felt the blast of the air rushing down on his truck and shaking it in a violent storm as the horses beat their wings in unison. There was no longer any rational thought. Only fear. It drove him by instinct. His mind shut down and his body took over. And now he ran. He threw open the door to his truck, and he ran so fast that his legs couldn’t keep up, falling headlong into a shallow ditch that had been formed by the flash floods that had torn through the valley. He tried to pick himself up and start running again, but his feet had become stuck in thick, miry clay. Using all of his strength to pull one leg and then the other out, he freed himself from the trap, but the shadows were upon him. They screamed. At least, they sounded like screams. High pitched banshee like wails full of anger, loss, and revenge, and they swooped down on him in waves, clawing at him with malformed talons, swinging at him with clubs they carried in their deformed arms. He dove to the ground, curled into a ball, and covered his ears with his hands, rocking himself back and forth, singing a song his mother had taught him to sing as a child whenever he was afraid. But their screams overpowered his song.

The black army returned to the sky as if they had been summoned by an unheard command and descended on the far side of the field from where they had come. The light from the sun was all but blocked now, and only a single ray of light shone down through the middle of the dragon’s head, illuminating Evan’s face. The forces split up into two battalions, heading in opposite directions towards the horizon. The one heading south advanced towards Evan again, tearing across the plain at a supernatural speed, and in a matter of seconds, they were upon him. Thinking for the first time of his .44, he reached to his side and pulled it out of the holster. He squeezed the trigger without aiming. There was no need. They were all around and right on top of him. Five shots rang out, but each one of the five bullets passed through the shadows without doing them harm. With one shot, Evan had stopped the charge of an angry brown bear. Dropped it right in its tracks. That was the beauty of the .44. But it was useless against these creatures.

So he stopped and observed. His senses returned, and he observed. They didn’t seem to care about him and passed right through him. They had no substance. Just shadows. Of what used to be men. Or something that looked like men. He felt the cold inside them. The cold of nothingness, of emptiness, of meaninglessness. But not regret. An icy determination to enact their plan. Unwavering in their single-mindedness. It was the cold of chaos, of devastation, of death.

The last one disappeared around the bend of the river that led towards the sea, and Evan gathered himself together. He reholstered his pistol and wandered back towards the pickup, stopping every few moments to look behind him to see if the shadows were following. He scanned the horizon for his herds and his Kangals, but they were nowhere to be found. It was still dark, so Evan checked the sky once more. The dark cloud remained, but it no longer had the form of a dragon. Just a thick veil that blocked out the light. He continued walking and heard a noise like a rush of wind. He jerked his head around to the left, but there was nothing there. He heard it again, and he turned to the right but there was nothing there either. Now it was behind him, and he spun around. Nothing. Only silence and grass. And darkness. He watched and waited. He peered into the darkness towards the tree line at the edge of his field, expecting to see one of the shadows come racing back at him. His heart beat so loud he thought he could hear it. The fear returned and traveled down his spine. He crashed to the ground, his face prostrate as he waited for a shadow to overtake him. But it didn’t come.

He watched and waited for what seemed like an hour before summoning his remaining courage and strength to stand up and head back towards his truck. He turned around and what he saw stopped his heart. Rising above the earth cloaked in a black mist, a formless Goliath towered over him. No face, no distinguishing features. Just a shadow. It stood in front of Evan, beckoning him, inviting him to accept an offer. It didn’t try to force him. It just called. It called him by name. It knew his name and called him by it. Evan wasn’t afraid anymore. This shadow offered him something. Something he wanted but hadn’t been able to attain.

I have what you have been looking for, it whispered to him. Come and take. Have your fill. It won’t cost you a thing.

Evan walked towards the shadow and felt a pair of long arms wrap around him. It was warm, not cold like he had imagined. He must have been wrong about it. These shadows weren’t malicious. They wanted the best for him. They wanted to give him what he wanted, what he had yearned for all these years. Why had he been afraid? They possessed what he had been looking for.

Come and take, the shadow repeated. It’s for you.

Evan reached out to take hold, to accept the offer. It was what he desired, more than anything else, and it was in his grasp for the first time in as long as he could remember.

The happiness that filled his heart distracted him from noticing the shadow’s arms as they became chains that coiled around him, locking him in their grip. In an instant, he felt himself being wrenched from his fantasy and pulled into the shadow, the darkness wrapping around Evan and blocking his view of the world outside. He screamed, but no words emerged. He twisted his body like a serpent trying to free itself from the mouth of a predator, attempting to break the chains that held him in place.

Then, he stopped fighting. Out of the middle of the shadow, a face appeared. The face of a beast. A face with narrow slits for eyes and a mouth that spilled out blasphemies with every breath, speaking a name over and over. A name from the darkest nights of his past.

A thud on the passenger’s side door woke him up. The red, white, and black blanket had wrapped around his shoulders and held him tight. He looked out the window of the pickup truck and saw the beautiful blue late afternoon sky above, streaks of red and orange beginning to appear. The sun shone down like it was supposed to and brought its warmth and life to the valley below. A dream? he asked out loud but to no one in particular. He shook his head and breathed a sigh of relief. A dream.

He opened the door of the truck and stepped outside. He planted both feet on the ground, raised his arms into the sky, and stretched his shoulders and back. That felt good, he said to a ram that was grazing by the back tire. The sheep looked up when he heard his master’s voice but kept chewing the grass without making any indication that he knew what the man was talking about. He put his head back down into the fresh herbs and took another mouthful, his jaw grinding back and forth, his front teeth showing through with each bite. The man went up to the sheep and patted him on the head. Well, Franklin. You might not have much of a life, but, honestly, sometimes I envy you. No worries other than filling your belly with green grass and clear water. He paused. And no dreams. The sheep and the man both ruminated, each occupied with his own concerns.

Evan walked back around behind the truck and climbed inside the bed of the pickup. One by one he threw the fifty pound bags of vitamin enriched pellets used to feed his herds over the side. Most of the sheep had already begun to gather around when they recognized the thud of the bags hitting the ground. The dominant females and the two rams pushed their way through the mass of white and speckled wool to take up their positions in the front, and they chewed the bags in order to get at the treat which lay inside.

Hold on, Dmitri. It’s not all for you, Evan cajoled his favorite sheep as he leaned over the side of the truck. There’s plenty to go around, and most of it is for the cattle anyway.

He let out a loud, Heee yaaahhh, and then another. One large cow a hundred yards away lifted her great black head and looked at him. A second later, she was trotting towards the truck, and as the other cattle saw her, they joined suit. She arrived in less than a minute, still chewing the cud she had in her mouth when she first heard the call, and made her way to Evan who was busy cutting a slice in the last bag of pellets with his folding pocket knife. He picked up the bag by one end and dumped the food on the ground, backing away from the pile and leaving a wide trail for the cattle to eat.

Hi Olga, he addressed the cow. Good to see you made it. I’m sure your brood will be here shortly.

He patted the cow on the shoulder and scratched her behind her right ear for a few seconds. She pushed her face against his hands as if to indicate that she wanted more and let out a soft moooo when he started again. He stroked her face but then left her alone to enjoy her meal. Climbing back aboard the pickup so as not to get trampled by the arriving cattle, he sat down to watch his herds. The cows looked like they were dressed for a formal occasion. Black faces and shoulders, a white band around the middle, and a black rump and rear legs. His little girl, Laney, four years old and the spitting image of her Aunt Cate, called them vest cows. I want to go see the vest cows, she would say to her father when he was headed off to the valley. She danced up and down unable to control her excitement whenever he said yes. That day two years ago, he had told her no. OK, daddy, she had said before giving him a giant squeeze and letting out an, I love you.

He sat down with his back against the rear window of the pickup truck and felt the cool breeze as it swept down from the mountains and drifted across the valley. He leaned his head back and took a deep breath. The cool air filled his lungs and restored his energy. For half an hour he sat there, breathing in and out, not a care in the world.

This is how it’s supposed to be, Olga, he told the cow as he gave her a smile.

He stood up and stretched again, and he put his hand on the pickup bed in order to throw himself over the side. Before he could, he heard a noise, like a rush of wind. He jerked his head around, and out of the corner of his eye he saw it. He grabbed for his gun and drew it from its holster. It felt light. Lighter than it should have been for a fully loaded .44 magnum. He opened the cylinder of the revolver and looked inside. One bullet. Five empty shells. He closed the gun and held it out in front of him, looking to his left and then to his right. When he turned back to his left, it was upon him. Nine feet tall with a face from his nightmares. He wanted to fire his weapon, but he couldn’t. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

The shadow came closer, and Evan looked at it, his eyes wide in terror.

It’s time, it hissed. I have come to collect.

No. No more, Evan managed to get out.

You owe me, it demanded.

I’ve paid in full. Evan trembled as he spoke.

The shadow’s face contorted in rage. Fool, it hissed. You are mine.

Evan knew what it said was true. His heart began to pound as he raised the pistol to his temple. It was his only way out.

It shrugged. If that’s the way you want it. The shadow’s eyes narrowed, small slits in its face staring through Evan as if it knew him better than he knew himself. It watched the battle in his mind, saw his hesitation, knew that it had won again.

Just a few more, it said. I promise and then you will be free. She will be free.

Just a few more, he said. And then it’s all over. His words were a command that he knew wouldn’t be obeyed.

It smiled a bitter, mocking smile.

When? he asked.

Soon, it replied. Soon.

Chapter 2

Ryah sat at the bar in his usual spot. The bartender gave him a nod and poured a draught for him. This was one of the few places where Ryah could still get a Guinness Stout on tap, ordering one and only one as if he was rationing it. A couple of regulars, who happened to be friends from his days at Braxis Industries, were at a booth, ignoring the fights on the screens above the bar. Talking politics, I’m sure, Ryah said to himself.

One of them saw him and called out. Hey, Ryah. What’re you doin’ by yourself? Come over and join us.

Give me a minute, Dare, Ryah answered, and I’ll be over. Ryah enjoyed spending time with Darius and Connor, more than most people he knew, but he wanted to have a quiet moment with his Guinness before the contentious night that was bound to follow. He took a sip from the frosted mug, allowing the aroma to float up through the foam and into his sinuses. A wide grin spread across his face, and he said out loud, Perfection. He noticed the bartender at the end of the bar chuckling.

Go ahead and laugh, Trev, Ryah said to him. He took another sip. But this is the closest I’m going to get to heaven.

I’ll drink to that, a man on Ryah’s left replied, and he raised his glass in a toast. Ryah returned the gesture and set his beer down on the bar. A cheer erupted from the screen, and Ryah turned to watch the replay of the knockout. The challenger had dodged the first swing of the sabat, but he failed to account for the backswing. The metal studded club slammed into his head, and he went down in an instant. He lay there, stiff, lifeless, oblivious to the spectators’ bloodthirsty screams begging for more. The victor obliged and raised his club to do more damage, but the referee jumped in to stop the assault before he could. The crowd jeered and rained down an endless stream of profanity and alcohol on the cage and the man who stood between them and the violence they craved. Ryah had been on the receiving end of the club once. That was enough. He had also laid out more than a few people during his fighting days. It had been years, though, since he had touched a sabat.

A waitress made her way across the packed room and headed to the bar to pick up another order. She wore a red skirt that reached the middle of her thigh and a semi-tight white t-shirt that was suggestive but that gave her an air of modesty. At least ten pairs of hands groped her on her way, but she moved through them, accustomed to it and unconcerned. Two of the patrons propositioned her, offering her the best night of her life.

Not tonight, gentlemen, she told them. I’ve got a flare up, so I’ll have to take a rain check.

Seems like that’s been happening a lot recently, a guy retorted.

She winked and blew him a kiss but kept going. Ryah studied her face as she walked. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t pretty either. There was a quality about her, though, that was very attractive. An old world femininity that cut through the modern androgyny. A gentleness that was at odds with a society that worshiped strength and power.

A man noticed Ryah looking at the waitress and gave him a light shove on his shoulder in a feigned attempt at friendliness. She’s lookin’ pretty good tonight, don’t ya’ think?

Whatever you say, buddy. Just watch where you put your hands.

Sorry, friend. I didn’t mean any harm, the man said. Ryah gave him a glare but didn’t reply. The man either didn’t notice or didn’t care and continued on. She your girl, or one of your girls? He gave Ryah a knowing nod. You’re a good looking guy. I bet you have a bunch of women … or you have trouble making it with the ladies?

Ryah was growing impatient. You have a point?

I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to hook you up, I’m the one for you. I’ve got blondes, brunettes … girls from Asia, Africa, America. Good prices, no diseases. I check them myself. And they’ll give you anything you want.

No thanks, Ryah said.

You into guys then? I got them too. They cost a little extra, of course.

Ryah’s face showed his annoyance and disgust. I’ll pass.

The man looked left then right, checking to make sure no one else could hear. He spoke in a hushed voice. The young ones, huh? That’s your thing. It’s alright with me. I’ve got them as young as six. You’ll have to follow me if you want them. Boys, girls. Don’t matter. Younger than that, I can hook you up with a friend of mine. It’ll cost you a finder’s fee, though.

Ryah stood up and towered over the man. All six foot four, two-hundred twenty pounds was ready to send this pimp to his maker, but he scurried off and out the door before Ryah got the chance. Ryah took one last drink as if to wash the bad taste out of his mouth and set the glass down. He spun around without looking and bumped into the waitress, causing her to lose her balance. He grabbed her arm and held on so she wouldn’t fall and picked up the serving tray which he had knocked to the floor.

Sorry, Bren. I wasn’t watching where I was going, Ryah said to her as he handed her the cup.

It’s alright, Ry. I always enjoy running into you, she answered, wearing a grin on her face as she walked back behind the bar. Ryah returned her smile and went off to join his friends.

Ryah! Darius yelled out when Ryah reached the table. Glad you could join us. What’re you drinking tonight?

Just a coffee. I reached my limit already.

Darius called out to the waitress. Hey Brenda. Come on over when you can. Brenda held up one finger to let him know it would be a minute and went back to her conversation with the bartender. Darius was a bit older than Ryah, probably in his late thirties, but Ryah never cared to ask. He was mid-management. Got his job, never having spent a day in the military, because he knew the right person. Normally, Ryah despised this type, but Darius was a good guy. He worked hard, didn’t have an inferiority complex trying to prove that he was as tough as the former soldiers that filled the ranks at Braxis. He listened to their concerns and did the best he could to support them. Connor was one of the best programmers at the company despite having lost his right hand when his armored vehicle hit a land mine in The War. With the exception of when he spoke about politics, he was always upbeat, even after the incident, and never lost his sense of humor. Ryah did not have the opportunity to work with them often, only on certain missions that required their