A flurry blew through the smothered forests around Kelly with a shrill cry as his horse carried him deep into the darkness of the oaks. The trees, all leafless, stood as imposing bare spires against the bleak night sky. The only light to guide him was a lantern held by a rod attached to the saddle. The snow crunched softly against the hooves of his mare, and he felt the ice clinging to his blonde beard as he held a gloved hand around the base of his cigarette to keep his lips warm. Swaddled up in his coat, he could just barely keep warm still.
He kept an eye and ear out for any of the occult men the whole ride. But for miles of forest on end, there was nary a sight of them. Only that symbol of a door and cross engraved in red on some trees and the distant calls of coyotes and owls.
As he neared his destination, he fumbled with a rolled slip of paper in an inner coat pocket. From another he pulled out a compass and a watch. With some mental math, he turned eastward and continued until he found the small dugout snow blind at the top of a hill where Morse was laid out with binoculars.
Even in both their coats, it was obvious how much larger Morse was than himself, having almost a foot on him with plenty of muscle that came from a nearly all meat diet. His head was wrapped in a small, white wool blanket to help himself blend in, as well as to keep the snow from piling directly against his scalp. Strapped across his back was a Sharps Rifle he had half wrapped in wool.
"Any updates?" Kelly asked. He dismounted his mare and tied her to a tree. A half-frozen radish from a side pouch was given for her trouble.
Morse made a dissatisfied grunt. "Not a sign since you left me. Found more of the symbols on the trees, though. Used a compass and a map to try and plot them- and…"
Morse sat up and went digging in the snow to retrieve his half-buried rucksack. He pulled from it some envelopes wrapped in canvas and handed them off to Kelly; who unfolded them close to the yellow light of his lantern. The biggest was a map of the whole valley with the cabin marked near the eastern fringe. Originating from it and scattering out in polygonal patterns were crosses; presumably, each was a different marking of the door symbol, as Kelly recognized some the spots. Besides some were numbers. Morse whistled to get his attention and held up a journal. Etched finely across its cover was "Property of the Marshals Service."
"The numbered ones had stones and writing near em," he said while opening it. "I'm guessing all of them had stones like that but the snow's hidden most the groundwork. The writing was in the bark and had the same red hue. I made copies of all it I could find in case it turns out important. For some God forsaken reason the ink turned red when I did…"
"Any of it of use?" Kelly folded away the map and inspected the other letters; which were just more detailed drawings of smaller areas.
Morse scoffed. "Fuck if I know. Here, want some examples?" He began to flip through the pages hastily. "I am I am. Lo the Philistine, and one of the rocks near it had the image of a skull broke in half. Hear my voice and open the door."
"Huh," Kelly scratched at his chin. "And the placement?"
"All centers on the cabin. This is the spot. Whatever was so important it trumped filling in Buchanan on their activities, Initiative's hidden it here." Morse shrugged. He put away his journal. “Anything more from Memphis?”
Kelly handed back the letters for them to be put with the rest of Morse’s things and walked to the head of his mare to brush her. He said, "I gave a visit to Bishop Otey to do a follow up about their meeting. Far as he knows, Bren and the other secessionists the man was with dropped off the face of the map after his Lordship had them briefly arrested. Tried to follow up on that but the governor had the documents sealed it seems."
"Hell would he do that for?" Morse asked with a clear disgust in his tone.
"No clue, no one knew. Think we could question him after this? We got the authority, I think."
Morse simply shook his head. "Buchanan ain't popular enough for it to slide. It would be a scandal, likely cost us our jobs.” He sighed. “Way things are looking, don't think anyone that follows him would be either…”
"You know I've been meaning to ask about that."
"About what?"
"Buchanan’s successor. Mostly curious about your thoughts of Lincoln. He's a divisive guy, and you're from Louisiana. Think you'd be fine serving under some Illinois Republican?" Kelly asked it with a coy grin before crouching down to eye level.
"I ain't got two shits who holds office over there,” Morse replied bluntly. “Ain't our job to question whether a man should or shouldn't be president, we're here to stop crime and uphold law. Constitution is what matters in the end. So long as they pay me, anyway."
Kelly stood, pulled a leather waterskin full of whiskey off his saddle and passed it down to Morse. With a laugh he said, "Suppose I can't argue with that logic, partner."
There was a silence between them as Kelly finished his cigarette then started another. Morse drank contemplatively while savoring the flavor of every gulp.
Quietly, Morse would ask, "What do we get for backup?"
Kelly took a long drag and said, "City militia will mobilize if we don’t come back. For now its just us."
"Figures,” Morse groaned as he came to stand and stretch.
He handed off the waterskin to Kelly to have it rescued before starting the trek downhill. As he left, Kelly brushed the mare’s mane for a second longer. She was side eyeing him and seemed uneasy, though he wasn’t quite sure if it was the area that had her spooked or she was just still calming down from the travel.
"Don't worry girl,” Kelly cooed to her, “we'll be back. Keep warm now." He took the lantern from its pole and followed behind Morse.
It had been months of work to find this place. Starting in mid-July when the Secure Containment Initiative had suddenly cut contact with Buchanan, there had been snags every step of the way. The info the Initiative provided up until they went dark had been inaccurate and at times, it seemed purposely misleading. The people they had previously dealt with had not seen them for some time or had died, under legitimate circumstances and less so. Then there were the crime scenes. The murders and disappearances that seemed to have cropped up around the Initiative's former facilities. All of them accompanied by the symbol of that door. It made for restless and tedious work.
The only relief they had gotten was a break a month or so back when they realized they could use the telegraph network across the coasts to find more of the crime scenes much faster. From there they were able to map out the locations to see them all at once. It had been Kelly who figured out how to draw the lines between them. To notice how they arranged themselves into polygons and stars radiating out from certain cities and monuments.
The map was incomplete, they knew, but there was enough to find the centerpiece. The place where the pattern concentrated. The backwoods of Memphis.
The further down the hill they went the further their boots sunk into the frigid snow. The ground seemed to hold less heat here, which left the flurry to build up around the little cabin and leave it half buried. It was a squat place, made of bricks and limestone with wooden shingles that were barely visible under the thick layers atop them. While it had a few windows, all of them were covered by quilts, likely to try and trap what heat they could inside.
There was one door, it seemed. An oak slab carved in some ornate pattern resembling a pair of praying figures. Beside it was a bronze placard with the symbol of that door they kept finding and some etchings.
BE CAREFUL FOR NOTHING
The placard made both the men stop in place. Kelly took front, just against the door as Morse brought his rifle to shoulder, ready for anything to happen. He tied his lantern to his hip, so both his hands were free. With a deep breath from both, they nodded to each other.
Kelly hit his fist against the center of the door to produce deep, resounding knocks. He shouted, "Bren Cavanaugh, this is the Marshals Service! We have some questions!"
There was no reply nor a sound of movement. The cabin remained silent as death. Kelly knocked again, repeated his demand and waited. After a moment's more hesitation, he tried the handle. The door opened inwards without the slightest resistance. With a look back to his partner, they shared a nod. He held the grip of a pistol holstered inside his coat and pressed the door open.
He was at once hit with a gust of warm, stale air. A sour smell seemed to leak out with it. There was a wide sitting room behind the door that was well furnished with tall oaken chairs and couches atop arabesque golden and purple rugs. The western wall was lined with bookcases between which hung strange, esoteric looking paintings depicting angelic figures amidst heavily scarlet, barbaric scenes. Across from this were doorways leading to a hall of bedrooms and an indoor kitchen. Scattered about the room were candles that provided a dim, waving light over the place.
Still, no sound reacted to their entry besides the whistle of wind blowing through the doorway.
The two men entered, now much less on edge, and closed the door behind them as they went about inspecting the place. Kelly slipped off to search the bedrooms while Morse lifted a candle to inspect the paintings and bookshelves for more clues. The sitting room was well kept, to his reckoning, with little dust and the room quite tidy but he came to notice a rotting through pie. It was sitting atop a table in the center of the room. Surrounding it were dishes with mold covered slices and cutlery that seemed to be laid out with intention.
It was only then he began to think of how long ago the candles must've been lit.
"Rooms are empty," Kelly said upon his return. He was taking his gloves off and rubbing his hands together while his face contorted in visibly deep thought.
"How'd they look?" Morse asked. He was doing math in his head to try and figure how long the wicks should’ve been able to last.
"I noticed some jewelry and journals were out, along with some guns lying on the beds and furniture, just out in the open. So not like they left in a panic, just messy sleepers."
"Didn't take their stuff, meaning they intended on getting it later. Haven't cleaned up this mess, so either aren't around or just don't care…" Morse muttered, thinking aloud more than anything.
"What do you make of it?"
"They definitely didn't know we were coming. Otherwise, they might have tried to hide their valuables.” Morse grumbled under his breath. He hesitantly added, “Or, they knew, and didn’t expect us to get out."
Kelly frowned. "Last one's bit of a leap."
"Sure," Morse said with a wave. He began to walk towards the kitchen. "Better we be cautious though. They could still be here, waiting to catch us."
Suddenly he stopped in the doorway and made a hand gesture for Kelly to approach. In the far-right corner of the room was a small wooden framed hatch with what seemed like a cast iron trap door on top. The thing was open, surrounded by candles, with an oaken ladder visible leant against its edge. They traded glances, Morse gestured to himself, but Kelly shook his head and silently took front on approaching it. Pulling his pistol fully from under his coat, he leant over the drop to see if the light of his lantern caught anyone. Instead, all he saw was the darkness of a limestone-floored cellar with overturned barrels of rotting food strewn around the ladder. With a hitch in his breath, he began to descend.
No attacks came. He heard a small scurry but that was likely just a rodent or some other varmint. The cellar, despite its build, was freezing cold. His lantern light revealed the boarded walls were covered in scratching that resembled that left in the trees with more painted symbols all sharp and evil. When he turned, he saw a tunnel that stretched into absolute darkness in place of the opposite wall.
Kelly waited a moment. He aimed down the tunnel and called back to Morse, "Clear! You can come down!"
The other man almost slid down the ladder joining him and swiftly brought his rifle to bear.
"Fuck me, what is this?" Kelly asked.
"Fuck if I know. If they've been using this to move around it would explain the lack of activity on the surface,” Morse said. He bit his tongue contemplatively thinking of anything he may have missed. “But haven't seen any other openings…”
"Plan?”
"Slight adjustment," Morse said with a long sigh. "We go in and shoot anyone that moves without permission. We'll question them at the hospital in town."
"Fine by me!" Kelly exclaimed. The both of them stayed side by side on the march forward.
The tunnels seemed to wind on forever. They twisted and turned and reached deeper into the ground at seemingly random intervals. Wooden brackets covered in hostile, scarlet glowing symbols held them together while the occasionally lit lantern swung from hooks hammered into rock. They found rooms carved out the earth. Some of them seemed like living spaces while others were seemingly the sites of satanic rituals. The walls in both were covered in busts depicting strange, inhuman figures. In corners of the tunnels, they found sections cut off by iron bars and heavy doors which hid behind them strange figures and objects. The two, of course, had known the Initiative's purview, and knew better than to tamper with these. All the while the scent of metal and decay grew stronger by the minute.
Eventually they stumbled upon what Kelly surmised to be a barracks/storage area. The walls here were made of limestone to cover the bare dirt and there was a solid oak roof. A number of cots were arranged about. Most were empty but a dozen or so had sleeping figures lied over them and a half dozen more had rotting bodies on them. Not that the living were much better off. They were frail and a sickly pale under the lantern light. Their facial features gaunt with blood or soap seeping from the corners of their lips as they convulsed and muttered things to themselves.
Kelly inspected them as thoroughly as he could while Morse searched a wall of pigeonholes with numerous documents. He had found his own lantern during the walk and was holding them to the light to try and find some meaning from the scrawled text.
"Any idea what went on here?" Kelly asked after some time.
"Definitely secessionists. Mr. Cavanaugh seems to have had some seniority; his notes are on a lot of these. He's talking about the need to use their; weird shit's best thing I can call it; to support the Southern way of life. This is probably indicting enough to bring back to Buchanan. Buuuut…" Morse said with audible hesitation. His breath making puffs of fog ahead of him as he spoke.
"But,” Kelly led on, “we need more?”
"Several of these documents are making reference to a summoning. We need to figure out what that was,” Morse said.
Kelly nodded and they continued through the tunnels. He couldn't quite argue against it. He was afraid, of course, and he knew Morse was too, but fear had never once stopped them in their task. Not when chasing cannibals in the Appalachians or Apache in the Southwest. No reason to view the Initiative and their men any different, he'd thought.
What meager confidence he'd asserted began to fade when the ripping was heard. Morse was the first to pick it up, nearing some intersection in the tunnel. He made a gesture for them to stop and pointed at his ear. Kelly was shaking hearing the distinctive sound of distant, tearing flesh. Another hand gesture and Kelly lowered his lantern's hood till there was just enough light to see a few steps ahead.
They followed the sound deeper into the bowels of the place. Morse with his rifle raised and Kelly with two of his pistols. The closer they drew, the stronger the scent of blood and rot in the air became. Alongside it were distinctive tones of incense and myrrh. Blood appeared in splatters along the tunnel. Along with fragments of bodies and broken stone icons.
Eventually they came upon a wide, circular chamber at a dead-end. In its center, surrounded by torches, cross-legged atop a mound of mixed corpses, was some ape thing.
It had the proportions of a chimp with a feline face contorted in anger and covered in far too many glossy, milk white eyes. Its limbs, long, golden haired, and muscular, ended in mantis-like, bony claws it was using to tear chunks from the bodies beneath it. Its legs, seeming atrophied and undersized, ended in basalt spikes that punched easily through flesh with every motion it made. All the while it produced this incessant, abrasive buzzing sound from a set of four, twitching antennae emerging from the hair on its head.
They had their answers, Kelly decided they would search no more.
He turned to Morse but the second he thought something to say there was a sharp gurgling sound from the beast. Morse went wide-eyed and Kelly turned just in time to hear a pig-like squeal from the thing. It jumped off its spoils to rush towards them.
"SHIT!" Kelly screamed.
Both men opened fire. Two hit with one tearing into its bloated, muscle lined belly and the other square in the thing's temple. It stumbled and fell but was quickly up again. A massive chunk of its brain was visibly missing now.
They turned and sprinted back from whence they came. They could hear it right against their heels. It hauled itself forward with thunderous, screaming bounds by way of its claws against the stony floor of the tunnel.
While they moved, Kelly tossed his empty pistols and drew two holstered at his hip. Morse, panicked, fumbled to break open his rifle and load a second paper shot. Kelly turned mid stride and barely caught glimpse of the thing in the poor light. Its jaw was distended to reveal a row of fangs with a thorny, whip-like tongue reaching from its throat.
He fired once; there wasn't room to miss so close. He heard a tear of flesh, a shrill cry of pain, and saw it fall forward in the quick flash. He'd hit it straight in the jugular. It only bought them a few paces before it was up again.
Kelly swore, tossed the pistol and turned back forward. Sweat was beading on his brow. His heart was rattling as he felt his legs screaming in pain. His hands shook in terror reaching to open his lantern wide for them.
As they neared a turn they recognized, Morse stopped for just a second to line up a shot at the thing. Kelly screamed for him just to keep moving but it was too late. Morse shot but it leaped unabated at him. Kelly cried out as Morse was pressed onto his back and it began to strike him repeatedly across the chest and face. There were audible cracking noises mixed with the sounds of Morse's own screams.
Kelly drew an 8-inch knife from his pants. Putting his last shot in its back, he ran forward to jam his blade between its ribs. It made a wheeze and batted him away. The blade hilted in its torso did little to weaken it even as gurgling mixed into its noises. Kelly was launched five feet by the strike and fell to his side with a painful crash. His attack had done only one thing; getting its attention off Morse.
He saw it leap into the air. Claws unfolded out and read to embed into his flesh. Mere inches away from him, there was a crack like lightning and a bullet hit it on the side of its face. It collided with the tunnel wall.
It screamed in agony and clawed at the wound as white smoke poured from it. Kelly took the opportunity to stand and get Morse to his feet, battered and bloodied as he was. He heard a man shouting and turned to see a light up the tunnel.
"BOTH YOU, THIS WAY!" He called out. He was wrapped from head to toe in heavy layers of winter clothes with a lantern at his hip. He clutched in his gloves a strange, lever-action rifle made of brass and ivory. Just barely visible was a pair of glowing, swirling, golden eyes. "Phosphorous bullet won’t keep it down a minute and I've only got two of em!"
They didn't have time or the mind to argue. Kelly hauled Morse over his shoulder and followed the interloper up the tunnel. Just as he'd said, it wasn't long before the thing was back up again and on hot pursuit. The interloper said some strange things and he moved his hands exaggeratedly as he did . Somehow this made the beast slow behind them and twist its head around in utter confusion while whispers of Kelly's own voice lapped against his skull.
The man led them through the sleeping barracks, where the Initiative men were undisturbed in their slumber. They went past holding cells that rattled with cries of panic and jubilant ecstasy. Up, up, and up until they were nearing the cellar again. All the while the beast's echoes drew further away but never stopped being audible.
The man commanded Kelly climbed first then helped Morse in following. The cabin had all the candles out now with the door swung open to the frigid exterior. The snow was still falling. As Kelly and Morse ran for the door, he noticed the floors, furniture, and walls had been soaked wet and there was a mineral smell in the air. Outside, they only made it up half the hill before their legs gave out from exhaustion. Kelly heard Columbia's cries out in the distance as he collapsed into the snow, panting like mad.
The stranger walked backwards out the cabin slowly with his gun pointed at the kitchen doorway. The sounds of the beast grew louder and louder. Kelly saw a flash of its silhouette appear from the kitchen with another piggish squeal. At the same second, the stranger jerked his rifle left and shot.
Instantly, fire burst from the front door. The windows were blown out and a bang resounded across the forest.
The whole cabin was consumed in it. Still the stranger didn't back off. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew what seemed like some medieval sword from his hip. It was covered in animalistic symbols that made Kelly's mind swim to see them.
The burning beast stumbled out from what was left. It was striking at its body and haphazardly lumbering from side to side in visible agony. It was covered in flames and could barely be heard whimpering over the sounds of the blaze. The stranger wasted no time sprinting up to it to sink his blade into its chest and force it onto its back. He was untouched by the flames in doing so, it seemed.
It didn't get up again this time. Instead, the sword pinned it to the ground where it wallowed and shrieked weakly. The man was breathing heavy as he walked away from it. His silhouette blackened by the intense light behind him as he approached Kelly and Morse.
Much of the nights that followed were a blur. Kelly remembered some exchange before he rushed back to Memphis atop Columbia with Morse against his back. He remembered entering the hospital, urgently demanding aid with the doctors acquiescing easily to the marshal's badge. He remembered, while Morse was recovering from surgery in the hospital, sending a report back to Washington by telegraph. He didn't know what he said, beyond that other details would be forthcoming as he got the time.
It was the night of the New Year when he saw the man from the cabin again. He was with Morse in the hospital. His partner, recovering well, was trading jokes and drinking brandy up until they heard a knock and turned to see the stranger, still wrapped in all his layers, standing at the doorway.
"Apologies if this a bad time, gentlemen." He spoke with a strange but eloquent accent. It seemed, vaguely European, but with harsh consonants and short vowels that he nonetheless spoke quite clearly but quickly. "I wanted to check that you were both still alive and sane. Good to see you especially are not dead, my larger fellow!"
Morse and Kelly were silent a moment watching the man. Kelly felt a distinct understanding he was smiling under his wraps somehow.
"How did you know where to find us?" Kelly asked, his tone skeptical.
The man didn't answer. Instead, he clicked his tongue, gestured to the door, and asked in turn, "May I?" Morse nodded before Kelly could think of saying no, and so it was closed.
"I've been following you both for some months now, keeping up with your investigation. Granted, at a distance for the most part but I felt I would need to intervene once you made your way to Memphis,” he said. He moved his hands rapidly as he spoke to punctuate his words.
Kelly frowned. He patted his pants and cursed as he only now realized he'd never retrieved his guns or knife. Tersely, he asked, "Are you Initiative?"
"No, no, no no no. I am an independent actor! I've been looking into them like you two, only longer; and I dare say better."
Kelly scoffed but was made to turn his attention to Morse by a tap on the elbow. The man's heavily bandaged face showed just enough to allow a discouraging look to shine through.
Softly, Morse reminded him, "He did save our lives back there.”
"Still," Kelly said, "We don't know who he is- I mean, hell, what's even your name?"
"Call me Wly." He said it so poshly it seemed almost comical as he bowed forward.
"Obviously fake,” Kelly said.
"Glass houses!" Wly said excitedly with a sharp pointing gesture. It made Kelly stare daggers at him to hear. He continued, "I don't have your real names, so you don't get mine. Besides, I shouldn't give you it anyway…"
"We are US Marshals, you are, in fact, legally obligated to identify yourself to us by the power of the federal, fucking, government," Kelly exclaimed while rising to his feet. His heart was racing and he felt ready to fight. Wly barely seemed to drop his cadence a hair.
"Kelly," Morse said will reaching to grab at his shirt. "Calm down. If he meant to do us harm, he wouldn’t have let us leave the forest, much less come here.”
Wly nodded along and paced in a fidgety manner. He said, "Morse is correct in his assessment, Kelly. I have not come here to make enemies with you."
"Then what in hell are you here for?" Kelly asked.
"To give you the information you’ve been looking for. Here-" Wly reached under his clothes. The movement made Kelly tense but the man raised his free hand to calm the marshal as he produced a thick journal painted over with stars and bound in twine. There were papers visibly packed between its pages to the point where it was bulging open. "The fullness of my notes on the Initiative and their activities. I don't want to overpromise, There’s little actionable intelligence beyond some broad understandings and means of contacting.”
Morse and Kelly both looked on in utter confusion and disbelief.
Morse was the first to break the silence. Sheepishly, he asked, "Why would you give us this?"
"I simply recognize that you two, almost uniquely among the federal government, are quite competent, driven, and aren't overtly evil. As our goals are aligned, it's only reasonable to help each other!" Wly stepped forward and rested the journal on Morse's aching legs. The other carefully lifted and opened it.
"Now hold on a second. Each other?" Kelly asked.
Wly made a small clap. "Yes, we would make great allies."
Kelly thought long how to respond to that. As he did, he leaned over to watch Morse flipping through the pages. There were detailed sketches of creatures that looked like the ones from the tunnels, sequences of the symbols found around the forests, and neatly written out schedules with dates drawn from multiple calendars he both did and didn't recognize. Then it hit him.
"You knew what we were gonna find, didn't you?" Kelly asked, a mix of horror, shock, and outrage clear in his voice. The man was silent, but that feeling of his hidden smile did not fade. Kelly snarled, "You bastard! We could've died!"
"But you didn't!" Wly said almost giddily without skipping a beat.
"That doesn’t change anything!" Morse shouted.
Wly clapped his hands together. "I beg to differ."
"Oh," Kelly said while scrunching his face as though he'd smelled something rancid, "please explain!"
Wly pointed to them and said, "Weaker men then the two of you would've died in seconds. You saw the pile of bodies. The people who summoned the thing all died to it with nary a scar to show for their efforts, and yet you two wounded it. Enough to reach back to me."
"It was luck," Morse said. He closed the journal back in his lap.
"So, if I've got this straight,” Kelly interjected, “you let us walk into a death trap just to test how competent we were before you felt confident enough to give us information which was all that we needed to end our investigation and just go home!" He stepped closer to Wly with each word and got just in front of him.
The only reaction the stranger gave was, "Well, that and one other thing."
"That being!?"
"What do you think went on down there, Kelly?" Wly asked and cocked his head to the side.
"What does it matter!?"
Only then did the subconscious knowledge of Wly's smile fade. "It matters because I know you are a good man Kelly. It matters because this isn't the only place they were, or are, doing these things. Think about it. The murders, the disappearances, the assaults. Think of the crime scenes, the scars, the witnesses. Didn't the symbols and the arrangement of those rooms at the cabin feel familiar in anyway?"
Kelly wanted to yell again, but found his voice taken from him as he thought back on the gruesome scenes. The bastard was, regrettably, right. The thought of what it meant made Kelly's stomach turn.
Wly just nodded understandingly and said, "I’ll leave you two to think about things. In a couple days a man from the Initiative who is a loyalist will approach you both with an explanation for the lack of communication. An ‘internal dispute.’ This will be your report as it is at least half true.”
"Why? Why should we listen to you?" Kelly muttered.
"Because if you tell Buchanan the full truth," Wly raised a finger close to Kelly's face, “they will find out. They will hide themselves better and we won’t be able to stop them.”
Kelly pursed his lips. "And what's the full truth?"
Wly began to step away while shaking his head. "The secessionists and the loyalists both had the same ideas starting shortly before this time last year. Already by then they had started squirreling everything away from each other. Former brothers in arms or not, those kinds of thoughts don't just appear in a vacuum, concurrently." He reached the door and added quietly, "Something abhorrent is in their heads."