Lies Within Darkness

The Quiet Before the Fire The invitation was simple: a meeting in a secluded spot, time and place whispered among a handful of trusted souls. But the weight of it was anything but simple, especially as we gathered at the edge of Jake Hendricks’ sprawling property. The night was still, almost holding its breath, as men shuffled into place—some uncertain, some eager, all cloaked in a shared, unspoken understanding that this wasn’t an ordinary meeting. Jake stood there, commanding yet cautious, his gaze scanning us as if weighing our resolve. It wasn’t long before I noticed his eyes linger on me, a flash of discomfort crossing his face. What’s bothering him? I thought. When he asked if I’d like to wait at his house with his wife instead of joining the men, I flicked it off with a smile. “I’m fine, Jake,” I said, more out of determination than comfort. I didn’t come this far to miss out on the action. Jake hesitated, nodded, then looked away. As the last few men arrived, we piled into our cars, slipping into a convoy under the cloak of dusk. The procession moved through two different stops—an attempt to shake off prying eyes or digital traces. Finally, we gathered at a quiet park, darkened and forgotten, far from city lights and cameras. The breeze rustled the leaves, filling the void of our muted conversations and half—hidden glances as we waited for Jake to begin. He started speaking, but his words were vague—more like riddles than an explanation. He alluded to "the change" that needed to come, the scourge of moral corruption too deep for justice alone. His voice dipped and rose, skimming over specifics, though the undertones were impossible to ignore. I raised my hand, the movement almost instinctive, cutting through the haze of ambiguities. “Jake, I just want to be really clear about what you’re suggesting. Are you asking who here would be willing to kill… paedophiles?” My voice felt colder than I intended. The words hung in the air, echoing back from the shadows around us. Jake shifted uncomfortably, and a shadow of doubt flitted across his face. After a long moment, he nodded. “Yes. Not just the paedophiles—but those protecting them. The politicians who are suppressing the list.” A murmur ran through the group as the understanding sank in. The list. I pressed on, knowing I wasn't the only one with questions. “I just want to make sure everyone is very clear about what you’re asking, Jake.” He tried to meet my gaze but looked away, lips tight. The unease in his stance grew. Finally, he leaned into his words, sharpening them with resolve. He was looking for men willing to take justice into their own hands—men who could erase, eliminate, anyone he deemed the problem. The others shifted on their feet, glancing at one another, the enormity of his proposal weighing differently on each of them. Grant, a man who wore his anger on his sleeve, asked, “How will you know who you’re going after?” Jake’s face froze. His jaw tightened before he exhaled sharply. “I have a contact… a friend in ASIO,” said almost in a whisper, as if invoking this friend might conjure him from the night. “He’ll provide the information we need.” It was then that the sheer absurdity of it hit me. I felt like I'd been yanked into a different world — this wasn’t justice. This was delusion, cloaked in vengeance. The crowd of men faces half—lit by distant streetlamps, looked like ghosts of themselves, distorted by the darkness in Jake’s words. Finally, unable to bite back the question swirling in my mind, I raised my hand again. “For those who don’t want to kill anyone… is there any other purpose to this...gathering?” Jake shifted again. He cleared his throat. “Well, we’ll have a cover. A soup kitchen—community service, you know. Something to point to if things go wrong.” He said it with a gleam in his eye, as if the soup kitchen were a disguise for something far darker. I hadn’t come expecting to hear something so sinister. This wasn’t a rebellion. It was far more dangerous. This was desperation, dressed up as justice. A man willing to gamble everything—including the innocence of his followers—for a twisted cause. My chest tightened as I looked around at these men—some grim, some wide—eyed. I saw it clearly then: Jake was drawing a line, and none of us could pretend we didn’t see it. In that moment, I knew something had fractured in the fabric of our world. And none of us could pretend it was still whole. A wave of dread settled in my chest—how had we ended up here? • We sat in silence as Grant drove, each of us trying to process what we’d just witnessed. The darkness outside the car seemed to press in, thick and unrelenting, mirroring the twisted shadows Jake had cast over the night. Finally, Grant broke the silence with a hollow laugh. “What the actual fuck was that?” It felt like the air broke with his words, releasing the tension that had coiled tight in our chests. Jasper shook his head, rubbing his face in disbelief. “That was… surreal. I kept waiting for someone to laugh and say it was all a joke. But he meant every word.” “Yeah,” I muttered, staring at the road ahead. “And he wanted us to mean it too. If any of those guys are willing to take him seriously...” We instinctively checked our phones, forgetting they were off. As we collectively exhaled, Leo spoke, voice low and steady. “Someone has to report it.” He looked around at us, the flicker of lights from passing cars illuminating his troubled expression. “Jake’s dangerous, the police need to know.” There was a pause. We all knew the risk. Jake had made it clear—no one was to speak about this meeting to anyone. The first rule of Fight Club had wormed its way into our lives.