The Smiling Man Conspiracy: This Fallen World, #2

By C.J. Sears

In a world of deception, making the wrong decisions brings dire consequences.

Agent Llewyn Finch reunites with his former partner, Kasey Alexander, to embark on a mission to uncover the truth behind a series of abductions. There's a hitch, though: Llewyn hasn't recovered from his last case, and can't shake the fact that where he goes, death follows.

Someone's playing a mad game with the lives of innocents, and evidence points to a shadow organization within the government. As Llewyn and Kasey untangle the knots of a grand scheme, they aren't sure who to trust.

EVOLVED PUBLISHING PRESENTS the second installment in the "This Fallen World" series of dark, creepy, horror thrillers. Better turn on all the lights! [DRM-Free]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC
• Release date: Sep 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781622537761

C.J. Sears

An avid reader and writer since middle school, C.J. Sears is the author of the “This Fallen World” horror/thriller series. In 2013, he earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from Arkansas Tech University. After languishing a few years at a mundane job, C. J. set out to pursue his passion. Inspired by Twin Peaks and Resident Evil, he began working on what would eventually become The Shadow Over Lone Oak – the first of several books chronicling the adventures of eccentric Special Agent Llewyn Finch. In the fall of 2016, C.J. gave his life to Christ. That faith now informs his storytelling and ongoing blog. He believes that fiction is a uniquely valuable medium for delivering both entertainment and essential truths. His emphasis is on the power of the parable rather than preachiness, and he affirms that no message should get in the way of a good story. C.J.’s range of interests and hobbies include gaming, occasional poetry, swimming, and amateur photography. He mostly spends time with his family and loved ones, particularly his two rambunctious cats and silly goof dog. The quiet life suits him fine, but when a new vision of monsters and mystery beckons, he’s no stranger to answering the call.

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THE SMILING MAN CONSPIRACY

This Fallen World – Book 2

Second Edition: Copyright © 2022 C.J. Sears

(Original First Edition Copyright © 2017 C.J. Sears)

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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622537769

ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-776-1

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Editor: Lane Diamond

Cover Artist: Kabir Shah

Interior Designer: Lane Diamond

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

At the end of this novel of approximately 62,947 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) THE SONS OF DARKNESS by C.J. Sears, the next installment (Book 3) in the This Fallen World series of horror thrillers, and; 2) THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER by Mike Robinson, the critically-acclaimed first book in the Enigma of Twilight Falls series. We think you’ll enjoy these books, too, and provide these previews as a FREE extra service, which you should in no way consider a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.

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eBook License Notes:

You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

Books by C.J. Sears

THIS FALLEN WORLD

Book 1: The Shadow over Lone Oak

Book 2: The Smiling Man Conspiracy

Book 3: The Sons of Darkness

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www.CJSearsAuthor.wordpress.com

BONUS CONTENT

We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.

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In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the first chapter of THE SONS OF DARKNESS by C.J. Sears, the next installment (Book 3) in the This Fallen World series of horror thrillers.

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OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

THIS FALLEN WORLD Series at Evolved Publishing

In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the first two chapters of THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER by Mike Robinson, the critically-acclaimed first book in the Enigma of Twilight Falls series.

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Editor’s Choice at HorrorNovelReviews.com: Among the Top 10 Horror Novels of All-Time

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Absolutely magnificent. ~ Shannon McGrew, Nightmarish Conjurings

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Literary horror... Every page is full of insight, matched only by the high standard of the writing. ~ Tom Conrad, The Indie Pendant

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OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

ENIGMA OF TWILIGHT FALLS Series at Evolved Publishing

Table of Contents

Copyright

Books by C.J. Sears

BONUS CONTENT

Table of Contents

Dedication

THE SMILING MAN CONSPIRACY

Chapter 1 – A History of Evil

Chapter 2 – Harbinger of Death

Chapter 3 – We Were Partners

Chapter 4 – Truth

Chapter 5 – Arrested Developments

Chapter 6 – Blood on the Snow

Chapter 7 – P3RF3CTPUR1TY

Chapter 8 – Consequences

Chapter 9 – Nothing Left

Chapter 10 – Refuge

Chapter 11 – Bad Juju

Chapter 12 – The Monster Inside

Chapter 13 – A Dog Needs a Leash

Chapter 14 – The Labyrinth

Chapter 15 – Scarred

Chapter 16 – Dark Water

Chapter 17 – Kiss the Sand

Chapter 18 – End Game

Chapter 19 – New Life

Special Sneak Preview: THE SONS OF DARKNESS by C.J. Sears

Acknowledgements

About the Author

More from Evolved Publishing

Special Sneak Preview: THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER by Mike Robinson

Dedication

For Dad.

Without him and his steadfast love, none of this would be possible.

Chapter 1 – A History of Evil

Mark Grayson regretted taking this job. He’d known something was off right from the start. The vibe was bad, the air was wrong, and a peculiar tingle rose in his groin. Well, maybe he had to piss, but this whole affair didn’t feel right.

Jorge Ortiz and Kent Cranston waited for him on the other side of the hedge wall, dressed all in black and wearing masks. He couldn’t tell them apart, not that it mattered. They weren’t his friends, just some nobody crooks his fence recommended.

He should never have listened to her, but when Allison flashed her pearly whites, he couldn’t resist. Dumbass. He’d left that puppy love nonsense behind years ago—at least he thought he had.

Grayson, get your ass over here, one of them called from behind the hedge, maybe Ortiz. He sounded Hispanic.

Grayson grunted and eased himself over the high wall and into the mansion garden. No signs of resistance, but he still felt uncomfortable—like being back in Iraq with a pair of raw recruits. Here he was, casing the compound and wary of improvised explosives, and stuck with two jack-offs who wanted to rush him along. That sort of shit got you killed.

Darkness shrouded the mansion, but even with his flashlight turned off, Grayson could see how extravagant the place must have been in its prime. With high buttressed walls, a massive sloping roof, and a hefty stone gargoyle atop a fine point, it looked more like a cathedral or a castle then it did someone’s home.

Cranston whistled. Bet it cost a pretty penny.

Shut up, said Grayson, jimmying a first-floor window loose.

Why are we doing all this sneaking around, anyway? Cranston asked, ignoring Grayson. Ain’t nobody lived here for years. Not a guard or even a caretaker in sight.

That don’t mean we’re out of the woods, Supes, Ortiz said. Didn’t you read the dossier? The owner loved cloak-and-dagger spy junk. There’s probably traps or something in the house that the police don’t even know are there.

Ortiz had nicknamed Cranston Supes the night they met up to discuss the heist, saying the name Kent reminded him of Superman.

Grayson didn’t much care. They needed to focus on the task at hand—no time for this fake camaraderie.

Will you both stop yapping? Grayson complained, yanking the window up. Get in the damn house and watch where you step.

Yes sir! Ortiz flashed him a mock salute.

Cranston mimed kissing his ass.

Idiots. He would never listen to Allison’s advice again, not even with her lovely smile.

Whatever rich prick had owned this house had lavish taste. Grayson grudgingly admired the kitchen with all of its appliances imbued with stainless splendor. The marble floors sparkled in spite of years of dust collection. Spectacular and seamless granite shaped the island countertop. He never cared much about rocks in his kitchen. Give him ceramic tile any day of the week.

The flashlights they’d brought with them illuminated the room. He’d come to appreciate the tactical KLARUS model during his time with the military. They’d see danger well before it reached them. Nonetheless, Grayson didn’t trust his companions, and technology would only take him so far into unknown territory.

"Man, what I wouldn’t give for mi esposa to cook for me in a place like this."

Do either of these morons have an off function?

Didn’t you hear Captain America? We’re meant to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to wake the dead.

That answered his question, and Grayson rolled his eyes. Not that they could see him do it even with their bright-ass flashlights.

The grand foyer of the mansion was, if possible, more impressive than the exterior or the kitchen had been. Twin mahogany staircases curved to meet in the center of the room. Clerestory windows lined the multi-tiered domed ceiling of the rotunda. Painted around the rim was a Renaissance mosaic, a Michelangelo or Leonardo da Vinci replica.

In its heyday, the joint must have played host to a menagerie of parties and celebrity guests. The expensive wine would have flowed like the Nile. He imagined fake laughs and gossip bouncing off the finely fashioned walls. Now, only a hollow shell of wealth and power remained.

Leave it to those who have too much to show off.

Grayson made sure to track dirt on the red velvet rug that ran the length of the room. It wasn’t like he left a recognizable print. He was already robbing the place, so why bother keeping it pristine? If this pricey tomb had a caretaker, he wasn’t doing them any favors.

He retrieved a blueprint of the mansion from his bag, unrolled it, and studied the architect’s plans, looking for the best course to take through the winding halls.

What are we looking for, again? asked Cranston.

It’s some kind of computer chip or something, answered Ortiz.

"We’re breaking into a dead, rich dude’s house for a computer chip?"

Ortiz chuckled. It’s not just some piece of hardware, Supes. It’s supposed to have all kinds of data on it—names, addresses, preferences—the stuff governments everywhere would pay to have.

But still, a computer chip? What are we, the geek squad?

Grayson really wished he could have worked with mutes. Every time one of these amateurs opened his mouth, flashes of Baghdad appeared in his mind.

He remembered walking down a dusty road on a starlit night, his nerves frayed from repeated attacks by jihadists. Three members of Grayson’s unit had already died. Shrapnel from an IED had wounded his commanding officer. Then two loud bozos had a little chat, and a sniper rifle rang out and took both of them with head shots. The blood splattered across his face and he went prone, wanting nothing more than to cry and be anywhere else.

Grayson pushed the memories aside. Now was not the time to dwell on that. He refused to become one of those veterans, the kind that became fixated and consumed by the war they never left. He hadn’t lived through that battle to die to the one in his mind.

C’mon, he said to his less than professional companions. We’ll check the study first. The blueprint claims it’s on the second floor to our right.

Ortiz took point while Cranston brought up the rear. Being sandwiched between these two numbskulls didn’t sit right with Grayson. If they encountered a trap, and they panicked, he didn’t trust them to get out of the way if he had to fire back.

They crept up the steps one at a time, not that anyone would hear the sounds of their footsteps. No one was listening in this empty mausoleum.

Wary as he was, Grayson began to think Cranston was right. What was there to be afraid of? The owner was dead, and the place had no running electricity, no way to trigger an alarm. No point in being this jittery, yet he couldn’t bring himself to admit the possibility it was his nerves, perhaps the product of PTSD, getting the better of him.

They stopped at a broken bust. The study was somewhere around this spot according to the blueprint, but there were no doors in sight.

This job pissed him off more with each passing second. Allison had rushed the planning stage, told them the item was time sensitive, said there were other interested parties... blah, blah, blah.

Yeah, right.

Grayson had never known a fence to authorize an operation with a half-baked plan. He’d been doing this since he was a teenager, and they were all the same. Allison was lying about something. He should have said no, but that damned smile....

I didn’t know computer chips were this ugly, joked Ortiz.

Yeah, I thought technology was supposed to get smaller? This looks like it’s a relic from a museum, said Cranston.

He picked up the statue’s head and tossed it to Ortiz like a football. The chiseled stone clinked against the marble floor. Ortiz had fumbled.

"You stupid cabrón you could have knocked my teeth out!"

It would have been an improvement.

"Yeah, that’s not what your mom said, gringo," Ortiz spat, taking his mask off.

The insult should have bounced off of Cranston, but he couldn’t resist biting back. Oh, yeah? Well, I hear your wife is two-timing you with the pool boy.

Grayson would have done anything for a cattle prod to shock some sense into these clowns. Fortunately for them, he was more fascinated by the broken statue.

For once, the bumbling duo had done something worthwhile. Grayson noticed the button where the head opened at the neck. Ortiz was right; the previous owner was fond of that spy nonsense. He knew how to open the study.

It’s a hidden door. Push against the wall.

Ortiz and Cranston listened to his instructions this time. Good. His orders falling on deaf ears pissed him off.

The trio braced their shoulders against the wall. Normally, the mechanism relied on an electric current and a remote operating system. Without it, a little elbow grease and substantial muscle would take the hidden door to task.

Cool beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads, but Grayson, Ortiz, and Cranston shoved the door ajar without too much trouble. It scraped across the floor with a metallic screech, its rusted hinges on borrowed time.

The study contained no personal effects, no picture frames or plaques, and offered no indication that anyone had inhabited the room... except for the lingering chemical smell. Or was that his imagination?

The grandchild or other distant relative in charge of recovery had neglected to remove the computer from the room. Understandable, given that the machine was a fossil. A broken CRT monitor completed the ancient ensemble. With luck, the cleanup crew had been as irresponsible in leaving this rumored chip behind.

Grayson kicked up dust with each step.

Behind him, Ortiz sneezed, and Cranston snickered before falling victim to his own nasally fit.

It serves those two right for ignoring my orders.

He found nothing in the computer or under the desk—no floppy disk, no backup copy, no chip. The thing didn’t even have a hard drive. It was the machine equivalent of a rotting corpse and the buzzards had already fed.

Well, this was worth a Friday night, Cranston said.

Shut up and look around. It has to be somewhere around here. Try one of the books on these shelves.

"Yes sir," replied the chorus.

The study must have doubled as a small library in a past life. The three of them scoured the room, searching the spines of each book for anything that looked promising. What biology texts on parasites and viral infections had to do with a computer chip, Grayson didn’t know. Allison must have lied to him, or she was misinformed.

Sighing, Grayson scanned the shelf to his left: Amoebas in Ancient Society, Biology & Complex Systems, Born to Consume: The Life of a Cordyceps—at least the books were in alphabetical order.

A heavyset journal, leather-bound and white as snow, drew his attention away from the scientific documents. Someone had haphazardly scrawled the words A History of Evil onto the cover using a red ink pen.

Curiosity killed cats but Grayson considered himself more of a canine, anyway, his bark and his bite dangerous on and off the battlefield. That’s what his last two squads had told him.

He turned to the first page:

The following is an annotated record of the fifteen prestigious founding families of Lone Oak.

He frowned. Lone Oak? That town that got napalmed a couple months back? Wasn’t there a virus or something that got out of control?

His interest piqued, he read on:

In the late 1800s, the Bradfords, along with fourteen other distinguished families, journeyed from a coastal fishing village near the Appalachian Mountains to an undefined settlement along the Missouri/Arkansas border. Their reason for leaving was unknown to all but the families themselves. Some believed they had ties to the burgeoning Mormon Church and headed west to meet their brethren. But the truth was far more sinister. Below I have inscribed a most peculiar symbol.

Grayson didn’t recognize the rune on the page. It was some kind of nine-pointed star, but that description didn’t quite conjure the appropriate image. It almost seemed alive.

Suppressing a surprising shiver, he flipped to the next page.

No one knows the exact origin or nature of the organization, but it is clear the Bradfords belonged to what could only be described as a cult. But unlike spurious modern sects, I know their so-called god is quite real. We are not made in its image. Its purpose, the cult’s purpose, is assuredly evil—and it must perish.

My name is Jackson Maverlies. My family was one of the fifteen that conspired to control the town of Lone Oak. My ancestors, as well as the Bradfords and other families, maintained every aspect of the town. They engineered its very fabric to suit their desires. Even the city’s water system was owned and operated by a Founder. No scheme was too small or too large for the cult to claim.

How did they achieve this? Through the use of a—

I think I’ve found something, said Cranston.

Grayson tore his eyes away from the tome.

Cranston held a flat metal box with a large red switch. The wire connected to it was being fed through the wall behind the bookcase—another hidden door.

Ortiz patted him on the shoulder. Good eye, Supes.

Grayson dropped the journal on the table and examined the switch. He knew it operated some kind of revolving or retracting mechanism inside the shelves, but without power, they’d have to brute-force it again.

He gestured for Ortiz and Cranston to push against the bookcase, and they jostled the shelf but it didn’t budge. He heaved his shoulder into the door, aware that he’d wake up sore in the morning. The payout for this gig would make it worth all the trouble... he hoped.

The bookcase didn’t even whimper. They’d have to remove the books and lighten the opposing load. Grayson opened his mouth to tell his fellow thieves, and....

Both of them stood illuminated in red emergency light as an alarm blared.

An automated voice overrode his senses. Intruders detected. Locking all exits. Securing all doors and windows.

The mansion has electricity.

Shit, man, we’re screwed, Ortiz cried, scrambling to put his mask back on.

No, we’re not, said Grayson, making his way calmly over to the door leading back to the second floor. The place is probably running on auxiliary power. I have no idea why it waited until now to kick in, but it’s not doing anything. Look, the doors aren’t even closing.

Sure enough, no lockdown seemed imminent, the only sound the repeated screech of the distress message.

What about the cops? Ortiz looked doubtful, and scared. That alarm’s so loud it’ll wake somebody up.

Grayson shrugged. Then we’ll have to work fast. Let’s get this bookcase moved. It’s already halfway there.

He didn’t know what compelled him to continue. No computer chip was worth the trouble, but after reading that journal and knowing about the deceased owner’s penchant for this clandestine crap, he had to push forward.

The false shelves gave way to an extensive, perhaps endless staircase. The red emergency light cast a hellish glow that faded as they descended into muted darkness. No longer ringing in their ears, the automated voice crackled as if it were on life support, the auxiliary power apparently already waning.

At the bottom, Grayson threw his arm in front of Ortiz and Cranston. He thought he’d heard a strange noise—growling, some kind of animal, and it sounded hungry.

What gives, Captain? I ain’t your baby mama.

He disregarded Cranston’s remark. He’d heard the noise again, but still couldn’t decipher the nature of the animal. Having grown up on a farm in the boonies, he knew what sounds a predator like a cougar or a wolf made. This was neither.

The creature, whatever it was, drew closer by the second. A shape formed in the void, bipedal with a slight hunch—humanoid, in fact.

Hello? Ortiz squeaked.

Grayson wanted to slap him. Years in combat had taught him that if an opposing force didn’t immediately identify itself as a friend, it was best to assume foe. He wished he’d brought his service pistol, a SIG P229.

It made wet plopping noises as it shuffled toward them.

Are its feet slicked with mucus or slime? That would explain the squelching.

More of its features became clear as