Green Lantern - Sleepers Book 2

by Unknown Author

  The stranger paced in front of the scientist. “Do you realize that people in America are saying the same? They want the power to make the world safe as well.”

  Mustering some bravado, Ackermann said, “But ours is the true cause.”

  The stranger smiled ingratiatingly. “Yes, I’m convinced that all of you believe in your causes. It find it irrevocably charming. Well, time to be going... ”

  The stranger touched his ring to the others, and Ackermann saw that they were all glowing with power, potential.

  The scientist could not help but to ask. “How did you do that?” Once again the stranger smiled, but the humor behind it made Ackermann shiver in fear.

  “Maybe mine is the true cause.”

  “And what is your cause?” asked Ackermann.

  The stranger’s evil smile grew. “Why, to make this world a better place,” he said.

  Then the man simply stood up and strode out of the room. Timidly, Ackermann went to the hallway, where he saw the SS guards’ flesh and uniforms torn apart, their polished boots and helmets marred by fresh blood and entrails. Ackermann had an instant memory of slaughtering chickens on his uncle’s farm in Bavaria during the hot, humid summers. The flash of this led to the incomprehensibility of the moment. The slaughter was a harvest slaughter for a feast of good fortune.

  he top floor of Malvolio’s townhouse had a view of the skyscrapers of Gotham. Malvolio, in the darkness of the room, stared at the lights of the surrounding city, majestic to everyone, including him.

  The Stargate shimmered in front of him, equally as spectacular as the skyline out the window. The emptiness of the huge townhouse seemed odd in the densely packed city pulsating outside and around him. “The weak in their weak world,” Malvolio thought, “going about their useless, meaningless lives.”

  T

  How far he had come. How superior he had become.

  His return was destiny. He knew this now—the power of the rings, the discovery of Irene, the world in turmoil. Everything was divided, in conflict, lost. Malvolio would take full advantage of this: he would be the great unifier.

  Malvolio opened the book that he took from Scott’s apartment. Stories of the apprehension of common thieves and rogues. Scott was weak, so weak that he hid his identity like a coward. He would not be an issue.

  But then Malvolio thought of their fight among the soldiers. Scott’s power had great potential. Perhaps he could be an ally, a protege?

  But what would be the point of that? This world did not need two saviors. There could only be one leader.

  He would need to dispose of Scott.

  The Stargate shimmered.

  Malvolio stood before a large mirror, admiring the image before him. The outfit he wore was veiy much like Scott’s with the ability to move gracefully, silently. If Scott’s Green Lantern could be loved by so many, he would be unbelievable to them, stronger than anyone they’d ever seen, any politician or soldier, and certainly stronger than the silliness of Scott’s Green Lantern.

  Malvolio considered his new look and his destiny.

  In front of him were the two rings. It would be nothing for him to get the other two from Washington, and the rings from the Pacific island. But what then?

  The Earth would be his, as Qward was before he was forced to destroy it. He would coalesce his power here on Earth, rule it in the way it was destined, in this dimension, in this time. He would be king.

  And he would need a queen.

  Malvolio went to the balcony and took in the breath of cool night air. The not unpleasant honking of cars, the roar of buses and the faint sounds of a clarinet coming from a musician’s apartment was pleasing. Malvolio liked this Earth and it would be a pleasure to rule it.

  The Flamingo Club was a bad idea-not as good as Scott remembered it, and even in wartime it was too fancy for non-fancy people. Scott looked uncomfortable in his dress uniform, and although Irene looked beautiful in her gown, her hair made up and swept back to reveal the pronounced cheeks, strong jaw, full lips made up to a pout, eyes big with mascara: a beautiful mask.

  They knew each other from the streets, from walks on the boardwalk, tin-ceiling parlors where they shared slices of greasy pizza and cold ices as they sweated in the humidity of the summer. Scott always found it remarkable that Irene looked so good covered in sweat, hair askew, tendrils whipping in grimy city wind as she rushed to cover a story, the radio engineer always huffing behind her, trying to get the equipment to the news conference, the ball game, the accident, the shooting, the scene of the crime-whatever the action was.

  Irene loved action. She was not shy about it and it earned the respect of men who would normally be appalled at the sight of a woman at a crime scene, a fire, a morgue, wherever there was news. On top of that she got the story right and caught the humanity of it without resorting to hyperbole or hysteria. Perhaps this was due to a woman’s touch-subtlety. Scott could always tell what stories were hers by the touches that made them less statistical and more about the everyday drama of little victories and losses. Nor was she a voyeur, like so many who covered the streets. She came from the

  streets and was in her way an advocate. But she was also a hell of a reporter.

  And now that war was here, the biggest story in the world, Irene wanted to be part of it, cover it and experience the conflict firsthand. But no one-not even Tellum-was willing to send her overseas. It was simply too dangerous and too many commanders unfamiliar with her work would not allow her presence. Instead, Tellum steered her toward USO shows, stories about the war at home, industrial output, scrap metal drives, gas rationing, strong women holding up the Home Front for their boys overseas. And she was sick of it.

  And now, as she and Alan sat in a restaurant where they did not belong, eating a meal they weren’t enjoying, they pretended to be interested in talking about everything except the fact that he was going back to the war and she wasn’t.

  “So where are you going?” Irene asked.

  “You know I can’t tell you that,” Scott said.

  “So what should we talk about? The weather?”

  Scott loosened his tie. “They say it’s going to rain.”

  “Knock it off.”

  More uncomfortable silence. Then Scott looked up at Irene.

  “Paul’s alive,” he said.

  Irene stared at Scott. “How do you know? I suppose you can’t tell me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Jesus, Alan. Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know. I saw his name on a roster. He’s a POW.”

  “Are you going to go get him?” “I’m going to try.”

  Irene slammed her fork on the table. “I wish I could come along. Not just for the story. I’m just sick of not being able to do anything. Instead I’m watching someone supporting something that eventually effects a soldier somewhere thousands of miles away.”

  Scott looked admiringly at Irene. “You’re the one person I’d want with me in combat, Irene.”

  “Don’t feed me any of that. Not now.”

  “Really. No one thinks as clearly and quickly as you.” Scott leaned forward. “Remember that guy with the ax?”

  Irene smiled at the memory. “Hatchet-head Harry? He was a real piece of work.”

  Scott nodded. “He kills his landlord, even chops up the landlord’s poor doggy, and you went right into that basement to get the stoiy and talked him into giving himself up.”

  Irene shrugged, flattered that Scott remembered that. “Yeah, well, he was crazy and I guess I’m good with crazies.”

  Alan looked at Irene for a long moment, his face serious. Irene saw that he was considering something; arguing with himself about saying what he was about to say.

  But then he said it. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Fine. Where to?”

  “My place.”

  Irene grinned. “Oh yeah?”

  Again, the serious look filled Alan’s eyes. “I need to show you something.”


  Irene laughed. “C’mon-you can come up with a line better than that.” “Really.”

  The look in Scott’s face told Irene that this wasn’t a clumsy attempt at getting her in bed, and she was more than a little disappointed.

  Scott’s apartment appeared just as sparse with Scott living in it as it did while he was overseas. Although he was back home, he barely bothered to unpack, and lived out of his suitcase as if it were a hotel. Irene sat on the couch and watched as Scott solemnly approached the chest in the comer of the room. He hesitated before opening it. He hadn’t even touched the chest since he’d returned to Gotham. Scott knew that by revealing this secret to Irene they would be tied together forever, truly for better or worse. His hands traced the lock on the trunk. Then, his mind made up, he began opening

  But before he could, Irene approached him from behind and put her hand on his shoulders. He stopped.

  “Alan... ”

  Scott turned to Irene. “You’re the only person I’ve ever tmsted. You’re the only woman I’ve loved.”

  “Alan... ”

  “I’m heading to the Pacific, Irene. There’s going to be an invasion and I’m going to try and get Paul. But there’s more... ”

  “What?”

  “Either I’m not coming back or I’m coming back as someone different. Alan Scott won’t exist anymore. So this is goodbye.”

  Scott kissed her chastely. She shook her head.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Scott kissed her again, passionately.

  And then she saw it in his eyes, the infinite sadness and longing, and for once she didn’t have the words or wisecracks to shield her, and they were two alone and for the moment one, in a love that can’t survive their lives, the war, their needs. But they had finally run out of words and things to argue about, so all was left to lie together, touch, kiss and make love to each other, no words but only softness, their first, last, and only true night.

  Scott awoke to the purity of streaming morning sunlight across the bed, and the acute awareness of Irene against him, asleep and amazing in her nakedness, the strength of her legs against the tautness of stomach and voluptuous softness of her breasts, an image of feminine form usually hidden under pants and loose blouses, heavy coats and sensible shoes. Her long brown hair, for once not wrapped in a tight knot or hidden under a scarf or hat, fell across her face, covering the small scar on her lip from when she had fallen against a nail in a stairwell when she was four. The smell of her hair and skin was making him drunk with need for her. As he looked at her he wanted to know her forever, and missed knowing her before they had met. He wanted to begin and end with her, lie in bed for days making love and eating, no war, no deadlines, no bridges, no lanterns, no rings.

  She stirred slightly and her nakedness against his pushed any thoughts out of his mind except one. So he kissed her hungrily and she awakening to the moment, responded just as deeply.

  Using all the will he could muster, he broke away from her. “Irene —I have to show you something. It’s important.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No, it really can’t.”

  Scott kissed her, then jumped from the bed and ran to his living room. Once again he stood before the chest that contained his other life and identity. Swinging it open, he froze at what he saw.

  His Green Lantern uniform was missing. And Scott knew who was responsible, and spoke his name.

  “Malvolio.”

  Irene laid amidst the jumble of sheets, one leg kicked out, her mind replaying the night before, enjoying the apartment’s cool air against her exposed skin, the pleasant melody of morning traffic drifting up from the city streets below. For one of the few times in her life, she was completely in the moment, not worried about a future deadline nor dwelling on a past stoiy or working an angle, but loving this one moment like the sweetest candy she’d ever had.

  She was surprised at Alan’s tenderness and attention in bed. She was the aggressor, fairly attacking him with lips, hands and body. As she climbed on him and they made love they told each other age-old stories with their eyes. And now with the sun, the sheets, the cherished feeling inside her and this most recent memory, she felt the state of bliss.

  When Alan walked into the room she could see that the moment was in jeopardy.

  “What is it Alan?”

  Alan looked troubled. “You have to go.”

  Irene, confused and suddenly modest, pulled the bed sheet against her breasts. “What’s wrong?”

  “You just have to go. I’m sorry.” “Alan... ”

  “Please! I just need you to go!” he snapped.

  Irene turned back into her hard, cynical self, a sideways grin on her face.

  “Okay, fine,” she said.

  She climbed out of bed and unembarrassed by her nakedness, picked up her scattered panties and bra and began dressing, with more than a little anger in her gestures.

  Scott, realizing that she was getting the wrong message, tried explaining, but did not know where to begin.

  “Irene-I-you’ll just have to leave. I’ll call you later at work.”

  “Don’t bother. We had our wartime fling-consider it done. I guess we were both too self-centered to carry this off. I just thought it might have lasted a little longer than the next morning.”

  Scott went to Irene and cupped her face with his hands and kissed her. He could see the trouble in her eyes—she wanted to cry but they both knew that she would never let this happen. She was simply too tough. Scott wanted to tell her everything, sit her down and pour his heart out about becoming the Green Lantern, the visions, Malvolio’s power, but he’d told her too much already about the invasion and Paul. He did not want to put her in any more danger. So he could say nothing.

  “I’ll call you at work.”

  Disappointed, Irene pulled herself away from Scott and walked out the door.

  It was dawn by the time Scott was outside the town house in the drizzling, misty rain. His following Malvolio from his hotel to here confirmed to Scott that he he’d been had: Malvolio was no stranger to Gotham.

  He lingered outside the townhouse, trying to get up the courage to do what he had to do. The house was foreboding in the grayness of the day. The opulence of the place felt oppressive, as if warning Scott.

  Scott saw, as he mounted the steps, that the huge front door of the place was slightly open. Pushing his way in, the dimness of the huge space made him more wary. He looked down to his ring—it was without any power at all, basically an ornament at this point.

  Scott called out for Malvolio. The sound of his voice flattened in the dead space of heavy carpet and furniture.

  The interior appeared dead, as if no one had lived in it for months. Scott found drinks sitting on a table, the glasses empty as if their contents had evaporated over days or weeks. Spent cigarettes sitting in a standing ashtray were burned down, the long lines of ash still in place as the cigarettes burned themselves out.

  To top it off, the place smelled like death. Literally. It brought back instant memories of battlefields, lost terrain, braveiy and murder. It was an all-too familiar feeling for Scott, and the return of it made him afraid, wary and on guard.

  He looked down at his ring again—it was still dead. Finding the charge would gain him the power to stop Malvolio. He knew now that Malvolio would need to be controlled, and he was the only person remotely capable of doing so.

  As he moved into the darkness of the house it became almost impenetrable to light. None of the lamps worked, so he felt his way through, tripping on knocked-over furniture, slipping on scattered books and torn paintings, groping forward at each step.

  At the top of the stairs, fog seemed to cover everything. A radiator steam pipe had broken and the hallway was dripping with condensation from the steam. The hallway was hot like a sauna. The smell here was much stronger, almost unbearable. Scott knew it as the sweet odor of rotting flesh, made much worse by the stifling humidity. He could hear music coming from
behind the door up ahead. It was a woman’s sad, lilting voice.

  He made his way down the hall. The beautiful gilt wallpaper was warped by the water and peeling down, and the heavy carpet squished under his feet.

  His foot kicked something as he moved forward. Reaching down to pick it up, he saw that was a child’s stuffed bear, obviously wellloved. That it was sitting discarded made Scott’s heart race and he could feel his scalp and fingers tingling, as if he were being slowly electrocuted. Damp with sweat, Scott wiped his face.

  At the end of the hallway was a large door. Scott saw light coming from under it. In the total darkness of the hallway, the light appeared blindingly strong, unnatural in its brilliance as it bled from the frame and keyhole of the door. The music was louder here, and Scott could hear from the pops and scratches that the music was a record playing.

  Ahead of him, Scott could see the splintered remains of a mahogany chair. He picked up a leg, the heft of it giving him some comfort. If wood could resist his power, hopefully it would give him some advantage over Malvolio.

  The point of the leg out in front of him, Scott pushed the heavy door open.

  The room was a library and was high enough that a walkway wrapped the space, a small ladder on wheels attached to it. Hundreds of books were on the floor, scattered and swollen from the steam heat. Rats darted about in the comers, no longer afraid and tempted by what lay in the room, the allure of an abundance of dead flesh. The music was loud here, the woman’s sweet sad voice playing at full volume.

  But it was what was in the center of the room that transfixed Scott.

  In front of him, in the center of the room, was an enormous globe. Around it, in a horrible heap, were the remains of what looked to be a family. They were long dead, bodies bloated and stiffened by rigor mortis, their skin green. Thousands of flies were feasting on their flesh, their eyes replaced by pools of squirming maggots, more spilling from their gaping mouths, entangled in their hair. Scott could see two adults—a mother and father apparently, and five children. The youngest was a baby and the oldest appeared to be in his or her early teens. Scott could only tell this by their relative size and their clothes. Otherwise, the bodies were virtually unrecognizable as human. Their flesh was sloughing away, aided by the insects and vermin feasting on them.