Green Lantern - Sleepers Book 2

by Unknown Author

  And behind this hellish scene was the source of the brilliant light: a shimmering mass of energy hovered in the comer, a magician’s illusion except that Scott could feel the energy emanating from it, a kind of electrical whirlpool, like the coming of a vicious storm or twister.

  Perhaps it was the energy that drew the creatures here, along with the fetid air.

  Strangely, a fire was roaring in the huge fireplace at the end of the room, stoked with many logs.

  It was, to Scott, a vision of hell. Holding his chair leg, he felt swallowed in the malignancy of this room. Yet he was drawn in, forced to find Malvolio and confront him. Scott knew that Malvolio was in Sicily for him, and now in Gotham, and only he could confront him and settle whatever business the bastard wanted.

  Scott moved edgeways around the room, away from the writhing vermin feeding on the corpses, to the strange shimmering light. He could not look directly into it for its brightness.

  As he moved to it he saw one more object: a statue, beautifully rendered, of a woman. As he approached it from behind, he could see that the detail was exquisite: it was as if the stone could come alive. It was of a woman, a life-size rendering in a dress from what appeared to be the seventeenth century. As Scott made his way around to the front, he saw the face.

  It was Irene. But then it wasn’t. The eyes were blank, dead, soulless, but every other detail, the hair, face, body, was all Irene.

  Scott reached out with his hand to see if it was real.

  “Please don’t touch it.” A voice from the shadows—deep, foreboding, gloating—called out to him.

  Scott whipped around—Malvolio was sitting in a soft leather chair. He smiled at Scott like a parent who had been watching his child take first steps. Scott saw that Malvolio was wearing his costume.

  The two stared at each other for a moment. Then Malvolio reached over to the record player and switched it off. Billie Holiday’s voice dragged to a stop.

  “I find her voice to be enchanting. Don’t you?”

  Scott ignored the chit-chat. “Why did you kill those people?”

  “They weren’t relevant.”

  “You are a murdering bastard.”

  “Come now, Alan. They are chattel. What did their lives matter in the grand scheme? You allow wars, but you rage against me for pushing aside the unimportant? How hypocritical this future is. In my day there were those that mattered, and the rest. We did not confuse them and in that way kingdoms were built and maintained.

  “During the plague I saw this every day on the streets. I saw children dying with no one stopping to even offer them bread or water. But were those people monsters?”

  “This is reality, Scott. It makes the strong stronger and rids us of the undeserving. Weep for them and you must weep for the enemy soldiers. But you kill for a greater good, correct? As do I, Scott, as do I.”

  “I don’t kill unnecessarily.”

  Malvolio smiled indulgently. “Of course you don’t. Would it help if I told you they were Nazis? Or Germans? Or against your government? Or against the greater good of mankind? Would that assuage your emotion?

  “I’ve examined this world. It’s gotten weaker. You have so much more now, but it’s made you soft. Leadership will unleash the potential, and I will provide it. The power your armies seek to harness will only lead to your own destruction.” “Even you have no idea how to unleash the ring’s potential. Now it is mine, and I alone have the will to control it.”

  “Why you?”

  “Who better? Your generals? That pathetic Hitler fellow? You, Alan Scott? If you don’t know the potential of this object, what makes you think anyone else would? It’s destiny Alan. Irene and I were brought together to lead it.”

  “What does Irene have to do with this?”

  Malvolio turned to the statue. “She’s my queen.”

  “Have you told her that?”

  “In due time.”

  “She’s not the purest damsel on the block, Mai. I can live with that. Maybe I can even love her for it. But you can’t.”

  Malvolio glowered a moment, the pain of what he saw flashing into his consciousness. Then he turned to Scott and smiled.

  “She’s allowed her mistakes. Granted, you are a big one. But if she is drawn to the power of the flame, she will find me completely irresistible.”

  “Yeah, especially if you bring her in here.”

  “Point well taken. I’ll need to do some tidying up.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you, you crazy son of bitch.”

  “I have clarity of vision, Scott.”

  “I’m not allowing it.”

  “How so? With what you did in Sicily? That seemed to be a fluke—your ring is quite passive. And how are you to recharge without your lantern? Are you going to stab me with that stake?” “After I beat you with it.”

  Malvolio spun the globe and stepped toward Scott.

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  Scott lunged forward with the stake. Malvolio easily blocked it and with a flick of his hand threw Scott against the bookcases.

  The stake flew from Scott’s hand and he scrabbled crablike to get to it. Malvolio actually waited for Scott to get closer before bringing his boot down on Scott’s arm, crushing it. Like so many times before, Scott felt the enormous shock of brutal, unrelenting pain. Malvolio lifted his boot off Scott’s arm. When he pulled back, Scott could see that the bone beneath the flesh was literally disintegrated, and only the skin and muscle kept his now-useless hand connected to his arm. He rolled and lunged toward the lantern.

  As if snatching a rag doll, Malvolio grabbed Scott in the air by the calf and swung him around. Scott flew into the air and landed on soft tissue. He realized that his was lying amidst the corpses of the family. He screamed in horror and slid from the putrid pile to the floor.

  Covered in gore, Scott rolled away and moved toward the fireplace, towards a stack of logs sitting in a galvanized metal box. Malvolio walked behind him, laughing quietly.

  “More wood, Alan? Let me assist you.”

  He kicked Scott into the box of wood, knocking it over and scattering the logs. Almost unconscious, Scott’s hands grasped a small hatchet that was among the fireplace tools.

  As Malvolio closed in, Scott flung wood chips into Malvolio's eyes, blinding and sending him into a rage. Malvolio was more inconvenienced than injured, but it bought Scott enough time to scramble behind Malvolio and grab the hand axe.

  Malvolio rubbed his eyes and blinked the wood chips out of them. He saw the axe in Scott’s hand.

  “Ah Alan, that will do you no good. It’s wood that we’re powerless against, remember?”

  Malvolio turned, but Scott was not trying to attack him with the axe. Rather, he was chopping at the leg of the table holding the enormous globe. Scott saw that he had one more chance and swung the hatchet mightily at the leg. The weight of the enormous globe on the weakened leg caused it to snap, and the globe tumbled toward Malvolio.

  Before he could get out the way, the globe knocked him into the roaring inferno of the fireplace.

  Scott, nursing his destroyed arm, stared at the globe as smoke and flame seeped from around it. Then he scrabbled towards the wooden stake. It was his only chance.

  But before Scott could get to it, Malvolio blasted the enormous globe from the fireplace, sending it sailing through the air, where it shattered on the wall above Scott’s head, sending him tumbling.

  Body covered with fire, teeth bared not with pain but rage, Malvolio moved in quick strides to Scott and grabbed at Scott’s hand, clasping his fist and squeezing it agonizingly tight, then lifting him in the air by it, breaking the bones in Scott’s fingers and hand as he dangled. His other arm destroyed, Scott could only suffer through the pain.

  Malvolio sneered as Scott writhed. “Is this your best attempt? At her? At me? You are lost to this world. You are nothing.”

  He let Scott drop to the ground. “Be assured that I will be quick in killing you, Alan Sc
ott, for you have become a waste of my time. But this belongs to me... ”

  Malvolio bent down to rip the ring from Scott’s crushed finger. But before he could get it, in a last act of desperation, Scott flung himself through the Stargate.

  Irene wasn’t one to normally wait, but she wanted her phone to ring. She wanted to hear from Scott, if not to rip into him for his behavior this morning, but also for the heart of it: his forgiveness and her accepting it. She wasn’t used to chasing; so many men tried to make her their own, change her, mold her into what they wanted in a woman. She never accepted any of it because she never saw the point in a man, or love for that matter. The truth is, she loved herself and what she did and no man could augment that.

  But with Scott she shared something deeper—the common background of poverty and their enormous drives to succeed. More important, she respected him, something that very few men deserved.

  A tap on the should startled her. She turned to see Carlos, the teenage news clerk, nervously standing behind her.

  “Miss Miller? I’m sorry to bother you.”

  Irene blinked at him, confused.

  Carlos looked down. “Are you okay? You were just sitting there staring at the telephone.”

  Irene face flushed red with embarrassment and anger. “What is it Carlos?”

  The kid held out an envelope for her. “This came for you.”

  Irene took it and dismissed the boy. She saw that her name was etched elegantly in ink on the envelope, in a calligrapher’s hand. The note inside was on wonderfully delicate parchment.

  Dearest Irene,

  It would be my honor to have your presence at dinner tonight at my home, to repay the debt of gratitude for your kind hospitality during my stay in your beautiful city.

  If your grace shall be bestowed upon me, I shall expect you tonight at seven o’clock. Please be aware that my intentions are nothing but honorable.

  Your humble servant,

  Malvolio

  “Humble servant.” He was laying it on thick. But he’d be a good tonic after the arrogance of Alan Scott.

  But she also knew that Malvolio had something to do with Alan’s return to Gotham, and the invasion he’d told her about. If she could get more information from Malvolio, she might get the story without Scott.

  And who was Alan anyway to prevent her from doing her job? If Malvolio told her more, she could run with it.

  “Screw Alan Scott.” Irene thought. “On second thought, doing so was the biggest mistake I’ve made in recent memory.”

  Dinner with Malvolio was looking to be a good idea. As for being alone with this ^English fop, she figured she could handle herself.

  She stared at the silent phone again. Damn him!

  Irene jumped to her feet and strode to John Tellum’s office, blowing right by Sharon (“Miss Miller, do you have an appointment?”) and bursting through the door.

  Tellum was in a meeting with a couple stuffed-shirts—they could have been board members or golfing buddies-and Irene ignored them like furniture.

  “John, I’ve got a story.”

  “Good for you.”

  “It’s big.”

  Tellum could see that she meant business. A nod to the cronies and they quietly left their cigars and scotch glasses and stepped out of the office.

  John sat in his enormous leather chair. Irene stood standing. “What’s the story, Irene?”

  “I know the next invasion in the Pacific.”

  Tellum snorted. “Everyone who can look at a map knows that.” “I have the time and place.”

  “How do you have that?”

  Irene crossed her arms. “That's my business.”

  “Okay, what’s the time and place?”

  “My business, too.”

  Tellum leaned back in his leather chair, for once losing his good humor. “Well, what the hell do you want?”

  “I want that overseas assignment,” Irene said quickly. “Send me with Felix and that new radio transmitter. I’ll do the story live, as it’s happening.” “I can’t send you out there! For a girl to be in harm's way, our audience would never stand for it!”

  “For Christ’s sake John, get with it! This is the twentieth century. I’m the best reporter you have but you waste me on garden stories and bond drives. You get me the engineer and the gear, and I’ll get there and you’ll have the story of the century.”

  Tellum tried rubbing his temples to chase his headache away. “Let me think about it.”

  “Think fast,” she said to Tellum. “The operation’s about to begin. I can be on a plane tomorrow.”

  “Jeez, Irene, give me a break—you know I can’t make decisions under pressure!”

  Irene checked her watch. “I gotta go. Dinner plans.”

  “Alan?”

  “No. Business.”

  Irene headed out the door. “I’m your best reporter about to give you your biggest story. I’m booking that flight John—don’t let me down!”

  lan Scott lay on his back, once again looking up at the sky. But this sky was unlike any he’d ever seen or imagined. It was lit in a dusky orange twilight and he could see orbiting moons and distant suns. Nothing was where he expected it to be, and it would have been spectacularly beautiful to him if he weren’t in complete and utter agony.

  He lay in the orange dust, writhing. As his head turned about, he caught glimpses of sharp rocky peaks streaked in the colors of exposed mineral but devoid of any vegetation.

  A

  There was no wind and only the muffled sound of his body against the powdery dust.

  It felt as if his body had been wrenched inside-out. The difficulty breathing and the pressure against every part of him made him feel as if he were simultaneously being torn apart and crushed.

  The ring was dead on Scott’s finger, uncharged once again, nothing more than a trinket.

  He lay there in this state for what seemed to be eons and he kept

  expecting to lose consciousness, to die, but it continued. Either time had slowed or he was being kept alive by something or someone.

  He could see the horizon, which did not look right. Then he realized that wherever he was it was small, with the horizon bending more sharply than Earth.

  It was too much to take. Once again Alan Scott wished for death. He closed his eyes and prayed for it.

  “Alan.”

  He could feel his blood chilling as it slowed through the imploding veins.

  “Alan.”

  A woman’s face. Not Irene. Not anyone he’d known, but he knew her.

  She smiled. “Alan.”

  Alan sat up in his dream. Death was near now, but he had something to say.

  “You’re my mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m back home. Do you want to come home?”

  “Yes. Yes I do very much.”

  The beautiful woman looked sad. “But you can’t. You have work to do.”

  “Work?

  The woman gestured.

  Scott turned his head to see the image of a Green Lantern in the dust. A mirage?

  “You are that and it is you. Only by becoming one with it will you fulfill your destiny. And only then will you come home.”

  The woman, his life-giver, the only thing he loved without condition, faded to him and he panicked.

  “Wait!”

  Scott looked at the lantern in the dust. He saw it for what it was to him, and he reached for it with all his might. The ring was inches away when he saw someone walking toward him, the dust kicking up as if underwater, floating like sediment in the sea. He, too, wore the costume of the Green Lantern, but the style was different. Perhaps Malvolio sent this Green Lantern to finish off Scott.

  The ring touched the lantern. The lantern disappeared, yet the ring glowed. And at that moment Alan Scott died.

  The young and handsome man stood before Scott, arms crossed and smiling.

  “Welcome to Planet Hell.”
<
br />   Alan Scott, the Green Lantern got to his feet, ready to take on the stranger, his ring glowing fiercely, his wounds mysteriously healed.

  The other Green Lantern took a step back and brought up his hands, palms out. “Now wait just a sec... ”

  But his words were too late: Scott slammed the other Green Lantern with all his might. Even in the dense gravity, the force of the blow caused the other Green Lantern to tumble through what little air there was, eventually slamming against a distant ridge. When he shook his head, he saw that Alan Scott was miles away, a mere speck on the planet’s landscape.

  But he could see the dot getting bigger, coming at him with amazing velocity.

  “Now hold on... ”

  Too late again. The other Green Lantern’s was slammed through the rock and mineral from the force of Scott’s body blow, then, having been blasted out the other side of the talus, continued to tumble helplessly through open air, finally smashing into a dry lakebed, digging a deep trough into the hard landscape.

  The other Green Lantern pulled himself up. “For ciyin’ out loud...”

  Scott was focused on his enemy now, stopping him, and getting on to Malvolio. As he charged forward he saw that the stranger was putting up some sort of wall-it was coming out straight from the desert, blocking his path.

  Then Scott’s imagination took hold—he saw a needle, a dart focused to the smallest tip but flaring to dense matter, and that was what he became-his arm outstretched, the force around him concentrated to the subatomic level to pierce this shield.

  He picked up speed as he flew towards the wall, now a bubble surrounding the stranger.

  Both men thought the same thing: “It is the strength of his will against mine.”

  The power of Scott’s dart cut through the other Green Lantern’s shield like a white-hot ice pick through butter. It barely slowed Scott down.

  Scott landed and tumbled in front of the other Green Lantern and almost instantly his hand was around his neck, squeezing.

  “Who are you?”

  Choking sounds from the other Green Lantern. Gasping.