“Yeah, in Syracuse. Thanks for your help, Christian.”
Richard didn’t wait for a reply. He hung up the phone and decided to give Death a call.
12
Old Friends
April 13, 2008
I’m a little nervous about seeing Richard again. I can’t say that we’re friends. He’s accepted what I am, but I’m not sure that means he’s gotten over it. Hey! At least I know he won’t try to kill me this time.
Bob couldn’t help feeling a spark of nervous energy. For one, there was the part where he was going to die—soon. Aside from that, Drisc, who stood next to Bob in a flannel shirt and blue jeans, couldn’t keep from staring at Bob’s pocket, where Lynne, the Blacksoul, was.
Then there was the fact that they were about to knock on the door of someone who’d recently tried to kill Bob. Then there was Grimm, who Bob was certain would be the person to kill him. No, Bob thought, no reason at all to feel like jumping at the first unexpected sound.
They were outside a red-brick home with a green lawn. There wasn’t a picket fence or anything, but Bob was certain this was as close to a storybook home as a person could get. He thought about Patience. He would have liked to live in a place like this with her.
The Blacksoul stirred in his pocket, and Bob felt his soul surge, a burning sensation Bob attributed to mean he shouldn’t mope. Bob rang the doorbell before telling Drisc to stop staring.
“I’m not,” Drisc argued.
“Then why do I feel naked?”
“Yer bein’ irrational.”
“No, I’m being paranoid.”
“Yeah, that’s the right word.”
“Yes, but I’m paranoid because you won’t stop staring at my pocket.”
“It’s ‘cause I know ye got somethin in der for me,” Drisc said in his most sensually sarcastic voice. Then he and Bob realized someone had opened the dark-blue door.
Linda Hertly, in a word, was pretty. Her blonde hair fell in curls around a set of green eyes that seemed very confused at the moment. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Bob looked from Drisc to her and tried to gain some measure of dignity. “Hello, Mrs. Hertly,” he said. “This is Driscoll Navin, and I’m Bob Drifter. I believe Richard is expecting us.”
The corner of her mouth rose, as if she had just thought of something funny. “He said you two were ... ” She paused to cover her mouth. Was she giggling?
Bob worried for a moment that Richard told her more than she needed to know, strictly thinking. “He said we were ... what?”
This time she let a soft chuckle escape her lips. “He said you were like a modern-day Laurel and Hardy.”
“I liked them,” Drisc said.
“This really isn’t the time,” Bob said, glaring.
“Then what time is it?”
Linda laughed again. “I’ll go get Richard. Come on in.”
She turned to walk down a small hallway and called for Richard. Drisc slipped past Bob into the house.
“You’d be Hardy,” Drisc whispered on the way in.
“Just get inside.” Bob couldn’t keep a smile from forming. He followed Drisc inside. They walked down the same hallway to a small living room.
Bob’s dirty boots made grinding sounds on the tile floor. He found himself wishing he’d taken a chance to wipe his feet. The room was clean. A coffee table, loaded with files and magazines, sat between a small couch and a reasonably sized flat-screen television.
He wondered if Drisc decided not to sit for the same reason. I feel so out of place. Bob didn’t have a chance to determine just how badly he stood out. Richard walked in. He had on a pair of slacks and a white dress shirt that wasn’t quite tucked all the way in.
Linda was right behind him with a tray of coffee mugs. Richard sat down. Drisc took that as an invitation to do the same. Bob stared a moment at Linda as she set a mug in front of her husband. She set another mug in front of Drisc before turning to hand the last one to him.
“Richard said you like hot chocolate,” she said. Is she trying not to smile again? She was charming. She didn’t look like she was trying to keep mocking laughter to herself, just a pleasant, happy laugh. “We don’t get many guests, and Richard’s told me so much about you.”
“I should hope not too much,” Drisc said.
“I never keep anything from my wife,” Richard replied. “I explained the rest of everything to her after I called you guys, but she knew the basics.”
“And you believed him?” Bob asked. He looked at Linda again and smiled at the lifeline glowing white and pure from her belly.
“It took some convincing, but with you here, I imagine she believes me now,” Richard said.
“I always believed you,” she said, laughing.
“You laugh when you’re not being honest,” Richard said with the first smile Bob had ever seen him give. “Bob, what the hell are you smiling at my wife for?”
Bob laughed. Drisc gave him a quick shake of the head, but Bob didn’t understand why. “I’m just happy things are going so well for you two.”
“What’s that mean?” Richard asked. Another warning from Drisc shot at him.
“You don’t know?” Bob asked. He looked from Richard to Linda. Mrs. Hertly looked stunned.
“Richard, I think I really believe you,” she whispered. Drisc slapped his forehead for some reason.
“Why? Drifter, what the hell are you saying?” Richard stood. He looked ready to pull a gun.
“It’s just ... you know,” Bob stammered to Linda.
“You can see?”
“Yeah, new life and death are sort of similar that way,” Drisc explained.
“Death?” Richard barked.
“No!” Bob shouted before Richard could do anything too drastic. “She’s—”
“Richard,” Linda said softly. She was maybe six inches smaller than her husband and about half his weight, but a whisper from her stopped him cold. “I ... ” She looked at Bob. “I didn’t really know; I mean, I haven’t been to a doctor.”
“Doctor!” Richard yelled.
“I’m having a baby.” Linda laughed. “We’re ... having a baby.”
Bob thought if he were ever going to find out what a jaw hitting the floor sounded like, it would have been that moment. Richard’s mouth moved like it was on some sort of broken motor.
Linda walked over and kissed her husband. “A baby?” he asked.
Linda nodded and smiled. “I wanted to wait until I saw the doctor to be sure, but I guess I don’t need to now.”
They both turned to look at Bob. He felt like a small child who’d just shouted a secret in the most crowded room he could find.
“Well, ‘ere’s another fine mess ye’ve gott’n me into,” Drisc said flatly.
Richard and Linda must have forgotten the Journeymen were there. Richard wrapped her in his arms. She laughed as he tried to say anything to express how happy he was and failed miserably to even utter a word.
They kissed and held each other for an uncomfortably long time. Bob finally gave a small cough. They turned to look at him.
“Right,” Richard said.
“Sorry if the lad caused any sort of ruckus,” Drisc said, scowling. Bob scowled right back, failing to hide the smile on his face.
Richard asked his wife to give him and his guests some privacy. Linda looked a little displeased at being asked to leave, but she did so after a promise from Richard to fill her in.
“Ye really shouldn’t have told her about us,” Drisc said softly.
“I really don’t give a damn what you think,” Richard replied.
“Can we get to why we’re here?” Bob asked.
Richard let out a long breath, opened a manila envelope, and pulled out some files. “I could lose my job for this,” he said. “But considering no one in the department has the tools necessary to catch this asshole, I figure I might as well risk it.”
“What makes you so sure it’s Grimm?” Drisc asked.
<
br /> In answer, Richard tossed a photo on the table. It was a cadaver, covered in cuts and punctures. Each of them had frostbite on the edges of the wound.
“He’s getting pissed,” Drisc said.
“This photo is about three days old,” Richard said. “We haven’t heard about any other killings, and nothing’s shown up in the usual reports since this accident that match the M.O.”
Bob stared at the photos. He felt a surge of sickness, not from the photo, but from what it meant, from what it reminded him of. His mind flashed back to a hospital rooftop in Syracuse. The woman he loved lay on the ground, dead, with a single knife wound in her chest, with the same black bruising around her injury.
“Bob!” someone, it sounded like Drisc, shouted. Bob shook himself out of his memory.
“I’m OK,” Bob lied. He saw the same image every time he closed his eyes. It brought the same question to mind: I couldn’t save her, so how am I going to save anyone else? The Blacksoul in his pocket surged, and his soul burned in counterpoint. Bob took a few deep breaths, calming himself. “I’m OK,” he repeated.
“I can say this much: Grimm didn’t kill her,” Richard said, turning over the photo to reveal a page filled with numbers. “Cause of death was a broken neck from a rear-end collision.”
Bob looked at Drisc. “I have Todd calling all the senior Journeymen, and the Clockmaker says he has everyone as busy as they can be. Truth is, though, Grimm can be wherever he needs,” Drisc said, before Bob could even ask what the Senior Journeymen were doing about keeping more Blacksouls from hatching.
“I still think we were right in New York,” Richard said. “We didn’t understand the odds we were up against, but if we can get to the real Grimm, we can stop him.”
“I’m working on that in a different way,” Bob said.
Richard looked confused.
“It won’t work,” Drisc said.
“Archie said it will,” Bob replied.
“Who’s Archie?” Richard asked. Bob didn’t bother answering.
“He said it might work,” Drisc spat.
“Do you have a better idea?” Bob asked.
“What’s the idea?” Richard asked.
“Not entirely,” Drisc said in response to Bob’s question. “But step one of the plan involves you getting on a plane to a third world country.”
“That won’t keep me alive,” Bob said.
“Bob’s dying?” Richard asked.
“It’ll give me time,” Drisc barked.
“You can’t save me.”
“I can bloody well try!”
“Hey!” Richard shouted. Both Bob and Drisc looked at the little man. Bob felt a sudden tinge of guilt for ignoring a man in his own home. “I told you all what I know, and put you right on Grimm’s tail. Now it’s your turn. What the hell is going on?”
They told him. Bob didn’t see the point in trying to keep anything from him, so he didn’t spare any details. It was sort of a relief to Bob that Richard didn’t say anything to try and cheer him up. It wasn’t as if Hallmark made any “I’m sorry you’re destined to die in the next few days,” cards. Hertly nodded, accepted the information and, most importantly, agreed with Bob about cleansing Blacksouls.
“I thought you hated the fool boy,” Drisc said slapping his forehead. “Now you’re on his side.”
“I don’t hate him,” Richard said. He looked surprised at his own statement. “Point is, I think it’s worth a shot.”
“You’re just as much an idiot as he is then,” Drisc spat.
“And whose house do you think you’re in?” Richard asked. For such an unassuming man, Richard could look pretty frightening when he was angry.
“I’m more than six centuries old,” Drisc said. “No one has ever even tried to. Even the Clockmaker doesn’t know where to start. Oh, by the way, chances are whatever it is will kill me best friend.”
“It’s a better way to die than hiding in Tibet,” Bob interjected. “And it’s already been decided. I’m doing this.”
Drisc looked like he wanted to argue more, but he had the good sense not to start again.
“So all that’s left is to wait for Grimm to make his next move,” Richard said. “He’ll take whatever he can get, but he likes the bloodier deaths most. I say we wait for something that fits his sick taste and confront him there.”
“You shouldn’t be involved,” Bob said.
Richard reached onto his belt, pulled his badge off and slammed it on the coffee table. “This means it’s my job to protect these people.” He had that intimidating face again. “It means I swore to do it. I called you in to help, maybe even to do the bulk of the work, but here’s the part you both seem to have forgotten: neither of you can kill. When the time comes to put that bastard down, you’ll need a lowly old mortal—me—to do it.”
Bob and Drisc looked at each other. “He’s got a point there,” Drisc said.
Bob wanted to argue, but he didn’t feel in a position to do much more than delay what would almost certainly happen. He took a close look at Richard. No Death Sense. At least the sergeant was safe, for the moment.
13
What Comes to Everyone
April 14, 2008
Archie and I never really talked about Transport Points. I spent every second learning about the depth of souls and what Blacksouls really are, but now that I’m about to die, I realize I never knew the first thing about what I’ve done my whole life.
“So I don’t feel anything because you took my pain away?” asked Walter Berg, a man dying of old age. He was seventy-four and had lived a happy life. Bob met him at a coffee shop and after Manipulating a few emotions, he’d managed to gain an invitation to the man’s home.
“Yes,” Bob said calmly. He’d broken all the rules after getting inside Walter’s house. After all, it seemed these days everyone knew about Journeymen, and Walter wouldn’t live long enough to talk to anyone about it.
“What’s it like?” Walter asked.
Wouldn’t I love to know? Bob wondered. He took a deep breath and said, “It’s not something I can describe.”
“I’d gotten used to the aches and pains,” Walter said, smiling. “It just feels so nice not to hurt anymore.”
Bob smiled. He hoped whoever Transported his soul would get there in time to Take whatever pain would come. He doubted he’d die warm in bed. He had just a few days left, according to Todd, whom Bob had nearly had to beat to get any answers from.
“I’m glad to be of help,” Bob said. “But to be honest, I don’t have any clue what I’m doing.”
Walter chuckled. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“Oh, I know the process. I just don’t know what it means.”
“What’s the process?”
Bob paused. Walter gave him a flat look. “A little late now to wonder what to tell me and what to keep secret, isn’t it?”
Bob shrugged. Walter had a point. “When you die, I’ll Collect your soul. I’ll take it to a Transport Point.”
“What are they?”
“Oh, different things, usually something significant to the soul, but not always. Hell, sometimes it’s just a rip in the air.”
“I’d be very happy if you didn’t mention that place before I die,” Walter said.
“Sorry, Walter. Don’t worry, I don’t determine where you go.”
“Do you know?”
Bob shook his head.
“And what about these Transport Points? Why are they so random?”
Bob shook his head again.
“You’re right,” Walter said gruffly. “You don’t have a clue what you’re doing.”
Bob let a wry chuckle escape his lips. “Transport Points are like focuses. I’m not actually sure why we use them. We just do.”
“Would it work if you didn’t use one?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“Well, don’t go experimenting with my soul.”
“Don’t worry,” Bob said, smiling. “I wo
uldn’t do that to you.”
He told Walter more about Journeymen. He explained how part of a soul would always Pass to someone. He didn’t discuss Blacksouls or his predicament. It felt like forever since Bob had simply helped someone Pass On.
Walter had specific instructions for whom the soul would go to and when. It was pleasant to see someone act as if he had some control over death. They talked until Walter passed quietly into his final slumber.
Bob Collected the soul, Walter’s essence. Bob walked out to the backyard of Walter’s home, where he kept his garden. Walter told Bob he’d worked on that garden for the last thirty years. He approached a patch of Hosta flowers. A wave of emotion struck Bob hard. The image of a little girl named Calista, a sunflower of a girl who’d given him a flower in the hopes that it would take his pain away.
As odd as it felt, Bob realized he wasn’t feeling sorrow or pain. The flowers reminded him of her, and that made him happy. He collected his energy and felt one of the flowers pull at him, or rather, at Walter’s soul inside him. Bob opened his eyes to see a single Hosta blossom begin to spin. Faster and faster it twirled, until a small light opened. It was his energy combined with the importance Walter’s soul gave the flower that made it a Transport Point.
Bob extended a finger into the flower’s center and felt Walter’s soul Transport. He felt the warm flow of Walter’s soul as it left him. All the while, Bob tried to understand what the Transport Point did.
He kept the point open. He could feel the Blacksoul, Lynne, in his pocket, stirring. He summoned the soul to his hand. Sweat built on his brow. Lynne resisted the call. Bob focused his will and forced the Blacksoul to form in the palm of his hand. Bob reached his hand out to the spinning Hosta. His hand began to burn; just reaching toward the point felt as if he were reaching into a pot of boiling water. Some irrational portion of his mind screamed that if he could just Transport the Blacksoul, everything would work out.
But the creature that had once been a part of a soul fought and burned against the process. It screeched and gripped Bob’s arms. It feared the Transport Point. It would Transport if Bob could find a way to make it do so. Most souls were Collected, already inside Bob. But this soul was an entity—aware, if not wholly sentient. The last time Bob had felt a Blacksoul enter him, he’d felt certain the next one would kill him.
Something Always Remains: Part Three of The Journals of Bob Drifter Page 6