Norm shook his head. “Let it go. I’ve seen enough people who feel guilty. I don’t know why you feel that way, and I don’t need to. You risked your life to prove a theory. I can tell you now, I don’t have that sort of courage. I’m a coward. I took the front line because at least there, I knew my odds. You gave us the courage to fight. Let that be enough.”
She shook her head and wondered who this man really was. “I don’t think you’re a coward,” she said.
“If you like, we can argue that point after you’ve healed up.” Did he just ask me on a date? Here, in the middle of this fight?
“Unless, of course, I end up beaten-up worse than you.” His voice trembled with fear, but he stepped forward, toward the thing he was afraid to speak about. No, he wasn’t a coward, just afraid. She’d win the argument.
Suddenly, she noticed a group of lights approaching. She started to laugh. Drisc said he’d never heard her do so. She hoped he heard her this time. She certainly laughed loud enough, and she would certainly win her argument with Norm when this was over.
Bob watched Drisc pocket a cell phone. “We’re up,” his friend said. Bob’s mouth went dry at the words. He glanced at his friend, Todd, and the Clockmaker for encouragement.
“How long?” Bob asked.
“About a minute,” Drisc said.
Todd turned on the generators he had brought in. It only stood to reason that Grimm would try and cut the power, so they countered by having a few generators on hand. The power flickered, letting Bob know that Grimm had done just that. They had strung up as many large lights as they could rent on short notice. Drisc hung sheets just under the lights to make it look like one of Patience’s old soft boxes, only much bigger. Bob found himself wondering if she’d be proud.
The result of their efforts was that the clubhouse looked as if it were outside on an overcast day. Drisc handed Bob one of the makeshift flame-throwers as Todd pulled out a backpack filled with cans of hairspray. Bob wracked his mind to understand just how the last Blacksoul had passed through him. He’d opened himself as a Transport Point once more, but he didn’t feel the same sort of agony. Maybe the Blacksouls have to touch me somehow.
Archie stood on the opposite side of the generators, as far away from the fight as he could be without leaving the clubhouse. He only had one last role to play, since Grimm had learned his limitations on killing people. That would have to provide Bob with the only shot he really had.
Todd was the first to spot a Blacksoul. It tried to form under a table. A blast of fire sent it scurrying back into the shadows. “We can’t light everything,” Todd said, shooting another flame under the table.
“That’s the problem,” Bob said. “We can’t get rid of the shadows, just control them.” It was enough that they’d gotten rid of their own shadows with the lights overhead. That much let them attack tables and chairs instead of each other’s shadows.
Blacksoul after Blacksoul began appearing under every table, nook and cranny. Bob formed a circle with Drisc and Todd facing outward. A group formed in front of Bob, and he managed to injure one. He watched as the monster’s own counterparts devoured it, made them a part of it. They eat souls, even black ones. Something flickered in the back of his mind when he had the thought.
“They’re going for the generator,” Todd shouted. Todd rushed to one of his generators.
“Don’t get too far away from us,” Drisc barked. He was too late. The man whom the world had learned to call Grimm rushed in from the door. Todd tried to spin out of the way, but Grimm still managed to tackle him to the ground. The monster’s Blacksouls smothered Todd’s head. Everyone knew Todd wouldn’t suffocate, but that didn’t stop Todd from kicking at the ground, fighting for breath.
Bob made it to Grimm first, blasting a stream of fire at Grimm’s face. Grimm heard Bob’s approach and rolled away. The lights overhead flickered and then died. The next few minutes were very painful. The scene was like a combination of something between a nightmare and a rave party. Lights flickered. Sometimes Bob caught glimpses of Drisc or Todd trying to flame a Blacksoul. Others showed a group biting at his friends’ knees, feet, and faces.
Bob did his best to conserve his fire, but the constant flickering light and moving hisses of rotted souls made him panic, and he spent more fuel than he meant to. The moment his flame started to sputter, the Blacksouls began to attack him directly. It felt as if he were being attacked by animals. A part of his mind registered that all the cuts and bites were superficial or, at the most, designed to injure and down Bob so that the flesh and blood Grimm could deal the final blow.
Teeth and claws raked his neck and arms. He heard his own voice join shouts from his friends. He didn’t know where Archie was or if the Clockmaker had managed to stay hidden from the fight.
A huge crash announced the arrival of a van plowing though the clubhouse entrance. The Blacksouls attacking him slid away. Bob managed to crawl to what he thought was the center of the room. Drisc had made it there as well. All Bob could make out were shadows and shouts.
“Flashlights,” someone, it sounded like Norm, shouted. Light started pouring from every direction. As soon as one light came on, a group of Blacksouls attacked the source.
Bob looked around in confusion. There weren’t just a handful of lights. The reports had said there were a few dozen injured. There should’ve only been ten or fifteen Journeymen still in the fight.
“They made it!” Bob heard Todd shout. Someone must have hooked up another generator, because the lights stopped flickering. They’d lost some of the overhead lights, but Bob could make out dozens of people; no, not dozens. Bob scanned the area just outside the clubhouse. Everywhere he looked, Bob saw Blacksouls clawing and slashing at Journeymen, who defended themselves with fire and light.
Bob felt himself smile.
“Remember that other trump card I said might show up?” Todd said, limping over to Bob.
“Where ...?” Bob couldn’t form words for some reason.
“Norm and I were calling Journeymen all over the world,” Todd answered. “We knew they were on the way, we just didn’t know if they’d make it in time.”
Bob remembered the conversation... a second trump card. Startled, Bob shouted, “Archie!”
“I am here,” Bob heard Archie call from the back of the room. Bob turned to look at the Clockmaker. Norm and a few Journeymen Bob couldn’t recognize formed a circle around him.
A roar drew Bob’s attention away. Three Grimms took form in the middle of the room. Drisc didn’t notice in time, and one of the monsters sent Bob’s friend flying across the room. Only one of them would be the real Grimm. Only one would be protecting the flesh-and-blood man who’d threatened everything Bob stood for.
One attacked Todd; the other came after Bob. The creatures swung Blacksoul scythes, and it was all Bob could do to roll out of the way. “Archie! Stopwatch!”
An obsidian blade came within a foot of Bob’s head before seeming to freeze in place. Bob started to look around. He noticed Archie holding the watch on his wrist. The old man had an intense look in his eyes. Norm stood beside the Clockmaker, throwing blasts of fire at Blacksouls that couldn’t do much but howl their anguish and rage.
Drisc stumbled to his feet and started to aid other Journeymen as they took the chance to strike as many creatures as they could while Archie used his ability to freeze Grimm in time. There were just too many. Even if Archie could hold out for a full minute, they couldn’t strike at all of the Blacksouls. They’d escape and make every effort to kill.
Bob knew they’d kill him. They’d kill him, and they’d eat his soul. My soul!
“He’s stronger than before,” Archie yelled. They didn’t have much time.
“Norm, Todd, get everyone out!” Bob said. He smiled again as he finally understood what allowed a Blacksoul to be cleansed.
“What?” Drisc shouted. “Bob, what are ye doing?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have time for an argument,” Archie yelled. As i
f to prove his point, one of the Grimm personas shifted. Bob knew that would be the real Grimm.
“He’s here for me,” Bob said. “It’s time. Todd, get him out of here. Everyone out!”
Drisc tried to charge Bob, but Todd managed to grab him. It took three more Journeymen to hold Drisc back. Drisc wouldn’t willingly let his friend die, even if he knew he couldn’t stop it.
“It’s OK, Drisc,” Bob said. “You’ll see.”
“Bugger that!” Drisc shouted. “Todd, lemme go. Don’t do this! Bob!”
Bob fought to control himself. The Journeymen who weren’t injured helped the others evacuate the building.
“You understand?” Archie asked. Only he and Norm remained in the building.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “When it’s over, you’ll know what to do.”
“Of course,” Archie said. “You are a fascinating young man, Mr. Drifter.” Norm helped guide the Clockmaker out of the clubhouse.
Bob had time to take a few slow, deep breaths before the Blacksouls surged. They flowed to their master, surrounding him, flowing around him. The bastard looked surrounded in darkness. Eventually, the two fake monsters fell into their place, and the cowl of the third monster faded back to reveal Grimm’s real face.
“Was that it?” Grimm asked. “That was your big fight. You and your pretenders thought you had enough to counter all of this?” Grimm gestured to his army of rotted souls.
“We hoped,” Bob said. “At least they’ll be safe.”
“Until it’s time for them to die,” Grimm said.
“Maybe,” Bob said.
Bob did the dumbest thing he’d ever done: he charged the monster. Grimm smiled. He formed his scythe and swept the blade down. Bob expected the move. He opened himself. A Transport Point was just a part of it. To cleanse a Blacksoul, Bob needed a filter. That was the key. So when he opened himself, as only a Journeyman with a soul could do, he opened himself through the most precious gift he’d ever received.
The Blade slammed into him. Bob felt its extreme cold, so cold it burned the skin around the wound. It didn’t stop Bob from smiling. Patience would cleanse the souls, and Bob would send them onward.
Grimm didn’t realize it at first. He started to laugh, so proud of his ability to kill. After a few moments, he must have felt the same fire that Bob did. Blacksouls began pouring away. He could hear their screams as they flowed from outside, where they must have been attacking other Journeymen, back into their master. They all poured through Grimm.
Grimm’s shout of victory became a scream of pain. He stabbed and tore into Bob, oblivious to the knowledge that those acts were what caused the monster’s pain. They were all flowing through Patience’s soul, her clean, beautiful, bright soul, and then they Passed On, pure.
None of it stopped Grimm from stabbing. Bob did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around the monster and whispered, “You can’t cut away what a person really is.”
19
Remember
Drisc felt beaten and bruised enough to pass out. He ignored the pain and tried to pull free of Todd’s grip. He knew he was too late. He could hear Grimm’s shouts. The Journeymen outside were still trying to fight off Blacksouls. They seemed to be at something of a standoff. He heard Grimm’s tone shift and hoped the bastard was as badly hurt as he sounded.
Drisc noticed a Blacksoul flit backward as if yanked by some unseen force. It flew into the clubhouse, screaming. One followed, then two more. After a few moments, it looked as if someone were pulling a black sheet from the surface of the Earth. Blacksouls melded together and flowed into the clubhouse, where Drisc could hear Grimm screaming in agony.
It couldn’t have taken very long. But Drisc watched it all happening around him, and it seemed to move so slowly. The wave of rotted souls flowed into the clubhouse and disappeared. Drisc half expected the house to implode. When it ended, no one seemed to want to be the first to move. Drisc broke the silence.
“Bob!” he shouted. He knew better, but he hoped. He started to rush back into the clubhouse. Glass crunched under his shoes when he stepped through the ruins of the clubhouse door, around the van that had plowed through the entrance earlier.
He just cleared the side of the van when he saw the bodies. Grimm lay naked, a look of horror frozen on his face. His forearms and hands were nothing more than skeletal remains. The man hundreds of ever-living beings had feared looked so frail, helpless.
Opposite Grimm lay Bob. He had a large wound in his chest. His body was cut and slashed, but his face seemed unmarked. The bastard had died with a smile. Drisc didn’t realize he’d fallen to his knees. He might have even fallen on his face had Todd and Norm not caught his arms for support.
The sound of footsteps caught Drisc’s attention. He turned to see Archie maneuver around the van. “He used his own soul as a filter,” Archie said. “Truly a fascinating man.”
“He wasn’t some goddamn experiment,” Drisc growled.
Archie stopped beside him for a moment. “No, he wasn’t,” Archie whispered.
The Clockmaker resumed his walk and moved over to Bob. He knelt over Bob, and Drisc saw the light that was Bob’s soul flow into Archie. Archie stood and walked back toward Drisc.
“He was a great man and more,” Archie said. Drisc felt Archie’s hand on his shoulder. Then he felt Bob’s soul, the part allowed to remain on this plane, flow into him. It felt like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was a warm blanket. It was waking from a restful sleep. It was seeing someone you’ve missed come home after a long absence. It was saying goodbye and knowing it would be a long while before he saw his friend again.
Archie walked back to the bodies and touched Grimm. Having all those souls pass through the trace of his must have been what killed the monster. Drisc watched the light flow from Grimm’s body into Archie, and he thought the light seemed as frail as the man it came from.
Drisc watched with nearly a hundred other Journeymen as Archie rose and walked back to the van, slowly pulled the passenger door open, and took a seat. Drisc stared at him.
“What? What now?” Drisc asked.
Archie gave Drisc that same flat look, the one that said, Drisc really is a blind fool.
“You live,” the old man said, smiling. “That’s the point.”
20
A Familiar Face
May 20, 2012
I know my name is Kyle. I’m not sure how I know, but I do, as plainly as I know what I am. I am something out of a movie, or a bad television series. If I didn’t know it to the core of myself, I wouldn’t believe it. I’d call the nearest mental house and check in. “Kyle Finte, party of one, checking in for an undetermined period.”
Only, Harmony says there’re more people like her and me. She doesn’t know about this journal yet. I think I’ve done enough for one day. Writing down everything I do seems a bit haughty, especially considering how much she talks about The Journals. Apparently, some real important Journeyman wrote some journals a while back. Now they’re like private, must-read material for what she calls “Senior Journeymen.” Lord, I hope I don’t meet one of them anytime soon.
It just feels right, writing down what I see and learn. What would have happened if we could get our hands on Einstein’s journals, or Beethoven’s? Apparently, I’m going to live a long time. It’d be a shame for me to see all this history and meet all these people without keeping a record. Like I said, it just feels right to me.
Now all I have to do is learn how to be a modern-day Grim Reaper without pissing off my teacher or getting yelled at by some someone who can apparently take my powers away if I don’t behave myself. It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, I have powers, right?
Kyle Finte had been alive for three days, four hours, and eleven minutes. He imagined he’d stop counting the minutes after the first hundred years or so, but at this stage, just being alive seemed novel to him. He didn’t remember being born. He didn’t remember growing up. He woke up on the side of a road
with a beautiful woman kneeling over him. He didn’t know how many more times he’d just pop into existence, but he figured there weren’t many better ways to come into the world.
During those three days, four hours, and eleven minutes, the woman, Harmony, had taught him about Journeymen. It seemed like a load of crap to him, except for the part of him that knew every word of it was true. That didn’t stop a knot of fear from catching in his throat when Harmony told him it was time for him to Collect his first soul.
This is how he wound up in front of a small, ranch-style house in a tiny suburb of Phoenix called Sun City. The little red house had a nice lawn with rose bushes. A tan motor home was in the driveway. It was clean, but it still looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while. He looked at Harmony.
“So why can’t you do this and just let me watch?” he asked. “You know, like some under-instruction study event.”
The petite blonde girl gave him a flat look he’d become familiar with since waking up on that rode in Arizona. She had deep, dark eyes that looked as if they could hold every secret in the world. She’d never once raised her voice at him, but she could stare at a man and make him feel as if he should confess to the Kennedy assassination.
“You have to do it sometime, Kyle,” she said. Her voice was soft, compassionate.
“Maybe,” Kyle admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I have to do it this time.”
She grabbed his arm and nearly dragged him to the house’s white door. “Actually, it does,” she said. “Trust me, just stick with the cover story, get in, and get the soul.”
“How come I have to think of a cover story, and you get to work as a journalist?” Kyle asked, frustrated. He hadn’t had a reason to lie yet, but something told him he wouldn’t be very good at it.
“You just haven’t had time to work into the system yet. Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out. In the meantime, you need to work out the logistics of your abilities. Tell me, how much time does the person in that house have to live?”
Something Always Remains: Part Three of The Journals of Bob Drifter Page 11