The car ride would have been a great date in itself. They talked to each other and shared stories. She’d tease him, and he’d laugh and respond with interest. It took him a while to use his wit, but the moment he caught on that she wasn’t easily insulted, he let his guard down. Patience hated it when a guy tried to treat a girl like she couldn’t handle a joke.
They talked about some of her work in photojournalism. “The soldiers respect you a lot more when you show them you’re willing to do what they do.”
“So that meant you just had to try to work out with them,” he said, laughing.
“I was sore for a week,” she said miserably. “I didn’t know a person could be that tired.”
“What happened after that?”
“They said it was time to head out on a mission!” she yelped. “We had just done a thousand pushups and ran ten miles and they said, ‘Time to go to work.’ They’re insane!”
“I highly doubt you did a thousand pushups,” Bob said, chuckling.
“Excuse the hyperbole, Mr. Drifter,” she said flatly. “But with them, it’s not how many you do; it’s about how hard you push yourself. But I did it and didn’t complain. After that, I never had to ask what was going on. They came to me. I was a part of the unit.”
“I wish I had such luck with my work,” Bob said quietly. He took a moment to swallow some travel aspirin while they were at a stop sign on a lonely highway about two hours from Syracuse. Time flew when they talked.
“I thought your students love you?” she said, truly surprised.
“Oh, they do, but sometimes ...” he faltered. “Sometimes, I wish I felt like I did more.”
“Teaching’s not enough?” Why would he put so much pressure on himself?
“I’ve gotten better at it the last year or so,” he said brightly. He pulled off the road to a large manor that was separated into three white-slate buildings. Red letters on a green sign told her she was at a place called Historic Mitchell Caverns.
“I don’t see any caves,” Patience said.
“You will,” he replied with a secretive grin.
They entered the mine’s museum. The museum had various exhibits on display as well as a series of photographs on the wall. Patience couldn’t get to the black-and-white photos fast enough. One shot showed a miner in his helmet just outside the caves. Another showed an old industrial building by a long, dirt road.
Another image caught her eye. It was a group shot of some miners inside the caves. She looked at it four times before calling Bob.
“Look at that,” she said, showing the picture to Bob.
“At what?” he asked.
“The guy on the front right,” she said. “He looks just like you.” Right down to that nervous smile.
“I’ve been told that I look like a lot of people,” Bob said with a nervous chuckle.
“But that guy looks just like you,” she said. “He could be your great-grandfather!”
“Orphan,” Bob said with a hurt expression.
“Oh, God, Bob, I’m sorry,” she said. Idiot! “I only thought ...” He put a hand on her shoulders and smiled.
“It’s OK,” he said. “Don’t feel bad. Maybe he is related to me. I just don’t know anything about my real family.”
“I wasn’t even thinking,” she said, feeling guilty.
“I’ve been an orphan for a long time, Patience. I’m over it.” The look on his face said that wasn’t entirely true. He took her hand and guided her to an elevator.
“Where are we going?” she asked. In answer, he gave her backpack to her and put his on.
“We’re not going to wait for the tour?”
“Where’s the adventure in that?”
“What if we get lost?”
“I could think of a worse fate than to be lost with you for a while.” For Patience, the idea of being lost in the dark overrode the romantic sense to the comment.
“Bob, I don’t do well in the dark,” she said. That was a lie. She hated the dark.
“That won’t be a problem.”
He shuffled her into the elevator before she could argue more. It didn’t stop her from trying, though.
“How will we get back? What if we get caught?”
He chuckled. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?” he asked.
I’m terrified, she thought, panicked. He took her hand. A moment passed, and her fear ebbed. She could feel it in the back of her mind. The voice that hated dark places was still there, screaming, but she couldn’t hear it. He used his other hand to push the button, and the doors closed. She felt the elevator lurch.
“I was here a while back,” he said. “You’re safe with me, Patience.” And she felt safe.
“If I die down there, I’ll haunt you forever.”
“I can guarantee you’re in no danger of dying.”
“Says you,” she said. Oddly, though, he sounded pretty sure of himself. “Shouldn’t that door have been guarded?”
“It was,” Bob said. “The attendant by the door had reason to believe someone had stolen something from the museum. He went to investigate.
“You really planned this out?”
“Part of my job,” he said. “Always have a great plan.”
The elevator continued to descend lower and lower. Every time she felt her panic rise, Bob squeezed her hand gently, and she felt calmer.
“How far down does this go?” she asked.
“About 150 feet,” he answered. Her panic withered away whenever he’d squeeze her hand, making her feel safe. She wrapped her arm around his.
“Did you bring flashlights?”
“Like I said, light won’t be an issue where we’re going, but it will be dark for a minute.”
He clicked on a large light. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Although it wasn’t very dark, the light helped. He led her around the cavern. She could see rails and arrows pointing the direction of the tour. As he led her away from the rails, she stopped to argue that it was the wrong way.
“This is the part where you trust me,” he said, using her own phrase against her.
“Sure, follow the strange man down the wrong way in some dark caves. Those are great reasons to trust you,” she said sullenly.
“We can go back now,” he said, looking her in the eyes. His eyes were old. It made it hard to believe he was only thirty-two. They penetrated her. “But if you come with me, you won’t regret it, and you won’t be afraid.”
She was surprised to notice she wasn’t afraid. It was almost like he blocked her fear when he looked at her or touched her.
“OK,” she said. He walked away from the normal tour route and slid into what looked like a gap in the wall. She gripped his arm but didn’t try to turn back. She focused on the light as they slipped through the crevice, taking deep breaths and ignoring the moist feel of the cave wall. There was hardly room for her to walk sideways along the wall. When they came out, all her breath left her.
It was beautiful. A set of boats sat on still waters where a rainbow of colors reflected around the caves.
“This is supposed to be the end of the tour, but I wasn’t in the mood to share my romantic boat ride with anyone but you.” What happened to that nervous teenager?
He helped her into one of the boats and began to row. Patience pulled out her camera. The light was beautiful. She loved the color and texture of the area. It was a photographer’s dream location. Bob could have picked a million places, but this was perfect. He rowed quietly while she captured images. She took a picture of him bathed in a beautiful white light.
He smiled at her. She shrugged. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so amazing.”
“Shame I didn’t bring a book,” he said. She knew what he meant. If he was going to focus on her, the least she could do was return the favor. She set her camera down, climbed over to him, and lay in his arms. It felt nice. It felt right. The fear in the back of her mind was entirely gone.
“This is almost perfect,
” she said.
“Almost?” he asked, shocked. “Patience, I’ve pulled out every trick I had.”
“Really?” she asked teasingly. “Because you know, this is supposed to be the part where you—”
He kissed her before she had a chance to tell him to. It was like the rose on the car seat. It was like the comment about not wanting to give up a chance to be with her. It was like his nervous smile that made her feel like a teenager again. It was perfect.
13
A Grimm Execution
November 13, 2007
I’ve had more nightmares regarding my last meeting with Grimm than I care to imagine. There’s something different about him that makes him more powerful. A lot of the things I keep wishing Journeymen could do but can’t; he can. When Drisc told me about the execution, I almost told him I didn’t want to do it. Truth is- I don’t. Grimm scares the hell out of everyone I know, including myself.
Unfortunately for me, Drisc is the only friend I have, so I’m left to watch out for him. It’s not like any of the Senior Journeymen care to lend a hand. They’re more than willing to give me and Drisc crap if we so much as spit in the street, but they let him handle things no one wants to.
Bob didn’t ask where his friend got the proper badges to witness the execution. More importantly, he didn’t say anything as they walked through the prison into the execution room. It looked like a movie theater, but it felt like a morgue. The combination gave Bob such nausea, he nearly forgot about the train wreck happening between his ears. The headache was three days older and three hundred times more pissed off.
Drisc looked to be handling the pain of a Tragic Headache better than Bob could. Of course, Drisc wasn’t above drinking himself numb, either. Bob challenged him on the issue and he only responded by saying, “My hangovers are nearly as bad as those anyway.”
They sat side by side on blue folding chairs in front of a large, glass wall that was at least two inches thick. About a dozen other people, including the mayor and governor of New York, took their seats. The room on the other side of the glass was empty, save a clock, and the large, leather-cushioned, execution table shaped like an odd cross with down-angled arms.
Two policemen guided Jake Grafer into the chamber. About fifteen years ago, Jake had killed his wife and her lover. It was a simple enough case to convict, and Mr. Grafer had shown absolutely no remorse for what he’d done. The tall, blonde-haired man didn’t struggle on his way to the chair. The news report Bob read about the man’s execution said he was glad to accept the consequences of his actions. Actually, the article quoted him saying, “At least I sent the bitch to hell first. Maybe this time, she’ll actually wait for me.”
Grafer only struggled a little as they Velcroed his arms to the table and buckled his chest. The lights began to flicker. Some of the members of the witness room shifted nervously. Bob wasn’t ashamed when he looked around, but he knew what he was looking for. A quarter of the lights in the room burned out, leaving the corners of the execution room in pitch-black.
One of the guards approached a speaker and pushed a button. “Sir?” he asked the warden. The warden glanced at the governor and mayor. They didn’t make any sign that Bob could see, but the warden still told the guards to continue.
“He’s coming,” Bob said as quietly as possible. Drisc looked around at the exits. “No,” Bob whispered. “He’ll be in the shadows.” He wondered if Drisc was as calm as he looked. The guards carefully placed a single long needle in each of Grafer’s arms. The needles led to tubes, which led to the back of the room, where a series of plungers each pushed a clear liquid into the murderer.
The lights flickered again, and Bob felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Grafer screamed as a figure stepped out of the shadows. Grimm was cloaked in black, not black robes or clothes, but the absence of light. Darkness billowed and thrived around him as he approached his Transport. Of course, by then, all hell had broken loose.
The two guards drew their guns, but the blackness surrounding Grimm lashed out and swept the guards away like a pair of dolls. Bob rose to his feet in panic. It was happening just like the last time he saw Grimm. The monster had knocked two men out without so much as looking at them. The warden rose and shouted orders. An alarm sounded from somewhere, while the mayor and governor began shouting to find out what was happening. Bob saw, and it was more than he wanted to.
Grimm changed. He shifted from one nightmare-like silhouette to another as Grafer screamed and tried to pull himself free. The criminal wet himself, and Bob could hear a man’s laughter. Grimm laughed, but a monstrous face formed of black obsidian and shadow is what made the sound.
The door to the chamber opened for the instant it took Grimm to send more of that black nothing at the door, sending three armed men to the floor. Grafer began asking for anyone to help. He called for the warden, or God, or someone. The black shape around Grimm turned into a giant maw of nothing, as if to devour Grafer whole.
“Get it over with!” Bob shouted. He didn’t know when he stood up. The lights flickered again for a moment. Grimm turned to look at Bob, and Bob suddenly felt as if he were nothing. It wasn’t Manipulation. It was the same feeling a junior high school student must feel when he challenges the captain of the varsity football team or a college student bound for the NFL. Bob actually felt Grimm’s alien power. It was dark, cold, and honestly, rotted was the only word he could think of to describe it.
The moment lasted the blink of an eye before Grimm turned to Grafer just in time for the condemned man to die screaming. Grimm didn’t take the soul. He ripped it out. The blackness around him flew at Grafer and burst through him. Bob and Drisc saw the man’s soul twist inside the black shapes surrounding Grimm. A pitch-black claw of a hand clutched the soul, and Grimm leapt into the shadows and disappeared.
Bob glanced at his friend. Drisc had gone pale. He had his hand in his inner coat pocket and was shivering. Bob couldn’t tell if it was from rage or fear. But Bob knew his own shivers were born entirely of terror. Guards kicked in the door to reach Grafer’s dead body. People in the witness room prayed, cried, or stood stupidly, trying to understand what they’d just seen. Bob knew. They’d just seen evil. Bob sat down and tried to calm his nerves. Grimm looked right at him, right through him, and Bob felt powerless to do anything.
14
Interrogation
Drisc’s Irish constitution had never let him down. He walked steadily down the street in Syracuse. Of course, the wall of the building helped, but who said anything like that was illegal? He chuckled at his own wit and the fact that he nearly tipped backward. Random bargirl number twenty-eight gave him her number. Every bargirl was random bargirl number twenty-eight. The point was, he still had it. He casually looked behind himself at the round, little man. The guy was still following him. That was why Drisc made it a point to seem drunk. If only he were.
Drisc’s mind wandered for a moment. No amount of alcohol could force out the memory of the day before, and he had tried very hard to forget. The image was of Grimm covered in blackness. Drisc shook his head to dispel the memory and immediately regretted it.
The stress of giving a statement to the police and trying to see what they might know about Grimm’s theatrics was only an annoyance beside the sheer horror of the event. There was no forced entry, and no one had a clue how anyone could have gotten in or out of the room. The authorities had no idea what Grimm really was. Their theory, which Drisc was more than happy to let them keep, was that one of the prisoners or guards was responsible.
Drisc could only wish he could fool himself as completely. He checked behind himself again, catching a glimpse of the fat man. Deciding it was time to try something different, he fell on his ass right there on the snow-covered sidewalk.
“Just great!” he barked. He’d noticed the man following him at the last bar and honestly hoped he’d go away. The guy looked mad about something, and Drisc had simply had his fill of people expecting him to do anything
about anything. Who knew immortality could be so bothersome? Oh, any other Journeyman could probably drink himself stupid, meet women, and generally have a great time. But not Driscoll Navin, oh, no. Drisc just happened to have been doing this longer than just about everyone else, and that somehow made him responsible for the whole bloody operation. OK, so maybe Drisc didn’t want to see anyone have to figure out being a Journeyman on his own, but this Counsel shit was for the birds.
Now Drisc had to deal with whoever was following him. Was random bargirl twenty-seven married? He made a mental decision to start looking for that sort of thing. Some fact tried to swim to the top of the beer sloshing around Drisc’s brain, but even if it could get through the beer, it wouldn’t get through the whiskey. Something about how the man seemed to carry himself tugged at Drisc. For some reason, Drisc thought of Bob.
If Bob were there, he’d help. Bob had problems like anyone else, but he never dumped them on Drisc. He fixed his own messes. That’s a good friend right there. Never leave a mess for your friend to clean up. Drisc decided to make that his motto. Then he decided he should probably get off the snow-covered sidewalk.
So he did, slowly. He wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t stand. The wall of the shop on the corner of the street helped a little. As he started to walk, the man following him did the same. Well, if he wanted to watch Drisc wobble home, so be it. Everyone needed a hobby. If the man wanted to fight, well, every man needs to take a risk now and then, too.
Drisc turned down an alley three blocks away from his apartment on James Street. If his pursuer wanted to try anything, this was the place. Drisc slowed. The little man hurried up behind him. Guess he wants to talk, he thought to himself, tucking his hands in his pockets and continuing to walk.
It wasn’t that the guy was obvious. He was actually pretty good. Drisc only noticed him because of the man’s anger. Drisc had thought about using Manipulation to help with random bargirl twenty-six; he only thought about it. He’d never actually do it. The moment he stretched out to Sense random bargirl twenty-six’s feelings—or was it bargirl twenty-four? Drisc worried he might be a little drunk. He nearly shook his head to clear it again before he realized what a bad idea that would be. Whichever girl he was trying to pick up, he reached for her emotions and got a great big ball of “fuck you” vibe rolling off the small man at the bar. So, Drisc decided not to bother bargirl twenty-six, or twenty-four, or whichever she was.
Bob's Greatest Mistake_Part Two of The Journals of Bob Drifter Page 5