by Barry Reese
“Because you wanted to present the image of a lovely young actress ready to re-take her cinematic and stage-based crown,” Max teased.
“You cad,” she laughed. “And here I thought it was a fundraiser for Mayor Hartsfield’s newest charity. I had no idea it was all for me! We really should have made this a masquerade, though. If I’d had a mask over my face, the councilman’s wife wouldn’t have noticed me rolling my eyes at her.”
Max pulled away from Evelyn, spotting another familiar face in the crowd. “You look ravishing, my dear—and not wearing a mask means I can stare into your lovely features from across the room. I’ll show you how much I like that dress later this evening.”
“Promises!” she said, also making her return to socializing.
A persistent throbbing in Max’s temple made him reconsider his approach and he elected to bypass greeting the friend he’d recognized. Instead, he stepped out onto the veranda, noting that he was gratefully alone for a moment. The pain increased steadily and he felt a creeping sense of familiarity. He hadn’t felt one of these in a long time but he knew exactly what it was: a vision of things to come.
Years ago, Max had watched his father Warren Davies die before his eyes, gunned down by criminals. In the years following, Max had come to dedicate himself to hunting down those who would steal innocence from the young. He was aided in this endeavor by a wide variety of mentors, many of whom tutored him during a years-long study abroad. Max had become a master of all the known sciences and fighting styles, but his greatest weapon was the burgeoning mental abilities he possessed. They allowed him to see beyond the walls of life and death, to speak with his father, who would send him sometimes painful visions of crimes about to be committed. Driven by these mental clues, Max had pursued master criminals for years under his guise as the Peregrine, sometimes operating in conjunction with a mysterious benefactor named Mr. Benson… but just over a year ago, Warren Davies had appeared to his son and declared that his visitations were over and that the walls between the worlds of life and death were being reinstated. Since then, Max had continued in his vigilante activities but without the aid of his father’s often-enigmatic advice.
“Dad?” Max asked, noting that the sounds of the party within the house had begun to fade into the background. A fog rolled in around his feet and a sudden chill reached his bones. The moon in the sky seemed unnaturally bright, casting the world below in a stark white glow.
The ghostly image of Warren Davies flickered into view and then faded out again, his voice sounding distorted and unearthly. “Dead… walking… Whisper… listen to… Russian… Mad Monk!” he said, his words coming in choppy half-intelligible bursts.
Before Max could question his father, the visions began. Blood spurted from Max’s nose as he fell to his knees, rocked by the force of what flooded into his mind:
A man, his face nothing more than bone and loose, dripping flesh, wielding a pistol that spewed hot death… a beautiful woman, sitting alone in a darkened room… a grossly obese man sitting like a spider at the center of a vast network of crime… a tall man with a remarkably fit body, eyes shining with intelligence. And hovering above it all the image of a bearded man standing before a flickering ebony flame.
“Mr. Davies? You okay, suh?”
Max blinked away the pain and looked around, seeing that the grounds of his property were back to their normal state. Behind him, he heard murmurings from the party goers, many of them watching him with confusion and horror.
Josh reached out a hand to help his employer to his feet. A handsome black farmhand, Josh helped Nettie tend to the property most days and he was as reliable a man as Max had ever met. “What happened?” Max asked, forcing a trembling smile at his guests.
“You fell over to your knees and started wailing like a banshee!”
“I’m sure the society pages will love that,” Max muttered. He pulled away from Josh after standing again and waved to Judge Carpenter, standing nearby. “Sorry, Judge. I’ve been seeing the doctor about these horrible stomach pains but they’re getting worse.”
“Best be seeing him again in the morning, then,” the Judge said.
“I’ll do that.” Max nodded his thanks to Josh and moved around the side of the house, away from the prying eyes of his guests. Casting a quick glance around to make sure no one could see him, Max darted under the house through a hidden entrance. Down below, a well-stocked laboratory and office lay waiting. Dubbed the Peregrine’s Nest, it was the nerve center for Max’s war on crime. He quickly began changing out of his clothes, putting on the dark suit and domino-style mask he wore when on a mission. On his left hip, he strapped a small scabbard containing the Knife of Elohim, a mystically charged weapon that had saved his life on more than one occasion. He also strapped on his specially modified pistols, each capable of firing nearly four dozen rounds without reloading.
“Sneaking away from the party and leaving me to fend for myself? Utter cruelty.”
Max didn’t bother turning. “How’d you know I was here?” he asked his wife.
“I’ve been married to you for too long.” She stepped around in front of him, her eyes full of concern. “Did you see your father again?”
“Yes.”
“I thought he told you he was gone for good.”
“He did,” Max answered, slipping on the small red-tipped ring that glowed with dark malice. Forged from the small rock-like heart of a demonic being, it was able to burn an image of a Peregrine in flight on the forehead of criminals. Accompanied by Max’s grim words, “When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark,” the image had become the stuff of nightmares for Atlanta’s criminal element. “But he showed me things. I have to get out there and start figuring out what it all means.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, letting his shoulders drop a bit. “I just need to get out. I’m sorry for leaving you here…”
“Go,” she urged, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. “Get it out of your system and then come back to me. You promised to show me how much you loved my dress, remember?”
“I love you,” he said, meaning it with all his heart.
“Same here. Now go and save some lives.”
CHAPTER V
The Grim Reaper
Tony Scarlotti shivered against the cold wind that blew through the alleyway. Bits of paper and other debris whipped past his feet and Tony could smell stale beer and urine in the air. This section of the city was home to some of Big Charlie’s best brothels and nightclubs and Tony had enjoyed the free services afforded to him by his status many nights. He had visions of Betty in his mind’s eye as he stepped out onto the street. She was a buxom young girl who was still new to Charlie’s prostitution business, a fresh young thing from the Midwest who had run away from home to escape an abusive father. She was typical of many of Charlie’s girls, lost innocents seeking a refuge from the harshness of the world.
What they found, of course, was far worse than what they’d escaped in most cases. Most girls either succumbed to disease or drug use within a few years but some of them managed to tough it out for much longer, until their bodies no longer enticed enough men for them to remain profitable.
The streets were unusually quiet, Tony thought, and as he spotted the brothel in the distance, he began to hear heavy footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulders, seeing a broad-shouldered silhouette of a man walking towards him, hidden by a quick-rising fog. Tony began to move faster, hoping that he wasn’t being tailed by a rival gang member. He didn’t feel like a fight tonight—all he wanted was a cold beer and the warm embrace of Betty.
“Tony Scarlotti,” the man suddenly said, freezing Tony in mid-step. The stranger’s voice was so cold, so deeply resonant, that it froze the blood in Tony’s voice. “Turn and face me.”
Tony did as he was told, though every fiber of his being screamed out for him to run. Something in the man’s
words would not allow that, however, and Tony found himself shivering as the shadowy figure stepped out into the light. He was a big man, wearing a dirt-and-blood encrusted suit and a long overcoat. In his gloved hands, the man carried two pistols, the barrels of which were smoking. But it was the stranger’s face that was most chilling: his skin was sunken and drawn tight against the bones of his face, making him look like a living skull. “Who are you?” Tony asked, hoping that this was some sort of joke: some freak who still had his Halloween costume on.
“An old friend. One who’s got a score to settle.”
“I don’t know what you—”
The horrific looking man lunged forward, shoving Tony against the wall, the barrel of a gun pushed against his neck. “All you need to know is that I’m the Reaper. You got that?”
“Yeah, sure,” Tony stammered, blinking quickly. “The Reaper.”
“I’m going to let you live, Tony… for a little while at least. But you’re going to take Charlie a message for me. Tell him I’m coming for him. And what’s about to happen to the whores in that brothel is only the beginning of what’s going to happen when I find him. You got that?”
Tony nodded, not sure what else to say. He allowed himself to be dragged towards the brothel, where the Reaper kicked the door in with one mighty blow. The Reaper stepped inside, watching as half-naked women suddenly screamed and panicked johns rose from their seats. Upstairs, doors began to open in response to the sudden clamor, as the Reaper raised his voice, strong and loud. “I was once like you,” he bellowed. “Full of sin but desiring to be something better. There is no hope. There is no chance of redemption. There is only death and despair, even in the world to come. Do you understand?” he shouted.
“Hey, buddy,” one of the johns said, holding his hands out in front of him. “Put the guns down, will ya? I got a wife and kids…”
The Reaper snarled out a response, raising a pistol and firing. The bullet burned its way right through the john’s skull. The killer then whirled about, cutting down one after another as the terrified men and women sought for cover. Tony remained standing at the man’s side, unable to move, not even when he saw Betty cut down by the madman’s murderous assault. Over the din of gunfire, the Reaper laughed, a melancholy sound that carried no mirth. Indeed, Tony thought that the killer might have been crying rather than laughing…
When the guns finally fell silent, the Reaper stood gazing over a bloodied scene that looked like something out of a nightmare. The skull-faced murderer turned his gaze upon Tony, eyes blazing. “Go and tell him. Tell him that the Reaper is coming.”
Tony nodded, stumbling backwards.
“And Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t run without speaking to him first. Or I’ll make your death a lot more painful than it’s gonna be otherwise.”
Tony whirled about and took off at a fast clip, the sounds of answering sirens coming from a mile or so away. He knew that he’d been spared for tonight but there was no doubt about it: the Reaper would be turning those pistols on him soon enough.
For now, though, he had to reach Big Charlie… anything to stave off the inevitable footfalls of the Reaper.
CHAPTER VI
Whisper Softly
The Peregrine’s modified roadster sped through the streets of Atlanta, its silent approach a thing of remarkable beauty. There was little traffic on the roads tonight and Max was able to weave in and out of the cars with no difficulty. He passed one or two police patrol vehicles but none made any move to stop him. In recent years, the Peregrine’s relations with the authorities had taken remarkable steps forward, thanks mainly to the efforts of the always elusive Mr. Benson. Police Chief McKenzie had also come to be one of Max’s close allies, meaning that there were even occasions where the Peregrine was now officially asked to assist on cases. It was a far cry from the days when he was just as wanted for questioning as the criminals he hunted.
Max.
The woman’s voice echoed in his head and the Peregrine almost lost control of his car in shock. He pulled over to the side of the road, waiting to see if it could be heard again. Had he imagined it?
I’m no figment of your imagination. Come inside.
The Peregrine looked to his left and saw a small building, lit from within by a single bulb. The sign outside was faded and worn but the legend was still legible. It read “Whisper.”
Stepping from his vehicle, the Peregrine moved towards the structure, wondering what was going on. Most nights, his activities as the Peregrine were fairly straightforward, with the occasional forays into the supernatural. But tonight… tonight seemed rife with the unusual.
He stepped inside, his nostrils flaring at the strong scent of burning incense. Behind a beaded curtain, he found a stunningly attractive woman sitting behind a circular table. Laid out before her were several tarot cards but Max barely noticed them. His eyes were riveted to the woman’s face. He recognized her from the strange vision that his father had sent… the beautiful woman sitting alone in the darkened room. The woman had long dark hair and wore a form-fitting dark dress, with a plunging neckline. Long gloves stretched up her forearms. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Call me Whisper. I’m a friend.”
“You were in my head.”
“I’m a telepath and a precognitive,” she answered, gesturing towards an empty chair. “Please take a seat.”
“No thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied. “I know that you have no reason to trust me, Max… other than the fact that I know who you are and what you’ve been doing. I think you’re the best thing to happen to this city in a long, long time.” Whisper ran a gloved hand through her dark curls. “But haven’t you ever wondered why there’s so much weirdness here now? That the first of the strange killers and monsters appeared right when you did in this city?”
The Peregrine stared at her for a moment, not speaking. Truth be told, the question had come up on more than one occasion. Before coming to Atlanta, he’d been based up North. Coming to Georgia had seemed to carry all the old demons with him, as suddenly the state’s capital was filled with vampires, werewolves and sadistic killers. “Go on.”
“You’re a magnet for weirdness,” she said with a smile.” Not only are you drawn to the darkness but the darkness is drawn to you in turn.”
“You’re saying that all the monsters who’ve threatened the city are here because of me? That it’s my fault?”
“Wherever you went, they would begin to appear. It’s simply a fact, not a matter of blame.”
“Don’t play games with me,” he answered, growing a bit angry. “You pop into my head and then tell me you know all about me—and that I’m a threat to everyone around me. Why?”
“Benson is an ally of mine,” Whisper answered, nodding towards the tarot cards spread out before her. “And he’s asked me to use my unique talents to assist you whenever necessary. In this case, I think you need some guidance. I’ve seen a lot of darkness in your future—a lot of pain, almost more than any one man could bear.”
“Vague and foreboding, just the two things I like in a person,” the Peregrine answered. “Tell me something useful or I’m leaving.” He tried to avoid showing how much her words disturbed him. Not long ago, he had fought an ancient entity known as the Dark Man. During that battle, he’d gotten glimpses into a future that seemed too dark to bear: a world in which everyone he loved would die before him.
Whisper watched him in sympathy. “Soon you’re going to have to choose what kind of person you really are: the kind who believes the ends justify the means or the kind who believes in the sanctity of life.”
The Peregrine frowned. He’d killed plenty of men in his time but it had always been a last resort. Before he could say anything more, a tiny ringing emanated from his right coat pocket. He pulled forth the smallest phone Whisper had ever seen, a black device no bigger than the palm of his hand. He flipped open the cover of the phone and pressed a
button, enjoying the fact that he seemed to have caught the woman unawares. This invention was his own creation and allowed him to stay in communication with allies across the globe. It was similar to the devices currently being worked on by engineers at Bell Labs but far superior. “Yes?” he asked into the phone.
Will McKenzie’s voice was so crystal clear that he could have been standing in the same room with Max. The Peregrine immediately pictured the handsome young police chief in his mind’s eye, familiar with the man’s slender build and friendly features. “You busy?”
“Nothing important.”
“Then get on over to Peach Avenue, my friend. We’ve got multiple homicides at Suzy’s house of ill repute. Somebody did a real number on this place.”
“Any witnesses?”
“We’ve got one girl who managed to hide in the attic. She caught a brief glimpse of the killer and he sounds like one of yours.”
Max grimaced. One of mine? He thought. Maybe Whisper’s right. Maybe I bring these monsters out to play. “I’m on my way.”
As he put the phone away, Whisper rose from her seat and moved around the table. “I’ll see you again soon,” she purred.
“Not if I can help it,” he muttered, leaving her home as quickly as possible. The last thing he needed right now was some mystery woman feeding him lies and half-truths.
Back inside, Whisper watched him through her window, an enigmatic smile on her full red lips. Though the Peregrine could not hear her, she spoke the following words aloud: “You’re not alone in your war, Max. You’ve accepted the aid of your wife and McKenzie. Now’s the time to welcome new allies to the cause as well.”
CHAPTER VII
The Russian Revealed
The train ride took the trio northwards and began fairly uneventfully, though Libby’s excitement over being invited on one of Kaslov’s adventures caused her already bubbly personality to reach new levels. She chattered away animatedly as they boarded and found their cabins, never ceasing even as the men unpacked their things and made way to the dining car. It was fairly late in the evening but the thrill of adventure had kept the three fully awake.