by Barry Reese
Ascott leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him. His newly-ignored cigarette lay burning in the ashtray on a nearby table, a growing line of ash at its tip. “I think this is a journey upon which the Peregrine will have to fly… alone.” The psychic detective looked out the window, into the twinkling stars…
And he uttered a silent prayer on his friend’s behalf.
CHAPTER IV
The Mysterious Stranger
Max stepped into his house via the back entrance, which allowed him access to the kitchen. He moved stealthily, not wanting to wake his wife or child. He knew that Nettie, the old Negro woman who kept his house, couldn’t be awakened by the dead, so he wasn’t concerned about that. He was weary from his trip back from New York and wanted to grab a drink and something to eat before taking off to the scene of the disappearance… but as he moved past the kitchen table, something caught his eye: several sheets of paper bearing the letterhead of Dr. Bryce, Evelyn’s practitioner. Max picked one of them up, his eyes growing wide.
They were confirmation of test results… tests which showed that Evelyn was pregnant.
A grin spread over Max’s face as things began to fit into place: Evelyn’s quiet nature over the past few days, her somewhat poor eating habits and her unusual queasiness.
Pregnant.
Max was wondering if he should wake her now or wait to offer her his excitement in the morning when a knocking came from the front door. Max froze for a moment, wondering who would be calling at this late hour, when the knock came again, more insistent this time.
Like his namesake, Max flew through the house, reaching the door before a third series of knocks could disturb anyone’s slumber.
Max opened the door a few inches, allowing bitterly cold air to whip into the house. A man in a dark overcoat stood a few steps down from the door, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. In his right hand he held a small package about the size of a cigar box.
“Mr. Davies?” the man asked, sounding hoarse and ancient.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“Forgive me for bothering you so late. I have been watching your wife, waiting for you to return. I—” the man halted in midsentence, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping as if great pain were overtaking him.
Max grabbed the fellow’s elbow and steered him inside. “Come on in out of the cold.” Max walked the visitor into the study and helped him into a comfortable padded chair.
“Thank you,” the man said, his hands shaking a bit. He held on to the box as if his life depended on it. Max noticed that the stranger was in his mid seventies, at least, with hair and beard the color of dirty snow. His clothing was expensive but soiled, giving him the appearance of a professor who had recently escaped some harrowing experience. A few cuts and bruises dotted the landscape of the man’s flesh but Max saw nothing obvious that would explain the fellow’s pained gasp on the steps.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to bother you, Mr. Davies… but I suspect you are the only man who can assist me in this matter.”
“Think nothing of it. Do you need anything to drink? Tea or coffee?”
“Do you have anything harder?” the man asked tiredly. “Brandy or whiskey?”
Max rose and got a glass for his guest. He filled it halfway with some stout whiskey and handed it to the man, who downed it in one gulp. Max refilled it and then sat down. “What’s your name?”
“Ed Willes. I work for the University of Georgia in the Natural History department.”
Max nodded suddenly. “I’ve heard of you. You were in the papers awhile back, receiving some kind of award.”
“The Maddox Achievement Award, yes. It was for my work with the Lost Colony of Roanoke.”
The look on Max’s face seemed to confirm something for Willes, who smiled and took a small sip on his second shot of whiskey.
“Why did you come here, Mr. Willes?” Max asked, wishing for the first time since he’d lost it that he still had his telepathy. “Why come see… me?”
“I don’t know everything about this matter, Mr. Davies… but I have read up on you. I know that you used to live in Boston but left after accusations began to be filed that you moonlighted as the vigilante known as the Peregrine. You briefly visited Denver… and were again present when the Peregrine appeared. And now you live in Atlanta… and the Peregrine has become Atlanta’s savior of sorts. I imagine the same sort of talk that drove you from Boston would be present here except for the fact that the Peregrine now works with the local police… and the police chief is your son’s namesake, yes?”
“I know the Peregrine… but that certainly doesn’t mean that I wear the mask,” Max lied. He knew that it didn’t take a genius to piece together the truth about his identity but thankfully few people had possessed the tenacity to do so.
“True… but even if you are not him, you must know how to contact him. And I need you to do so. Quickly.”
Max’s eyes dropped to the tightly-held box. “What’s in there?”
“I spent last summer studying the site of the Roanoke colony. While I was there, I made a find. I brought it back with me and wrote up a paper, one that I shared with some associates. That’s what got me the award, Mr. Davies. But I may have damned Atlanta in doing so.” Willes held out the box, allowing Max to take it. It was very plain but Max could sense something of great importance within it; even without his powers, Max still possessed enhanced versions of normal human intuition, honed through years of life-and-death experiences.
Max looked up suddenly as Willes leaned forward, clutching at his side. The motion allowed some of the man’s side to come into view and his white shirt was stained with blood. “You’re hurt!” Max exclaimed. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“No… please.” Willes held up a hand to stop Max from getting up. “I am an old man… and I am ready for this. I did a very bad thing, Mr. Davies, driven by pride and a desire for adulation. This act tonight… it is my way of purifying my soul.”
“What happened to you?” Max asked, gesturing to the wound that was still leaking blood, the red-brown stain growing ever larger. Max could see a ragged tear in the fabric, where some sort of blade had passed.
“I was stabbed… the Red Men want this returned to them. They want their slumber to be undisturbed. That’s why they killed everyone who came to rest on their lands… but they finally fell into a sleep that not even man could wake. We would have all been safe… but I woke them. I took it… and now they won’t rest until all of us have paid the price. The place where I live… it was the first. Everyone who was there is now gone.”
Max swallowed hard, knowing that he was talking about the apartment building that McKenzie had told him about. “Who are the Red Men?”
Willes stood up, clutching his side. “I have to go. They will be following me. I will lead them away from you… this will save you from having to explain why I died in your home. Open the box, Mr. Davies. You will understand, I hope… you have to find a way to end this horrible affair.”
“You don’t have to do this. I can help you.”
Willes smiled. “I know you can, Mr. Davies. You already have. Now please, let me leave with some dignity.” He finished his whiskey and departed, moving slowly.
Max watched him, warring thoughts within him. He could follow the man, save his life despite his obvious wishes to die… or he could honor the fellow’s desires. In the end, Max decided to give Willes the honor choosing how he would end his life.
Max looked down at the box and opened it. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find but what his eyes beheld was still a surprise. There was black earth in the box, with a pungent smell arising from it. Showing the dirt, down at the bottom of the box, was something pink and wet. Max cleared away the earth and revealed the object for what it truly was:
A human heart, still beating.
CHAPTER V
McKenzie and the Heart
Will McKenzie ran a hand through his dark hair and s
ighed. It was cold tonight and he was getting very, very sleepy. A big part of him wanted to head home to Kristen and let her warm him up… and then he could fall asleep with his head on her breast.
Will stood outside the barricades that had been erected around the apartment building. He took out a watch and looked at it before returning it to his pocket. As the Atlanta chief of police, he’d grown used to late nights and to the bizarre nature of the Peregrine’s cases, but sometimes it was still possible for the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Seeing all those empty apartments, many of which looked like their owners had vanished in the middle of dinner or even a shower… it was unnerving.
The sound of movement above his left shoulder drove Will out of his reverie. He spun into action, drawing his gun and whirling about. Will relaxed when he recognized the silhouette on the rooftop above: long overcoat whipping in the breeze, gloves and boots well defined.
The Peregrine jumped from the rooftop, landing in a crouch near McKenzie. Will noted that his friend had a small cigar-sized box in one hand.
“About time,” Will said with a grin. “I was about to give up on you. That plane of yours must be getting slower.”
“I got back awhile ago but I was delayed.” Max held up the box. “A man named Ed Willes came by the house and gave this to me. He says it’s related to the disappearances.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead, most likely.” Max looked back to the apartment building. “Can you show it to me?”
“Sure. Not much to see, really. It looks like they just all vanished—”
“The word. I need to see it. Croatoan.”
“Come on.” McKenzie led the way, pushing past the barricades and moving up the steps. The apartment building was very posh, reflective of the upper-class residents it had housed. Many of the apartment doors had been left open by the police, after their door-to-door search. Max peered into several as they walked past, noting that it was exactly as McKenzie had described: there were no signs of obvious struggle. It looked as if everyone had simply vanished, without bothering to finish off their late dinners or bother putting away their magazines or papers.
“Any animals?” he asked, noting that one of the apartments had a water bowl sitting near the kitchen. “Or did they all vanish, too?”
“We haven’t found any… I noticed that when I came through. Max, what’s going on?”
The Peregrine hesitated but when he remembered how many bizarre things McKenzie had encountered over the past few years, he decided to spill the full story to his friend. Aside from Evelyn, McKenzie was his closest confidante… and he was one of the very few who could handle all the weirdness thrown at him.
“A few hundred years ago, a colony—several of them, actually—vanished on Roanoke Island. The only sign that was left behind was the word Croatoan carved on a tree. Earlier tonight, Willes gave me this box and said it contained something he dug up at the remains of the colony… he says that when he did so, it woke something up. Something he called The Red Men. He said they were trying to kill him. And apparently by bringing this box here… he’s caused what happened to Roanoke to happen in this building.”
“And what is happening?”
“I don’t have a clue. Not yet. But it’s all related to this.” Max held up the box and opened it. McKenzie’s shocked expression quickly turned to mild disgust. The human heart continued to inexplicably beat in its bed of sand.
McKenzie shook his head, leading Max further into the building. On one of the walls near the rear exit was painted—in what appeared to be human blood—the word Croatoan. “Here it is. Damned if I know what it means, though.”
“Croatoan was both the name of an island near the Roanoke colony and a local Indian tribe.” Max reached up and lightly touched the writing. He knew it was technically a crime scene and the evidence should remain undisturbed but McKenzie made no move to stop him. Without his telepathy, the Peregrine could get no impression from it… but something about the word still chilled him. He heard a loud thumping and glanced down at the box, where the human heart seemed to react to the proximity to the writing. It beat so hard that it actually vibrated the sand around it…
The Peregrine heard a human voice then, rising in some kind of war cry. It came from just outside the exit door and was quickly followed by something crashing through the window. It embedded itself in the wall just over the Peregrine’s shoulder. It was an arrow, its shaft notched with a single red feather.
“Will, get down!” the Peregrine shouted as the door was flung open and two figures entered. One wielded a bow and arrow, the weapon drawn and ready to fire. The other brandished a tomahawk. They were dressed in deer skins and moccasins but what first appeared to be red body paint quickly turned out to be something else entirely: their outer flesh was missing, leaving wet, read meat behind. The flaying was not deep enough that sinew and bone was visible but it was close.
The first of the bloody braves to strike was the one with the arrow, which he let fly at McKenzie. The police chief crouched under the rocketing missile of death, drawing his gun and discharging the pistol. The bullet ripped through the Red Man, blood and gore rushing from the exit wound. The attacking warrior fell back to the floor, leaving his companion to face the Peregrine.
The tomahawk-wielding man bobbed and weaved. He spoke in a native dialect that Max didn’t understand but as they came closer to one another, something seemed to shift. The closer the Indian came to the beating heart, the more his words began to make sense to the Peregrine. And what was being said was nothing short of astonishing:
“Give her to us! She’s been touched by enough of you! She belongs to us!”
The Peregrine leaned back, the tomahawk’s edge just missing his throat. He kicked out and caught the Indian on the leg, knocking him off-balance. “Can you understand me?” he asked but the Red Man didn’t appear to do so—or at least he was unwilling to respond.
Instead, the man let out a roar of anger and renewed his furious attack. The Peregrine did his best to avoid the blade but he was caught once on the upper part of his left forearm, blood oozing from the wound.
Realizing that there could be no dialogue with the man, the Peregrine punched the fellow in the stomach and drew his own dagger, which glowed a brilliant yellow. Infused with mystic power, the Knife of Elohim was a potent part of the Peregrine’s arsenal. When the Indian lunged for him again, the Peregrine drove the blade deep into his opponent’s stomach, yanking upwards to tear loose the man’s intestines.
The Peregrine stood panting over the corpse of his foe, looking at McKenzie. The police chief nodded that he was okay but quickly gestured to the two fallen Red Men.
“Max… look!”
The Peregrine frowned as the dead men’s bodies began to disappear beneath a rising cloud of red tinged smoke. The sounds of a woman’s screams seemed to echo all around them, coming from everywhere and nowhere… and then both it and the bodies were gone.
The Peregrine made sure the box containing the heart was closed and secured within his overcoat. “Will, I have to find out what’s going on…”
McKenzie nodded, a smile touching his lips. “Just keep me in the loop… I’ve still got to find an official reason for these people’s disappearance. I take it they’re not coming back later on? They’re gone?”
“I hope I’ll be able to find them alive,” Max said under his breath. “But something tells me that might not be possible.”
CHAPTER VI
Evelyn’s News
Evelyn Davies was sitting in the kitchen, reading through the morning news when her husband returned home. She was used to waking up with no idea where he was, but that never made it any easier to take. She frequently had nightmares where McKenzie woke her in the middle of the night to give her the grim news: that Max’s luck had finally run out; that he was lying in some alleyway somewhere, having bled out from a gunshot wound.
Thankfully, that call had not yet come.
&nb
sp; Evelyn smiled prettily when Max entered the room, having followed the smells of Nettie’s cooking—eggs, bacon and fresh biscuits. Evelyn was several years younger than her husband and retained the sort of breathtaking beauty usually possessed by women in their early twenties. She had shoulder-length auburn colored hair and the sort of glittering eyes that spoke of both high intelligence and a naughty curiosity. Her acting career was just now beginning to shift from the lovely damsel-in-distress sort of roles that had defined her thus far to more mature roles… and it wasn’t a transition that she was entirely comfortable with. It meant that, her beauty notwithstanding, she was beginning to get a bit long in the tooth when it came to playing the young seductress role.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, wondering if he’d already read the doctor’s report she’d deliberately left on the table. She wasn’t at all sure how he was going to react to the news of another child on the way… neither of them had expressed any real interest in expanding the family dynamic. “How was Ascott?”
“Fine,” he responded, picking up a biscuit en route to the table, where he kissed Evelyn on the cheek before sitting down. “Beatrice said to tell you hello.”
“Wonderful. I need to set up a shopping trip with her. It’s been ages since we got together.” Evelyn waited for Max to mention the pregnancy and, when it became apparent that he was more interested in savoring the freshly baked biscuit, she motioned to the newspaper headline, which was all about the strange disappearances from the night before. “Were you working on this?”
“It’s related to the Roanoke thing,” Max confirmed. “Last night after I came home, a professor visited me… he gave me this box.” Max set the small cigar-shaped box on the table. “There’s a human heart inside. It’s still beating.”
“Good lord,” Evelyn whispered, her nose crinkling in disgust.
“It’s covered in soil… so I spent some time in the lab this morning analyzing it. It’s the sort of dirt that could be found in the coastal Virginia area, meaning it’s very likely that it came from either Roanoke Island or Croatoan.”