by A McKay
The bartender looked at Slade waiting for a response. Silence crept in the awkwardness that is taken between two strangers. Slade didn’t want to share any more with the bartender. He needed to keep as much as he knew silent from everyone. He didn’t even really want to bring Zach in, but he had no choice. He needed his help; he needed him to keep him strong, for if the injections were already wearing off. He sipped on the whiskey feeling the stale, yet burning taste of the hard liquor.
“Slade, what brings you to this small town,” The old man asked, trying to break the awkward silence.
“Business,” was all that he could say. Silence came up again on while he had more of his whiskey feeling the tingle and sting dulling need of the injections. “Is this how business is?” He asked being about seven o’clock at night, and no one coming in.
He remembered back in the day a different time, a different life where this bar would have been full.
“Yeah after a gang moved in, the sheriff has been busy trying to keep the kids safe and the members in one area.” The man spoke with fear in his voice.
“Maybe he should get help, chasing them out, what about his deputy.” He now grew in confusion, how his blood brother could be satisfied with the status of this town. They grew up pushing everyone out of this town that dared to make even a threat against them. The common folks in the city would always stop them and thank them for keeping the city clean. Letting these pathetic gang members run the town sickened him. Maybe he could afford a trip down memory lane with him once they worked everything out.
He would help destroy this gang, if Zach would help him kill the bigger and more extreme gang.
He rolled his head, the muscles cracking, and the weakness starting to take effect from the wearing off of the injections. He thought it would be more extreme but all that ached was his stomach.
“Never, got another deputy, just citizens that gets deputized here and there for directing traffic or something,” the bartender looked out at the streets and sighed. “I don’t think that poor boy ever got over his cousins death.”
It stung when he heard him say that, but what did he expect? He knew many would suffer at his death but at the time, he figured it would benefit the world when he joined the Secret Sanctum. He needed help though; otherwise, he wouldn’t have Zach re-live this. He would have remained hidden. They had to stop Sanctum from killing thousands if not millions of innocent bystanders. The fuckers weren’t saving the human race they were killing everything. His thoughts were cut off with a swig of whiskey. He put his glass down, ready to get more when a bunch of eighteen-year-old kids came in. Swinging the door wide open, they came swaggering into the bar with hooting and hollering then jumping over the counter. The old man tried to get away, but two of the teens grabbed him.
“Old man, you’re late on your protection money.” one of the members said taking a tequila bottle and draining a gulp from it. He spoke with a thick Latino ascent.
“You chase all of the business out, how could I get the money,” he said looking at Slade in a desperate plea for help, and yet he looked at Slade with sorrow. He was like Slade with not wanting to drag others into his own affairs.
“You have a customer right here,” another one said now two of them standing behind Slade. One of them put their hands on his shoulder. Slade looked at the hand and started to stand up and the member slammed Slade back down to the barstool. Usually his giant size convinced others to leave him alone. They might have had the numbers, but he still had some strength and speed from the injections, besides he wouldn’t even need that too beat the idiot gang members. His mere size would have been enough without the training.
“He is just driving through, leave him alone,” the old man yelled.
“Shut up old man, we didn’t say you could speak.” Slade had enough, this old man was nothing, but hospitable to him. These so-called thugs needed to learn some manners and respect to their elders.
“I am going to get up now, and you can either leave or I will force you to leave.” He spoke again, his deep voice over ruling their chatter and laughter with each other. His giant leather trench coat was fully closed covering his black soft vest and his black pants. He slowly turned, the mirror that was behind the bar caught his reflection and the others that stood behind him.
“You dare challenge the Diablo’s Demonio’s,” one of the Mexicans said. Slade just stood there not saying a thing, he fought demons before, and they weren’t even close. Their name translated in English being the devil’s demons. He stared at no one but everyone with his cold eyes. The gang members now braking bottles holding them out showing they weren’t afraid to kill anybody. The thing about killing is you have to be ready to die yourself, and Slade was ready. Nothing scared Slade anymore. He started to slowly unbutton his trench coat letting it flow to the side of his waist, revealing the armor, and shirt. The coat flowed allowing him to move with more precision and speed. His almost seven feet height and three hundred and fifty pounds usually terrified anyone, but only a few were scared in the bar now.
A man came up behind in a steady walking pace, a bottle dripping the remaining liquid on the wooden floor. If he remembered correctly, the bottle was not broken yet. With a jerking movement, the little punk raised the bottle and brought the weapon straight down at the back of his head. It was caught in mid-air with a quick twist from his waist squeezing his hand with his superior drugged strength stopping his action. These boys needed to learn not to disturb a gentle giant.
The guys face was red as he held the bottle trying to push it against Slade. He squeezed his hand harder causing the bottle to explode. Shattered shards of glass flew in several pieces moving in every direction. Before the shards hit the ground, he took his other hand and slammed it in his throat knocking him to the ground. He circled around catching the punches from one and then another. He returned the actions with kicking and punching knocking them down to the ground. The moves came to be as second nature, pure instinct, the has-beings blurring to one fit of rage from Slade. A guy came from behind trying to hold Slade while he threw a right at another man. Slade dropped to the ground and using his legs in a scissor maneuver, he flipped the guy over to where he could throw a right into his face. Breaking the guy’s nose on impact, the blood dripped down his knuckles. Two others tried to get Slade while he was down, but they were swept off their feet by a crouching round house kick. He stood ready for more but only one remained. The so-called demon boy’s face had a giant grin on it just before his body blurred, and without warning Slade’s stomach clenched. Slade’s blood felt like it was pounding in his ears, and he was losing control of himself. He stumbled, and the man seemed to smile about it. He took a deep breath and focused again, he saw the hand raise and he braced for the impact. The man fell in front of Slade, the thud of him being wacked on the back of the head with a wooded club echoed as his body landing on the ground in another thud. He looked up from where he knelt and saw in a clearer image his long time never forgotten, blood brother.
Zach Preston stood in front, a solid rock form, not over sized that Slade's body was. Zach still was thin enough that Slade probably had a hundred pounds on him, but the guy reminded you of a billowing sandstorm. His almond-shaped sky-blue eyes caught every girl’s attention. His fine, wavy, coffee-colored hair was worn in a style that reminded Slade of his younger days, the hair medium length built on top of each other. He wore a clean shaved face. He stood about six feet his forehead reaching his eyes. His muscles ripple through him like a wave in the ocean. His skin looked to be tanned as if he spent his days across seas.
His face seemed more stressed these days than he could remember, but it could have been due to seeing him. He wore all black leather, from the boots, to the pants, and a thin jacket due to it being about seventy degrees outside with no clouds or wind. He had his sunglasses in his pocket, on the jacket, and after making sure, no one was moving on the ground he approached Slade.
Slade stared at Preston, not sure what to th
ink of the difference five years took from the man. Preston stared at Slade, he was not sure if he recognized his face, he waited for Zach to speak but nothing came out, instead Zach walked up to Slade his eyes big for a second and then pushed together in a confused look. He took Slade into his arms and hugged Slade. The embrace created a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he joined the Sanctum. He felt wanted, he felt needed, the basics in life that he used to take for granted.
“Brother, I’m in trouble,” Slade said not being able to fight the tears out of his eyes.
Zach then backed away from Slade and with a swift moment Zach’s fist collided with the side of Slade’s nose. Blood oozed out and he saw stars in his left eye. He let the sting take its effect, not blocking the pain; he needed to feel the pain Zach had. He could see it in Zach’s eyes, the hatred, the lost, the confusion, the love a brother would have. They weren’t brothers of birth, they were blood brothers, and for this to come between them was not suppose to happen. He should have told him, but if he told Zach, he would have been killed, for no one was supposed to know of the Secret Sanctum.
“I see you still have a hook on you,” Slade said wiping the blood from his nose.
“You are dead, I saw you get buried, the burned victim was identified as you.” Zach said now pacing back and forth. Somebody tried to stand only to be met by Zach’s boot. The man rolled over, out cold again, the blood now dripping from his nose as well.
“I couldn’t tell you, but I need your help.”
“You need my help,” Preston said getting louder with anger, “You were dead, this is not suppose to be happening. Maybe I went insane maybe I’m delusional. Fuck, that can’t be true otherwise why would the gang still be here, for crying sakes there is a statue for you Rob.” Zach took a deep breath realizing he was getting well worked up, “A fucking statue.”
The bartender already hiding in fear Slade answered the man. “Rob did die, that night, now I am Slade Wesley and I need your help; help me make things right, help save lives, innocent lives that are dying every day because they are different.” Slade said this hoping to push past the fake death that he had.
“What is it,” Zach started to see the truth in his face, his brother still cycling through his emotions, but he knew something was different. Again, the images blurred, and Slade’s stomach wanted to heave over itself, he caught himself on the wall. “Look at me,” Slade obeyed Zach out of habit from the Sanctum, very strict very military like. He saw the white globe from his flashlight. “What are you on?” Zach asked Slade, the simple city police officer already thinking Slade was hallucinating.
“I can’t say it here,” Slade took a deep breath to calm his body, “can we go to your office.”
“Yeah, like I said at your funeral…” he was cut off as Slade started to fall towards him, his eyes glassy, the drug was wearing off faster than before, he was close to collapsing right there.
“Justice will be forced on all.” Slade forced out in a mutter as Zach helped steady his fallen brother. “I was at my funeral.” Zach just shook his head, and using Zach for assistance Slade was lead out of the bar.
“The town will be confused on this.” Zach said sighing after he helped Slade to his bike. “Can you drive?”
“Yeah, I will be fine, and brother the town must not know.”
* * *
Slade pulled at the squeaky door to the same office that he worked in just five years before. The building looked like a cabin in the small town. The wooden walls and frame stood out as he approached the building. Two windows on each side of the building greeted him, along with a black shingled roof. No porch gave to the flat and even building, just a door.
There were two desks sitting on top of the old hardwood floor. The walls were painted green, not a nice green, the kind of green that reminds you of vomiting.
He remembered a prank Zach and he did as if it was the other day. They just started on the department, and they decided it would be funny to paint the sheriff’s car the color of the station. Hoping to convince the boss at the time to re-paint the building, but he instead bought uniforms in the same color.
Two windows were shinning on the two desks. Then two doors were behind each desk, one lead to the two jail cells, the other door lead to the sheriff’s office that now read on the blurred glass Sherriff Preston. Slade could still see both of them sitting at the desks joking with each other, thinking they were the toughest and most dangerous men out there. Now it changed, now Slade knew of an entirely different meaning to dangerous.
Rob Wesley sat just in front of the jail cell. Zach Preston sat in front of the Sherriff’s Door that usually remained closed all day. The Sherriff was getting older and wouldn’t leave his office unless it was an emergency. Paperwork had to be done constantly and that is what the Sherriff did, an older male who clearly put a truth about cops eating donuts. Never out of uniform and always with a tie on when he came in. He wasn’t a hard ass at all; no, they both looked up to him as the superior with no questions asked. Often he was the calm and steady one.
One time a call was sent out for armed robbery in progress, by the local bank, and the Sherriff was the first one out the door. “Boys let move it!” he said not even thinking of calling in back up from the county. They got there and one of the bank robbers agreed to talk to the Sherriff with no guns on him. An hour later everyone came out, the thieves giving themselves up, and being let go right in front of the town. He explained to us that the men were just depressed and no one was listening to them. There was no need to make things worse.
Slade snapped out of the memory of many old jobs, now it was time to unite two worlds in peace. Not death like the Sanctum would have. He learned the secrets in the organization and left before he wore the blood of so much innocence that he couldn’t ever been cleansed. Zach put his shotgun on the wall and locked the case, and then walked to the office. He sat down, Slade followed him shutting the door and locking it so no one could barge in.
The office was a usual small town office, or at least that is how he saw it. One desk as old as the building, paper files on it, but now a nice computer sat on it with a printer. Bulletin boards were scattered on every wall and pictures of the police in different years and different awards. One wall though caught Slade’s eye, the pictures of the fire, and the pictures of them together. One article caught his attention more than the others did. The title of the article was “Accident or Criminal?” Not the cleverest of titles but if the small town could figure that something was wrong, then the sanctum wasn’t as clever as they thought they were.
Zach stared deeply into his eyes; he returned the stare and saw the watery eyes, which were just coming to terms with actually seeing Slade back.
“Speak,” Zach demanded. He was impressed by how much Zach had grown in the years that he was gone. He would have never spoken that way to Slade before.
“Where to start,” he asked, not knowing if telling him that he needed the help to discover a weapon the Sanctum was after first. With this weapon, he would be able to defeat the Sanctum, or least keep peace for a bit longer.
“How about where did you go, why the fake death, why the return and who the hell are you,” Zach asked.
His eyes went big with the last question, the anger was in his voice again, though what did Slade expect. A hug and it was to go back to where it used to be. No, that would make Slade a fool; he needed to answer the questions. He needed the help of his brother. Most importantly, he needed the help of the toughest son of a bitch he knew besides himself. The man that could shoot better than anyone he knew, the person that knew how to be a beast.
“Speak, or I am going to throw your ass in jail,” Zach yelled still pissed off at Slade, but how could he blame him for the treatment. He left the city, the family thinking he was dead, he left them thinking he followed the path of his father. The only difference was that he was killed in the line of duty.
“Ok, this is going to be hard, you will think I’m crazy, and you�
�re going to want to throw me in a white padded cell.”
“If you don’t talk, you will be thrown in a brick padded cell,” Zach said softening his voice.
“Fair enough,” he said while taking both of his hands and wiping them over his baldhead.
“A week before the fire, I…” He was cut off by the Sherriff.
“Before you deceived your family, your town,” Zach was met with a dead stare from Slade. He gestured for Slade to go ahead he was trying to understand which was more understanding than Slade would have given him if the situation were reversed.
“Yes, before then, I was contacted by a group known as the Secret Sanctum.” Slade closed his eyes to remember the details and then opened them seeing it happening again. “They are a very high powerful government agency that protects the world against the others, mostly entries. These entries are not human; they are the mythical beast that Zeus and the other gods created in another realm.” He might have come out with that a little too fast he thought.
Zach sat their staring at Slade, and then started to laugh, “My old friend I think you lost your marbles.” At least he wasn’t pissed at Slade anymore.
He continued on the story over Zach’s laughter, “That is what I thought first also, but the money and the power enticed me to at least hear the man in person.” He spoke deeper and louder cutting Zach’s laughter off. “I was amazed at the technical and military structure they had. Networks were everywhere. They have a base in every state it seemed. They weren’t just in the states; their move is worldwide, think of “007,” layout, and think of that as worldwide instead of just Britain.” Slade paused for a moment.
Even if Zach didn’t believe Slade now, Slade knew that stating it was like Zach’s favorite series of James Bond was going to make him listen, and that was exactly what he needed. “So I joined their organization and was given this outfit. The outfit though was rigged with wire and transmitters; before I left, I tore every single one of those wires off. I debugged the entire outfit, it took me two fucking hours to complete this, but I had no choice. After I seen the true side of this regime, I needed out, I needed help.”