by Barry Reese
“So you want me to kill him… over a book?”
Goldstein narrowed his eyes. “It is not just any book. Did you not listen to me?”
“Has he done anything with it? Has he performed human sacrifices? Is he planning to blow up a church?” Charity stood up and dropped the newspaper clipping into Goldstein’s lap. “I’m not going to kill him based on some rumor you’ve heard about him owning a forbidden book.”
“It is not a rumor! I have sources that have—“
“Sources that you never seem to share with me.”
“I have told you… Since my time as Gravedigger, I have cultivated connections with many people, in my walks of life. Because when my time of penance was done, I still wanted to help! I still wanted to serve! And that is why I am with you, now. So that I can offer you assistance! I don’t want you wasting as much time as I did, trying to find leads. I can bring them to you!”
Charity took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Josef. I just get so… frustrated.”
Goldstein softened his expression. “I understand. Like you, I had lived a lifetime of sin. Neither of us were murderers or beyond redemption… but we had broken many laws, both moral and legal. To have a mirror placed before your very soul, to see how far down you had fallen… and then be told that you have a finite amount of time to correct it all….”
A smile touched Charity’s lips. It was so sweet that Goldstein lost his train of thought. This young beauty had not had an easy life and it had hardened her beyond her years. To look at her now, though, was to get a glimpse into the kind of person she could have been, had things done along a different path.
As quickly as that grin had appeared, it had vanished. When Charity looked at him, her expression was cynical and hard, as it usually was. “He’s keeping this book in his house, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where I’ll be going tonight.”
“Don’t play with him. Just strike quickly and get away. That’s what you should have done with those men last night. Instead, you skulked about in the shadows until you heard their confession.”
“You have your sources, Josef, but I’m not ready to trust them – or you – 100%. I do this my way.” Charity stood up. “I’m going to break into his house and have a look around. Besides, if he’s as dirty as you make him sound, I bet this isn’t the only pot he’s stuck his fingers into. We might need more information if we want to shut down his entire operation.”
Goldstein merely nodded as she exited the room. Taking a deep breath, he hoped that she could find a way to silence the anger raging within her.
If not, the next three years would be for naught.
Chapter III: Charity’s Life… And Death
Charity Grace had grown up in one of the most squalid sections of Sovereign City, an area known as Ferguson Point. Though her mother had sought to shield her from the truth, she’d eventually learned the facts about her birth. Her mother had been a woman of the night, a peddler of her own flesh. Catching the eye of a wealthy philanthropist, she’d become his mistress and eventually gave birth to a daughter. Fearing the effect this could have on his marriage and family, Charity’s father had abandoned the relationship.
The only proof of her heritage lay in the name given to her on her birth certificate: Grace.
Once she’d learned the truth, Charity had become obsessed with her half-sister, a girl named Samantha. She’d seen the girl in the Society pages from time to time, winning a tennis tournament or placing high in some academic bowl.
All of that, Charity realized, could have been – should have been – hers.
Eventually, she’d fallen in with a rough crowd, losing her heart to a roughneck by the name Mack Winslow. When she’d spilled the beans about her father, he’d taken it upon himself to launch a blackmail scheme. In the end, a man named Lazarus Gray had intervened, saving the Grace family from scandal.
Charity had been furious at the turn of events. Not only had her secret been used to harm others but also, Samantha had ended up as a member of Gray’s Assistance Unlimited.
After the death of her mother, Charity had been forced to make a difficult decision: Should she confront her father and beg for his assistance? Or should she find some way, any way, of fending for herself.
Given the fact that her father still hadn’t come looking for her in the wake of the blackmail scheme, she chose the latter.
Refusing to become a prostitute, she instead became a petty thief. She’d done well enough to find an apartment of her own but beyond that, life was a meager existence.
All of that had changed the night she’d broken into the home of Josef Goldstein. He had just moved into the Gibson Avenue area and, according to the moving men that she’d befriended, wouldn’t be actually occupying the place for several days yet.
If all had gone according to her plan, she would have had plenty of time to ransack the many boxes she’d seen carried into the home.
But life was never simple for Charity.
***
It had taken less than five minutes for her to get inside his house. Armed with only a small flashlight, she had moved through the darkened rooms. Now and then, she had stopped and opened a box, using a small knife on her person. The contents of the packages were enough to set her heart fluttering: expensive jewelry, lovely vases and silk sheets.
A sudden thought had occurred to her: why was Goldstein moving into this neighborhood? With this kind of money, he could have moved into one of the more upscale areas with ease. Maybe, she mused, the stories she’d heard about Jewish people were true: that they were skinflints.
In general, she didn’t buy into racial stereotypes. There were several blacks that lived in the apartments around hers and they were nothing like the minstrels that they were portrayed as in newspaper cartoons. On the other hand, the only Jewish person she knew was Mr. Stiller, who owned the local grocery, and he certainly embodied all the negatives she’d heard about his race.
Charity had stepped into the living room and stopped, letting her light travel up the fireplace and over the painting that hung above. It was a marvelous piece of work, though its subject matter sent a chill down her spine: a cloaked figure on horseback, a scythe held in one hand. It was Death, riding his black steed, with the souls of the damned writhing in torment along the sides of the road.
“A moving image, is it not?”
Charity had jumped, spinning about so quickly that she nearly dropped her flashlight. Her free hand had stealthily retrieved her knife from its place on her hip and she brandished it with obvious experience.
Illuminated by her light was an old man, sitting in a plush-backed chair. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt that was open at the collar. His glasses had reflected the light back at her. He had thinning hair and a white beard that framed a wide mouth. His right hand was balanced on a walking stick and a large red ruby adorned his ring finger. “My name is Josef Goldstein. But I think you might know that all ready, yes?”
Charity had sighed, lowering her weapon. She wasn’t averse to violence when it was necessary but she wasn’t prepared to come to blows with an old man. If it meant another stint in the lockup, she would take her medicine. She had been in and out of the prison system over the last couple of years and it didn’t scare her any longer.
“Cat got your tongue?” Goldstein prodded.
“What can I say?” Charity had answered. “You caught me.”
“And that’s all you have to offer? No explanations? No pleas for leniency?” Goldstein stood up, his bones creaking. “You look like a child.”
“I’m older than I look.” Charity had moved the light away from his face, letting it fall against his chest. “Why are you here in the dark?”
“I like the dark. A man can sometimes see more in the dark than he can in the light.”
Charity had put away her knife, her shoulders sagging. “Should I wait here while you flag down a police car? They usually patrol this street every twe
nty minutes or so.”
“No. I don’t think we’ll need to involve the authorities.” Goldstein stepped past her, moving slowly towards one of the boxes she had opened. It contained a number of old books but nothing that had caught her eye as particularly valuable. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Charity?”
“I used to read the bible but I don’t… Wait. How did you know my name?”
Goldstein bent over and rifled through the box, pushing aside the books. “Once I was like you,” he continued, ignoring her question. “I lived my life, obsessed with things of the physical world. I broke the law repeatedly, under the misguided belief that I was simply doing what I had to do to survive. And then one day I met an old woman, who showed me the secret path.”
Charity glanced back towards the window. If she fled now, she might be able to get away with this. No cops, no prison… Of course, he did seem to know her name.
“My dear?”
Charity shone the light upon Mr. Goldstein. He held a gun in his free hand. “Mr. Goldstein,” she began, suddenly realizing that this old man was more dangerous than she’d first thought. “I’m sorry… I just thought I could make a little bit of money off some of your things! I wasn’t going to take much!”
Goldstein smiled toothily. “Well, now, that sounds more like what I was expecting.” He tilted his head to the side. “I apologize for this. It will seem very cruel but when next we meet, you’ll understand what a great gift I’ve given you. It’s why I came here, out of all the places in America. I came here because of you.”
Charity had screamed as Goldstein pulled the trigger. His weapon spat out death and it struck home in her chest, knocking her back.
She was dead before her body hit the floor.
***
The Voice awakened her. Lying scared in a pine box, she had listened to its strange offer… and she had eagerly accepted it, preferring any kind of life to a certain death.
She had fought her way free, calling upon strength that she never knew she possessed. Up, through, the earth, fingers bleeding, she had pushed onward, until finally her hand had broken through to the surface. With a long, low grunt, she had pulled herself up and out, sprawling onto her back, taking massive breaths of air.
How long she lay there under the stars, she didn’t know. Eventually, she became aware that someone was with her and she pulled herself up to a kneeling position. She wasn’t surprised that it was Goldstein, leaning heavily on his cane. He was smiling, showing his mouthful of perfect teeth.
“I knew you would accept the offer,” he said. “You’re a fighter.”
“Water,” she gasped, rising unsteadily.
Goldstein reached into his expensive jacket and pulled forth a silver flask, of the kind that men might carry liquor in. He passed it to her and nodded as she unscrewed the cap and downed the water in three massive gulps. “We should go back to my home. You’re welcome to live there with me but if you prefer, it can be a temporary thing.”
Charity looked around at the rows of grave markers. This was Sovereign City’s largest cemetery and it was rumored that the pink-tinged mist that clung to visitors’’ ankles was actually caused by all the evil of those buried here, seeping up through the ground. Charity had always thought that was nonsense but now she wasn’t so sure. She did know that Doc Daye buried the corpses of his worst enemies in this cemetery, which tended to lend credence to the old wives’ tale.
“You said you came to Sovereign because of me,” Charity said at last. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, my dear. Remember when I told that you I’d been in your situation once? I, too, was a Gravedigger. And now it is my responsibility to find others who could benefit in the same way that I did.”
“Gravedigger?” Charity remembered what The Voice had said: You will put them into their graves and shovel upon them the dirt that symbolizes their eviction from the mortal world. “Is that what I am now? A Gravedigger?”
“Yes. The first woman ever to hold such an honor.”
“I’ve been in fights before… but I’m not Lazarus Gray or somebody like that. I can’t do those things.”
“Yes, you can. You fought your way out of the ground, didn’t you? You’re stronger, faster and tougher than you were before. And you should be fearless. You know that you’re not going to die, not for at least another three years.”
Charity looked down at her ruined clothing. “I can’t go through town like this.”
“You won’t have to. I have a car parked just outside and there is a change of clothes for you inside. You don’t have to worry about whether or not they’ll fit. They’re yours.”
“You went into my apartment?”
“My associate, Mitchell, did. That’s him over there.”
Charity squinted through the gloom, where she saw a broad shouldered black man standing in front of a large oak tree. He wore a dark suit and his head was shaved bald but his expression was one of openness. She turned back to Goldstein, studying him closely.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You killed me. I’m just wondering why I’m not angrier about that.”
“You’ve been through a lot. And there’s more to come, I’m afraid. Mitchell and I will be in charge of training you. We have so much to do… and only three short years to do it in.”
“Gravedigger,” Charity said, letting the word roll around in her head.
Goldstein looked sad for a moment, as if the word evoked memories that were painful to him. “Yes.”
“I’m going to kill a lot of people, aren’t I?”
The old man’s expression changed, becoming one full of dark humor. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “But they’ll deserve it, each and every one.”
“I just don’t know if I can do that. I’m not a murderer.”
Goldstein shook his head. “My dear girl, you would be shocked at the things a person can learn to do.” Changing the subject, the old man said, “I know about your father. I know about your dreams. So much that belongs to Samantha Grace could have been yours. And now you’ve been given a chance to seize the brass ring! To change your entire world!”
“And I’ll do this by killing people?” Charity asked, her heart hammering in her chest.
“It’s a start.”
***
“These will be your weapons. Each belonged to a Gravedigger before you. You will add to the arsenal over time, as well, and then those weapons will be passed down to those who follow you.” Goldstein was leaning on his cane, standing behind a table whose surface was hidden beneath a mound of blades. “Choose whatever calls to you.”
Dressed in a white turtleneck and dark green slacks, Charity didn’t look like an angel of retribution this morning. She had slept hard and then wolfed down a delicious breakfast that Mitchell had prepared. Goldstein had watched her eat in silence but as soon as the last morsel of food had passed her lips, he had sprung into action, asking her to follow him into one of the many rooms of his home.
Charity reached out and lifted up a curved blade. Its highly polished surface gleamed in the sunlight that drifted in through the windows. She stepped back and spun it through the air with ease, the weapon whistling. She paused, eyes wide. “I feel like I’ve used this before.”
“Trace memories,” Goldstein replied. “You received them when you accepted The Voice’s offer. You’ll find that you can accomplish many things just by trying them.”
Charity plucked up a small crossbow and studied it. It was fitted with a band so that it could be tied about her wrist. She affixed it and whirled, operating the firing mechanism by a delicate movement of her arm. The bolt shot forth and buried itself in the exact spot where she’d intended it to go.
“Don’t get cocky,” Goldstein warned. “A lot of what you’re doing at the moment is based upon instinct. But when you have a bullet whizzing past your head, you might find yourself freezing up. You have to learn to be the same in battle that you are in practice.
”
Charity removed the mini crossbow from her wrist and set it back on the table. Lowering her voice, she said, “You called it The Voice. That’s what I think of it as, too. Who is it? God?”
“Perhaps it is Adonai – that is what we Jews call the Lord in our prayers – but I personally think that it is not the God of the holy book. What relationship The Voice has with the most holy, I cannot fathom. It is what it is.”
“But you’re still religious? You still pray to… Adonai?”
“Of course. The Voice has never complained so why shouldn’t I keep all sides happy?” Goldstein laughed at his own joke. “Tell me, Charity, are you a religious person? Is that why you’re asking these questions?”
“My mother used to read to me out of the bible but that’s the extent of it. I never believed in God. After The Voice, though, maybe I should.”
Goldstein took a deep breath. “We should begin. You have a finite amount of time, after all.”
Charity opened her mouth to say something when a powerful set of arms locked around her throat, nearly crushing her windpipe. Stars formed quickly in front of her eyes and Goldstein stood by, doing nothing.
Mitchell’s voice, doom and firm, echoed in her ear. “I don’t want to do it but I’ll kill you if you don’t fight back.”
The pounding in her head was almost overwhelming now but Charity felt no fear. There was a mountain of resolve within her that she was just beginning to recognize. She had died once – and, according to The Voice, she would not die again… at least not for another three years. Somehow, someway, she would find a way out of this.
With confidence blooming, Charity threw her body back, raising both feet off the ground. She set them against the edge of the table and then shoved with all her might, sending bladed weapons skittering across the floor and driving Mitchell off-balance. He held on tight but the two of them ended up against the wall.