by Barry Reese
“I’m here to make sure that whatever killed Pinsler doesn’t harm anyone else,” Max explained. He saw Gentry come to a stop just outside a small stable. “What’s in there?”
“The answer to your questions,” Gentry replied with a laugh. “Want me to go first?”
Max nodded and followed Gentry into the darkened room. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the gloom, watching as Gentry found an overturned lantern. After setting it upright and making sure the oil inside hadn’t spilled out, Gentry lit the lamp and illuminated the room.
There was a small carriage in the room, covered with cobwebs. Inside the carriage was a number of crates and boxes, many of which had been broken open, revealing a massive amount of money and bars of gold.
Max couldn’t hide his astonishment… why was all of this wealth here? Why wasn’t it in a bank? “Who does all this belong to?” he asked, gesturing towards the fortune before them.
“A man named Clarence Waller came through town. He was a Negro preacher.” Gentry said these last words with disbelief, as if the very thought strained credulity. “Said he wanted to start up a school for Negro children, was gonna teach ’em about God. He said we all worshipped the same God… like our God would ever let a man like him be a preacher.” Gentry spat a wad of phlegm on the floor.
“Where did he get all this money?” Max inquired, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end. There was a definite presence here… a palpable sense of rage that charged the air.
“He said he’d been a slave when he was a boy, back before the War. His daddy had been a house slave or somethin’… and when the man who used to own ’em died, he left a bunch of money to Waller.”
Max approached the carriage, his eyes traveling over the length of it. It was a fine piece of work, obviously well-wrought. Max found himself reaching out to touch the carriage’s surface… and the contact was electric. He jerked his hand away, images flashing before his eyes.
He saw a youthful-looking black man lying on the ground, blood spilling from his mouth. He’d been shot three times, each bullet passing through his chest. As Clarence Waller tried to crawl away, a group of men crowded about, laughing not only at his pitiful expression but also at their sudden, newfound wealth.
Clarence had closed his eyes, trying to find it within himself to pray for survival and to forgive the men who had done this to him… but in that awful moment he could find no solace in God. He found only hate… raging, pain-fueled hate. Through blood-splattered lips, he’d whispered “This town’ll never be rid of me. Not ever. Every man, woman and child who ever steps foot in this place will know what you did… and they’ll suffer for it.”
While Max staggered under the onslaught of hisvisions, Gentry laughed and shook his head. He balled the fingers of his right hand into a fist and drove it hard into the side of Max’s skull. The blow knocked the vigilante off his feet. Max landed facedown on the floor, the small domino-style mask he wore as the Peregrine slipping free from his shirt pocket.
Gentry stooped and picked up the mask, twirling it around on his fingers. “What in tarnation is this? You like dressin’ up, stranger?”
Max gritted his teeth and quickly slipped a hand into one of his pockets. He drew forth a knife whose blade shone with a golden light, stabbing out with it in an attempt to bring his opponent to an equal footing with him. Max caught Gentry behind the ankles, driving him to the floor. Max sprang up, driving a knee into Gentry’s back. “Don’t call me stranger… call me the Peregrine,” he hissed. He reached down and plucked the mask from Gentry’s grasp. A second later, the mask was affixed to Max’s face and something subtle had changed in his demeanor. An aura of power seemed to emanate from the Peregrine and he gripped Gentry by the hair, painfully yanking the man’s head back.
“You’re a racist little bastard,” Max hissed in Gentry’s ear. “You killed an honest man and laughed as he lay bleeding.”
“What’s it to you?” Gentry whined.
“My father was killed by someone like you… he was gunned down right in front of me. I swore then and there that I’d punish the guilty if I ever got the chance.”
Gentry’s eyes widened as Max shook a glove off his left hand. A red signet ring came into view, a ruby stone emblazoned with the image of a bird in flight shining in the light. Max shoved the ring against Gentry’s forehead, causing the flesh to sizzle and smoke to waft into the air. The pain was enormous and Gentry screamed, the Peregrine’s symbol etched onto his skin forevermore.
Gentry collapsed, having gone into shock and Max stepped off of him. He replaced his glove, hiding his signet ring. It had come to him through harrowing means and he hid the ring both for secrecy and for his own peace of mind.
Max suddenly paused, for an odd scent began to make his nostrils flare. It smelled of death, as if a casket had been thrown open, revealing something rotten.
“Every man, woman and child who ever steps foot in this place will know what you did… and they’ll suffer for it,” the voice of Clarence Waller said.
The Peregrine turned around slowly, his eyes widening slightly. A spectral figure hovered in front of him… it was the body of Clarence Waller, but it was semi-transparent and composed of some sort of ethereal smoke.
“Clarence… you’ve made these people suffer enough.” The Peregrine put away his weapons, knowing they would do no good against a spirit like this. “Let it end.”
“They killed me… and I was just trying to do God’s work!”
“It was wrong what they did,” Max agreed. “But your curse has removed them from the natural order of things. This entire town exists outside of time now… and anybody who wanders in can’t leave without dying. The man who came here a few weeks ago… he didn’t do anything to you. Neither did I. And neither did most of the people in this town. They’re innocents.”
The spirit of Clarence Waller began to wail and the reverberations of his torment rattled the walls throughout Eagle Eye.
The Peregrine stood his ground, realizing that this was not going to be easy…
CHAPTER IV
Souls in Torment
A powerful blow, charged with spiritual energy, sent the Peregrine flying through the air. He was thrown clear of the carriage house, landing on the dusty streets outside. For a moment his vision was blurred by pain but as it cleared he realized that he was not alone… all about him were the shambling forms of Eagle Eyes’ residents, their flesh now hanging in tatters from their skeletal remains.
Gentry himself was walking from the carriage house, though the skin on his face was now drawn tight to the bone, like a mummy’s. The burned mark on his forehead could still be seen, however, showing that even in death the Peregrine’s message held true.
Gentry’s thin lips pulled back in a leer. “He’s not gonna let you go, stranger. He won’t let any of us go and he ain’t gonna let you go, neither.”
The Peregrine struggled to his feet, realizing that everyone in this town was being tied to the mortal plane through the spiritual force of Clarence Waller. He drew his pistols as the undead creatures approached and broke into a run, seeking shelter as he pumped hot lead at his foes. The bullets ripped through rotting flesh and bone, causing those they struck to dance about from the force of impact. None of them fell, however, as they were immune to the sort of pain that mortal men and women felt. Men, women and even children continued to approach the Peregrine, eager to make him one of them.
The Peregrine spied several barrels standing next to the saloon and he leapt atop one of them, using it as a springboard to launch himself at the roof. He snagged the rooftop with his fingers and managed to pull himself up to safety, though the undead continued to mill about below.
Max had dealt with angry spirits before… but in most cases it was simply a matter of finding some way to appease the spirit so that it would release its hold on the world.With regards to this one, though… Max wasn’t quite sure what the solution would be.
“Com
e down and join us,” someone shouted from below, eliciting a round of laughter from their compatriots. The Peregrine felt certain it had been Rusty who had spoken up.
The Peregrine walked to the edge of the roof and looked around. He spotted a wagon parked just down the street from the Sheriff’s office. The vehicle was loaded with mining equipment, including boxes of dynamite. Max idly wondered if blowing up the town might be enough to exorcise the spirits from the surrounding land. Before he could act on the impulse, the Peregrine heard footsteps from behind him. He turned, coming face to face with what appeared to be the corporeal form of Clarence Waller. The preacher wore a dark shirt and pants, a large white cross hung about his neck.
“Clarence… listen to me. My name’s Max Davies. I came here to find out what was going on… and I’d do anything to help you. But there’s nothing to be done. You’re dead. The men and women who laughed while you were dying are dead, too. Let it go. Move on.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Clarence answered. The Peregrine was a bit surprised, especially after seeing the rage the spirit had manifested earlier. He was pleased to see that Clarence was still capable of rational thought. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things, Mr. Davies. I don’t imagine there’s any room for me in Heaven… and I don’t really look forward to Hell.”
The spectral being raised both hands and held them towards Max. A blue-tinged lightning shot from the dead man’s palms, knocking the Peregrine up against the edge of the roof. He teetered on the brink for a moment but managed to hold his balance.
Max tried to blink away the pain, knowing that if he did slip and fall, he’d surely die. Even if she survived the drop itself, there were the shambling undead down below.
Clarence looked pained but he moved towards Max, even as tears ran down his cheeks. “I don’t enjoy doing this, Mr. Davies. I really don’t. But there’s nothing I can do to get back all that I lost… and it just makes me so angry.”
Again the lightning flashed and Max cried out as the energy struck him. He swayed once more and all around him the world seemed to flicker. The town shifted back and forth in time, returning to its proper place in history and then crashing back into the present.
Panting, the Peregrine looked up into the sky, which was beginning to darken as night began to loom. He tried to summon every ounce of his willpower, knowing that if he didn’t defuse this situation, he didn’t stand a chance. Clarence was simply too powerful for an ordinary man with a gun and a knife to handle. “If you could, Clarence… you’d stop all this? You’d let this town fade into the past?”
Clarence closed his eyes and Max looked back at him, seeing the sort of calmness that would have made the young man a wonderful preacher. “It just makes me so angry, like I said. I know it’s wrong but I can’t help it… I only wanted to do the right thing and they killed me for it! They—”
Max suddenly snapped his fingers, a smile appearing on his face. His body ached terribly but his sudden enthusiasm gave him the strength to approach Clarence. “I have an idea. You came here because you wanted to build a church. You never got the chance to use that money the way you wanted to… but the money is still there. I can build that church for you. You’ll have accomplished what you wanted to do all this time. And maybe that will remove some of the taint from your soul.”
Clarence blinked, the darkness that had tainted his face suddenly lifting. “You would do that for me?”
“I would… but you’d have to stop the curse you’ve put on this place. I’d need to be able to leave, with the money.” The Peregrine offered Clarence a hand. “I know you have no reason to trust me… but I’m telling you the truth. I won’t steal your money. I’ll do everything you want me to do with it.”
Clarence stared at him for a moment before taking Max’s hand, every moment of pain passing quickly through his mind’s eye one more time. Max thought he saw a glimmer of the old anger swelling up again… and then it faded, as quickly as it had first arisen.
Down in the streets, the bodies of the townspeople swayed and then collapsed, their remains crumbling into dust. A gentle wind then picked up what was left of them and spread it across the abandoned town, in which only one spirit remained.
Max Davies, the Peregrine.
“I’m going to do you proud,” Max whispered, staring at the place where Clarence had recently stood. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
The Peregrine began to climb down from the rooftop, his joints still carrying a terrible ache. He would keep his promise to Clarence Waller, a good man who had met his end in the wild west. “It might have taken awhile,” he whispered to himself. “But eventually you’ll help bring about good things in this area, Clarence. I’m going to see to it.”
The town around him began to fade, even as a lone tumbleweed rolled across the dusty streets. There were no signs left of this being a living town. There were only ghosts to be found here now and they were thankfully silent.
THE END
DARKNESS, SPREADING ITS WINGS OF BLACK
An Adventure Starring
Lazarus Gray & The Peregrine
by Barry Reese
CHAPTER I
Birds of a Feather
Maurice Chapman opened a small white container and pushed a rubber-gloved finger into the white material it contained. He then smeared the grease under his nose, wincing slightly. He offered the container to the two people who were in the autopsy room with him: the dainty, beautiful Samantha Grace and her employer, the tall and thin Lazarus Gray. “You’ll want some of this,” Maurice said when neither of his guests took the container.
“We’ll be fine,” Gray answered, his mismatched eyes focused on the body that was hidden beneath a white sheet. The corpse’s feet extended past the sheet and he could see that her toes had been painted red, probably a week or so before the murder. The paint was chipped in places and in need of a touch-up. The scent of medicinal products and cleansers was almost overwhelming but it didn’t come close to matching the odor of putrification that arose from the dead body.
Chapman resisted the urge to press the matter. He was sixty-two years old, born and raised in the cesspool that was Sovereign City. He’d seen burly cops enter his lab and turn away vomiting at the things he showed them. He knew false bravado when he saw it—and neither of these two were displaying it. Lazarus Gray looked like a man who had seen enough death to no longer be disturbed by it. Chapman studied him for a moment, having read about the man in the newspapers but never having met before. The head of Assistance Unlimited hair was more gray than brown, making him look older than he was, though a close examination of his features revealed that he was in his late twenties. He was tall and slender, though with a rangy musculature that indicated he could more than hold himself in a fight.
The girl was another matter entirely and it was only because Chapman had known the girl during her youth that he knew she was more than she appeared. A stunning blonde whose parents were wealthy philanthropists, Samantha had grown up with every opportunity possible. She could speak five languages fluently, was a champion swimmer and was a veritable encyclopedia on topics as varied as fashion, European history and the socio-political climate of the Orient. Chapman would normally have balked at having a female in his lab, especially when he was about to show off a corpse in this state—but Samantha Grace was no mere slip of a girl, despite how she might look at first glance.
Chapman set the container aside and pulled the sheet away, revealing a body that had been horribly mutilated. The nude form was neatly bisected at the waist and the face had been slashed from the corners of the mouth to the ears, giving her a macabre parody of a smile. The dead woman’s black hair was matted and still bore traces of leaves and insect casings. Her body was that of a fit young woman and was admirably formed but the unhealthy condition of the body was consistent with being exposed to the elements for several days before discovery.
“The victim was 24 years of age,” Chapman began. “Her body was found in a va
cant lot on the west side of South Page Avenue midway between West 42nd Street and Robeson Avenue.”
Samantha exchanged a quick glance with Lazarus. “That’s not far from our headquarters.” She was obviously troubled to think that a woman could have been brutally assaulted so close to where she and her friends slept every night.
Gray nodded silently, urging Chapman to continue with a quick motion of his hand.
“The body was discovered by a local resident named Betty King who was walking with her four year old son earlier this morning. If you’ll notice, the wounds are very clean. They were done with surgical instruments and the body was drained of blood. There are signs that the corpse was washed, probably in an attempt to remove traces of evidence. Furthermore, the body was posed with the left arm draped across the breasts and the right hand covering the pubis region.”
“As if she were covering her nudity,” Samantha observed and Chapman murmured an agreement. “So she wasn’t killed at the scene? Someone dumped her there?”
Chapman spread his hands. “I’m no detective but in my opinion, that would be the case.”
“Who was she?” Lazarus asked. Chapman found himself staring at the man’s eyes: one was a dull brown and the other a glittering emerald.
“Her name was Claudia Schuller. A packet was sewn to the skin between her shoulder blades and it contained the items you see over there.” Chapman gestured towards a nearby table, upon which a number of papers had been arranged.
Gray moved towards them, slowly touching each one. Claudia’s birth certificate was the first thing he lifted but he also brushed his fingers across business cards, photographs, names written on pieces of paper and an address book with the name Max Davies embossed on the cover.
“Has anyone contacted Mr. Davies?”