by J W Kiefer
Blue eyes. Ice-blue eyes.
“Do I know you?” she replied. The fact that this man knew her name made her feel even more uncomfortable.
The man smirked. “I’m a bit hurt that you don’t remember me, Amanda.”
Shivering in the rain, Amanda tried to back away. She was definitely terrified now and began to think it would be best if she left at once.
“Where are you going?” the man asked casually. “Don’t you have time for an old friend?”
“I don’t know you, mister, and I don’t think I want to,” she replied as she turned and bolted toward the front gate to the park.
“Now, don’t go and make this hard on me,” he called out as she fled down the street. “Amanda, please come back. I just want to talk and catch up on old times.”
She was nearly hyperventilating by the time she reached the old creaky wrought iron gate to the park and found that it was locked with a chain. The smell of wet leaves filled her nostrils and the sound a something metal clinked somewhere in the darkness. A gust of wind rattled the large wooden sign that hung from the gate. The man called to her again and she frantically pulled on the gate, her muscles straining as she desperately tried to force it open. Her eyes darted up toward the intersection. If only she could make it to the brightly lit street.
“Amanda,” called the man, taking another drag of his cigarette. “You don’t really think you’re going to be able to break that chain, do you?”
With a determination that Amanda never knew she possessed, she squeezed her way painfully through the small opening in the middle of the gate. Her coat caught on something sharp as she pushed through, preventing her from fleeing farther into the park. She screamed and pulled on the coat as the man strolled closer.
Seeing her stuck on the park gate, the man picked up his pace. Just as he was about to reach her, the coat tore free, and she fled as fast as she could into the park.
The man took one last long drag from his cigarette and flipped it away. He exhaled and pulled the torn remains of her coat off the gate and put it into his pocket.
“Well, I guess this saves me the trouble of dragging her into a dark alley kicking and screaming,” he said to no one in particular.
With fearsome strength the man tore the chain from the gate, snapping the bars completely. He threw it into the bushes and shoved open the gate with a bang.
“Oh well, more fun for me,” he said with a shrug and walked into the park, whistling as he went.
The Shogun leaped from rooftop to rooftop, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He’d come to this small city for a reason, and his little skirmish with the Musketeer had cost him precious time. It was strange that he should encounter his old enemy here. What possible purpose could he have for being this far upstate?
The Shogun reached the end of the row of buildings and leaped into the open air. He flipped once, then fell five stories to land lightly on his feet. The sword in his hand glowed, and he touched it lightly to his forehead.
He must hurry, the sword told him, or it would be too late for yet another innocent person. Sheathing his sword, the Shogun set off in a dead run, speeding down through the city streets like a blur, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran.
He reached the Otsenango Park gates and stopped to examine the split bars. Damage like this could only have been done by someone with immense strength. The Shogun had dealt with all manner of beings in his long years. Many possessed such power, some beings supernatural and others not. He was certain, however, that it was a human he was pursuing, but no average human possessed such strength.
The sword glowed again, and he saw what had transpired here only minutes earlier. He saw Amanda Pratt as she jogged, unaware of the evil that watched her from a distance. Likewise, he saw her flee, escaping into the deserted park. It was when he finally saw the wild eyes of the man pursuing her that he knew it that he had to move fast if he was going to stop him from killing Amanda.[LAM1]
Perhaps it was already be too late to stop him, but the Shogun would bring justice to the brute, regardless. He had slain many serial killers throughout the centuries, and, strong or not, this one would die just like all the others.
Amanda ran blindly down the dark footpaths of the park in a frantic attempt at losing her stalker. She struck her foot on a jutting tree root and painfully snagged her skin as she stumbled into a briar patch. Exhausted and out of breath, she stopped and leaned up against a small tree. She was cut and bruised from running headlong through thickets and sharp branches, and every muscle in her body ached with fatigue.
She had come here every day since she was a kid and knew that the clearing ahead led down to the river. If she continued in that direction, she would be trapped on the river’s edge with no place to run or hide.
Before she could decide on which direction she should go, she heard a faint whistle coming from behind her. Her eyes went wide with such a sudden fear that overcame her rational mind, and she took off again.
Amanda ran and ran as self-preservation overcame the burning in her muscles. But no matter how fast she ran, the whistling always seemed to be just behind her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she screamed for help. No one was within earshot, and she knew it. She cried out anyway, in the faint hope that someone might hear.
Her chest burned, and just when she was about to give up, she stumbled into the clearing that led to the river. She fell to her knees and gasped for air, coughing violently from exertion. When she finally managed to stop her fit of coughing, she heard the whistling again, and her heart sank.
Three
Otsenango Park was a beautiful recreational area surrounded by lush forests and small ponds. Many people spent their summer days there picnicking or competing on its many sports fields. Others came simply to walk the paved roads and enjoy the beautiful scenery of upstate New York.
The Shogun, however, was here for a different reason. He sprinted down the paved pathways past picnic tables, grills, softball fields, and playgrounds. Like watching a holographic overlay of the events that had just transpired, the Shogun saw every turn the woman made in her attempt to flee her pursuer.
He watched as Amanda ran off the paved path and into the dense woodlands that surrounded the park. He also watched as her stalker calmly mirrored her every step. The sword informed him that she was heading toward the river and that soon it would be too late. That’s when Amanda’s cries for help pierced the night air.
He gritted his teeth and a fury like he had not experienced in years welled up within him. The inferno burned like wildfire, the heat coursing through his being. He gave into the rage, willingly throwing aside all the warnings that the sword screamed into his subconscious mind.
With supernatural speed, the Shogun ran onward, the very earth itself seeming to bend and bow in an attempt at making his passage through easier. No tree branch reached out to grab at him as he ran, and every rock or obstacle appeared to roll out of his way. The wind rose to an almost gale-like force as if to push him toward his enemy.
The Stalker slipped out of the trees and into the clearing where Amanda had collapsed, still whistling. His black coat was drenched now, and his dark hair clung to his neck.
He pulled out a long curved knife. Its blade was serrated, and the black pommel fashioned into the likeness of the grim reaper’s head with two glittering rubies for eyes. Amanda began to weep uncontrollably when she saw the silver gleaming blade.
“There you are, Amanda. You gave me quite a chase.”
“What do you want from me?” she managed to ask through the heaving sobs.
“Want from you?” he responded. “I don’t really want anything from you. It’s more of what I want to do to you.”
Amanda cried so hard that she could no longer form a coherent sentence. She tried to plead with her assailant, but her pleas for mercy came out as a muddled stream of croaks and groans and sniffles.
The Stalker bent down until he was face-to-face with her. He r
ested his arms on his knees, the blade of his knife pointing toward the wet ground. She stared into his icy eyes and knew that this was the end for her. In her few short years of life, she had never seen such dead cruelty in a person’s eyes before.
“There, there, Amanda,” he said soothingly. “This will all be over soon, I promise.”
He stood again and lifted a pair of headphones up and placed them over his ears. Reaching into his coat with his free hand, he activated the music player on his phone, and it began to squawk loudly.
“You are just like me!” the man sang loudly, his eyes closed, rocking his head and torso violently. “You are just like me!”
When the Stalker reached his demonic state, the wind rose up suddenly. It invigorated Amanda, kindling a small spark of hope that her to find enough courage to move.
Noticing that her stalker had his eyes closed and seemed to be lost in his music, she jumped at the small window of opportunity and took off toward the river. The stalker didn’t notice her movements until it was too late. He bellowed in protest when he noticed she was gone.
The Shogun smiled when he heard the Stalker’s howl. He had sent hope to Amanda on that wind, and his attempt at encouraging her had worked. It was not much, but perhaps it would buy him the time he needed.
Hold on a little longer, he mentally urged her.
Pain erupted as something struck him in his back. His concentration faltered, and the wind ceased. He stumbled and fell face-first to the ground. He lay there disoriented, and a large pair of black boots appeared by his head.
He tried to push himself up, but one boot slammed down on his back, shoving him into the mud. His attacker pressed his foot down and, using all his weight, stepped over the prostrate form of the Shogun.
“I guess you forgot about me, mon ami?” the man asked in that familiar French inflection the Shogun had come to hate. “It seems my little friend kept you busy. I should have known it was he you were after and not I. I wish I could say that it did not hurt, but it does.”
Once again, the Shogun attempted to push himself upward, but the Musketeer kicked him hard in the side, sending him flying into a nearby pine tree. He hit the large trunk with a sickening crack. It split and bent from the impact, spewing pine needles everywhere.
“Obviously I had only hoped to distract you earlier. That was my undoing. I should have endeavored to end the game once and for all. If I had, then your elementary ruse would not have worked.”
“You exaggerate your abilities, old friend,” replied the Shogun, getting to his feet. “You were never that proficient a swordsman.”
“That clever wit of yours again rears its ugly head!” the Musketeer chortled. “Oh, how I wish it had come forth sooner.”
As soon as the Shogun got to his feet, however, the Musketeer lunged, attempting to end the fight with one swift blow. The Shogun was ready for the attack, deflecting the strike and kicking the Musketeer hard in the stomach..
The Musketeer winced in pain. “You know, despite all your efforts, that girl will die.”
The Shogun struck him hard in the jaw with the pommel of his sword, and the Musketeer stumbled backward.
“Well, that was uncalled for!” he growled, caressing his injured jaw. “It is the truth, mon ami, and you know it!”
Furious, the Shogun lashed out with his sword. Their blades clashed again, as they had done countless times before.
Four
Amanda managed to reach the river, but the hope that had so recently been in her heart had faded. All that remained was an icy cold numbness. She had reached the river and had nowhere left to run. She closed her eyes and exhaled, taking in the sounds and smells around her as she resigned herself to the inevitable.
She could hear the Stalker’s heavy breathing as he drew closer. Still in his frenzied state, he tore and fumed through the trees like a wild animal. He broke through the tree line and found her quietly waiting.
He smiled, and she couldn’t help noticing that he was handsome. Why she thought of this now was a mystery to her. In a few minutes, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
It was then that it hit her. She did know him.
“Why?” she asked incredulously.
He cocked his head to the side, as if considering her question. “Because I can,” he answered.
The Shogun saw all that was happening to Amanda and hated himself for his lack of vigilance. In the past he never would have been waylaid by such an obvious trap, but for the last few years, he’d felt his connection to Tzedakah wavering. To the rest of the universe, it was imperceptible, but to him, it was glaring. It was a true sign that the end was near. Deep down, he longed for that end.
He deflected a strike from the Musketeer and followed it up with a few of his own. The dance continued on with neither man able to gain an advantage over the other. The Musketeer swiftly lunged at him, and he parried the attack to the left while continuing his momentum into a downward slash. The Musketeer planted his feet and lifted his blade up, deflecting the blow.
The Shogun hacked repeatedly at the Musketeer’s blade, each blow driving his opponent farther and farther down toward the ground. He was not thinking, just reacting, and in his fury, he had left his stomach open. The Musketeer noticed his vulnerability, and before the Shogun could correct it, the Musketeer impaled him with a fierce jab from his rapier.
The Shogun, ignoring the pain, struck down, his blade cutting deeply into the Musketeer’s shoulder. Grimacing from the fiery pain in his shoulder, the Musketeer leaned into his own blade, driving it deeper into the Shogun’s stomach.
Exerting all his will, the Shogun planted his foot on the Musketeer’s chest and shoved him backward, forcefully dislodging both weapons. They both lost their balance and tumbled over.
“Why do you fight on so?” asked the Musketeer. “You are near the end. Soon none of this will matter.”
“It matters to Amanda,” replied the Shogun.
“Oh, spare me the sentimental hero nonsense!” he spat back, rising to his feet. “She is nothing but a passing flicker in the inferno of life. What does it matter how she is extinguished?”
“It matters.” The Shogun got to his feet as well.
“Not anymore.” The Musketeer smirked. “I will enjoy ending you, Shogun, but now is not the time for such diversions. I have other matters to attend to.”
With that, he walked away, melting into the waiting shadows. “Until next we meet,” came his ghostly whisper.
The Shogun could have followed him if he wanted, for there was no place the Musketeer could go that he could not follow. He just did not have the heart for it. Instead, he walked to the river and sat down on its muddy bank. The rain had stopped, and the horizon was beginning to brighten with the coming of day.
The current was strong from the storm, and the water rushed past him carrying a wet bundle on its hurried trek downstream. The river rolled it over and over, battering it cruelly. It struck a large rock not far from where the Shogun sat and hung up there.
It was the broken body of Amanda Pratt. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head. Death was a part of life, and the Shogun had seen his share of it, innocent as well as wicked. In fact, he had grown cold to it over the years. However, something about this tragic event touched a long-forgotten chord hidden deep within his soul, and he did something he had not done for centuries. He wept.
Five
The silver Chevy Malibu sped down the highway, weaving in out of traffic like it was on the last stretch of the Indianapolis 500. The window was down, and the throb of the radio’s bass created a dissonance bubble that could be heard three cars away. The music vibrated through the driver, unlocking some primal instinct that was lying dormant. He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal harder.
Twenty-eight and already a detective on the police force, Jared Caddret had no worries of ever getting a speeding ticket. Even if some rookie didn’t recognize his car and happened to pull him over, he would just flash his badge, and all wou
ld be well. Being a cop certainly had its perks.
God, I love being a cop! Jared thought as he passed a brand spanking new BMW convertible that was going eighty. He waved to the driver and winked as he flew by. The red face of the yuppie driving the beamer gave him warm fuzzy feelings inside.
His pastor, who just happened to be his father, told him he still had “issues” which needed to be resolved. Something about harboring hatred toward those kids who used to pick on him when he was in school. Jared, after careful self-examination, came to the realization that his dad was right. He still felt like he was twelve every time he was near someone who fit that adolescent mold of popularity.
That’s probably one of the reasons why I became a police officer, he thought. Sure, he loved helping people. Always had. His friends used to say he had a hero complex. But Jared also loved the perception of power the job gave him. He felt like he was somebody whenever he flashed that badge.
All of the usual thoughts flooded into his brain, and he heard his father’s voice again. You are somebody because Jesus died for you. He knew it in his head because he had heard the sermons a thousand times, but most of the time he didn’t feel it in his heart. He loved God and believed in Him, but sometimes it was just so hard to silence the thoughts and feelings that told him he was nothing more than a loser.
Jared sighed and shoved his thoughts back into the deep recesses of his heart and gave himself over to the music and to the speed. None of that mattered right now. All was well with the world and what wasn’t, he would deal with later.
The sun was slipping below the horizon in a dazzle of brilliant colors. It seemed as if the clouds were immense puffs of rainbow cotton candy that he could reach out and pluck. He drew in a breath and drank in the crisp air. As he continued to glory in the wonders of autumn in upstate New York, he failed to see the slowed traffic up ahead.
“Oh crap!” he exclaimed when he realized how close the cars ahead of him were.