Sombre

  “I had a message from your school, Hope. You were involved in an incident of some sort?” Evelyn said as she took a corner. They were almost home.

  Hope lifted her elbow and revealed the sore. She’d taken the small bandage off just after lunch; the redness of the dry Povidone made it look worse than it was. “It’s not much … doesn’t even hurt.”

  Evelyn gave it a quick look. “I’m surprised I didn’t notice it before. What happened? The school was fairly vague.”

  “A senior ploughed into me before I got to the front gate. He was injured pretty bad. He had to go to hospital. I just happened to be in the way - wrong place, wrong time.”

  “What? Just after I dropped you off?”

  “Yeah.”

  Evelyn shook her head, “That was bad luck. But you know, you need to make a bigger deal of things sometimes, Hope. I need to know about your life. I’m never that busy that I haven’t got time for you, you know.”

  “Thanks mum. I know.” Hope didn’t think she really knew this at all. But they were sharing a lovely and rare moment. She was making the most of it.

  They pulled into the drive. And her mother killed the engine. “Will you give Doctor Marin another go?” Evelyn gave her a rub on the shoulder and Hope met her eyes.

  As fruitless as it probably was, Hope realized that this was something her mother was doing for her daughter. Hope had to play along.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll give it another go.”

  “Good,” she said and squeezed Hope’s arm. She looked at herself in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair. She cracked her door open. “Burger’s for dinner, then? I’ll go to Denny’s. I feel like eating crap tonight.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Dead and In Bits in Tempestuous

  With a belly full of burgers and chips, Hope turned in around nine and her hate-filled, rite of passage continued …

  S

  Bloodstained white roses covered her disemboweled body. The wedding guests had done quite a number on her. Rose stems were stuffed in the open cavity of her stomach; stems protruded out from her open mouth, stabbed into her empty eyeholes. She looked every bit the gore monument, put to rest in the entry foyer of the church.

  Her mother walked a figure eight around her, whispering, “Unclean Hope, pathetic wretch. How could it be any other way? They hated you. Needed you gone, you ruined everything.”

  It all felt so final, so empty and so real.

  S

  Hope woke up.

  “Jesus!” Gasping for air she started coughing, then retching. Was she going to bring up her meal? Heart pounding, she fought to bring herself under control. With shaky hands she reached for her water bottle on the floor.

  That was her rite of passage dream? “Shit, Hope? What’s with you?” she whispered and sucked in another mouthful of water. What in the hell did that all mean? Her relationship wasn’t that bad with her mother, was it? Maybe she did need sleep therapy?

  Once the urge to be sick had passed, she was left with a sadness. Should she try and be more like her sister? Is that what her mother wanted? She realized she could be a bit pathetic at times. But she wasn’t worthless. She shouldn’t be dead or anything. “Get a grip, Hope! Thinking like that … you tragic asshole!” Angry with herself, she clutched her quilt in her hands, kicked her legs and shut her eyes tight.

  Sleep didn’t come for another hour.

  S

  The church foyer was sunlit and empty. A wet, bloodstained, mark was left on the carpet. Her corpse had been moved. The feel in the empty chapel was overwhelming loneliness. She had been here. Her life had ended here.

  S

  Halliday Knight’s Morphia was a weapon.

  The Morphia was the Jekyll to her Hyde, her monstrous alter-form. It was as strong as it was random. She could only engage it in the direst of circumstances. Things would have to get way out of control.

  Things were about to get way out of control.

  Ruing the call out to the Tempestuous Ganglands, Halliday and machanihorse, had flown through The Byway knowing the Nightmarer didn’t stand a chance. Keeping her own self in one piece would be hard enough. She acclimatized to her hostile surroundings. “This place hasn’t changed, my Wilder.”

  Tempestuous was a hellish version of roaring twenties Manhattan. Steam filled the streets. Locomotives ran on an archaic rickety system elevated above the city. Infernos in hi-rises were on continual slow-burn, pumping soot into the overcast early morning. Loitering the streets and thoroughfares, were sharply dressed skinny men in tuxedos and shiny shoes; just as skinny women wore tight cocktail dresses under long evening coats. Each citizen; man and woman alike, were unified in style, each had their hair slicked, every face sported black fat lips and black piercing eyes. They were hideous ‘Lizzy’s’ and nightmarish ‘Squizzy’s’, ‘Bugsy’s’ and ‘Baby’s’ - vicious killers, opposing street gangs in a never-ending nonsensical war with each other.

  Ash filled the air and Halliday spit it from her lips as Wilder galloped down a main road. Dodging oncoming vintage Studebaker’s and Ford’s, evil inhabitants hung out through the windows and shot Tommy Guns and larger than life hand cannons, the never-ending, gangland riot of Tempestuous roared and roared.

  Above her she heard the familiar stuttering, farting motor of Dave Bi-Planes aircraft and smiled in spite of her danger. This happened often, Tempestuous was a big city, and Nightmarer’s sometimes ended up here in 6’s and 7’s.

  “With luck we might see Dave,” Halliday called out loud to Wilder. The horse snorted a puff of steam and whinnied. She liked Dave as well.

  She kept her eyes peeled for something or someone out of place amongst the bedlam. It would be only a skerrick, a wisp of luck that would lead her to he or she. So often the Nightmarer was snaffled away in the backseat of an auto – taken for a final ride with a gangster. If she had no luck out here, she would have to search one of the many speakeasies or jumpin’ nightspots.

  From an alleyway ahead a figure came running, laughing like an unhinged hyena and spraying a Thomson machine gun. “A skinny Squizzy, Wilder, to our right!” Halliday yelled. Bullets flew off Wilder’s armour; Halliday felt the staccato pellets puncture her right thigh.

  “Blast it all to hell! I’ve been hit!”

  “I would have been armed with my Remington at least, Hope’s Halliday!” said an Other-self. “You’ve come crashing into this hellish town armed only with utter stupidity and bombast!”

  “She’s not an overly strong thinker at times, is she?” said another.

  “And Wilder, woman! Think of your mare!” Another Other-self screamed shrilly, clearly upset at her audacity to use her machanihorse in such a situation.

  “She hasn’t a hope of finding the Nightmarer this time. What a monumental failure this is!”

  “You nasty bloody trolls!” Halliday yelled back, pulling her rifle.

  “Ugh!” They were right of course. Pain rushed up her thigh to her hip.

  With a roar of motors, the road was suddenly full of oncoming vehicles, a vehicular ambush of sorts, and Wilder careered left to the sidewalk. Three blazing Molotov cocktails were thrown from the passenger windows; two flew past Halliday’s head and smashed through the shop windows. The other cracked her in the skull - hard.

  “Ow! Damn!” The glass smashed, petroleum invaded her nostrils, and she was sent flying from the saddle. A panicked Wilder continued to gallop onward.

  Halliday’s hair was on fire, her dress had caught alight and burned her torso. She was in trouble. She rolled over and over on the path until she hit a shop wall. “Oh! No! No! No!” Scalding her hands, she wrenched the dress off down to her undergarments, she smacked at her smoldering hair and head.

  Her body began to shake - a force invaded her senses. She felt her face contort, her skin crack, her jaw stretch, “COME ON! COME ON!” Monstrously transformed, Halliday’s Morphia growled as it got to its feet.

  Tyres screeched, car doors slammed, boot steps pound
ed the pavement.

  “The broad’s turned freaky, boys! Bump her!”

  Halliday’s Morphia charged through a hail of bullets. “I’LL KILL YOU! CRUSH YOU, YOU LITTLE!” She grabbed necks and squeezed, crushing windpipes, whipping and throwing bodies around, rag dolling gangsters as they continued to shoot into her body. “FEEL THE HAND, FEEL THE TEETH!” She was as vicious as her speech was woeful. Yellow eyes wild with fury, her iron jaw opened wide, snapped and ripped a face clean off from the skull.

  Tempestuous had come to a halt; suddenly unified with a brand-new focus, gang wars momentarily forgotten, every man and woman came running and firing at The Morphia. Bullets opened her flesh to the bone. Switchblades sliced her monstrous face - and in turn - the arms doing the slicing were ripped from their sockets by The Morphia. Halliday’s monster wouldn’t quit – it didn’t know how to.

  “UGGGHHHHHH!” in a sickeningly animalistic display, she wrenched a gangsters doll’ to the path and began biting her open from the neck down, ravenous, working quickly, spitting the woman’s flesh at the gangsters. The bullets kept coming as she leapt to her feet.

  “Make way, you lag-abouts! We got it!” a Bugsy hollered.

  The crowd backed away, a bell rang as a fire truck entered and rammed her, pinning her into a wall. The wheels span and battered her further. More and more bullets shot The Morphia’s skull apart.

  “Yeah!!! Do her in!!!” The crowd of Tempestuous gangsters watched on as Halliday’s monster finally went limp.

  The Morphia vanished.

  The fire truck backed away, turned and drove off.

  With a loud “Hoorah!!!” the jubilant throng disbanded from their rare act of teamwork. Doors were slammed, motors were cranked into action.

  Back to the war.

  Tempestuous continued on.

  Halliday Knight slid down the wall, then tipped over sideways, an unrecognizable, bullet riddled corpse.

  S

  Halliday woke slowly from her rebuild.

  She heard the voices – like tuning in through bad transmission; Hamish the Mender, some others - male and female. The chief Mender did most of the talking though.

  “This isn’t off to a great start is it? How can you tell a Halliday Knight that she has to try and stop this sort of thing from happening?” He tutted, “they are always brave, but insanely dopey when it comes to self-preservation.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more shot up face,” said a female Mender.

  “Tempestuous is Tempestuous. You have to play it smart. At least Wilder is in one piece. I didn’t fancy full equination at the moment. This stunt of hers has flooded the room.” He sighed, “Halliday, wake up. I can tell that you can hear us.”

  She opened her eyes and peered up at Hamish. He looked extremely annoyed. A fresh faced, girl Mender, with brown chin length hair looked down at her as well. She knew her as Veronica. It was probably just her new state of rebirth, but Halliday thought she looked like an angel. She considered that she must have been on a fair amount of substance for the pain. Her mouth was extremely numb.

  “Yeth, but I am thtill thery groggy, Hamith,” she said. “O! I can’t eethen thpeak!”

  “That will pass shortly,” Hamish said grimacing. “We haven’t had to totally rebuild your skull. The Morphia’s version of your skull is dense, like a bone helmet; it left your regular face and cranium full of bullets. Had it been your Halliday skull, your head would have been shot off into hundreds of pieces - we might have had to go on a particle search of the grounds. For that much, I suppose we are thankful you engaged The Morphia.”

  “I help where I can, Hamith!” she grinned and dribbled saliva down her chin.

  He wasn’t in the mood. “My god! No, Halliday! Having to engage The Morphia at all was so bloody stupid! Putting yourself in that situation was stupid!”

  “Itf not like I had a choith! Thombre called and I had to go!” she slapped her lips together; she was beginning to feel them properly again. “You know that, you foolith man!”

  “Well this has cost you a stroke. You’re now on three.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “I’m sure I told you that you now exist for two people? Hope needs you to stay in one piece. Exercise a bit of caution for god sake!” He looked to his assistant, “Ver, can you straighten the chin a bit.”

  Veronica had remained all but emotionless through Halliday’s berating. Now she raised her eyebrows, “Okay, Halliday. This might hurt you a bit.”

  She felt the Mender’s small hands search underneath her chin. With a skilled, two handed press on her jaw bones, she made the correction.

  “Ow! Blast you to hell and back, Veronica! That hurt, you bungler!” Halliday said and sat bolt upright.

  Veronica shrugged, “stopped your lisp though, and the drooling.” She wiped Halliday’s chin and turned to Hamish, “I’ll go fix one of her victims now, shall I?”

  Hamish scanned the room, “Yes, thanks, Ver. Take your pick.”

  Halliday hadn’t totally recovered; shutting her eyes she waited for a bout of mild spinning to stop. When she opened them again, she noticed all the bloody bullets lying on the bench around her. Mauled mobster bodies lay to her left and right, mobster bodies lay all over the floor. A collection of sharply dressed grisliness; arms torn from clavicles, faces ripped away from skulls, chests had been stripped of flesh.

  “So many Bugsy’s! Did I do all that?”

  “Well, your Morphia did, Halliday,” Hamish answered her curtly and gestured to the surface of the bench. “As I mentioned before, these bullets were in you. Mostly in your face and head. In fact, your face was so full of bullets, we’ve had to retrieve your original mould and reshape your features.” Hamish said as he wiped his implements with alcohol, returning each of them methodically to his leather pouch. Sighing he continued. “So, we’ve already had Colonel Em Contusion in here. You do remember who she is, yes?”

  Halliday had to admit that she hadn’t thought too much of her just recently. “The Hell-Flyer ghoul, yes, was she badly damaged?”

  “Yes, she was. She had ceased, burnt beyond recognition in a fiery crash! It cost her a stroke on her Beating Clock.”

  “Well, that is the Hell Flyer’s burden,” she rolled her eyes and shrugged, “they crash and burn as if it were a fashionable thing to do.”

  Hamish bit into his bottom lip and looked at her with what could only be described as disbelief. In an exercise of strained patience, he blinked a dozen times and inhaled. “You are who you are, Halliday, I guess. I have to keep reminding myself of this. I wish Sombre had chosen another Gatherer, but it didn’t.”

  She nodded and smoothed her hands down her dress, “Hm … That’s not the nicest thing you’ve ever said, Hamish. But I have to agree, it is a ridiculous burden I have been given. I am very valuable after all.”

  “You will have to find some way to get over yourself, Halliday Knight!’ he said cutting her off. “Finding your crushed, shot up and near naked corpse in Tempestuous, was not what I consider in any way acceptable. Have you even tried to channel into Em Contusion?”

  Halliday gave him a look, “Oh really! So, is that what I am supposed to do? She is a bleeding invader, man! I have seen her in my head, and I do my best to ignore her! How else am I meant to do my work?!”

  “DON’T IGNORE HER!” he yelled causing the whole of The Office of The Menders to stop for a moment. Halliday Knight was being properly scolded - it didn’t happen often. The chief rubbed his eyes, turned and faced the wall in an open bid for calm. Eventually he turned back around. Face red, looking more than a little ashamed for the outburst, he continued in a more civil tone. “You exist for two now, Halliday. My god, I thought I had made that pretty clear!”

  “Oh, yes the little puppet folk inside Em. I had forgotten about those as well,” Halliday said patting her mouth with a mock yawn.

  “You can choose to ignore this calling Halliday, smash your way through your strokes, but what a waste! This is the first time be
ing a Gatherer has meant something other than a mere servant of Sombre.”

  “We are more than mere servants, Hamish,” she scoffed as she looked down at the mass of spent bullets on the bench around her person, she shook her head and laughed to herself, “goodness, there must be a few hundred bullets here …”

  “441,” Hamish said, “We counted … and really Halliday? You really think so? You honestly think a Gatherer is anything more than a servant of Sombre? You are serving a penance. Just like all of us. You are a bit-player within a nightmare existence. When you go, another Halliday takes over. When I go, another Hamish will take over this bloody blood-soaked office!”

  “How dare you cheapen my existence, you blowhard!” she shot back and got to her feet. “I best leave now before I punch you in the gob, man!” Picking up a vanity mirror, she began smoothing the lines of her newly moulded face with an immediate fondness. She softened, “You do such good work, though … you have your uses.”

  Hamish smiled in spite of himself. “Halliday, trust me. You need to keep Em safe. It will benefit both of you. Don’t ignore her when you see her.”

  She walked toward the door with a confident, brand new swagger. She looked gorgeous and she knew it. “I shall do my best,” she said and gave him an offhanded salute. “I need to go find my nag.”

  She left.

  CHAPTER 16

  An Existence of Failed Flight and Broken Sleep

  The dark sky was filled with lightning, wind and rain - hardly the conditions for flight.

  ‘Liberty Taken’ emblazoned on its tin paneling, the old navy dive bomber’s motor skipped, belched, threatened to blow a gasket and stall. Dipping involuntarily, it lost altitude. A nervous sounding set of pistons valiantly fought on – and the bomber rose up again. Its pilot, Colonel Ramiskus Terra-Firma, smiled the dead-maw smile of a 45th Hell-Flyer and adjusted the fuel mixture. Pulling on the yoke, the Junker soared higher still.