by Brock Law
anything.”
“I’ve been afraid to admit that to myself,” Franklin stated uneasily, “but the more perilous this nightmare becomes, the more I cannot deny the vile impression it leaves me.”
“I thought the SS were all captured,” said Will.
“Hardly,” Washington responded. “Unknown numbers of officers escaped to foreign sympathizers. Several in particular come to mind.”
“I can’t say I recognized the man who met me at the Hall,” Franklin mentioned. “Hopefully, I’ll get a better look at him tonight.”
Washington opened his door and jumped out. Will and Franklin shared a mutual breath of encouragement and leapt out of the truck. Franklin faltered a step, but righted himself. Already somewhat beleaguered, he huffed and shifted in his binding attire. He straightened his spine attentively, and manufactured a callous scowl.
Around them the park was an echoing scramble of morphing figures. The trees were restless in an unsettling breeze. The gnashing leafy rustle masked the distant sounds of civilization and even muffled the flowing river beyond the hill. The crescent moon’s last sliver provided meager aid. Had the trees been lumbering towards them under the shroud of night, none would have noticed. Franklin stopped at every anomalous clatter from the woods, but Washington’s view was solemn as if again inspecting his freezing troops. The men met with mutual reprieve when Isaac Potts’ deserted house came into view. Cautiously, they strode up to the stone cottage.
They stood parallel to the front door, just out of reach of the flood lights. Enveloping the bright oasis, the night’s opaqueness obscured everything beyond a few dozen paces. The men stood together, not speaking, looking over each other’s shoulders into the impenetrable curtain surrounding them. The house offered no support, locked and isolated on the slope with endless swarms of trees flanking its walls.
Washington mused, “I’ll bet some of these sycamores were here in 1778.”
“Let’s hope we outlive them,” Franklin replied.
They kept staring out into space, their eyes refocusing and ears filtering out the wilderness. With the house standing behind them, each man’s gaze flicked around in the soupy blackness. They searched for motion out in the woods, glancing back at every disturbance as their brains began to twitch from stress. The more they concentrated, the more enigmatic forms they saw dash between the ancient bark. They tightened their circle, nearly bumping each other. The sprawling background crept a little closer as their eyes continued to adjust. A multitude of phantoms swam around them, seeming to vanish behind the trees when directly inspected. What was dancing and what was stationary out there in the dark blended together to pulsate in beating advances. Their hearts became audible and tossed wildly inside their chests, urging retreat.
Time lagged unmeasured to their deprived senses. Tired and fatigued from the relentless surveillance, the tension frayed their resolve as their eyes wandered. Each man’s beleaguered lungs wheezed out a withered chorus of frustrated expectation. Both the heat and the anguish kept their hands rapidly swatting away trickles of perspiration. Angst and irritation boiled inside them as they waited.
Washington looked at his watch and said, “It’s one. They should have been here by now.”
“Something foul has occurred. We must get back at once,” Franklin said frightfully.
“Hey guys.”
“We’ve been tricked,” said Ben upsettingly. “My poor Vivienne!”
“Just got a message from Alex,” Washington said while looking at his phone. “He says all clear.”
“It was just a ruse,” Franklin sputtered.
“Guys.”
“Back to the truck,” Washington ordered.
Washington and Franklin lurched forward, hurriedly stepping towards the trail. Will remained frozen where he stood. His fists clenched and his heart rate spiked. His knees bent, ready to pounce, as his torso turned defensively.
“Guys,” Will said with hushed force.
“Will, come on,” Franklin scolded him.
“Stop!” Will rebuked.
They looked at Will whose body was planted aggressively. His nose pointed towards the far wood, eyes transfixed on a nebulous presence. Suddenly aware, the immortals stiffened.
“Something’s out there,” Will whispered to them.
Pairs of iridescent spheres appeared, reflecting the light from the house. Bodies took shape beneath them, marching forward in unison. A burly hoard of cat-eyed beings consolidated into a large perimeter around the house. Washington, Franklin and Will gathered close. Standing together in line, they assessed the malevolent squadron as it appeared along the tree line.
At the center of the band three men stepped forward, slowly creeping into the light. Their faces were wearied and worn from enduring the transformative process of their substance abuse. They didn’t bother with guises, revealing themselves as whatever men they used to be. Will studied their faces closely, photographing each in his mind. The two taller men stopped first. One was wearing an eye patch and missing part of his left hand. The middle one was recognizable as the man who initiated the meeting. He came forward with the apparent desire to address Franklin.
“Guten Abend, Herr Franklin,” the man said. “It is a pleasure to meet with you again.”
Franklin only tipped his head.
“Herr General I presume,” the man exclaimed with admiration and a bow, “it is a great honor. I have always imagined this moment might be possible.”
Washington returned the pleasantry with a sneer.
“And if I am correct, Herr Mith. Though I am ashamed to say I am unfamiliar with your legacy,” the man said.
Will didn’t respond.
Franklin opened, “With whom do we have the distinction of negotiating?”
The man smiled, which revealed a large gap between his top incisors, “I am called simply by my men, Herr Doktor.”
The Doctor opened his arms in praise and bowed.
“Negotiate we shall,” the Doctor stated. “Mein Herr has grown very tired of living in obscurity and of our endless searching for the Grail. He believes sufficient time has passed, and he would like very much to go home. “
“And who is your master?” Franklin asked.
“These days he is a painter, and is grateful for the opportunity to pursue his art with enduring focus. However, he is sad to be separated from the notoriety he has always wished to obtain. It is the same with us all. We are just old men, much like you, who want to live on and complete our work,” the Doctor explained. “We would prefer to do so in our natural condition, as opposed to the one in which we have been confined for many years.”
“Then you will give me back my daughter,” Franklin pressed.
“If you like,” the Doctor said.
“If you hurt her, there can be no accord,” Franklin vowed.
“Hurt? I don’t think so, but she is not so well. I am more accustomed to testing the threshold of pain on soldiers,” the Doctor admitted. “Die fraulein is not a hearty source of nourishment, although my men continually remind me of her beauty. They think we should take her with us. However, she is too small to sustain my men. As such if we can conclude our business quickly it will be to our and her benefit.”
“How do I know she’s alive?” Franklin said with a tone of disgust.
The Doctor pondered, “We could provide proof of life. Perhaps I can arrange for you to view her distress.”
“And our other allies as well,” Washington demanded, “through whom I presume you have tracked us.”
“A very rational observation Herr General,” the Doctor replied. “I assured my commander you might realize how we came to this place, but he did not think you had been paying that much attention this last century. As for your ally, I have been tirelessly sampling and dissecting the secrets of his blood to try to duplicate its qualities. Unfortunately, my experiments have been unsuccessful and now I need the real thing. With the Grail, the subject is of no use to me and can be put on a plane to you.
Mein Herr will be much dismayed however. He has grown very fond of the company over the years and likes to discuss art with him. I, however, will not miss him. Your friend has always been obstinate throughout the course of my work, but I do admire his fortitude. He has not changed his rebellious habits. Likewise Herr Franklin, Mein Herr has studied your almanac to his great humor. He sent me to ask if you would autograph a copy for him.”
“Certainly not,” Franklin spit.
The Doctor responded, “A shame. He will be displeased. He is also fascinated to hear the story of the Grail. My subject has been adamant not to reveal how it was brought here and from whom it was received. I imagine that perhaps there are more old stories that are really true. I for one, have taken a romantic pleasure in indulging my immortality just as did the great literary monster with whom we can undeniably associate our curse.”
Washington, Franklin and Will stayed angrily quiet.
“It is of no consequence then, just a curiosity. You must forgive my bad pun, but even Mein Herr’s dentist has enjoyed the chance at elongated study,” the Doctor bore his pointed fangs with a hungry snarl. “When I told him we were going to Philadelphia, he was thrilled to come back. He used to brag that he went to the same dental school as your Doc Holliday.”
“Penn,” Will realized aloud.
“Ja, richtig,” the Doctor confirmed. “Mein Herr used to call him the Cowboy. He has been a most enthusiastic tour guide. It has also been fascinating to see the settlements of the first