They looked each other in the eye, and their expressions spoke volumes. The things they had been through to get to this moment. The things that they knew, on some level, would come next.
As the police cars approached the husk of a church below, Morbius twisted into the wind, riding it. Their bodies were swallowed by the darkness while the rain still fell.
EPILOGUE
MORBIUS AND Amanda sat by the window in a coffee shop, staring at the house across the street.
It was evening, the sun just beginning to set in the west, its red-tinged rays burning across the sky in a beautiful display. It had been several days since the events of the church. The news had gone haywire with the story of a horrific cult-related sacrifice. Very few of the facts were accurate, but one was incontrovertible: the families of twelve innocent local women were in mourning.
Amanda still beat herself up over that fact, even though she knew she had done the best she could.
No one had placed her or Michael at the scene of the crime. Their names were never so much as mentioned during all the news coverage, or even in the rumors that followed. Neither was Franklin’s. Morbius wondered if he’d ever see the little man again. If he did, he was unsure if he’d consider him a friend or an enemy.
He decided it didn’t matter right now, and refocused on the task at hand.
He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face to hide his features, as well as a trench coat. The last thing they needed was for some friendly neighborhood nuisance to bother them while they completed their final mission in New York City.
“Do you think she’s home?” Morbius said absentmindedly, staring out the window and clutching an untouched cup of coffee with both hands. Amanda stared at him and smiled. It wasn’t often that she had seen the living vampire nervous.
“There’s only one way to find out,” she replied, sipping at her tea. It was hot, and the heat felt so good on her throat.
She and Morbius had spent the last several days holed up in a dingy motel in Queens, nursing their wounds and sharing each other’s stories from when they’d been separated. Neither could believe what the other had gone through to finally reconnect at the abandoned church. Liz’s betrayal and death, which brought Amanda to tears despite everything. The underground arena. Secrets unearthed and exposed to the light of day, and to the darkness of the night.
Sins spoken and forgiven.
If nothing else, their friendship was stronger than ever.
“So, after you work up your courage and do this, are you ready for the next step in our search?”
Morbius continued to stare out the window.
“Las Vegas?” he murmured, still stuck on the task he was about to complete. If he could summon the nerve. In many ways, he would rather take on another hundred Demon-Fire cultists than do this.
“Yep,” Amanda confirmed, shaking her head. “But Demon-Fire has been badly damaged, and that’s where my research says many of the surviving leaders have gathered, including those from the church. There are still plenty of local chapters, but their hierarchy has been hurt.
“Once I had that focal point for my research, plus that note that was left for us in Maine, I found evidence that my father might be there, too,” she said. “This may be it, Michael. We may really track him down, once and for all. And then we can focus on finding Martine.”
Morbius’ attention was drawn away from the window by the mention of Martine. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw her clearly, every nuance, every detail. It was as if she were so close that he could actually touch her. Quickly, he opened his eyes and her image vanished. No. He was past losing himself in false hope, in manufactured happiness.
“Well then,” he said, “Las Vegas it is. Back across the country, and who knows what kind of trouble we’ll get into on the way.”
Amanda shook her head. “I’ve had enough trouble to last a lifetime.” She took a sip of her tea. “And so have you.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Hmm…?” Amanda intoned, now the one staring out the window. She looked back at Michael. “Miss what?”
“The ring,” he said. “The power.”
She thought about it for a second, even glanced at her hand. The blackness had subsided for the most part. It would probably be gone in another day or so.
“No,” she said. “Not the power, at least. I mean—don’t get me wrong—it felt pretty amazing to be able to do those things. But there was a darkness beneath all of it that I… I just didn’t like. I’m glad it’s gone.”
“Ah,” was all the response Michael gave.
“But the ring itself?” she continued. “On some level, I miss that, but then again, I don’t. Once upon a time, it represented the love between my parents. The ‘incorruptible bond’ they shared, but I guess that bond was built on a lie. Who knows if she ever really loved him? If that evil was always there. If it wasn’t, if Demon-Fire corrupted her and turned her away from my dad, then I hate them more than ever.
“Anyway, to answer your question… yes. And no.”
Morbius nodded. “I understand.”
Amanda stared at him for a long moment. “I know what you’re trying to do, Michael.”
“Oh yes?” he said, aware of exactly what she was going to say. “Enlighten me.”
“You’re stalling. Put down that coffee you’re pretending to drink and go across that street. I’m ordering you.”
Morbius smiled and pushed the cup away. She was right and he knew it.
“Fine,” he said, and he stood up. “I’m going. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Michael,” she said, but he didn’t move right away. He stared at Amanda with a strange look on his face.
“What is it?” she asked.
“After…” he began, and seemed to struggle for words. She had never seen him quite like this before. So vulnerable. “After all we’ve been through,” he continued, “I just wanted to thank you, and to apologize.”
“Michael, you don’t have to apolo—”
“No, I do,” he interrupted. “The way I speak to you sometimes, the way I treat you. I don’t mean to, but ever since the experiment that changed me into… this, I haven’t always been able to control myself. Verbally. Physically. But no matter what I’ve said or done to you—in the past but also in the future—know that I care deeply about you, Amanda. You are the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since I cursed myself with this condition, and I deeply appreciate that friendship.”
Amanda took Michael’s hand in her own. “I feel the same way, Michael. Almost everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me, but not you. Not when the chips were down. You’ve saved me, I’ve saved you. In more ways than one, I think that’s the truest definition of friendship. And trust me, if you lash out at me in the future, I promise to forgive you—and give it right back to you. Deal?”
Morbius smiled at his friend.
“Deal.”
“Now stop stalling and cross the street!” she demanded. She turned away, indicating that she was done with this particular conversation.
Morbius turned and walked out of the coffee shop.
It was a beautiful evening, cool but not cold, with almost no breeze whatsoever. Traffic stopped at the red light, and Michael walked slowly across the street. There were dozens of people milling about on the sidewalk but he didn’t see them at all. He felt entirely alone in this moment as he approached the house. He didn’t want to do this—it wasn’t the kind of thing he was good at, but he had to do it. He knew that.
Reaching the front door, he hesitated, his pale white finger already touching the glowing doorbell. He could feel Amanda’s eyes burning a hole in his back. Morbius inhaled a deep breath and then let it out.
Do it, he told himself.
He pressed down and heard the chime ring within the house. After a moment, a voice called out.
“Coming…!”
A few seconds later, the door opened and Morbius found himself facing a woman in he
r thirties, hair pulled back in a messy bun, drying her hands on a dishtowel. As she took in Morbius’ face, her eyes widened with the slightest suggestion of horror, but she stood her ground.
He liked her already.
“Can… can I help you?” she asked.
“Hello, Jenny,” Morbius responded. “My name is Michael. I’m sorry to bother you but I… I was a friend of Jake’s. I… I was with him when he…” He wasn’t sure if he should say the words, but this woman had strength in her eyes, and she deserved to know the truth. “When he died.” He let that sink in, then continued. “He had a message he wanted me to pass on to you. I can just tell it to you and then walk away. I know you don’t know me. I know how I look. Just tell me what you want. It’s just, as he was dying I gave him my word that I would find you.”
The woman stared at him for a very long moment, tears filling her eyes. So long, in fact, that Morbius almost turned and walked away. The last thing he wanted was for her to call the police. He desperately wanted to get out of New York without incident.
Then, a sad smile crossed her face and she stepped back, opening the door a little wider.
“Please, come in, Michael,” she said. “Any friend of Jake’s is a friend of mine, and I’ve missed him so much. I want to hear everything.”
Morbius nodded and quickly glanced back. Sure enough, Amanda was watching, a sad smile on her face, too. He gave her the slightest wave and then entered the house, removing his baseball cap as he did so.
He had always been so ashamed of his face, since the experiment, but for some reason, here, in Jake’s house, that shame vanished. Jenny ushered him into her living room and the two of them sat down. After a long moment of silence, she began to ask questions. As he spoke, quietly, answering every query, he thought of the friend who had given his own life to save Morbius.
He thought of Amanda, waiting patiently for him across the street.
There was no question about it. Michael Morbius was most assuredly cursed. Yet in this moment, in the sad stillness of this home, he realized his blessings were abundant.
The story continues…
CAGED CARNAGE
FRANKLIN LATTIMER burst out of the church doors, his breath coming in ragged huffs.
The crashing sounds of unearthly conflict raged behind him, but he didn’t look back. He never wanted to see a cult member, or a living vampire, or even stained-glass windows ever again. He’d had a lifetime of blood and sacrifice.
His short legs pumped, but it wasn’t long before a nasty stitch erupted beneath his ribs and he stopped running. He leaned down, nearly falling over, and placed his palms on his knees, trying to catch his breath—a nearly impossible task. As he crouched in the middle of a South Bronx street, the blood moon’s light shining down on him, he thought back to waking that morning in his penthouse apartment.
He’d been looking forward to the day. Another opportunity to run tests in his lab. To perhaps steal a conversation with Catherine Saint. To live the kind of life his parents had denied him, even though he deserved it more than them, fought for it more than they ever had. It was supposed to be a good day.
Now here he stood, in the middle of a cracked street, surrounded by burned-out warehouses and with an inhuman battle raging a few blocks behind him. A battle for which he was at least partly responsible. Franklin felt his lungs returning to their normal rhythm and slowly stood up, realizing that his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He willed them to settle, but was only partly successful.
Against his better judgement, he looked back at the church from which he had just escaped. Surreal bursts of light pushed against the windows and guttural screams came from within. He didn’t know who he was rooting for at this point, and when he thought about it, he ultimately didn’t care. The woman he’d known as Catherine was gone.
Perhaps this night was retribution for the things he had done while a “guest” of the Demon-Fire cult, but that was a conversation he would need to have with himself over the coming days and nights. He knew it wouldn’t be an easy one.
Franklin shook his head and started moving again. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but based on the skyline, knew he was heading south, toward Manhattan. He had enough money in his pocket to at least get out of New York. He’d worry about the rest later, once he was on a bus. He’d imagined a future somewhere in the middle of America. Perhaps he could still make it come true.
* * *
THE MIDTOWN Port Authority Bus Terminal was eerily quiet, deep shadows partially hiding people with bloodshot eyes and disturbing smiles.
Franklin held his hand beneath his nose to block some of the more pervasive smells of this place. He’d only been in this building once before, when he was a teenager, before his parents had abandoned him.
He’d been on his way to a camp in Pennsylvania. Even then, his parents seemed relieved to be rid of him for the summer. Franklin had a horrible time there—bullying of the sort he’d experienced at school was even worse in the wild expanse of a campground. The counselors didn’t seem to care that the “normal” campers were ruthlessly picking on the small kid with a slight deformity.
When Franklin returned home, his parents barely asked how his summer had gone and he didn’t volunteer anything. If they didn’t care that he was mercilessly bullied at home, why would they care about it while he’d been away?
Franklin arrived at his gate, slightly out of breath. It felt as if he’d been running forever. He looked forward to settling down in a comfy seat on a dark bus and looking out on the city that had housed him for his entire life. He would sleep, and when he woke up he could start his new life. A life free of super heroes and the supernatural.
But as Franklin placed his foot on the first step, the reality of his situation struck home. His mind flashed forward on a more likely fate. He sat in a tiny apartment. Poor. Depressed. Alone. On some level, he knew this was the truth of what would happen if he fled.
No.
Franklin Lattimer was destined for greater things.
“Are you comin’ or what?” the annoyed bus driver barked at him.
“No,” Franklin replied, a smile crossing his face, “I most certainly am not.”
* * *
FRANKLIN STOOD on the platform of the 2nd Avenue subway, nervously biting his bottom lip. It was late at night. He’d spent the day at his apartment scanning the news and came to the realization that there were no survivors of the massacre at the church.
He did see a clip of one of the crosses from the altar as men in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms carted it away—at least before an agent shoved his meaty palm into the camera and told the reporter to “Get the hell out of here!”
Demon-Fire was no more.
Franklin was safe.
After a few hours pacing his apartment, trying to figure out what to do next, Franklin’s curiosity got the better of him. As night fell on Manhattan, he made his way back out into the city.
There were only a few other people on the platform, a couple businessmen and businesswomen chatting in a tight cluster, and a young man who could best be described as “goth.” Franklin chuckled to himself—he wondered what this morbid kid would say if he knew the things Franklin had witnessed. He’d probably go home, wash the black gunk off of his face, and try out for the tennis team.
The train arrived. The other people boarded it, and Franklin was alone again. He took a deep breath, headed down the steps at the north end of the platform, and quickly made his way along the tunnel until he reached the door that would lead him back down into Demon-Fire’s underground facility.
On some level, he knew it might be a mistake to return here—there was a chance not all of the cultists had died in the church. With both Thaddeus and Catherine dead, however, he suspected their minions would have scattered. Regardless, it was worth the risk. There was equipment and data in his underground laboratory that would be impossible to replicate.
The walk down the metal stairs took forever. His short legs were
still aching from his earlier frantic flight, but he powered on. The darkness and silence of his descent almost convinced him to turn him around. Almost.
When he finally reached the bottom, Franklin stood for a moment and caught his breath. Looking around, he realized that he had never before been in this antechamber by himself. Alone, he found it absolutely terrifying. Only a few of the lights were still on, and the gloom wrapped itself around him. Clearing his throat, he moved forward, forcing himself to ignore the shadows where anything could be hiding.
Reaching the far wall, he felt along the stone, attempting to locate the secret lever that would open the door to the innermost reaches of the cult’s hideout. His fingers fumbled for several minutes and he started to hyperventilate. He had never actually opened this door himself—had only seen others do it. What if he was looking in the wrong place? How long would he stand here, like an idiot, pawing at the wall?
Then he thought about clambering back up all of those stairs and emerging unsuccessful. That was not acceptable.
Franklin kept looking.
Finally, his fingers found a small hole under the slightest outcropping of the rock. After a moment wondering what might be hiding in that dark space, he slid them in. There was some give, and a faint clicking noise reached his ears. A couple of feet away, a stone doorway opened slightly, soft light emanating from within.
Franklin entered.
The hallways were empty. He saw streaks of blood here and there, but no bodies. Making his way through the tunnels, he headed to his lab. The lights had been knocked out in several places, plunging certain areas into darkness, but he could literally get there blindfolded, so he pressed on.
At last, he reached his lab. Nervous, ready to be met by the sight of dozens of dead cult members, he slowly opened the door, holding his breath.
Morbius Page 24