Dst – Chronicles of Malignant Mercies Pt 12 (2/8)

Dark Halloween – End Game

Joseph watched the secret door open with slightly widened eyes. Though he had accepted it on one level, the sudden proof of this dream’s reality stunned the young boy. He lightly licked his dry lips as he moved in closer to see what was within. The section of panel that slid aside was tall, but thin, mirroring the panel. Thin shelves were built into it, with all manner of strange accouterments. Opaque jars and bottles, small bowls and a mortar/pestle combination. And at the top, a book. A dusty book that he found himself reaching for automatically.

It was heavy, at least a thousand pages thick and squat in other dimensions. The cover was obscured by dust, but a puff of air blown over it revealed the title scrawled on its cover. “Journal of Maxmillion Rinvers.” Joseph stared at it for a few moments, his thumbs slowly rubbing over the weathered, aged cover. The reality of it left him uncertain. He had it, but what should he do now? The moments of floundering with that thought were dispelled by logic. He’d read it, that’s what books were for.

As he turned several pages, befuddled by the esoteric style and prose of the script, a strange feeling came over him. Subtle at first, a slow rising sensation that felt like an itch at the back of his eyes. He blinked them, and then stared hard at the text as it started to ripple and waver upon the still page.

His eyes widened as comprehension dawned, the words swirling into a readable format. Caught as the pages began to flip themselves, one at a time with each passing second. Yet as each page turned the print upon it was burned into his memory. Faster they turned. Faster the information was imprinted. The quick turn of pages lifting dust from the ancient pages, yet Joseph found he could not blink, nor tear his gaze away form the possessed book. The pages were a blur now, the boy’s eyes jerking minutely as images joined the bombardment.Flashes of events he could not have fathomed before became memory to him, the life of a man he did not know before now made his own.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the last page was turned and Joseph stumbled against the wall, exhaling a held breath. His mind whirled as he sought to process it all. A lifetime of events and experiences sought to set themselves in his young, receptive mind. He let the book drop from his fingers as he slid down to his knees, shaking his head once, then twice.

“Take heart boy, for now I am with you. We are one and I will help you to see what it is we must do to save your lady.” The same firm voice cut through the confusion and Joseph focused on it as a drowning man might a piece of driftwood. It was as if a firm hand pushed aside the jumble, bearing the truth. A profound peace felt over his thoughts and he knew.

“I understand.”

*****

Light and the deep riffs of thundering heavy metal leaked from between crossed boards, tightly nailed over what were once windows. No longer, glass replaced by the weathered boards. The abandoned warehouse compound was a study in urban graffiti, every building within scrawled with dozens of signs, tags and messages. But only one of the decrepit buildings showed signs of life.

The storage warehouse was a box-like building of three stories, weathered paint and chipping masonry. Condemned for years, the occupants held no apparent regard for the tenuous structure’s weakness.

“Yo, pass one of those here!” Called out by a scruffy looking man with an apparent fetish for dressing in dirty leather. Sprawled on one of the half dozen couches that littered what used to be the interior of the loading dock, he lifted a hand to catch the bottle chucked at him. Twisting the sharp-edged cap off with one meaty hand he chucked it away randomly before slamming the bottle back with gusto.

“We’re out of brews, boys and girls. Who’s making the next trip into town?” Loudly asked by a skinny, mousy looking ganger, crouching over the battered cooler.

“How about you, Rat? You empty it, you fill it.”

Rat grimaced at the scruffy ganger as he slammed the cooler closed. “How about you, since you got the last one Trey.” Trey just gave Rat a gap toothed grin before taking another long pull.

The rowdy banter continuing between the dozen degenerates who populated the makeshift clubhouse. Ratty couches, a battered television and a large, expensive boom box, obviously not beyond their felonious means, made up the furnishings. Two pairs of male and female gangers were busy making out on two of the couches while the rest were busy elsewhere. Working on the motorcycles that they kept, or simply screwing around with the dangerous things left behind in the decrepit warehouse. Just like they did most nights out of the week.

*****

Outside a pair of headlights flashed across the crooked ‘condemned’ sign that hung from the open chain link gates. The lights flicked off as a black sedan pulled into the warehouse complex, rolling quietly toward the one building from which light emanated. Unheard over the music within, it pulled to a stop alongside the building.

When its quiet engine was silent, the driver’s side door opened. She emerged, her low-slung heels silent in comparison to the ruckus which was inadequately contained by the crumbling structure. The soft flutter of her black cloak a whisper. Looking up toward the nearest boarded window, her pale face was a mask of focused determination. The door closed and she strode silently along the wall, a black garbage bag fluttering in hand.

*****

“Hey, check this shit out.” A squat, bald ganger dressed in mismatched canvas crowed this as he took hold of a large, thick hook that hung from the ceiling and stuck his flashlight between his teeth. The chain it hung from rattled, rising up into the darkness that cloaked the ceiling. He licked his lips as he sighted his maneuver, and then ran with a wild cry, leaping off the scaffolding he was standing on. The chain and hook, attached to a sliding track along the ceiling, rattled anew as his weight fell full on to it. He laughed in inane amusement as his momentum pushed him along, steadily carrying him some dozen feet off the ground, over various sharp and deadly pieces of machinery hidden in the gloom below.

His companion, a tall, gangly black man guffawed and shook his head, as well has his own more powerful light. “Damn, you a crazy man! If you think I’m doing that, you’ve gotta be high.” He leaned against the railing as his companion reached the other side. After getting himself onto stable ground, he turned back and laughed. “Come on, Reggie! You sure you’re really black, man, you look yellow to me!” Followed by a rush of laughter.

“Can that shit, JimJim. Get your ass back over here so we can keep looking for good scraps. I’m goin’ to the bottom of the stairs here.” An irate bellow, responded to with more laughter. But the light on the other side of the area did start moving. “Crazy sonamabitch.” Muttered with a shake of Reggie’s head as the lanky black man turned to head down the stairs himself.