In This Twilight: Food, Folks and Fun

IN THIS TWILIGHT

Food, Folks and Fun
By
Al Bruno III

No one saw that damn bus coming, not at a quarter to ten. The staff of Burger Clown had already begun cleaning up for the night. Mark Kravis looked up from his mop bucket and blinked at the sight, "You gotta be kidding me."

"Get on the broiler!" Ken squawked from behind the counter, his voice filled the empty restaurant "Get on the broiler now!" Ken was the assistant manager and Mark loathed working with him because his only administrative skills were squawking orders and twitching.

Cursing under his breath Mark let his mop clatter to the floor and got on the broiler. This was just perfect, his band had practice tonight...

They filed off the bus and streamed in, tramping all over the freshly cleaned floor. They were all pasty white and wearing their Sunday best, which was odd considering it was a Thursday. The fluorescent lighting made them look like zombies. Mark glanced up at the counter watching as Darla took the first order. He could hear her voice over the hiss and the pop of the grill, she was reciting the official Burger Clown customer greeting but every syllable reeked with loathing. Mark couldn’t understand how she could be so hot and so scary all at once. He talked to her when it was slow but all he’d ever really learned about her was that she had run away from home and dropped out of college. Mark had never really understood what screwed her up more, her parents or her thesis.

Lucy nudged past him on her way to a fresh tray of hamburger buns. Unlike most of the Burger Clown staff she actually liked this job. She was retired and this supplemented her fixed income. The way she took pride in her work irritated the Hell out of Mark.

There was a video screen set against the wall nearest the broiler. When it was working right it would keep a running tally of the number of beef and chicken patties that needed to be made. Watching the line filter down the counter from Darla to Lucy, Mark started to realize that there were no orders flashing on the screen.

"Why aren’t you doing anything? Why are you just standing there?" Ken screeched, "Were not paying you just to stand there!"

Mark willed himself to think only about rent and car payments, not about the number of ways there were to kill a man with a spatula. "No orders yet," He said evenly, "Maybe they’re all here to use the bathroom."

"It must be broken." Ken slapped the amber monitor and twiddled the CONTRAST and TINT controls meaningfully. "Go out there and see what we need to make. That doesn’t mean hit on Darla that means find out what we need to make and get back here."

"Whatever." Mark said skirting around the fry vats and walking up behind Darla. "Hey-" he began.

"Come to visit us, hah?" Lucy winked at him from the shake machine, "Too hot back there or is Ken just getting on your nerves?"

"Yes." Mark answered as he turned back to the girl at the counter.

A bald man in a clip on tie was placing his order; there was s sticker on his shirt that announced his name in bright, child-like block letters. He grinned at Darla while he rambled, "…so we were on our way back and we figure we may as well stop off and top off. Get it? Stop off and top off."

"May I take your order please?" Darla asked.

"That thing through your eyebrow there," he pointed to the elaborate ring, "did that hurt?"

"May I please take your order?" Darla said again.

Oblivious to the wave after wave of raw hostility washing over him he said, "Ill have a vanilla shake."

For some reason that made Darla’s composure crack, a tremor crept into her voice, "One dollar nine cents please."

Ken yelled, "No conversations! Get back here and work! Ill write you up!"

"All right!" Mark shouted back. He heard Darla slam the cash register door closed. The next customer was already poised to place their order. Mark turned to Darla "Listen, the computer is screwed up. What have they ordered so far?"

She grabbed his arm with bruising force, "They’re only ordering vanilla shakes."

"What?"

She shook his arm and squeezed harder, her nails digging into his flesh, "They are all ordering vanilla shakes. And they all have exact change. All of them."

"Oh."

With that she let go of his arm and turned to her next customer with a kind of sullen resignation. "Welcome to Burger Clown where smiles are our specialty. May I please take your order?"

Mark retreated to the fry vats, trying to get a head count of how many customers were out there. They couldn’t all be vegetarians could they?

There was a sharp pain as Ken grabbed him by the back of the neck, "Don’t just stand around! You’ve got burgers to make!"

"No I don’t. They’re just ordering shakes."

"What?"

"I’m gonna go get my mop before someone knocks it over." Mark brushed past him.

Ken stared after him, twitching, "What?"

There was no way he could avoid having to mop the floor again. The shake fanatics were already spreading through the restaurant like a virus. Mark moved through them, nodding blankly at their pleasant smiles. They were all grinning and talking and slurping on shakes. Everywhere around him empty conversations droned on and on.

"I can't wait until next year."

"… I still can’t believe he had the nerve to show up. A real black sheep."

His mop and bucket where were he had left them, near the trashcans. He stared down into the gray bubbly water, trying to talk himself out of quitting. He could imagine the expression on Ken's face if he walked out the door.

"This is an out of the way little joint. I’m surprised they do any business at all."

"… better than last year, but still not as good as the old times. It's all so safe now. In the old days the recruits would get really hurt. "

He slowly began wheeling his mop and bucket through the crowd, some of them he noticed were back in line for seconds. Mark glanced up to the counter; Lucy was dutifully manning the shake dispenser, Darla was looking more and more distressed by the second and Ken was just glaring at everything.

"You like this tie? You want it? I’ve got dozens of 'em!"

"…you should see how my little ones are just into everything now. They’re really a handful."

Mark rolled his eyes as he moved to the back of the restaurant. These people, he realized, must be coming back from some kind of family function. A reunion or a wedding or something, it was only a guess but it felt right. Besides they all looked alike, with heads that looked too big and eyes that seemed too small.

"I swear the damn thing is stuck. Maybe there are some tools on the bus."

"Of course the meat tastes different, it’s the chemicals."

A single short hallway led to the Men’s washroom, the Women’s washroom and the utility room. Mark shoved the mop and bucket into the utility room and kicked the door closed. Then he retreated into the men’s room, to the toilet in a handicapped accessible stall, the urinal the sink and the chipped mirror. There used to be a trash can but someone had set that on fire and Ken refused to buy a new one until Mark confessed to doing it.

Once he was safely locked in the stall Mark sat down on the toilet seat and ran his fingers through his hair. His pants stayed on, he didn’t need to relieve himself- he just needed a break. He tried to tell himself that when he was a big time rock star he would look back at all this and laugh. The problem was that he didn’t even believe it any more. He had been in four bands in five years and not a one of them was able to make back their expenses much less turn a profit. It was at moments like this when he wondered if moving back home wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He still had college money waiting for him; his parents had refused to let him have it when they realized he was going to try his hand in show business.

Leaning back against the cool porcelain he propped his feet up on either side of the stall and tried to relax. He had half a mind to take a little catnap; it wouldn’t be the first time.

"This is terrible."

"Let me see."

The bathroom door slammed open, two of the customers shuffled in. One sounded panicky, the other was cool and rational.

"I'm stuck." Mr. Panicky said, he sounded like a kid that had just found out Christmas was canceled.

Mr. Rational’s voice was AM radio smooth, "You're not stuck, I just need an entrenching tool."

Always on the lookout for free entertainment Mark kept his feet propped up and tried to watch them through the slender gap between the bathroom enclosure's door and the wall. He could only see their backs, but it looked like one of them was undoing his shirt.

There was a smashing followed by a chorus of empty clinkings. "Will this do?" Mr. Panicky asked.

Now there were scraping noises, it sounded like someone was sifting through glass "That just might. Open wide."

Through the gap Mark saw the figures move closer; one shifting and fidgeting in place, the other holding something gleaming in his hand. What the fuck is this? Mark thought as he held his breath.

When the moist wet digging sounds started Mark reached for the switchblade he kept in his boot. He always carried a blade with him and considering the neighborhood he lived in he probably should have carried more. The sounds continued.

Occasionally they would be complimented by a rasping noise. Streaks of bile-like fluid began to ooze across the tile floor and a foul, acrid smell filled the air. Mark didn’t know how much more he could take before he’d have to make a run for it.

The sounds stopped, one of the figures shifted away from the other. Mr. Rational whistled, "Wow. You are stuck."

"Damn." A foot stomped, droplets of orange fluid spattered everywhere.

"Now don't you get upset. This won’t have any bearing on your final record."

Mr. Panicky started to sound like Mr. Resignation "I'm just disappointed."

"You have every right to be but don't worry there will be plenty more trips."

A scream cut through the air. That's Darla! Mark felt his stomach turn cold.

"I need to be out there." Mr. Rational sighed, "Just keep working at it, maybe it will give."

"Yeah." Mr. Panicky said. One set of footsteps receded. The door swung to a close and the digging sounds started again. Mark heard more screams and crashing around. The bathroom wall bordered the kitchen and it sounded like everything was coming down in there. He could hear Ken groveling and sniveling, offering to open up the safe.

Part of him wanted to get the fuck out of dodge. Part of him wanted to rush out there and save the day. No matter what he did, he had to get up and get moving. Whoever these people where, they would find him eventually. He flicked the switchblade and, after a moment to gather his courage, charged out of the bathroom stall.

The first thing Mark's eyes found was the bathroom mirror. It was shattered, the smaller pieces lying in the bathroom sink, the man before him held one of the longer shards in his hand. His shirt hung open and loose. The nametag he wore was still visible, it said HI! MY NAME IS BOB. It took several moments for Mark to realize that Bob was slowly and methodically carving grooves into the skin of his chest. The fluid that oozed from those long, symmetrical wounds was orange. Thick tatters of skin lay on the floor or hung from his torso like strips of ruined wallpaper. He regarded Mark with an expression of dull surprise. "I didn’t know you were here," he said, "you were hiding. You were spying.”

Mark tried to act menacing but all he managed was to stammer was "Well what if I was?" He waved the switchblade in shaky circles.

"Oooooo." The thing called Bob grabbed at the knife, leaving the piece of mirror jutting from his chest.

Howling with panic Mark slashed at Bob, cutting his fingertips and palm. More foul smelling muck oozed out. "Back off," he cautioned, "I don't want any trouble."

"I need this," Bob grabbed the knife away and shoved Mark backwards against the wall.

*

Groaning Mark tried to stand. He didn’t even realize he had been knocked out and now it was so dark he wasn't even sure he was awake. Steadying himself on the sink he fumbled for the light switch.

He flicked it several times before giving up.

How long was I out? He wondered as he made his way to the door. Things squelched and slid underfoot, he winced with every footstep.

All the power in the building was out but at least the streetlights offered a kind of illumination. Mark moved between the booths wondering why it was so quiet.

Don’t wonder. He thought to himself, Just get to your car and get out of here. Move back in with your parents and get a haircut and real job! Just go!

A thin layer of smoke hung in the air and with it a scent he could only equate with meat left too long on the broiler. The exit was just footsteps away.

But so was the bus.

It was still out there in the parking lot. The sickos were just sitting there staring straight ahead. Mark dropped to all fours praying he hadn't been seen.

What the Frig is going on here?

There was always the back exit. All he had to do was make his way out there and run. Oh Lord would he run.

He crawled into the kitchen and found himself staring at a battlezone, the glass of the office door was shattered, the broiler and the fry vats were smoldering, there were buns and condiments everywhere. One of the cash registers was open, the bills and change left untouched. A tiny squeal escaped from Mark's lips as he saw the skeleton curled at the base of the counter. The bones had been picked clean.

Oh God. Oh God.

Chips of glass bit into his palms as he scrambled over debris. He found two more skeletons near the office, lying side by side like lovers. Frozen in place by the sight he wondered which of his co-workers he was staring at. The broiler hissed and popped, the fry vats gurgled. He couldn't stop wondering if they'd been alive when the flaying began.

Whoever did this... He realized, Whoever did this wouldn't have just left me alive out of sheer kindness. Whoever did this must still be waiting.

When he heard footsteps approaching he wasn't surprised, not really. He stood and found Bob standing there, naked to the waist. His chest was skinless now. The pale gray carapace in its place was grooved in circular patterns.

"You saved me for last," Mark was numbed by the sight.

"They saved you for me," Bob explained, "I was too late to join in here. Defective equipment. It happens sometimes. Thank goodness you had a knife."

Bob's chest began to whisper with motion, it dilated.

Mark felt his knees buckling "Aliens. You're aliens."

"I am no more an alien than you are a chimpanzee," Bob laughed as the hole in the center of his torso widened. "We are immigrants. This is the last part of our orientation, our chance to observe you in your natural environment. Your flesh, your thoughts, your nerve endings- they must be understood before we can continue."

"Is this an invasion?"

Bob’s chest was splayed wide, something shifted in the dark aperture; something gleamed and writhed as it laughed. "Invasion?" When it spoke its voice was a coughing gurgle, "There’s no invasion here. This world is occupied territory."

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Sadly all you have to look forward to now is madness and death. But you can choose which you experience first,” a tendril snaked out of the lifeless automaton. At its touch Mark's flesh bubbled and melted away. Dozens more latched onto him, dragging him closer, burning through him, searing him to the bone, “You can have it your way.”

A quick note from yours truly...

Another one of my older and uncirculating horror stories is coming online in a moment. I've been going through old files and if I come across a story that doesn't make my eyes bleed I try to revise and then share it.

Part 9 of Price Breaks and Heart Breaks is starting to come together, I hope to be able to share it soon.

BTW one of the reasons I've been digging around in my archives is that I have been thinking of putting together a Print On Demand anthology of my dark fantasy stuff. It would be more of a gift for my ego than for the literary world but if such a thing would interest one or two of you readers out there let me know an I will make it happen sooner rather than later.

As always;

KEEP CIRCULATING THE BLOG!

Two Old Men And A Bottle Full of Rain

Two Old Men And A Bottle Full Of Rain
by
Al Bruno III

April 12, 1985

It was raining. Despite the weather reports to the contrary it had begun to rain just after midnight. Just like the intruder had promised.

But that intruder had known more than he was telling, he was all shifty glances and smug remarks. Reginald might have confronted him if not for the blank faced man the intruder kept for a bodyguard. What little Reginald knew of killing told him there was murder in that man's eyes. They had shown up for his father's funeral without an invitation, 'to pay their respects'. No one knew who they were and when asked the intruder had introduced himself as Phil and told them he had served with Reginald's father during the war.

Which of course was patently ridiculous because Reginald knew his father and the old man had never been inducted into the armed forces and he had certainly never enlisted. That kind of thing had never been Kerwin Hayter's style at all.

Soaked through to the skin and shivering, Reginald pulled his coat in tight around himself and tried to look like someone waiting for a bus. When all the traffic had passed and he was alone on the street he hopped the cemetery fence. He made his way through the maze of headstones to his father's grave.

All during the wake, while Reginald was trying hard to balance being a good host with being a good son, Phil had been pulling him aside and asking inappropriate questions.

It was very sudden wasn't it?

Bet the old man took you under his wing didn't he?

Have the police ruled out foul play?

Did he leave you everything?

Even the good stuff?

Even his war mementos?

That of course was when Reginald realized who the intruder and his stone-faced thug were. They were Pharos Agents. His father had worked for the Pharos project for the better part of a the Sixties; according to the records he had been a consultant for the National Security Agency but in reality he had been part of a nebulous special project that seemed to answer to no one.

The grave of Kerwin Hayter was just up ahead, Reginald could see a shadowy figure crouched before it, kneeling in the freshly turned earth. Reginald swept his wet hair from his eyes. This was worse than Reginald imagined, one of his father's old friends showing up now. Was he after the infamous Hayter secrets? The devices that could never be patented?

Reginald knew from his father's journals that he had left the Pharos Project in nineteen sixty-seven, angered at the organization's insular attitudes and the lack of a clear goals. Too many fact-finding missions had ended up being battles for survival, too many outright raids left them empty handed. Of course as long as the Pharos Project was willing to fund Kerwin Hayter's research into psychotronics he was willing to put up with the organizations failings.

Once they budget cuts began however his father quit, he took his research with him- and as much equipment and untraceable cash as he thought he could get away with.

The heavy downpour made it hard to make out exactly what the figure at his father's grave was saying. It sounded to Reginald like chanting, some of the words sounded like Latin.

Great. He grumbled mentally.

Reginald had come of age in the Seventies and soon found himself acting as his father's errand boy. When your father is privately researching the field of psychotronics, your errands inevitably ended up being more than trips to the hardware store. Over the next fourteen years Reginald became well aquatinted with bribery and theft, he learned to move in that shadowy, pseudo-mystical underground the rest of the world tired not to notice. What ever his father needed, he procured- when a rival appeared he was eliminated. He did whatever Kerwin Hayter asked of him.

The weight of the gun in his jacket pocket was reassuring, the handle was taped, the serial number was filed off. Pharos Agent or not 'Phil' wasn't going to get in the way now.

Not when Reginald had finally figured out where his father had been hiding all that money for all these years.

Leaning against a headstone he drew the gun and took careful aim. No one would hear, not out here in the middle of the city's largest cemetery. One shot. Reginald thought. One shot and I've gotten away with it.

By the time Reginald sensed the presence behind him it was too late.

One cold hand had him by the back of the neck, lifting him off his feet. The other hand grabbed his gun hand and snapped it at the wrist with a simple twist.

Screaming and kicking, his vision blurred with raindrops and agony Reginald Hayter was dragged to his father's gravesite. Phil was crouched there, an old winebottle half-buried in the dirt before him.

The thug dropped him, Reginald landed on his wrist and sobbed with agony. "It's not Victor." The thug's voice was deep and ragged from disuse.

Phil laughed, "Fuck John. You think I don't know that? All this little pissant is- is too ambitious."

"Then why are we here?"

"Because we had to be sure and besides, I think I owe poor old Kerwin this."

Reginald raised himself to his knees, "Look, if its about the money, I'll split it with you two- no three ways."

Phil smirked, "Kid, we're rich. If you're going to beg for your life at least show a little creativity."

John growled, "I'm not going to stand here and watch while you torment this moron."

This isn't happening. Reginald told himself, This isn't happening. Why hadn't he just gotten on the plane tonight like he'd planned to? Why had he left himself be lead into a trap?

"This is happening." Phil smiled as he drew the pistol from his jacket pocket, "And it was easy to get you here. All I had to do was hint that I knew something about treasures left over from your Dad's shady past."

John shrugged, "I think it was the rain that clinched it."

Phil rolled his eyes, "The rain always clinches it."

Reginald couldn't believe his ears, these were madmen, "You think...you think you made it rain?"

"I know I made it rain." Phil said as he made his prisoner sit on the freshly turned earth of the gravesite, his feet on either side of the slowly filling winebottle, "Not a cloud in the sky. The weathermen predicted sunny days all weekend and then all of a sudden out of the blue- I'm singing in the rain, just sing-"

"No..." John growled, "...singing."


"Just let me go and I'll give you whatever you want." Reginald said. His father's tombstone was cold against his back, water soaked through his pants, mud clung to the fabric.

"Can we please get this over with?"

Phil's expression went from gloating to glaring, "John could you please let me enjoy this moment here? If not for me then for poor old Kerwin."

"You hated Kerwin."

"No I didn't."

"You used to call him 'fuck-face' behind his back."

"You should hear what I call you."

"I do hear Phil. I do." John said with a wave of his arm. Glowering he retreated into the shadows.

"You'll have to pardon John." Phil crouched down so he could look Reginald in the eye, "He's not the man he used to be."

Reginald stared sullenly at the pistol in Phil's hand, he wondered if he could wrestle it from his grip. He figured he might be able to risk it, the guy looked to be pushing seventy. He could still get out of this, he still had the money. All he had to do was grab that bottle and use it as a weapon.

"I'm still old enough to kick your ass you little pissant!" His captor moved with sudden savagery, smashing he nozzle of the pistol into the side of Reginald's face. He yelped and fell to one side, pain-blinded and bloodied in the chilly rain. "Oh my God. Don't tell me you're crying now? You kill your old man and now you're crying?"

"He deserved it!" Reginald sobbed gently into the muddy earth. "He made us live like we were nobodies when he had all that money!"

"How did you find out?"

"Why do you care?"

"Look I need to know this and if you tell me what I want to know and give me what I want I'll let you live. That's more than a father killer like you deserves anyway."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"He was sick. I was going bankrupt trying to pay his medical bills and take care of myself at the same time. The day after the bank told me they were going to take the car he told me. He had these briefcases full of cash stored in the crawlspace. They'd been there for years. We were millionaires and he'd never told me."

"Those were ill-gotten gains, he was trying to keep a low profile. Did you expect a fugitive living under an assumed name to live in a fucking mansion?" Phil straightened up to shout, "Hey John! All this bullshit because his Daddy didn't buy him a new bicycle for his birthday!"

An irritated voice called from the shadows "I'm going to the car."

"...my father has an assumed name?"

"Yeah. Your last name is really Bell. How about that?" Phil rested the end of the revolver against Reginald's bloody temple. "Now one last thing and we can all get out of the rain."

"Please..."

"Where did you hide the money?"

Some part of Reginald wanted to rear up, wanted to fight for what was his, but he had been a coward for too long. He had killed his father by poisoning because he couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"Poison eh?" Phil hissed, "Not a very manly way to commit murder."

"If you can read my mind then why do you need me to tell you where the money is?"

"It's just a matter of difficulty. It's like the difference between shooting someone from a distance or from right up close." Phil jabbed him with the end of the revolver for emphasis. "Now the money… where can we find it?"

"Half." Reginald pleaded, "Leave me half. Please. You said you were rich."

"You can never be too rich or too thin. Besides it was our money to start with. Your Dad stole it from us."

"I thought-"

"Look unless you want your brains smeared across this nice new headstone you better tell me where the money is."

"In the trunk of my car."

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"There was that so hard?"

Reginald sniffled rainwater, "Can I go now?"

"Well I'm afraid I can't let you go. See the problem is that our little encounter tonight might raise questions among certain concerned individuals."

"I don't know anything."

"You know enough. See I need these people to think me and old John are dead. If you walk out of here and start talking…"

"I won't say anything! I swear!"

"Am I supposed to take the word of some little rat that poisoned his father?"

"You promised. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me!"

"So I did…"

The next words that came from Phil's mouth were harsh and strange sounding, they were from no language Reginald could recognize. Was he in the clutches of a madman? What kind of people had his father stolen that money from?

Everything seemed to pitch and heave around Reginald. He felt like he was loosing his balance but how could he be loosing his balance when he was lying flat on his back on the rain-soaked earth? Phil stood over him as he chanted in a long lost tongue, Reginald felt something hard and cold pressing against his cheek. Mewling, he closed his eyes.

Then opened them again.

The old man wasn't holding the gun anymore he was holding the bottle full. It was just glass that Reginald felt pressing against him, not gun metal. The rainwater spilled out over his face, flooding his nostrils, leaving him coughing.

What is he doing? Reginald wondered. Is he crazy?

The strange vertigo that gripped him grew worse, leaving him unable to stand, unable to speak. With every syllable Phil spoke the lethargy and light-headedness only grew worse. Reginald felt weightless and storm-tossed, like a leaf caught in the wind.

Water splashed in his eyes and mouth, the bottle seemed to have an endless supply of water. Reginald stared into the mouth of the old winebottle, it filled his vision with darkness and drew him deep inside.

Reginald felt his body draw its last breath, watrched it slump forward onto the muddy Earth. He watched every moment of it from within a prison of tinted glass.

When the cork slid into place he felt himself start to go mad.

Disclaimer

Disclaimer

Before we go any further please let me explain to you that nothing you read on this website is about you.

(But it might be)

Sure we might have met a time or twenty, maybe we where friends, maybe we were enemies but, absolutely nothing here is about you.

(Unless it is.)

None of the characters you read about are real people. Nobody like these people could survive in modern civilized society.

(Well, maybe in politics.)

If you’re a lady who was in the Albany area from 1988 to 1992 and you happened to date me, however briefly or unwillingly, this is not about you.

(Even though there were so damn few of you.)

If you happened to visit my house and accidentally sat on my cat causing him to spasmodically urinate for weeks afterward, I’m not gonna bring it up.

(Except for now.)

If you have worked with me or I have worked for you, no matter what conflicts we may have experienced in the past; be it a case of inadvertent sexual harassment or the occasional accidental workplace fire. I won't bring it up if you don't.

(But no matter what the others might think, I didn't draw that mustache on the picture of you near the front entrance.)

If you are one of my relatives, fear not all names and aspects of our relationship to the point where they have been rendered fictional.

(Except for the parts about my hot cousin, she was really pretty hot.)

Some of these stories might refer to certain famous and obscure role-playing games of the era; their names are mentioned lovingly and with nothing but respect.

(Still though, it took a damn long time to run a game of CHAMPIONS.)

If, by chance, you once bit me in your eagerness to explain your half-elves’ final defiant attack against that Mind Flayer I want you to know I bear no grudges – or scars. This is not about you.

(Or your overbite)

Perhaps you truly did play a ninja in one rpg or another, in fact I see such things as a legitimate and fascinating character choice, an archetype in fact.

(Pajama wearing, star throwing little FREAKS.)

However if you are one of the countless people who stop by here to read and re-read these strange little stories of mine, I'm flattered and honored, and sometimes a little relieved.

But still when you come right down to it, this still isn't about you either.

Because it’s all about me.

(Except when it isn’t)

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Shadows Of Polaris epilogue

The Nick Of Time

(and other abrasions)

Shadows Of Polaris

by

Al Bruno III

Epilogue

Jason Magwier remembered because the memories were all that he had, even when they were unpleasant, even when they were wrong. He remembered how even now the Regent would be organizing an expeditionary force tasked with tearing Harnett's Tabernacle apart brick by brick, and then to grind those bricks into powder.

But there was time to fetch Audra and get away, Jason Magwier was almost certain. He scratched idly at the bandage near his ribs, the place where he had been stabbed. The blade had scraped against bone, doing little real damage but hurting like Hell. A few inches in either direction and he'd have been done for. Jason didn't like to think about that.

...but sometimes I do die and every time the Heirophant
laughs a little harder...

He shook his head trying to clear it. Lorelei stood beside him, gazing at the dead bear. "I thought," she began, "I thought all the bears had been culled. The Regent's proclamation-"

"They missed this one didn't they? She was old, old and cunning enough to evade the hunters and the traps." Jason put his arm around Lorelei.

She leaned into him, "Until tonight."

"Until tonight."

They started walking again, shell casings and snow crunching under foot. Heading for the Tabernacle and skirting around the blood and the bodies. One of the shapes made Lorelei pause, "I don't believe it."

Jack Diamond was spread eagle in the snow, blood ran down from his nostrils and one of his eyes was swollen shut. His canon of a pistol was just out of reach. Jason picked it up and examined it with a bemused expression on his face, "They might say that a man with a handgun this large was overcompensating for something."

"How can you joke about this?" Lorelei snatched the pistol from his hand and took aim at the prone figure, "We've got this bastard right where we want him. After all the misery he's caused us, after what he did to my mother..."

"You can't kill a man in cold blood."

"You don't think so? You sure?" Lorelei's finger tightened on the trigger, "Can you remember how many lives will suffer at his hands in the future? Consider this a pre-emptive strike."

..."Bastard. You knew that would happen didn't
you?"...

Lorelei pulled the trigger, the empty chamber clicked. Cursing under her breath she threw the pistol as far into the woods as she could. "Bastard. You knew that would happen didn't you?"

"His sins will find their punishment in due time." Jason took her by the hand and led her to the Tabernacle. Somehow the darkness that pooled around the ruins seemed deeper, more lush. By the time they had reached the building itself they were forced to grope and fumble their way to the entrance.

"I knew I forgot something." Jason said as he felt his way along the wall, remembering where he would find the door.

Lorelei asked "What's that?"

"This." He pulled a penlight from his jacket pocket. He swept the tiny beam across the twin doors.

"You had that all along? You dork!"

Jason remembered that the right side door would be jammed but the left would open with ease.

The left side doorway scraped open and Jason ushered Lorelei inside. He let his penlight beam wander around the ruined building. This place had been glorious once, a monument to one man's Cause. Now it was relic, a doomed one at that. Jason hoped that his Cause would fare better.

They pale circle of light found Audra sitting with her back against the far wall. She was turning a wallet over and over in her hands.

"Hey." Lorelei approached her. Jason stayed back, pretending to be interested in the masonry. "Hey girlfriend."

"He didn't wait for me to wake up." Audra said, "He just left."

"I'm sure he had a reason."

"I thought this was a scam and that Matt was just your patsy of choice. I never thought he was going to actually have to go through the Weir." Audra threw the wallet across the room and buried her face in her hands, "I thought you guys would be here. I thought your damn boyfriend was going to pull one of his clever little stunts."

Lorelei nodded with understanding, "I thought it was a double cross too. I figured he worked for the Monarchs. I thought we were going to trick him, use his own trap against him."

Jason signed heavily at that, "You girls give me too much credit."

"He wasn't any of that." Audra sniffled, "He was just... decent."

"...and lonely." Wandering over to them Jason ran his hands along the wall. "Think of it, he lives in one of the largest cities in the world and
yet you Audra were probably the closest thing he had to real friend in
years."

The effort of holding back tears made her expression murderous "And I led him to this."

Lorelei stood, "Oh Audra…"

"Besides," Jason said as he and Lorelei pulled Audra to her feet, "in the end the choice was his. No one was here to make him go through that Weir. You can lead a Pendaroth to apotheosis but you can't make him drink."

"Oh God." Lorelei rolled her eyes, "I can't believe I'm sleeping with
you."

"We should be going." Jason checked the digital readout of his pocketwatch, "Zeth is waiting for us."

Walking slowly to join them Audra kept glancing back, hoping. She paused at the castoff shirt. Kneeling she traced the streaks of blood and dirt with her wounded fingertips. Audra tore away one of the shirt's frilled cuffs. "I'd have gone with him." She said, "I wouldn't even have waited for him to ask me I would have just gone."

"I know." Jason nodded.

And Jason remembered that sometimes she did go with him but the results were always calamitous.

"The worst part is that all I can do now is worry about him." She carefully tied the scrap of cloth into her hair, "Funny isn't it? Little Miss Nihilism turning all mushy on an Outlander.”

"Not funny at all. Your cynicism is all in your head, your heart feels differently about these things. I imagine it feels different about
a number of things." Jason urged her to follow, "Come on then, we'd
best get moving."

She hung back, her voice breaking "Not just yet. Give me a few more
minutes."

Jason’s voice became tense, "Audra…"

"Don't rush her." Lorelei dragged Jason outside, into the shadows and starlight "Let's give her some space."

Arm in arm, they huddled in the doorway and waited. Jason slipped the penlight back into his pocket. "We shouldn't keep Zeth
waiting."

"He wont leave us."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Lorelei nodded with understanding "So how is he going to get us back in the City anyway?"

"He knows the way to the tunnel on Nooker Street."

"Oh great, right to the heart of cannibal central." Lorelei pushed him away with a snort of disgust. "I swear I think sometimes you are trying to get me killed."

"Don't worry, Fergus won't touch us."

"You sound awfully sure."

"It's simple, Fergus lets us through." Jason approached her, ran theback of his hand across her shoulder, "And we give him back his Amaranthine Crystal."

Lorelei pushed him away again "What? You and Zeth stole their Amaranthine Crystal? How are you two still alive?"

"Ah that's the beauty of it, they don't know it's stolen. We replaced it with a perfect duplicate made of glass." Jason Magwier grinned conspiratorially as the Pole Star shone down on them like a watchful eye full of secrets.

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Shadows Of Polaris chapter six

The Nick Of Time

(and other abrasions)

Shadows Of Polaris

by

Al Bruno III

Chapter Six

The trap had left Audra unconscious, Jack pondered her as she hung there by one arm. Finally he muttered to himself, "Better safe than sorry." and hefted her over his shoulder. There was a snap and a spark; her fingers left behind five tiny spots of scorched flesh as they were pulled away from the wall. "Wait up Trager."

Audra stirred with a moan and then fell unconscious again.

Do something! Matthew thought as he struggled and cursed, For God's sake you broke a Whosiewhatsit Crystal that's got to count for something! But the more he fought the harder they held him. "Somebody!" He cried, "Somebody help! Somebody!"

"Fear not Outlander." Constable Trager said as he led the Sentries back into the treeline. "It will all be over soon enough. When your mind and your body have been properly adapted you will finally understand your place in the greater scheme of things."

"Snip snip." Jack laughed.

Matthew dug his heels down only to find himself dragging furrows in the snow and dirt. He shouted Audra's name over and over but she didn't react, not even a twitch. So much for his hopes of her playing possum. If they were going to make it out of this it was up to him.

Closing his eyes he prayed. He tried to call some great and benevolent power down from above to help him. Matthew had never wished this hard for anything in his life, maybe because he always suspected none of his aspirations or dreams would ever come true. Gritting his teeth he tried harder, turning his focus inward. Audra had told him that everyone had a spark of magic in them. Where was his? He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Was it like recovering a lost memory? Or more like flexing a rarely used muscle? Matthew felt like a child leaping at the clouds in the hope he might somehow fly.

The Sentries released him and he stumbled forward.

I did it! I really did it!

A crash filled the air. Matthew turned to see a tree fall. The Sentries moved to defensive positions in front of their Constable as a dark shape lumbered out of the woods. The bear raised itself up on its haunches and roared a fresh challenge. Starlight and shadows left its fur dark and its eyes gleaming. Its breath steamed with every roar, its snout dripped.

Looking upon it Matthew knew that it was old, it was dying.

No not it. She. It's a she.

Jack laughed, "If it ain't damned one thing it's another." He drew his Desert Eagle and took aim at the beast.

The bear dropped down to all fours again. The ground reverberated with the impact. The she-bear moved with startling speed. The Sentries barely had time to fire before the beast was on them. The Constable began to chant, her voice sibilant and frantic.

Oh God what am I doing? Matthew charged forward tackling Jack Diamond as he fired. Both men tumbled backwards into the snow and mud. Audra hit the ground a few inches from them but didn't stir.

The bear howled with pain. Arcs of blood streaked the snow. One Sentry was scrabbling to get clear of her. Another was disemboweled and crying like a child. The third sentry was lying near the chanting Constable and he was lying perfectly still.

It wasn't easy to keep Jack pinned, he spat and he struggled. Twice Matthew saw the barrel of the gun lurch towards his face, twice he had to push back with all his might. Jack Diamond pulled one of his hands from the weapon and reach into his pocket. There was a metallic click.

Knife! Matthew thought as he grabbed at Jack's other wrist, Knife!

The bear was nuzzling at the gut of the last living Sentry. He screeched and flailed at the beast's snout.

Still chanting the Constable drew her saber, the blade was shimmering, it steamed against the cool night air.

"Bear or no bear." Jack whispered, "You are dead meat on a fuckin' stick."

The switchblade left the fingertips of Matthew's left hand slick with blood, a dozen tiny slashes crosshatched his stomach and thigh.

It's only a matter of time before he gets me good with that thing. Matthew thought, And then it's all over for me, all over for Audra, all over for everything.

Turning from the bear, Constable Trager approached the struggling men, her blade raised high.

Jack was flat on his back, Matthew straddled him. Shifting his hand Matthew gripped his adversary's wrist and twisted, trying to shake the switchblade loose. He was so intent on this that his hold on Jack's pistol hand loosened.

Matthew froze at the sight of the thick gun barrel zooming towards his head. He threw himself to one side as Jack fired. The boom of the pistol set his ears ringing, muzzle flash seared across his face.

The blast knocked Constable Trager out of her boots and sent her tumbling back through the snow and mud. The bear was on her before she could even cry out.

Head spinning with the smell of cordite, Matthew rolled onto his side to see Jack Diamond shaking his head with disbelief. He seemed to have forgotten that Matthew was even there.

Matthew kicked him in the face as hard as he could. Jack grunted with surprise and toppled. Matthew kicked him a few times more just to be sure.

Raising himself to his knees Matthew saw the bear approaching. She wove and stumbled, her maw soaked with gore, her hide pockmarked with bulletholes. Matthew was too drained to move.

The bear turned away from him, sniffling instead at Audra's supine form.

"No!" Matthew snatched up Jack's pistol and pulled the trigger. All he heard was a dry click. "Damn it!" He shouted and threw the heavy pistol at the beast, striking it in the flank.

Snarling the bear wheeled around to face him, her hackles raised. Patches of blood trailed beneath her, her breaths and growls were watery and torpid. It was almost a relief to surrender to his doom.

Better it wastes its last moments on me. I got Audra into this nightmare. I will get her out if it.

The bear drew closer, her snout inches from Matthew's face. So close that he could smell the stench of the blood and shit clinging to its fur. It was so close that Matthew could see his reflection in the beast's eye. There was something else as well, something glistening within the heart of that murky silhouette. He peered at it with a feeling that was not quite wonder not and quite dread. It was Polaris, he realized, the Pole Star. Above them, it shone through them, it connected them.

...he feels the pain of her wounds, old and new and the weariness that nests in her bones. Half-blind and alone she had been roused from her fitful slumber by the scent of intruders. Every instinct had told the she-bear to stay in her den and let the strangers pass but she could not. She knew that if she closed her eyes again she would never waken, she would be lost to the yawning dark that had claimed so many of her kind. And there would be nothing left to mark her passing no cubs, no mate, nothing.

She would be nothing.

That was enough to drive her to her feet, enough to set her stalking her quarry one last time...

Matthew and the bear exhaled together. The darkness intensified, making it seem the whole world was fading from existence. There was no tabernacle, no Audra, and no stars save for the Pole Star.

Only Polaris remains and we are lost in its shadow...

The bear stumbled forward a half step, her slimy nose brushing his cheek. It wouldn't be much longer now, Matthew just knew.

Tentatively the bear licked his face, her tongue tracing along weal of blood and saliva from his chin to his ear. The bear managed to lick him three more times before she fell to her knees. A gurgling sound escaped her throat as she struggled to raise herself back up and failed.

Kneeling beside the beast Matthew kept quiet vigil, stroking its fur and staring into its eyes. With each of the bear's shallow breaths the world seemed to fall back in place around them- the stars, the ruins, the bodies.

When it was over Matthew stared purposefully at Harnett's Tabernacle. He lifted Audra up easily and carried her to the shelter of the
decrepit building. He shouldered the heavy iron door closed. He cradled her limp form close to him for a little while but not too long for he knew if she awoke he would loose his nerve.

Gently he set her down on the cold floor and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. He allowed himself to kiss her once, briefly and chastely. Then he stood and pressed the palm of his hand against the stone archway.

Gold light flooded the chamber. Against the far wall, behind the altar, a section of the stonework shifted like haze. The Wier was open.

"The stars are right. Ursa Minor is in ascendance. The Pendaroth
is among us now 'an unlick'd bear-whelp that carries no impression like the dam'."

"...going to Harnett's Tabernacle is suicide."

"...The Pendaroth is the first. He will gather the Valiant Ones to his side"

"...all they know is you go through that Wier and you don't come out."

The stone of the wall was rippling now, frothing and bubbling like magma. He cast off his shoes, frilled shirt and wallet, piling them on the floor. A warm alien wind filled the air and tousled his hair. Grinning with anticipation Matt crossed through.

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