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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:23:43 GMT -5
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:27:25 GMT -5
Welcome to a special DC2 Special! A Christmas issue that runs the gamut of adventure, emotion, and holiday cheer. We hope you enjoy this special event and from all of us here at DC2, we wish everyone a happy holiday season!
The Staff.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:32:30 GMT -5
HERE WE ARE AS IN OLDEN DAYS
Written by: Susan Hillwig
Edited by: Brian Burchette |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:33:37 GMT -5
Wyoming, 1876:[/i]
The sun was sparkling off the crisp, white snowdrifts all around Jud Saunders, but he barely took notice. His attention was fixed on the open cylinder of his Peacemaker before him as he tried to reload it with numb fingers. It wasn’t just the cold affecting him, either: a rifle slug had torn through his right bicep, and though he’d tied a bandana tight around it, blood was still seeping out and staining the sleeve of his coat a deep red. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up, especially since he was down to his last two bullets. Dammit, fellas, he thought as he snapped the revolver shut, [/i]you’ve got what you wanted, so why don’t you just up and go on your merry way?[/i]
Crouching as low as he could, he peered carefully around the stiff carcass of his horse -- she’d bought the farm moments after Jud himself had been shot -- and tried to spot any of the Barrowman boys. Sure enough, there they were, standing atop a low rise with their own fine-and-dandy mounts behind them and a pair of rifles trained on his position. One of them spotted him moving and squeezed off a shot, the others laughing, as Jud ducked back under cover.
“How ya doin’ down there, deputy?” Jake Barrowman called out. “Bet you wished you’d stood in bed!”
“Go on an’ stick yer head out again! My aim’s improvin’!” The sound of Mike Barrowman cocking his rifle echoed across the snowy expanse between them.
“Bet you a dollar y’all can’t shoot the ears off’n his cayuse.” That was Bill Kendrick -- he’d ridden with the Barrowmans for many a year, and was just as mean.
“Get ready to pay up,” Mike said, and shots rang out once more, pounding into the horse’s skull a couple times before finally shearing one of the poor dead animal’s ears away. Jud lay as flat as he could the whole time, wishing there was some way to escape this madness before one of those bullets connected with his own head. It didn’t seem possible, though: that horse carcass was the only cover within at least a hundred yards, and if he made a break for it, the Barrowman boys would surely tire of their game and cut him down mid-stride. Don’t let me die out here like this, Lord, not on Christmas Eve, Jud prayed. They say this is the season of miracles, and I surely need one right now. Please, Lord, I’m beggin’ you: let me live through this, let me see Kitty again, please...
He heard more gunshots, and braced himself for the possibility of the bullets tearing into him, then realized that the report was definitely not one made by a rifle. In fact, it sounded like another Peacemaker. The shots were quickly followed by one of the Barrowmans yelling something rather profane. His own gun held at the ready, Jud ventured a look and saw a stranger on horseback entering the fray, his pistols blazing as he scattered the outlaws and their mounts off the rise. Mike Barrowman leveled his rifle at the newcomer, but caught a bullet in the head before he could get off a shot.
“How do y’all like it when the odds ain’t so uneven?” the stranger said to them as he steered his mount between Jud and the remaining outlaws.
“I’ll show ya, you sonovabitch!” Jake scooped up his dead brother’s rifle and began shooting, narrowly missing the stranger. Jud took the opportunity to jump out from cover and level his pistol at the outlaw, finishing him off with his last two bullets.
His longtime partners gone, Bill Kendrick suddenly lost his nerve and broke into a run. “What are you waitin’ for? Shoot him!” Jud yelled at the stranger, who merely sat on his horse as Kendrick fled.
“Ain’t my way to shoot a fella in the back, no matter how much of a skunk he is,” he replied, and flipped his Peacemaker back into its holster. “‘Sides, two dead bodies on Christmas Eve is two too many, in my opinion.”
Jud had to concede: outlaws though they may be, the idea of killing anybody this time of year just carried with it an air of wrongness. He knocked snow from his trousers as he approached the man on horseback, trying to get a better view of him -- most of the stranger’s features were hidden by a red bandana tied across his face. “I don’t know who you are,” Jud said to him, “but I owe you my life.”
“No thanks needed. I just happened to be near enough to catch the sound of gunshots on the wind...not to mention their voices a-cacklin’ over the fix they’d put you in.” He swung off his horse, saying, “How’d you manage to get into it, anyhow?”
“By bein’ plain stupid,” Jud said. “Them Barrowman boys have been terrorizin’ our town off and on for about three weeks now, and even managed to lay up Sheriff Burkiss on their last run-through. Didn’t look like we had much hope of catchin’ them, but then we got a wire sayin’ that Jake was in jail over in Laramie on a drunk-and-disorderly. I figured, ‘Well, it’s only one fella, and we’re short-handed, so I’ll just go on my lonesome and bring him back to Carson City for the trial.’” He shook his head. “My dumb ass never figured that the other boys would be comin’ ‘round to spring him.”
“These are the Barrowman boys?” The stranger was staring down at the two bodies sprawled out in the snow, then turned to Jud -- there was an odd little tilt to his head, as if he were seeing the young deputy for the first time. “Y’all said you came from Carson City?” he asked.
“That I do.”
“Mind if I ask your name?”
“Jud Saunders...Deputy Jud Saunders, if’n you please.” Now it was his turn to give odd looks. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” The stranger removed a coil of rope hanging from his saddle horn and said, “We’d better round up them horses before they get too far off.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:35:18 GMT -5
Kendrick had managed to snag his ride as he high-tailed it away from there, but the other two horses were still milling about nearby. Jud commandeered one of them to make up for the one he’d lost, while the stranger hoisted the pair of corpses onto the other and tied them down. He did this in silence, though he did steal a glance Jud’s way from time to time, looking quickly away whenever the deputy returned the gaze. Jud couldn’t fathom this strange behavior, nor could he figure out why the stranger still kept his face hidden, even going so far as to pull his white drover’s hat a little lower over his eyes. Leave the man be, Jud told himself. He saved your sorry hide, ain’t that enough?
“That should do it,” the stranger said, finally breaking the silence. He tugged at one of the knots he’d made, then looked over at Jud...though Jud noticed that the man still tried to avoid direct eye contact. “Reckon it’ll hold ‘til you get back to Carson City.”
“You’re not comin’ along?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Got other places to be, eh?” Jud took the horse’s reins when the stranger offered them, then tethered it to the horse he’d be riding. “Not surprisin’, bein’ Christmas and all. Probably got family waitin’ on you.”
“N-no, I...I don’t have any family ‘round here. Not anymore.” His voice had become a bit strained. “I...used to. I grew up out here. But now...now it’s just me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No, of course you didn’t. How could you have?” The stranger turned towards the open landscape, saying, “It’s my own fault, anyhow. I should’ve known better than to come out this way, but...it gets lonely, especially around the holidays. I just...I wanted to see something familiar, to spend some time in a place I used to know so well.”
“I know the feeling.”
The stranger turned around. “You do?”
Jud nodded. “First few years I spent out West were some of the loneliest of my life...and Christmas was the worst. I’d see folks with their friends and family, and it reminded me that everybody I knew was a couple thousand miles away. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about gettin’ on a train and goin’ back to Connecticut just so I could see a familiar face.”
“What stopped you?”
He let out a chuckle. “I’d remember how damn boring Connecticut was. So I toughed it out, and eventually I settled down in Carson City and made a lot of new friends. I still miss my old home sometimes, but not as often as I used to.”
“I had a place like that for a while, but after a couple months, I just...it wasn’t right for me anymore. I think about goin’ back there every now and then, but I just ain’t ready yet.” The stranger shook his head. “Reckon I’m afraid of gettin’ too settled.”
Again, Jud nodded. He’d met other men like that: rootless, wandering souls, incapable of staying in one town for more than a few days before the road called to them once more. Before he met Kitty, Jud thought he might end up doing the same, and his heart went out to the stranger. He put a hand on the man’s arm and said, “Listen, I know I ain’t exactly family, but you did save my life, and there ain’t no way I’m gonna let the man who saved my life spend Christmas Eve alone. So why don’t you come on back to Carson City with me, at least long enough for me to buy you a drink?”
The stranger didn’t respond at first, instead looking down at the snowy ground. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met Jud’s directly for the first time, and the deputy was surprised at the odd note of familiarity he saw there. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but there was something about the stranger’s eyes that Jud knew he’d seen before. “I...I’d like that,” he said haltingly.
Jud clapped the man on the shoulder, smiling. “Well, alright then, let’s get a move-on.” They saddled up and headed northeast, their horses crunching through the virgin snow. It was getting near sunset when they finally reached town, but the main street was still bustling with folk. Many wished the deputy a Merry Christmas as they rode past, and few said that he should’ve tied a ribbon ‘round the Barrowman boys before hauling their carcasses in. Jud joked back that he was simply helping Saint Nicholas sort out the naughty from the nice. The stranger held his tongue through it all, his attention seeming to be fixed more on the town itself. Jud caught his eye and said, “Think you could get used to the place?”
“Probably best if I don’t,” he replied. An odd answer, in Jud’s opinion, but he brushed it off with barely a second thought as they brought their horses to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office.
The other deputy, a fellow by the name of Grayling, stepped out as the two men dismounted. He let out a whistle and said, “Damnation, son, I was expectin’ a live one, not two dead ‘uns.”
“Things got complicated. In fact, I’m damn lucky I got back in one piece,” Jud said. “How’s Burkiss?”
“Don’t look good: them bullet wounds went septic. Doc says he doesn’t think the sheriff will make it to New Year’s...but at least you got the bastards that killed him afore he passes on himself.”
“Well, to be honest, it wasn’t all me. If’n this fella hadn’t shown up and...” He started to point to the stranger; then realized he wasn’t standing there anymore. Jud looked down the street and saw him leading the corpse-laden horse over to the undertaker’s. Man won’t even stand around and take credit, he thought.
Someone called out Jud’s name, and he turned to see Kitty Wilcox heading up the boardwalk towards him, saying, “Where have you been? I thought you would’ve been back hours ago.” Then she saw his bloodied arm and paled. “My God, are you okay?”
“I’m a lot better now, darlin’.” He wrapped his arms tightly around her and gave her a kiss, thankful that he was still alive to do such things. “Had me one Hell of a scare, but the Good Lord was watchin’ out for me.”
Kitty pulled back a little and looked up at him, a note of worry in her eyes. “You should go see the doc so he can clean you up before that gets any worse. Did you hear about the sheriff?”
“That I did. Damn shame, he’s too good a man to go down like that.” He smiled at her and said, “But don’t you worry ‘bout me, I’m young and I’m as tough as they come. I ain’t gonna let a little scratch like this take me out.”
“You’d better not.” They kissed again, then they realized someone was watching them from the street -- the stranger had returned from the undertaker’s. Kitty turned to the man and said, “Are you enjoyin’ the show?”
“I-I’m sorry,” the stranger said, and quickly removed his hat, revealing a head of hair as black as Jud’s own. “I was just...I...oh Lord.” Though the bandana still covered most of his face, a blush could be seen forming on the tops of his cheeks.
“Ease up, Kitty, this fella’s the reason I’m still breathin’.” Jud gestured for the stranger to join them up on the boardwalk, saying, “Let me introduce you to...” He fumbled as he realized that he didn’t even know the man’s name.
“Smith will do fine,” the stranger said, then nodded to Kitty. “Very nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Kitty, who had always possessed a sharp tongue, said to him, “Do you always hide your face in the presence of ladies, Mr. Smith?”
The stranger looked down sheepishly, and Jud was about to apologize to him, but then the stranger reached up and removed the bandana. The man appeared to be a few years older than Jud, but what struck the deputy most was that odd note of familiarity again. It was more than just the eyes now, it was everything about the man’s face, like something half-remembered from a dream. “I’m sorry if I seemed rude,” the stranger said quietly, “but I just...I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Maybe it’d be better if I...”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” Jud interrupted. He didn’t know why, but the thought of this stranger leaving already didn’t sit right with him. “I promised you a drink, and I’m gonna deliver on it.”
“After you see the doc,” Kitty told Jud, then added in a softer tone, “Please, I don’t want you gettin’ sick too.”
“I ain’t gonna get sick, I swear,” Jud said, but there was no denying the look in her eyes. “Okay, I’ll go see the doc...reckon I should be the one to tell Burkiss ‘bout the Barrowmans, anyhow.” He gave Kitty a peck on the cheek, then said, “Why don’t you take the good Mr. Smith over to the church? The party should be startin’ pretty soon.”
“Party?” the stranger echoed. “You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout a party.”
“I didn’t? Well, it must have slipped my mind.” Jud grinned as he left the two of them, saying, “You treat my gal nice ‘til I get back!”
Kitty turned to the stranger, whose face still looked a mite flush. “I take it you’re not very comfortable in social situations?” she asked.
“Normally, I’m just fine, but this...” He put his hat back on, pulling it low once more. “It’s hard to explain.”
She placed a hand on his arm and looked up at him. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want...but I would like it if you could escort me to the church.”
“I think I can manage that.” They made their way down the street until they reached the whitewashed building near the center of town. Many other folk were already outside the church, smiling and calling out greetings to Kitty before passing through the open doors. The stranger paused at the foot of the steps as he took in the sight. “It looks just like I remember it,” he said under his breath.
Kitty regarded him. “Beg pardon?”
The stranger cleared his throat, then said, “When I was...where I grew up, the town church looked a lot like this one.” He gestured to the roof. “The steeple was a bit dif’rent, though, with a bigger bell...”
“They’ve been talkin’ about gettin’ a bigger one for ours, but they haven’t come up with enough money yet.” The two of them started up the stairs, and Kitty asked him, “Whereabouts did you grow up, Mr. Smith?”
“Not far from here, actually.” A small smile came to his lips as they passed through the doorway, which was festooned with ribbons and green boughs. “Matter of fact, you could probably mistake one town for the other, they’re so much alike.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:36:41 GMT -5
The long benches that served as pews had been moved aside for the night, and sawbuck tables brought in, which had in turn been laden with food and drink of every sort. All the different aromas mingled together, creating a scent that brought to one’s mind memories of Christmases past, of warmth and love and family. Some people hopped from one table to the next in an effort to sample the entire board of fare, while others headed directly for a particular favorite. Every so often, a child would pop out from under one of the tables and sneak another candied fruit or piece of pie from under the noses of their parents. At the back end of the church, where the pastor would stand for Sunday service, an impromptu trio had set up: guitar, piano, and fiddle, playing holiday music more-or-less in concert with one another. As they helped themselves to some of food, Kitty saw that the stranger’s attention kept returning to the musicians, and that he winced once or twice at a sour note. “I’ll admit, they’re not the best, but they do try,” she told him. “Perhaps later on I can take a turn at the piano -- Mrs. Danville has been givin’ me lessons, and she says I’m the best student she’s ever had.”
The stranger’s face seemed to light up at the suggestion, and he set his tin plate down on a nearby table, saying, “Why wait?” He took her by the hand and led her over to the musicians -- the gentlemen were grateful for the chance at a break, yielding the floor to the two newcomers. Kitty took a seat on the piano bench, and he asked, “Do you know ‘Deck the Halls’?”
“A little...but I don’t think I could do it proper.”
“Maybe with some help...” To her surprise, the stranger took up the guitar that one of the men had set down and began picking out the melody slowly, giving her time to settle into the rhythm herself, the sound of their mutual instruments meshing together perfectly. Many at the party stopped to listen to them, and soon voices were lifted up in song, the refrain of fa-la-las bouncing off the walls of the church. When the song was finsihed, Kitty was startled by the sudden applause that filled the air. Unsure of what else to do, she stood up and gave them a small curtsey, then turned to the stranger, and was shocked to see tears on his cheeks. “Mr. Smith? Are you alright?” she asked.
“Fine...I’m fine,” he said, and wiped at the tears. “It’s just that I was rememberin’ how we...” He swallowed hard, and then said, “When I was little, my grandma would sit me next to her while she played piano. I didn’t understand at the time how to play, but she’d let me...she’d let me hit the keys, even when she was in the middle of a song.” He looked at her, his eyes red. “By the time I knew how to really play an instrument, she was gone, and I...I always wanted to play with her for real. Just once.”
She smiled at him. “I’m sure she’d be proud of how talented you are now.”
“You have no idea how much that means to me.” He smiled back and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, Mrs. Saunders.”
She laughed and said, “I’m flattered...but it’s actually Miss Wilcox. Jud and me aren’t even engaged.”
“Give it time.” He looked over at the crowd and called out, “You are plannin’ on marryin’ this gal, right, deputy?”
Some of the people gathered ‘round laughed a bit as Jud stepped towards the two of them, his injured arm now in a sling. “That I am,” he replied, “so you’d best move away from her a bit.” He gave Kitty a kiss of his own, then said to her, “This ain’t exactly what I had in mind when I left.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of comin’ between you two,” the stranger said as he set the guitar back down. “Your lovely lady was just helpin’ me spread some Christmas cheer.”
“Well, I’ll let it go this time,” Jud said with a smirk, then reached into his coat and pulled out a flask. “In the meantime, I do believe I owe you a drink.”
“Jud Saunders, what has gotten into you?” Kitty said when she saw it. “If the preacher catches you with that in his church...”
“He’ll probably ask for a nip,” Jud finished. “The man ain’t a saint, you know.”
“I don’t care. If you two are gonna get liquored up, you’d best do it outside.” She clucked her tongue. “Bringin’ alcohol into the church...and on Christmas Eve, yet.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:37:24 GMT -5
The two men made their way to the front of the church, leaving Kitty by the piano -- by the time they stepped outside, she had started up on “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, with some of the folk singing along once more. “I will admit, hearin’ you and her play like that was something else,” Jud told the stranger. “I saw a guitar stickin’ out of your saddlebag, but I never would’ve figured you was that good.”
“I’m just full of surprises.” He took the flask when Jud offered, and knocked back a mouthful of whiskey -- night had set in, and the alcohol cut right through the chill in the air. “I should thank you for talkin’ me into comin’ back here with you. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, but this...this was good. Better’n I could’ve dreamed.”
“Could make it permanent, if’n you’re up for it.” The stranger cocked an eyebrow, and Jud continued, “Me and Burkiss had a talk when I went up to see him. The man ain’t stupid, he knows he ain’t got much longer, and he said that he wants me to take over for him.” Jud paused to take a pull off the flask himself. “I told him he was crazy, I’ve only been deputized for ‘bout a year -- and that was supposed to be a temporary thing, mind you -- but he said that he’d rather I take the job then Grayling, ‘cause I’ve got more sand, and you need a lot of it to be sheriff.” He then looked the stranger in the eye and said, “You also need good men under you, and I think you fit that bill.”
The stranger didn’t reply right off. His gaze went up to the stars glittering in the clear night sky overhead and stayed there for a good minute or so. Then he let out a shuddering sigh and told Jud, “I want to say ‘yes’ so badly. I want to stay here and make this place my home...but I can’t, because if I do, I know I’ll foul things up.”
“You ain’t gonna foul up nothin’.” He laid a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “I don’t know why, but ever since I ran into you, it’s felt like you’re hidin’ something from me, like you’re afraid. Whatever it is, it don’t make one lick of dif’rence to me, understand? You’re a good man, and fast with a gun, and that’s all I’m concerned with.”
“It means a lot to me, you sayin’ that, but it don’t change that fact that I can’t stay here. I’d tell you why, but you’d never believe me.”
“Give it a shot. I’ll decide for myself how believable it is.”
The stranger took another drink and appeared to mull it over. Jud waited patiently, wondering just what secret would keep this man from accepting his offer, but then the stranger let out another sigh and said, “No...no, it’s better if you don’t know, or at least safer. I will tell you this, though: this night has been one of the best I’ve had in a long time, and I ain’t never gonna forget it.” A smile came to his lips, full of warmth and good humor despite the sadness in his eyes, and then to Jud’s surprise, the man embraced him -- it was brief, but the fact that it happened at all took Jud off-guard. When the stranger finally let go, he said to Jud, “I’m damn glad I got the chance to meet you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” he answered, too stunned to think of any other response.
This apparently struck the stranger as funny, and he let out a chuckle. Once it passed, he said, “Reckon I should be headin’ on out while I’m still sober...Lord knows what’ll pop outta my mouth if I get drunk.” He glanced back through the open doors of the church, lingering on the far-off image of Kitty as she played. “Can you say goodbye to her for me? I don’t think I can do it right now without breakin’ down. And tell her to keep practicin’, ‘cause she...she’s good.” The man bit his lower lip.
“I will.” Jud regarded him for a moment, then said, “You sure you want to go? I mean, its past dark and all. Why don’t you check in at the hotel and...”
“No, I’m gonna go...I’m gonna go.” The stranger talked like he was trying to convince himself. He sniffled, then looked at Jud, saying, “You take real good care of this place, y’hear? ‘Cause I’ll be back, and I don’t want to find out that you slacked off.”
“I promise, no slackin’ off,” he said, then offered the stranger his hand. “You have a Merry Christmas, Mr. Smith.”
“It’s Greg,” he said suddenly. “Call me Greg.”
“Alright...Merry Christmas, Greg.” They shook hands, then the man turned and began to make his way down the street, back to where he’d left his horse. Jud watched until the man disappeared into the darkness, then he went back into the church. Kitty and the others had made it up to twelfth day and were working their way back down the list, and Jud stood to the side waiting for them to finish the song. Once they were done, he took a seat next to her on the piano bench and put his good arm around her waist. “You sound wonderful tonight,” he told her.
“Thanks.” She glanced about, then said, “Where’s your drinkin’ buddy?”
“He had to go...I think all the attention was makin’ him uncomfortable.”
“It’s a shame, he seemed like such a nice man.” She paused, then said, “This might sound strange, but there was something awful familiar about him.”
“I was thinkin’ the same.” He shrugged slightly, saying, “I dunno, some folks have those sort of faces that just kind of look like everybody.”
“No, he was a somebody... I just can’t think of who.” She smiled at him. “So...did you mean what you said earlier? About marryin’ me?”
“Maybe I did. Do you think you’ll still want to marry me if’n I become sheriff?”
Kitty’s eyes widened, then she smiled once again and kissed him full on the lips. It was all the answer Jud Saunders needed.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:38:13 GMT -5
The moonlight gave the snow all around him an ethereal glow as he rode his horse away from Carson City. There was such a strong temptation to turn back, to trot his horse right up to the church and run inside and tell Jud that he’d take the job and stand by the man as his deputy through thick and thin...but he couldn’t do it, for there would always be that other temptation, to speak the truth, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
But he did ask me, he thought, his heart leaping at the notion. He barely knew me, but he trusted me enough to ask me. He stopped his mount and looked back at the town in the distance one last time, thinking of how much bigger it would get over the next half-century. He thought of Kitty, her beautiful chestnut hair long faded to gray, sitting at the piano and trying to teach him the scales while he fidgeted like all toddlers do. He thought of Jud, who only existed in sepia-toned photographs that his father would show him as he related how the man had single-handedly brought down the Barrowman boys, then topped it off by shooting Bill Kendrick between the eyes with a single shot from his Peacemaker three months later. Most of all, he thought of home, and how much he missed it...and how wonderful it was to get a glimpse of it again, if only for one night.
“Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa,” Greg Saunders whispered.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:40:23 GMT -5
29 Palms [/i][/u] (Featuring Deadshot) Written by: John Elbe Edited by: Brian Burchette[/center] |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:41:26 GMT -5
It comes kinda hard when I hear your voice on the radio
Taking me back down the road that leads back to you
29 Palms - I feel the heat of your desert heart
Taking me back down the road that leads back to you
Robert Plant ~ 29 Palms.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:42:41 GMT -5
Forty minutes after his flight landed at LAX, Floyd Lawton was on the road. He drove two hours east on Highway 62 until it turned into 29 palms highway. Just outside of town sat a run down bar called The Stumps Pub. Floyd pulled into the graveled parking lot where he had the best view of the entrance. He then pulled out a photo from his jacket pocket and studied it before setting it back down on the seat next to him.
The desert air was warm and dry and on this December twenty-fourth and there was a slight breeze blowing through the Yucca Valley. Floyd hardly took notice as he lit another cigarette and watched closely as people shuffled in and out of the bar. After waiting nearly an hour he finally saw the man he was looking for enter the bar. Floyd took another drag of his cigarette before exiting the vehicle and made his way toward the entrance.
Floyd paused just inside the bar and glared at the large sign that hung over the entrance:
MESS WITH THE BEST, DIE LIKE THE REST!
It didn’t surprise him due to the fact that the city of Twentynine Palms, California was home to the world’s largest Marine base and this was popular hangout for jarheads. Floyd had nothing against the Marines or any other branch of the military for that matter. He did have a problem with a hypocritical government that sent soldiers off to die in meaningless wars and then turn to people like him to clean up the mess afterward. But he rarely allowed his personal opinions to interfere with a job. Death was a business and it usually didn’t matter to him who was footing the bill. But tonight had nothing to do with business. Tonight this was personal whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Damn you Addie. Floyd thought as he made his way to the bar, I should have flown to Vegas like I do every Christmas Eve.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:44:17 GMT -5
A few days ago…[/i]
“Now that it’s all over, there’s nothing keeping you here.” Adeline Kane said as she sat across from him in her office.
“There was nothing keeping me here in the first place.” Floyd casually responded.
Adeline rolled her eyes, “It will be Christmas in a few days.”
Floyd looked up and smiled at her. “I usually spend Christmas in Vegas with a girl named Holly… if she’s working that night.”
“Holly huh? That’s cute Floyd but Christmas is a time for family.”
“ Really Addie? And which of your children will be at your house to open presents under the tree huh? Perhaps Slade will even drop by and…” He paused when she began to clench her fist and scowl at him. “Doesn’t matter to me none, all of my family is dead.”
“You sure about that?” She slid a file across her desk at him. “Perhaps you might be interested in making a detour first this year.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:45:17 GMT -5
As Floyd sat at the bar the man next to him continued to argue with the bartender.
“It's a free country,” The man yelled out to the bartender.
“Tell me about it," the bartender yelled back. "I was in 'Nam. You didn't do jack in Saudi.”
“Just pour me another drink old man.” The man reached out and toasted the shot glass in Floyd’s direction before quickly downing it, “Oorah.”
Floyd decided he was being far too reasonable early and he quickly began to despise Marines. But he sat silently at the bar as the man continued to drink and harass the bartender. After several minutes the man looked over at Floyd, “You ain’t from around here are you?”
Floyd nodded, “No, just passing through.”
“Well it’s a good thing because this used to be a proud town! PROUD OF ITS MARINES!” The man stumbled a bit as he turned to face Floyd. “But not anymore, no sir-ee. I ask you…who do we have to kill to get some freakin’ respect around here anymore?” The stood up and nearly fell over.
The bartender shouted toward Floyd from the other end of the bar “I’ll clear your tab if you get that guy out of here. He lives just a few blocks back that way.” He pointed behind him.
Without saying a word Floyd downed his drink and reached out for the man that was slowly sliding off his stool. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t need your pity or your help.” His arm swung out toward Floyd.
“It wasn’t a request.” Floyd pulled him up and pushed him toward the door.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:47:17 GMT -5
A few days earlier…
“What the hell is this?” Floyd Lawton yelled out as he tossed the file back at Adeline.
“You read it. You tell me.” She sat back and smiled.
“Do you really think I give a crap that my father slept around and got another woman pregnant?”
“Well do you?” She asked.
“Doesn’t make that idiot my brother, “ He pointed down at the photo on the desk, “I only had one brother and he’s dead.”
Adeline took a deep breath before standing up and walking toward Floyd, “Sweetie we’ve spent a lot of time together lately and I think its fair to say that I know you pretty well by now. Perhaps better then you do. Try as you might you weren’t always a psychotic killer without a conscience. In fact at one time you cared for people more then you’d like to admit.”
“Addie I could care less about what you…” Floyd shot up out of his chair
“Just shut up and listen for one damn minute ok?” She pointed his finger at him as he slowly sat back down. “You may not care that this man is your half brother but you might be interested to know that he married your high school sweetheart.”
Floyd began to object but stopped himself when she flipped open another file and he saw her face. “Damn it Addie! What are you playing at here?”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:48:11 GMT -5
Floyd Lawton took the man to his car and tossed him the passenger seat and proceeded to drive him home. He wasn’t sure what to expect this evening but it certainly wasn’t this. He began to loath Addie for convincing him that this was a good idea.
“You think I am drunk and can’t find my own way, don’t you?” The man mumbled under his breath as Floyd drove away, “But I found my own way. I got out of that town and made something of myself kind of like you Floyd.” Floyd glanced over at him unable to hide the surprised look on his face. “That’s right Lawton, I know you. I know who you are sure enough.”
“Well, I don’t know you so why don’t you keep your mouth shut before I shut it for you.” Floyd responded back. The man continued to grumble under his breath for the rest of the drive.
Several minutes later Floyd walked the man to his apartment door and rang the bell. He left the man leaning against the door and proceeded to head back down the stairs. When he reached the bottom he heard a voice call out to him from the top of the stairs. “Hey mister, wait!”
Floyd slowly turned as a young girl came running down the stairs after him. “What do want kid?”
The girl looked up at him smirking from ear to ear. “You’re him aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about kid but you better get back inside before your mommy comes looking for you.”
“It’s ok she’s inside yelling at my dad for coming home drunk again.” Her smirk quickly turned into a frown, “He was suppose to bring home the presents to put under the tree from Santa but he didn’t.”
Floyd wanted to leave but found the girl blocking his way. “There’s no such thing as Santa Claus kid.”
She quickly put both hands on her hips and glared up at him, “I know that already silly. I am eight years old you know.”
Floyd was kind of taken a back by her seriousness, “Well good for you. Life is full of disappointments.” She said nothing but continued to stare at him. He could clearly see that she had her mother’s eyes.
“You’re him aren’t you?” She asked curiously.
“I don’t…”
“My mommy keeps a picture of you in secret but a couple of times I saw it. She sometimes cries herself to sleep with it in her hands. That mostly happens when daddy is away.”
Floyd thought for a long moment before responding, “Sorry kid. It’s not me.” Floyd went to move her out of the way when she reached out and hugged him. He took his one arm and patted her on the back and then lifted her out of the way with his other. He then leaned down in front of her. “What’s your name kid?”
“Constance Marie but everyone calls me Connie.”
“Well Constance, you better head back inside. It’s late and I have to go.” The little girl said nothing as Floyd turned and headed back down the street.
“Merry Christmas” She yelled out as she watched him get in the car and drive off. Once the car turned the corner she hurried and ran back inside.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:48:55 GMT -5
A few days earlier…
Addie looked at Floyd and smiled, “I am not playing at anything Floyd. I just thought you’d like to know what happened once you left Gotham City all those years ago.”
“I could care less!”
“See, you keep saying that but I don’t think that’s true. Otherwise why did you have an affair with your wife’s sister and make plans to run away with her. You two were madly in love. But that didn’t work out quiet the way you planned did it, not when her family found out.”
“That’s ancient history.”
“Maybe to you but do you know what happened to her after you left? Her family disowned her for disgracing the family. About that time your brother discovered who his real father was but it was too late to confront him, he was already dead at the hands of your other brother.”
“Adeline, if you have a point, make it, because I am…”
“The point is while you were busy hiding from your past, your brother and the love of your life met one night and decided to leave town together. Five months later their daughter was born. She never told him who the father was and he never asked.”
Floyd had had enough. He stood up and gathered the file off of the desk. He said nothing as he headed out the door.
“Merry Christmas Floyd.” Addie said, as she looked over at the photo of her sons on her desk, “You miserable bastard.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:49:31 GMT -5
The following morning when Constance woke she remembered it was Christmas and quickly threw the covers off her and jumped out of bed. As she frantically searched for her robe and slippers she also remembered her mommy and daddy fighting last night when they thought she was already asleep. She heard her mommy scream at him for taking the money they had saved for presents and spent it all playing cards and drinking.
She gave up on her robe and slippers and slowly walked down the hall towards the living room with her head hung low. She began to scream when she reached the living room.
Still half asleep her mother went racing into the room to see what was going on. She saw Constance tripping over presents that overflowed from under the tree. The young girl quickly grabbed a present and looked at the tag and then just as quickly threw it down and picked up another, “He’s real Mommy! He’s real! They’re all from Santa Claus! He’s real.” Her mother smiled unsure of what to make of what had happened but instead of questioning it, she enjoyed watching her daughter dance around the tree.
In the other room Derrick Murphy slowly began to stir. He thought about yelling out to tell Constance to quiet down but decided that he was too hung over. He rolled over in bed and saw a small card folded in half on the nightstand next to him. With one eye open he reached out and grabbed it. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to make out what it said. “What the hell?” He muttered as he sat up and looked at it again.
START TAKING BETTER CARE OF THEM OR I WILL COME BACK AND KILL YOU NEXT TIME.
MERRY CHRISTMAS –
YOUR BROTHER
END.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:51:38 GMT -5
The Christmas Trail [/b] Written by: Don Walsh Edited by: Brian Burchette[/center] |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:53:14 GMT -5
Chapter one:
(With credit and apologies to the Royal Guardsmen)
The news had come during the First World War.
The Enemy Ace was flying once more.
The allied command ignored all of its men.
And called on Steve Savage to get the job done.
Steven Henry Savage and the men of his air unit had been hard-pressed these last few weeks. The Germans had been struggling mightily to make gains in the war, actually accomplishing a surprising forty mile push across the western front. It was that advance that rattled the Entente powers, and found Savage and his men being shuttled from one section of the front to another in rapid succession. They knew what they had in the “Balloon Buster” and he gave it his all.
He'd earned his nickname, indeed, his actions christened a small but dedicated group of daredevil fliers, by targeting the German observation balloons. Floating on high above the battlefields, cabled to the ground below, they offered a superior vantage point for focusing artillery. Filled with explosive hydrogen, large and slow, they were a tempting target to enemy aircraft, but this was countered by a large screen of anti-aircraft artillery and defending pilots, which turned an easy target into a grist mill of blood and smashed wood. Very few pilots would take the offering, and of these balloon busters, Steven Savage was the best.
That was what found him soaring up into the late afternoon skies over western France, huddled into his thick leather jacket and wrapped into his scarf against the bitter cold. He'd split off from his wingmen when he spotted what seemed to be the familiar red blip against the slate-gray clouds. He gave a tight, grim grin as he homed in toward the target, eyes focused on the object almost to the exclusion of all else.
He released a burst of gunfire at the other plane, and moved in to try and secure the kill. He was too good a pilot to get caught up in the heat of the battle, and his focus was merely almost focused on his foe. Enough caught the blood-red tear fall from a low black cloud and plunge at his, firing a hail of steel-jacketed lead toward him, and giving him the chance to peel away at the very last second.
Rittmeister Hans Von Hammer, nobleman and dreaded scourge of the skies for Germany, tore through the darkening skies, firing again at his opponent as the bait craft of his squadron departed the field of combat. He'd done his job, and the Hammer from Hell had been very specific. He'd submit to this trap of the dreaded “Balloon Buster” if it were honorable one on one combat.
The two craft caromed and wheeled through the skies as Savage struggled to get out from the defensive posture he'd been forced into. The Enemy Ace was too dangerous, too commanding a warrior, to be kept on the defensive. Bullets cracked into the side of Savage's biplane, narrowly avoiding anything critical as he used all of his might and skill to pull the craft sharply toward his foe. The engine sputtered a moment, but the propeller refused to stop and Savage grinned wider now.
“Good ole Jenny. Keep at it,” he patted the craft and then reached for his own guns, responding in a desperate, but wicked line of bullets that forced Von Hammer to dip down deeper than he'd wanted. With an abbreviated sigh, Savage let himself calm down slightly. He'd leveled off the battle. Now to gain the upper hand.
Over and over the two planes spun and wheeled and cavorted in a deadly dance in the frozen skies, neither man able to hold the advantage for long. Savage's plane had caught a few more bullets, but harmlessly, and he returned some damage back at his foe.
What little light was weakly breaking through the clouds now dipped down low, threatening to leave the scene as if unable to watch any further. It grew colder and colder, the planes struggled harder as the two men became more and more relentless, determined and tense.
Savage pulled on the craft to bring himself up under his foe, at last having a beautiful shot. Von Hammer was done for now, and Savage gave a smile that lived up to his last name. But the craft refused to respond. He tugged on the controls, harder, and the plane creaked and groaned and protested.
“Ice!” Savage cursed into the frigid skies as he glanced around and saw the problems. Small chunks were collecting on his wings, freezing ailerons in place. “No!”
Von Hammer dropped down behind him now, his enemy's plane unable to pull away. Savage was desperately trying to recover control, but he knew instinctively what was happening behind him. Von Hammer was lining the sights up on his gun. Reaching for the trigger. Smiling in pure glee as he faced the moments when his foe would explode in flame and plunge to his death.
He struggled so mightily, he failed to notice the bells tolling out from the small village below. They rumbled across the slate-gray evening sky, but Savage didn't notice, didn't care. He finally got some response from his controls, but it wasn't in time, he knew it.
The bullets never came though. Instead, the Enemy Ace pulled his plane in close and forced Savage to turn his plane to the east. Several more times, Von Hammer brought his plane in close and soon Savage realized he was being directed to the other side of the Rhine. He wanted to refuse, to pivot away, but the controls of his plane just weren't sensitive enough anymore. At the best of times, Von Hammer's plane performed better in the air. This wasn't the best of times at all. Instead, he watched as Von Hammer forced Savage to land his plane down in a broad field near a farmhouse, landing his own plane nearby.
Savage leaped from his craft, reaching for his pistol. Maybe he was going to stay a prisoner of war, maybe he'd be executed, but no matter what, he refused to consider surrendering. He was going down a fighter.
Hans Von Hammer descended from his plane, hands out and open before him as his blood-red scarf fluttered in the stiff, cold breeze. Savage pointed his pistol at him, but stopped from firing at the strange gesture. Von Hammer raised his goggles and gazed back at Savage with a warm look.
“Frohe Weihnachten, mein Freund.” Savage stared at the unfamiliar words, and the Hammer from Hell repeated himself. “Merry Christmas, my friend.”
“What?”
“The bells have tolled the end of the day,” Von Hammer continued to explain as he slowly walked toward Savage. “Come. Into the farmhouse. It has been one of my refuges during this operation, and I would get warm, and I believe you would as well.”
Savage holstered his weapon, still in shock, but followed the baron to the ramshackle building. Abandoned at some point during the war, it was dusty, and tattered in places, but the kitchen still had a working cast-iron stove that soon provided both men with heat.
Savage had been so busy these past weeks, that the date had eluded him. He had no clue it was Christmas already. Not that they day had ever meant a whole lot to him. Not when a person came from the line of adventurers he'd come from.
“Merry Christmas,” Savage replied hesitantly. “You were trying to kill me. You set me up! And now...you expect me to just accept the idea that you're going to be all 'good host' and such?”
“Of course. Duty dictates we do our best to win this war for our homelands. That doesn't mean we should turn into monsters,” Von Hammer said as he stoked the fire up some more and then laid out some simple food on the table for each of them. “I shudder to think how much worse war could become if men do not keep some rules of proper conduct.” He then settled down at a chair and beckoned Savage to do the same. “You are a consummate warrior, Mr. Savage. I commend you on your skills. On this night of nights, killing is just wrong. I will not engage in it. As a fellow warrior of the Killer Skies, I would think you a man of honor as well, and accept that, in the face of our common enemy, it is only fitting we act accordingly.”
“Common enemy?” Savage replied, taking a taste of the bread he'd been offered.
“The Killer Skies,” Von Hammer repeated as if it would be obvious. Savage's nod and smirk proved the German right. “It is Christmas now. We shall break bread and salute this celebration of life in the midst of death, and observe the parallels to the conflict our people our engaged in, and go our separate ways to celebrate with our friends and family.”
“Yeah. Right,” Savage answered with far less commitment. He'd lost his father early, and the farmer who raised him had done well, but the family was poor. Christmas was a day when they didn't have to work the fields, but other chores were present. Christmas was just a day to Savage. That this...that the Hammer from Hell would...that the baron was like this made Savage look at the German with new eyes.
“Come. Tell me of your traditions, and I will tell you of mine, and we will enjoy the few hours of peace between us.”
And they did. They ate and they talked and Savage felt at ease through the dark hours as Von Hammer poured a rich wine and raised a toast to the holiday. As the wee dawn hours cracked the dark of night, Savage started to get some understanding of what Christmas could be about, even if he never had seen evidence of it before.
The two men walked from the farmhouse, each helping the other in turn prepare their planes for flight.
“Safe travels to you, Steven,” Von Hammer said as they prepared to part ways at last. “It has been an honor and a delight to host you this night.”
And Savage, our hero, saluted his host.
And then with a roar, they were both on their way.
Each knowing they'd meet on some other day.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:55:18 GMT -5
The Christmas Trail[/i]
Chapter two:
King Faraday pushed his way up through the snow, and brushed the thick heavy flakes from his face. He reached the large double-doors and rang the bell to announce his presence. He huddled up inside his overcoat as he waited for the door to open, and didn't have long.
“King, old bean!” Cyril Saunders said with that warm, welcoming smile of his. He pulled the door open wide and ushered the agent into the foyer. “Get in, get in, get warm. Let me take that,” he added as he closed the door then helped pull the coat and hung it up. “We're in the study, enjoying a little brandy to keep us warm for tonight. I'm very happy you could make it.”
Faraday was dressed comfortably, gray slacks and a dull blue turtleneck to keep him warm. He looked over his old friend and nodded at the vigorous welcome. He even let the corner of his mouth turn up. It was a long time since he'd been received so warmly.
Cyril led him down the hallway, past various busts and tapestries that hung from the walls. King couldn't help but noticed the way Saunders looked old. Not nearly as old as he should have looked. But so much older than Faraday himself. He let himself feel a twinge of guilt before brushing it aside.
The snow-topped former adventurer led Faraday into the study, a round room lined in books and filled with overstuffed furniture. “I believe you remember our other guest for tonight's endeavors?” Saunders asked.
The third man rose and reached out with his sturdy hand, lined in veins, to shake with the agent. Tall and lean, a bit hunched and with only a bare ring of pale blond hair left on his head. He was clad in a thick red shirt of plaid, and comfortable and well-worn denim jeans. “Faraday.”
“Steven Savage,” King replied as he shook the hand and took note of the much-less friendly welcome this time. Much more typical, especially with the last year's events. “Long time no see.”
Cyril handed each of them a glass of rich brandy in wide-bottomed crystal glasses and then poured one for himself.
“Yup. I'd ask how you're doing, but that's been pretty obvious,” Savage returned before sipping from his glass. “Still walking the Danger Trail clearly.”
“Gotta agree with Steve,” Cyril added as he pointed to a chair for the agent to use and sat down himself, straightening out the thick great sweatpants he wore. He tugged at the heavy cable-knit sweater and drank deep from his own glass. “It's not good to be there still. And this is me talking.” He chuckled, followed by his two guests, both of whom were very familiar with the great Saunders hunt for the trail those decades past.
“It's why I accepted your invitation this year, Speed,” Faraday replied as he sipped tepidly at the liquor. “It's pretty damned clear from...events this year as Steven hinted at...I need to get back to understanding why I keep in the game.”
“Well, I'm glad. Very glad, King,” Cyril said and raised his glass to him. “And I haven't been Speed in about...oh God, more years than I want to consider. But thanks.” He chuckled then drained the liquid and put his snifter on the table. He pulled himself slowly to his feet and grinned at the pair. “Well, it's just about that time, I'd say.”
“Been damn long time since my last go on this sleigh ride, that's for sure,” Steven said as he snatched the heavy leather aviator's jacket and slid on over his shoulders with a single smooth motion. Cyril picked up a heavy wool jacket and headed out with the other two, as Faraday plucked his overcoat from where it had been stored.
“Snow's heavier than ever, I see,” Saunders mused as he trudged through the piled drifts to the van. It stood large against the snowfall, waiting for the three figures patiently and at the ready before the garage. They clambered in, and it roared to life, Steven at the wheel and confidently easing the large vehicle onto the slippery, covered roads.
“Do you even see it yet?” Steven asked as he spared a glance up into the darkness. “I got nothing.”
“You just keep your eyes on the road, we'll handle the star-gazing,” Cyril told his friend with a chuckle. “Besides, you know how this works. There's one of us gonna find the trail tonight, and we all know who that is.”
Faraday shifted uncomfortably in his place behind the driver and passenger, and grumbled a bit. He let out a long slow breath, forced to admit the truth of Saunders' statement and looked up into the sky himself now.
“There it is,” Faraday murmured softly as he caught sight of the tiny winking light so high in the sky. His eyes softened and he smiled, then repeated the words in a softer, hushed tone. “There it is.” He looked at the surrounding streets and said, “Turn left here!”
“Left. Got it.” Savage tugged carefully at the wheel. Slowly, against the piling snow, the van pushed onward, the chill air biting at the vehicle's cabin, even against the heater, as Faraday directed them and Savage chauffeured them.
“Up ahead! I see it now!” Cyril called out and bounced a bit in his seat, more like a six year old child rather than an elderly man. Each year, he had the same thrill at this moment, and he would never give up on this night. Ever.
“Yup! See it too, pal,” Savage affirmed as he pulled the van up behind the broken down. The three men stepped from their car and pressed through the blizzard and up to the frozen heap of snow and metal. “'Scuse me, sir, can we be of help?”
Inside the small car was a scared man in hastily donned jacket and sweat clothes, while next to him was a gasping, squirming, crying woman, struggling to control her labor pains. Both were shivering, both were trapped and the man looked up at the sudden arrival and knock on the window like a startled animal.
“It's okay, we're here to help,” Faraday called out and the man slowly lowered the window.
“We have no money! Please don't hurt us! My wife, she's...”
“Yeah, giving birth. We know,” Saunders said with a sly smile, already over to the passenger side. “My name's Cyril, these are my friends, Steve and King. No really. King. His parents were kind of mean.” He winked at Faraday, who merely shook his head in disbelief. As old as he was, in the middle of a brutally cold blizzard with a woman on the verge of giving birth, and he never missed a beat to tease his friends.
“It's true, sir,” Faraday added as he walked up to the front of the car. “Engine stalled?” He looked at the stunned man and saw him nod his head. “Okay, well open the hood, and let me see what I can do for you. Speed...Cyril, he's going to help your wife, Steven and I are going to get your car taken care of.”
“Don't...don't I know you? You look familiar,” the man said as he did as instructed, and the hood catch let go with an audible noise.
“He might be. He's got one of them faces,” Steven said with a grin of his own. “What's your name, pal?”
“Jim. My wife...she's Margaret, we're...she's...”
“Don't try to explain. No offense, but after years of this, we've heard 'em all, and there's nothing to surprise us. We're going to get your wife to the van, Cyril, he's gonna help you and her out on the way. I'll be your pilot for the night. No better hands to trust your trip to than these babies,” Steven said as he handed a toolbox from the van to Faraday. “He's going to get your car going and he'll follow us to the hospital, so you just leave the keys in the ignition, 'k?”
“But...I mean, how do I...who are you people? Can we trust you?” Jim asked as he watched Cyril aid Margaret out of the car. All three men now helped her to the van and got her comfortable into the rear.
“Just consider us your three wise men,” Cyril winked, and gave off that mischievous grin of his. “On Christmas Eve, how can you go wrong thinking like that, right?”
“I...I guess,” Jim answered as he followed his wife and Cyril into the van.
“You got this, Faraday?” Steven asked as he watched the agent work on the engine.
“Yes. I do. Thanks. You go and take care of them, they need it. I'll be right along.”
“Good luck.” Steven headed up into the driver's seat of the van and turned the key. “Hold on tight, next stop, St. Eligius!” The van pulled back out into the storm, soon vanishing from Faraday's sight.
Soon, the car's engine turned over and Faraday squeezed into the driver's seat. It had been a long time since he'd realized how much bigger he was than the average person. Running the Trail, and hanging with the metahumans does that to you, he thought ruefully. Slowly, cautiously, he drove the car out onto the street. Where is the hospital? Where is anything? Damned storm, not even sure where the trail led to this time He looked up and there was the small winking light, and he smiled again, and relaxed and headed out into the dark.
Soon, he pulled into the parking lot, next to the van, before the imposing brick structure lit up powerfully bright against the dark storm. Faraday stepped out of the car and headed into the main entrance of the hospital, quickly ferreting out Saunders and Savage, who were seated to one side, chatting.
“Everything good on your end?” Faraday asked.
“Smooth as silks, Faraday,” Savage answered with a thumb's up. “Cyril didn't even have to deliver this one.”
Saunders laughed and nodded. “True, too true. Thank goodness, the arthritis is eating up my knuckles something fierce tonight. I told the desk nurse about the situation, you can leave Jim's keys with her, then we'll meet you out back.”
Faraday joined them out in the back of the building, and headed out into the field in the rear. They strolled down the hill, following the small, winking light as it grew brighter, and drew lower to the ground. Faraday smoked and Savage sipped from a flask, and Saunders, he couldn't stop chatting about the last few Christmas Eves. He caught them up on the St. Clouds, and Richard, and David, they all laughed when they remembered Rima's first time in this snow, and the warmth carried them to the flat rolling field, far from the hospital, far from nearly anything.
The light drew closer, and a steady whining noise cut through the wind. The blood-red triplane rolled up near them and Hans Von Hammer dropped down and faced his old comrades.
There was silence, save for the howling wind. It tugged at the collars of the three older men, and Cyril's age showed as he hunkered down deep to try and stay warm. The excitement of the night had worn on him and he had grown tired, but this...this was the final part of the night, and he'd be damned if he would miss it.
The three men faced the Enemy Ace for several minutes, and he remained untouched by the snow and the wind and smiled back at the three 'magi'.
Then Steven Savage snapped him a salute, and Hans Von Hammer answered it smartly before climbing back into his plane, and roaring off into the Killer Skies, a small, blinking light blazing against the dark.
And the three men turned and started the long walk back to their car, arms on shoulders and talked more of the old days and the times they faced, and the lost friends, and vanished villains.
And King Faraday let himself really smile and remember what it was all for.
Merry Christmas!
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:57:17 GMT -5
“Unanswered” [/b] Written by: House Of Mystery Edited by: Brian Burchette[/center] |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:58:37 GMT -5
“‘T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house,” his blue trench coat, old and worn, recently removed from storage, whipped about him, though wrapped tightly around his body, as the wind howled up here, in the highest echelons of the city. He smiled, and tipped his fedora, also recently recovered, over his eyes, as the first snow of a Hub City winter began to whisper down from the sky above, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
He spent the night before Christmas differently to other nights of the year. Instead of sitting at home with a cold beer and a pile of newspapers, or leaping across the rooftops, or meditating, or even sitting in the small Jazz club that played his favorite songs until the early hours with a glass of scotch on his table, he stood on the roof of the tallest building in the city, and he looked at the stars as they twinkled so brightly above him, and he just… Thought. He thought about the questions that had been left unanswered from the year before, he thought about the answers he had fought for, and the questions he could ask tomorrow, and he thought… Will next year be any better than the one he was standing in as it died around him?
Hub City was a strange little city. He had spoken at length with friends about the nature of the place, how it was not really a place you wanted to live in, but a transitory space, somewhere you could pass through. A hub of all things. If you were any other person, you could find anything if you looked close enough for them in Hub City. But for this man? Like rays of light in front of him, he couldn’t grab them. His answers weren’t tangible, they were elusive, and he hated that.
He had come so far since last year. He had overcome the odds. He had overcome the original enemy of all living things. And he had survived; if you could call it that.
His cell phone blared for a moment, that irritating default ring tone that you cringe at if you hear on the street coming from a stranger’s pocket. He growled lowly to himself, realizing that he had forgotten to place the settings of his new phone to vibrate. If he had been stealth-ing about at that moment in time in the shadows of some warehouse, some lair, he thought, then he would have just been found. And probably shot. He didn’t like being shot. Never had.
“Charlie,” came the voice, all too familiar, “I have news, interesting things. Whispers.”
“Speak to me,” replied Charlie Szasz. “Low and soft.”
“First, my boy, sorry for interrupting your ruminations. I know how you spend your Christmas’, even though I hate for you to see you waste those specials hours alone.”
“This day is as normal as any other. Don’t let the commercial cloak-and-dagger plays distract you from that. Secondly?”
“Hub City has a stranger roaming the streets. Someone with nothing but death on his mind and the means to deliver it. I have a name and a target, but nothing else. I hit up all the usual suspects for more information, but I came up empty, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” replied Charles, as he opened the door leading down to the stairwell that would empty out on the cold Hub City streets. He held the cell phone close to his ear, and shot down the stairs until he reached an elevator. He pressed the button, and the doors opened instantly. Good. “Details.”
“Marcus Bridge is the target, and Germaine Paul the assassin. He’s new blood with plenty to prove. Though un-enhanced like most Intergang clean-up. He wants to be old school. ”
“Bridge,” whispered Charles, the name playing across his tongue, “the Intergang leak?”
“Indubitably.”
“I have his address in my notebook, I’ll head there, you contacted the police?”
“I’m a dead man, remember, Charles? My words would fall on deaf ears. As per the agreement we have. He has an armed guard on his residence anyway.”
“An armed guard on his residence and on his family.”
Ping.
The elevator reached the underground parking lot. His black 1967 Chevy Impala sat in the shadows, waiting the turn of the key to make its engines purr. He had a friend from Las Vegas chauffer it back to the Hub, and he had paid for said friends return ticket home. It was good to be back in the driving seat. The car roared as it shot out on the empty streets, and headed west, to the suburbs.
The good thing about Hub City on Christmas Eve, though Charles, as he drove, was the thing that made him a liar. ’This day is as normal as any other.’ The streets were empty. So not normal. He allowed himself this lie, and pulled on his gloves with his teeth whilst holding the steering wheel with his spare hand, and turned left.
His car was strangely clean recently. His friend from Las Vegas had cleaned up Charles’ mess before he had set off down the highways to the Hub, in more than one way too. He had had the car completely cleaned up. There were no fast food boxes littering the leather interior seats, there were no old magazines messing up the floors, and Charles could swear he could smell the leather he was sitting on top of. He smiled, and made a hard right.
His smile faded not soon after that.
Because if he was too late, Marcus Bridge would be dead, and as would his family.
The special compartment in his belt buckle almost throbbed as his fingers found it.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 21:59:29 GMT -5
“You shouldn’t have ratted out Steel Hand, Marcus,” growled the masked attacker, his gun still smoking as the police guard lay bleeding and twitching on the upholstery. “But I ain’t going to kill you yet, oh, no, not yet. Sooner. Later tonight. Maybe when it’s Christmas morning and all the other children on the street are unwrapping their presents. You, on the other hand, will have watched your wife and daughter die a horrible little death, one that I have been paid to deliver.”
“D-Don’t do this,” sobbed Marcus, “p-please.”
“Let me reiterate!” cackled the masked man, “paid to deliver means that nothing you can say will make me not kill you all! Because I like being paid to kill people, and right now, your sobbing little face is making me want to commit random acts of murder and violence, so excuse me if I just kneecap you and then proceed to ravage your--”
“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care…” whispered a voice.
“Huh?” Germaine Paul, silenced pistol in hand, span around when the whispering words were uttered. “Who’s there?”
”…In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there…”
Germaine sighed. He had no times for mind games or head tricks. He pulled the trigger on his weapon, and the sound of it striking the kneecap as a bullet passed through it, was loud. Louder was Marcus’ scream. Dogs barked. “Hrm. I’ve no patience for this.”
“Me neither,” hissed a voice, as a fist collided hard with St. August’s jaw, sending him flying backwards. He lost his grip on the weapon he held, and it fell beneath the proudly decorated Christmas tree. He didn’t stay down for long. He pulled a long knife from his back and dived at his attacker. He didn’t look at his attacker. He didn’t see his attacker’s hand grab a lamp from behind him and smash it downwards onto his head. He did, however, feel the impact. And he did, of course, notice the darkness overwhelm him as he hit the carpet.
Marcus gripped his knee tightly, blood pooling around the wound. He looked up at his savior, and his eyes opened wide. “I k-know you!”
The Question stared at Marcus Bridge for a long moment, though Bridge couldn’t see this. His mask obscured his features. It gave nothing away. “I know you too.”
“You died, didn’t y-you?” Marcus Bridge was a hoodlum. An enforcer. But he had a family, and he didn’t want them being dragged into the business. His daughter would look at him with respect, he thought, and that’s why he did what he did. “The Ditko Lounge, the fire, I r-remember, you…”
The Question grabbed Bridge’s knee, and the former-hood let out a scream. “I didn’t die then, no.” He removed his gloved hand, and Marcus looked down and saw a dressing over the wound. “Not then.”
“I-I’m sorry,” whispered Bridge, “I’m sorry for all that stuff, that’s the past t-though man, you know? I’m trying to be b-b-better, and you, you gotta’ understand that, I--”
The Question grabbed Bridge’s jaw roughly and looked him over. “You’ve got me wrong, Bridge. I’m not here to judge you; I’m here to save you. Do what you have to do, and if that’s on the straight and narrow, we won’t meet again.” He paused, and then got close in the man’s face. “But if you do waver, if you do fall, I will be there. And I will take you down.” He stood up suddenly, leaving Bridge’s shaking. “Paramedics are on the way.” He strolled over to one of the dead police officers, and removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt, then attached them to Germaine Paul’s wrists. “And he isn’t waking up any time soon. For an assassin, he really doesn’t have any periphery vision.” He pulled off the assassin’s mask, and then threw it to the side. “Hrm.” He then nodded at Bridge, and vanished out of the house.
Sirens blared in the distance.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:00:27 GMT -5
Charles Szasz resumed his silent vigil atop the highest point in Hub City. It had continued to snow, and around him, a layer of cold had formed. His cell phone vibrated. He answered quickly. “Yes?” “They’re bringing forward Bridge’s court appearance, and then shipping him abroad for a new life. He’s at Mercy General.” The voice paused. “You did good tonight.” “We do good most nights, old friend,” smiled Charles. “I’ll see you later. You have an old single malt scotch I wouldn’t mind partaking in.” “But what of your vigil?” “I have my answers,” whispered Charles, “enough for now, I think.” End |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:03:23 GMT -5
I put these next two stories together. I like to call them: Vignettes of Holiday Love
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:05:37 GMT -5
“Peace” [/b] Written by: Jay McIntyre Edited by: Brian Burchette[/center] |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:06:21 GMT -5
Snow fell outside, in gentle waves. Not a blizzard, not a flurry; a simple snowstorm, calm and relaxed.
Christmas Eve.
Mari Jiwe McCabe finger her tatu totem absently and looked out at the snow. She had spent most of her childhood with Kwanzaa, of course, but certainly had nothing against Christmas. Mind you, this was not a big family gathering of any sort. Not for her....or for Mark.
Mark Shaw sat by a small Christmas tree. No tinsel, no ornaments, just blinking, multicolored lights and a silver angel atop it. In the background, “Little Drummer Boy” played softly.
No family, no friends, no other members of the Suicide Squad. Just the two of them, music playing softly in the background, and the snow.
Today they were not Vixen and Manhunter. Today they were not members of the Suicide Squad.
Today it was just the two of them together, alone.
A quiet Christmas together for two people in love.
They snuggled quietly, exchanging gifts, speaking in soft voices and listening the carols playing quietly in the background. It was a truly quiet, truly romantic moment.
“We needed this,” Mari murmured.
“We deserved this,” Mark answered.
She nodded. The Squad was always a crazy cacophony of noise. Rarely, if ever, was their a moment of peace. And besides, they wanted something sweet between them. Something kind. Something pure.
They exchanged gifts, a ring for her, a CD for him. Little things. They ate a dinner of chicken and stuffing and soup, and watched the snow falling outside their window.
Eventually it stopped snowing. The skies cleared, and stars sparkled in the crystal clear night.
“Beautiful,” Mari murmured.
“Yes, you are,” Mark answered, looking at her.
She nudged him gently. “I meant the night, hon.”
“Well, that too,” he conceded, and cuddled with her as she chuckled.
The snow reflected the brilliance of the stars.
Tomorrow there would be Squad business. Tomorrow there would be running herd on a bunch of criminals.
But tonight...just for tonight...
...there was peace.
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:07:14 GMT -5
“The Greatest Gift of All”
Written by: Brian Burchette
Edited by: Mark Bowers |
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:08:32 GMT -5
Dawn is slowly breaking
Our friends have all gone home
You and I are waiting
For Santa Claus to come
There’s a present by the tree
Stockings on the wall
And knowing you’re in love with me
Is the greatest gift of all
By: John Jarvis
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Post by starlord on Dec 18, 2007 22:09:24 GMT -5
The church bells rang in the small college town of Ivy and the parishioners began to file out of the church in small groups. Families and friends wished each other glad tidings of comfort and joy as they broke apart from each other, all heading towards their homes and their own traditions.
Four such people were Ralph and Sue Dibny and their best friends, Ray Palmer and his girlfriend, Jean Loring. They had spent every Christmas Eve in Ivy Town, since they had known each other. Meeting at Ray’s apartment, walking to the little white church on the corner of First and Main; then going back to Ray’s afterwards for some sharing of laughter and friendship.
This year was no different as they made their way back to Professor Palmer’s apartment, commenting on how beautiful the choir’s rendition of “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming” had been.
“They outdid themselves this year,” Jean was saying as Ray unlocked his apartment and the four of them entered into a cozy scene of a beautifully-lit Christmas tree, as well as candles that were placed around the home.
Ralph’s neck stretched above his head and through the apartment as he examined everything. “Wow, buddy, you’ve outdone yourself this time!”
Ray grinned a bit sheepishly. “Thanks. I wanted it to be a little extra special this year.”
As the women gaped in wonderment at the pristinely-decorated apartment, Ralph walked over to Ray, who was already starting a fire in his fireplace. The man who was also known as The Atom looked up to see that the famous nose of Ralph’s was twitching.
“Eggnog’s all around?” Sue called from the kitchen as she and Jean began to pull out the glasses from the cupboard.
“Of course,” Ralph replied. “It’s tradition, after all.”
Ray stood up. “Umm… actually this year, I bought us a bottle of champagne. I thought we could have that instead.”
The ladies looked at him, a bit taken aback, but Ralph’s nose was now twitching wildly and his eyebrow was arching up in exaggeration.
Ray looked at him and rolled his eyes. “Will you stop that! You got that from Plastic Man, for Pete’s sake!”
“Maybe, or maybe he got it from me,” Ralph replied with fake indignation.
“Oh no,” his wife said with a wicked little smile. “You’re not that imaginative.”
Jean came up to the other three with glasses and the bottle. They all retrieved a flute and Jean handed the bottle to Ray for the opening.
The fire in the fireplace had caught and a warm glow was permeating out into the room, giving it both an ambiance of warmth in look as well as feel.
“Wait, this isn’t right,” Ray said as he began to open the bottle. “Maybe I was wrong. For us to have champagne, we really should be celebrating something.”
“It’s Christmas morning, darling,” Jean reminded him. “I think that’s a reason for a celebration right there.”
Ray shook his head. “No, not big enough; however, I have an idea.” He took Jean by the shoulders and sat her down at the end of the couch. She watched him with curiosity as he searched his suit jacket pocket.
Behind the couch, Sue’s eyes suddenly grew wide as she gave her husband a quick look. He grinned back at her and winked as she drew her hand up to her mouth so as not to make a sound.
Jean was still puzzled as Ray continued to search in his pocket for a second, and then, after he found what he was looking for, he brought his hand out as his left leg bended down and he sank to the floor on one knee.
As his closed fist slowly rose toward her, Jean caught on. Mimicking Sue’s own movement but a second ago, her hands flew to her mouth, but she could not contain the gasp that burst from her lips.
Ray Palmer turned his arm and opened his fist to reveal a small velvet black box. He opened it with his other hand and the diamond from the ring glinted from the light of the fireplace.
“Jean, this is our fourth Christmas together as a couple, and each year I realize just how blessed I am to be sharing this special day with you. Not just Christmas day, but every day. Of all the gifts you’ve given me since we’ve been together, it’s your love that has been the greatest gift of all. I couldn’t imagine my world without you, and I don’t want to. Jean Loring, will you make me the happiest man on the planet and marry me?”
Both Ralph and Sue, still behind the couch with wide grins on their faces, watched as tears began to stream down both of their friends’ faces. In the line of work that they were in, it was wonderful to see tears of joy and not of sorrow.
Jean reached out her hand and touched Ray’s face. “You are the most beautiful person I have every met, Ray Palmer. There is nothing I want more than to be your wife. Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”
They embraced and kissed while both Ralph and Sue gave out a shout of joy.
“It’s about time,” Sue exclaimed.
Breaking away from their kiss, Ray took Jean’s hand and placed the ring on her finger.
Ralph’s arm stretched to the champagne bottle. “Now we really have something to celebrate!” he exclaimed as he began to pull on the cork. Pulling, and pulling, grunting and groaning.
“Just give that to me,” Sue said in exasperation as she took the bottle from her husband’s hands and, with one quick yank, popped the cork. “Don’t worry, you loosened it for me,” she said automatically; as if she had said and done this very thing often.
Jean and Ray laughed as Ralph gave his wife a dour look, but then gave in to their good-natured ribbing.
When the champagne was poured, Ralph raised his glass, with the others following suit. “To Ray and Jean! May you both have many more happy years together!”
“Hear, hear!” Sue Dibny chimed in as she joined in the clinking of the glasses.
They sipped their champagne as the fire continued to glow warmly and the snow began to fall silently outside of the window.
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