Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

  “Don’t you think there’ve been too many deaths already? Besides, your art’s worth enough without you dying to make it go up in value even more.”

  Wolfe chuckled and then coughed, his face wracked by pain.

  Reflected firelight licked the floor and walls, cast from the doorway behind and the high windows in the boiler room up ahead, outside which the trees were wrapped by fire.

  The past merged with the present as Prosper entered the room, flooded by memories of childhood games. Of a time of innocence.

  He stared at the furnaces. Large metal boxes that used to burn coal to power the pump’s steam engines. He saw their names scratched into the rusty metal: Ty, Paris, Wolfe, Jerel, Prosper. Then something caught his eye.

  “Wait here.” Prosper left Wolfe by the wall, then ran across to one of the furnaces and picked up a rusty cog the size of a plate that had probably fallen from one of the steam engines as they were being dismantled.

  Knowing that Jerel could run into the room at any moment, he ran back to Wolfe and led his friend towards one of the furnaces, hoping that the metal structure would offer them a little safety as Jerel would only be able to attack from one direction.

  “Get in there,” he said, pushing Wolfe towards the box.

  Just then, Jerel appeared in the doorway.

  Prosper kept the cog hidden behind his back. “If we don’t get out, we’re all going to die in here,” he said, coughing on the smoke that drifted around the room like wispy fingers caressing everything it touched.

  “Not me.” Jerel advanced, knife a talon extending from his fist.

  Prosper gulped and licked his lips.

  Knowing he only had one chance, he readjusted his hold on the cog. When he judged Jerel was at the right distance, he brought his arm around and threw it like a discus with all his strength.

  His hopes and prayers rested on his aim.

  The cog moved too fast to see, and more through luck than skill, it struck Jerel in the shoulder, one of the rusty tips penetrating his skin.

  Jerel instinctively brought his hand up to the point of entry and tore the cog out. He stared at it in shock, and in the split second in which he averted his gaze, Prosper charged, ramming his shoulder into Jerel’s stomach and sending him flying back.

  Jerel landed on the ground in a swirl of limbs and without waiting to see what he did next, Prosper shouted, “Wolfe, get out of here.”

  Wolfe staggered towards the door and Prosper followed close behind. The passage now felt like a furnace. Sweat coated Prosper’s face, his cheeks feeling as though they were on fire. The heat literally sucked the moisture from his eyes, making them feel as though they were going to explode.

  Back in the main building, he saw flames licking the doorway, trying to find combustible material to feed on, and his heart sank as there was now no way out.

  “Down here,” Wolfe shouted, pointing at the hole in the ground that he had disappeared down before.

  With no other choice, Prosper nodded, but as Wolfe started to descend, Jerel charged out of the passage, his face a mask of anger.

  Leaving behind the memory of the corpulent young kid who was always last, Prosper sprinted across the room, snatched Jerel’s lighter from the Jeep’s bonnet, and threw it towards the corpses. Eager to spread, the flame found the petrol Jerel had doused the bodies with and within seconds, the corpses turned into a funeral pyre.

  Jerel shielded his face and took a step back as the fire spread before him, barring his path.

  Elated with his aim, Prosper ran back towards the hole and started to descend behind Wolfe, but then he stopped and stared across the room.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Wolfe screamed up at him.

  “I want to make sure the bastard dies.”

  Across the room, he saw Jerel pull his shirt around his face, then charge through the burning bodies. Flaming limbs dropped off the cadavers as he charged through, charred skin fluttering through the air like macabre moths.

  When he exited the conflagration, Jerel extinguished the flames on his clothes, jigging on the spot and patting comically at the burning patches that refused to go out.

  Moments later, he looked up, facing Prosper with a menacing glare. Smoke drifted from the burnt patches of his clothing and the smell of cooking human meat now overpowered that of the smoke.

  “It’s time to die,” Jerel said as he marched towards Prosper, lips curled back over his teeth.

  Prosper nodded and clambered back out of the hole. “You got that right.”

  He ran back across the floor, yanked the smouldering branch out of the Jeep’s bumper and touched the glowing tip to the petrol streaming from underneath the vehicle. For a moment, it appeared that instead of igniting, the liquid was going to extinguish the branch, but then it caught fire with a whoosh.

  Prosper turned and ran back to the hole, sliding the last few feet painfully across the hard concrete. His legs slipped over the edge and he fell more than lowered himself down, banging his elbows and knees into the ladder. Head still above ground, he stared back across the room.

  Jerel charged towards him, a behemoth of muscle.

  Then the Jeep exploded.

  Prosper saw a blinding flash of light, and he closed his eyes and lowered his head as debris flew around the room. Once the roar died down, he opened his eyes and looked across to see Jerel lying like a rag doll, his body speared with bits of metal.

  Prosper stared across at the pathetic figure of his friend, blood pouring from the wounds on his scorched and battered body. Smoke smouldered from what remained of his clothes. What a way to die, he thought. Bits of the corpses from the displays Jerel had erected lay all around the room, burning like obscene candles. Shaking his head, Prosper was about to descend when he saw Jerel twitch.

  He was still alive!

  Jerel lurched to his feet and stood there swaying. Bits of his skin actually appeared to crumble from his scorched body, his cheeks all but torn from his face to reveal parts of his jawbone and giving him a permanent sneer. Bits of metal protruded from his torso, making him look like an obscene porcupine.

  Horrified, Prosper put his hand to his mouth and gagged.

  “You’re gonna die,” Jerel said, the words slurred by his facial deformity. He lurched across the room towards Prosper, smoke trailing from his body.

  Jesus Christ, Prosper thought. This cannot be bloody happening.

  Overhead, he heard the building creak and groan and bits of the ceiling crumbled and crashed to the ground with loud explosions.

  Gritting his teeth, he climbed back out of the hole and surveyed the carnage all around him. As he did so, he glimpsed one of the scaffolding poles that had been used to spear the young boy in the display Jerel had entitled Icarus Fallen. He snatched it up and held it in both hands, the hot metal burning his fingers. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he glared at Jerel and charged, the pole a jousting rod within his grasp.

  Although wounded, Prosper knew Jerel was fuelled by anger, and therefore still dangerous.

  Aiming his shot, he rammed the pole forwards, but Jerel sidestepped, chopping his hand across the back of Prosper’s neck and sending him flying across the floor. Feeling as though his head had almost been severed from his shoulders, Prosper grimaced, fighting the shafts of pain that made him feel dizzy and sick.

  Realising that he had to move quickly, he picked himself up and turned to see Jerel bearing down on him, his expression savage, monstrous.

  Just then a loud crack originated above their heads and Prosper looked up to see a large metal walkway swing down, catching Jerel unawares and hitting his shoulder with a glancing blow.

  Taking the only opportunity he might have, Prosper lifted the pole and rammed it into Jerel’s stomach. The metal pierced his former friend’s abdomen and Prosper put all of his strength into forcing Jerel back towards the burning bodies. When he was close enough, he gathered all his energy and with one last concerted effort, he forced Jerel into the f
uneral pyre and held him there like a skewered pig, watching as the flames licked his body, blackening his flesh, the aroma of roasting meat filling the air.

  Jerel screamed and flailed his arms, but all to no avail as the fire engulfed him. As he collapsed, Prosper released the pole and stepped back from the inferno.

  He turned and was about to run back to the hole in the ground when he noticed a set of pressurised gas cylinders in the corner, probably the same ones Jerel used to burn away Jane Numan’s limbs. Flames licked at the cylinders which were sweating almost as much as Prosper. Heart in his throat, he gathered every last ounce of strength and charged across the room.

  The ground shook beneath his feet as the cylinders exploded, shrapnel flying past him like ninja death stars. More falling than climbing, Prosper lowered himself over the edge, descending as fast as he could. Up above, a roaring cacophony rang out as though the gates of hell had opened and debris rained down as the building collapsed. Deafened, Prosper held onto the metal ladder for dear life. Bricks and God knows what else battered his body, sending shafts of pain radiating from every extremity.

  When the ground finally stopped trembling and only the crackle of flames remained, he opened his eyes and looked up to see the mouth of the hole blocked by burning debris. After a moment, he continued down.

  At the bottom, he had a short drop to where more bits of burning debris littered the ground, illuminating the underground river. He grimaced as he patted himself with burned hands to put out the little fires that had settled on his clothes. Wolfe sat hunched against the wall.

  “What the hell kept you?” Wolfe asked.

  “Let’s just say Jerel got his fingers burned in more ways than one.” Prosper collapsed beside Wolfe and took a couple of deep breaths.

  It was over.

  When they felt strong enough to move, Prosper and Wolfe crawled along the tunnel, eventually arriving at a set of metal bars that covered a hole on the surface. Using his feet as battering rams, Prosper managed to break the rusty bolts that attached the bars to the rock and they crawled out onto a small plateau.

  A mushroom cloud of smoke engulfed the remains of the pumping station and the forest fire roared around them, painting the night sky.

  Prosper lit a cigarette, put it to his lips and then threw it on the ground, crushing it beneath his heel.

  Undulating sirens wailed in the distance like the cry of the damned, which seemed fitting as the view resembled hell on earth.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  How the hell was he going to explain all of this?

  CHAPTER 61

  Six months later.

  Prosper stared at the Henry Tomb & Sons warehouse. It had been renovated since he was last here and a crowd of people lined up by the entrance, but he could still see Hatchet Man in his mind’s eye, hanging in front of the building, the memory of what followed haunting his every nightmare.

  “Are you okay?” Natasha asked. “We don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

  Prosper shook his head to clear his mind. “I’m fine.” He stared at the banner strung across the front of the building: Grand Opening of the Wolfe Weaver Art Exhibition, Saturday, January 3rd.

  The surrounding scrubland had been transformed into a car park, on which vehicles cruised around looking for an empty space.

  “Leon,” Prosper shouted, calling his son back as he ran across the grass in front of the building with a model aeroplane in his hand.

  Leon ran back to his dad’s side. “This is going to be boring,” he said. “Can’t we go home?”

  “Not yet,” Prosper replied. “We’ve only just got here. Come on, we’ve got VIP tickets.”

  He led the way along the pathway towards the building, not failing to notice that it was one of three paths leading from the car park – probably another of Wolfe’s artistic stipulations when he acquired the place, fulfilling the dream he had of housing his exhibitions here. Not that Prosper could understand why he wanted the place, not after what happened.

  At the entrance, he skirted the crowds and approached the burly security guards, flashing them the VIP tickets before being shepherded inside.

  While the exterior still retained many of its original aspects, the interior looked nothing like Prosper remembered. Having been renovated, it looked almost clinical, decorated in plain white. Wolfe’s pictures adorned the walls, illuminated by spotlights.

  “He’s good, isn’t he,” Natasha said as she studied one of the pictures, a self portrait that made Wolfe look sinister and moody.

  “He’s okay.”

  Waiters dressed all in white wandered among the crowd holding trays containing canapés and glasses of champagne and orange juice. Prosper took a glass of each and passed them to Natasha and Leon before taking a drink for himself. He sipped from the fluted glass; would prefer a beer if he was being honest.

  Piped classical music emanated from invisible speakers, accompanied by genial chatter from the patrons wandering among the exhibits.

  Large sculptures were dotted around the room, only they were different to Wolfe’s previous pieces. In a macabre and sinister twist, he had created what looked like a sick rendition of the Oracle’s work in tableaux of stone and metal. He stared at the sculpture of a woman, her body separated into large squares as though it was made from sliding parts like a puzzle before shaking his head and turning away.

  “Hey, Prosper, glad you could make it.”

  Prosper turned to see Wolfe walking towards him, a rare smile adorning his face. He reached out to shake Prosper’s hand, but already knowing what to expect, Prosper sidestepped, avoiding the feigned punch. Wolfe laughed, then he kissed Natasha on the cheek.

  “I thought you’d have dumped him by now,” Wolfe said to Natasha with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  “Who else would take him,” she replied with a chuckle.

  Wolfe crouched down and passed Leon a lollipop. “Hey champ, here you go.”

  When Wolfe stood back up, he turned to Natasha, “Do you mind if I take your husband away from you for a minute.”

  “Take him for as long as you like.”

  “That’s great if my own wife doesn’t want me,” Prosper said, shaking his head in mock disgust.

  Wolfe led the way through the crowds, accepting the adulation from those he passed with a smile and a nod.

  “So what do you think?” Wolfe asked as he walked up the stairs.

  “About what?”

  “My work.”

  “What do you expect me to think? It’s damn freaky, that’s what it is. I don’t know how you can do it, not after all we went through.” He fell quiet as they passed a young couple descending. “And here, of all places. What possessed you?”

  “I like the place. Always have. It’s only a building.”

  As they ascended, he knew no amount of renovation could ever make him think it was only a building. Dark secrets were ingrained into the structure. Indelible in Prosper’s mind.

  “I take it you don’t smash these sculptures then like you used to.”

  “No, what you see is what you get.”

  “Well I think you should smash them. It’s bad enough people are crazy enough to buy them, never mind what possessed you to make them.”

  The warren of corridors on the second floor had been knocked through, now just another large room displaying Wolfe’s work. Prosper stared at the spot where they had committed the deed. He felt himself going pale at the thought of what they did.

  People stood in the general location where Hatchet Man was killed, oblivious to what occurred as they admired a series of paintings.

  It hadn’t taken long for Wolfe to recover his bravado and his health, the wound Jerel inflicted more superficial than serious, and he now seemed oblivious to the past.

  It had taken some fast talking and some quick thinking to get them out of a bind. Although he felt guilty that Jill had died, Prosper had to account for her presence, and he told the investigating officer
s that interviewed him that she was working with him on an anonymous tip-off.

  He received a reprimand for not informing his superiors about the development that led to Jill’s death, but any serious repercussions were brushed under the carpet as the outcome resulted in an end to the murders. With Hatchet Man’s corpse among the other victims, no one questioned whether the Oracle had actually killed him or not.

  Prosper explained about the affair, and told them that Jerel had tried to frame him for the murders, which explained why some of Prosper’s belongings were found in the wreckage of the burned out building. He even explained Wolfe’s presence at the scene, telling them that his friend had been kidnapped by the killer, and that when Prosper freed him, he helped thwart Jerel’s plan. Wolfe was lauded for his involvement, and it was rumoured he was in line to receive a medal for bravery.

  The resulting publicity gave new life to Wolfe’s career, and introduced him to a new audience, so he thought it appropriate to invest in a gallery of his own to cash in on it while he could.

  “So are we in the clear now?” Wolfe asked as they stepped into a quiet corner, away from the crowds.

  “You mean did we get away with murder? Yes, it looks that way.”

  Wolfe nodded. “That’s good.”

  “There’s nothing good about it. Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”

  “What about?”

  “You know damn well what about.”

  “Why should I. This was all Jerel’s doing. He may as well of swung the axe that killed Hatchet Man because he orchestrated it all. He’s the one to blame. He’s the killer. We were just pawns in his sick plan.”

  Prosper didn’t agree. “Do you think we should have known sooner?”

  “Known what?”

  “About Jerel. Did we miss something when we were growing up?”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Nature or nurture, isn’t that what they’re always asking. Was Jerel born evil, or did he become evil? I guess we’ll never know. There might have been signs if we’d been looking, you know, like how much he seemed to enjoy beating up those people, but they were crazy times. We were all a little wired then.” He waved at a man across the room. “I guess you fucking his wife and fathering his child was the final straw.”