BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH

by Joshua Brown

  I felt my heart racing. If that twisted bastard touched a hair on that girl's head, I’d have torn him to pieces with my bare hands. But there was a more prominent threat.

  Though the frontman held his hands up, and so did the second, two of them didn’t.

  “You really thought you’d just walk in here and save the day?” he asked, chuckling.

  “You know what you’re doing here?” I replied.

  “I don’t really care,” the man said, turning to face the men behind him. “The way I see it, there’s two of you and for of us. You really think those odds are in your favor?”

  “Make that three of us,” I heard Gwen say from behind, stepping into the apartment. In her hands, a pump-action shotgun. “You two, hands up—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, a bald man behind lifted his hand. Without a second’s hesitation, Aaron fired a single bullet in his direction. The bald man collapsed to the ground, and in his fist, a snub nose revolver. The third man dropped his gun and lifted his hands with no need to tell him again.

  “Can you two handle this?” I asked, knowing I had to get into the back room and stop the Witchfinder from completing whatever sick plan he had for that poor girl.

  “We’ve got you covered,” Aaron said. His voice was shaky, and so was the hand holding his pistol.

  “Now, either of you boys make any sudden movements, I’ll put a bullet in you all the same,” Gwen said, cocking the shotgun.

  But my trust was well placed, and as I pushed by the small group of thugs, a small force of police officers moved into the building. They yelled orders, telling the thugs to get down, and started their arresting process.

  I burst through the bedroom door, pistol drawn, and fixed it on the mass, sitting on the bed. There I saw him, the Witchfinder General, the man I’d been hunting for weeks now, with the Dench girl on his lap.

  I never learned her name and now regretted making the decision. It wasn’t in my nature to get too attached to the family. Jane was my client, and I promised to help her. Learning more of her family, though they were a high priority, brought emotions to a case.

  Whenever possible, I avoided working on emotions. I knew how dangerous they were to a case and their impact on getting a job done. But seeing her on the Witchfiner’s lap, tears spilling from her face as she attempted shouting through the duct tape covering her mouth, I wanted to console her. An innocent child, no matter what happened there that night, would never forget these heinous events.

  It made me sick.

  The Witchfinder held the Dench girl, with one hand on her forehead, the other holding a knife to her neck. I suspected the red liquid that filled a small glass tube to be Spencer’s blood.

  “I never thought we’d get to this point, Detective Mercer,” a sigh rumbled behind the mask.

  “That’s the problem with hired thugs,” I replied. “You can’t trust them when it comes right down to it.”

  “I suppose…” he replied. “And I was so close too, ridding the world of this evil. The Williamson family put up far less fight than the Dench’s. I suppose Spencer never had much of a backbone to begin with. Jane is the true evil in the matter. And her daughter will never carry on the line of evil she inspires.”

  “Don’t do this,” I said, hearing someone step into the doorway behind me. It was Jane, with Gwen following, trying to stop her from seeing whatever was going on in here.

  Jane burst out in a tremendous scream. Gwen grabbed her, pulling her away from the scene.

  “It’s my life’s work, Jack. That’s like me telling you to leave this house and let me finish,” the Witchfinder remained unmoving. I adjusted my aim towards his head, but the shot wasn’t clear enough. If I flinched, even a millisecond before firing, the girl would take a bullet.

  I couldn’t risk it, not yet.

  “It’s a funny thing, a family oath. My father, before me, took on the Crossley family, destroying the evil that lived within that home. I was trained my whole life to go out in the world and ensure that these monsters could not prevail,” he started on a tangent.

  “This is an innocent child,” I cut him off. “She’s not good, or bad, or anything in between. She knows nothing about the world, and there’s not a bone in her body that’s harmful.”

  The Witchfinder scoffed, turning to the door where Gwen and Aaron returned again, police officers following close behind.

  “And what about when she gets older? Now, she knows that her heritage is in witchcraft, and she can study the ways of the wicked. No, Jack, I can’t let it be so. As my forefather’s before me, I fight to ensure their kind does not continue. And if it means taking a life, then so be it.”

  The Witchfinder rose to his feet, mumbling something in a language I didn’t understand. I guessed it was some ritualistic bullshit and knew that my window to save the girl’s life was closing. Swallowing hard, I aimed for his right leg, the shin to be precise, and fired a single bullet into it.

  The girl tumbled to the ground, but so did the Witchfinder. He screamed out in agony as the blade struck the floor. The vile of blood shattering across the floor. The police rushed him, pulling the girl aside and getting the Witchfinder restrained.

  He fought them at first, trying to get to the knife.

  “Do you know what hell you’ve unleashed?” he roared, eyeing the red liquid. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  He screamed it from the top of his lungs until he was in custody.

  I collapsed to the floor while Gwen and Aaron rushed to my side.

  It was finally over.

  Chapter 28

  Jack

  There was no joyous celebration as we often held after a completed case. I sat alone in my office, looking over the case file, remembering all that we went through to get to this point. If we were a little quicker, if we were better prepared, we could’ve saved the Williamson family too.

  I supposed everyone felt the same way as I, no one bothering to crack open a bottle of champagne on our success. It took the lives of good people to bring an end to the horrors of the Witchfinder General.

  A man named Marty Robinson, born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. Shortly after his arrest, searching his home, the police found Tony Robinson and his wife, Merideth, dead in the basement among the various items Marty used as the Witchfinder General. Their bodies were decomposed to the point of little more than skeletal remains when the police arrived. From a handbook among his possessions, the police learned that this was all part of a tradition. When one Witchfinder passed the torch to the next, they had to sacrifice themselves in the name of God.

  I didn’t pretend to understand it, and I wanted nothing to do with it. At least I knew it would end with Marty Robinson. He had no children, no family beyond the dead parents, and no one else to carry the torch of his twisted beliefs.

  After finishing my final report on the matter, I closed the manila folder, eyeing the empty place where a name would go.

  I picked up a black ink marker and penned the name of the case:

  The Witchfinder’s Woes.

  As I pulled the pen off the folder, I saw her standing there. Gwen Sullivan, with crossed arms, leaning against my doorframe. The days following the events that happened that evening, she was pretty beaten up, not being able to help Spencer Williamson and his family.

  “Well, Jack, I guess it’s time I hit the old dusty trail,” she said, eyeing the marker in my hand.

  “You know you don’t have to do that, right?” I replied.

  “We all knew what this was,” she forced a smile to her lips.

  “But it doesn’t have to be,” I shook my head. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, we make a pretty good team.”

  Gwen walked into my office, stopping at the liquor cabinet and pulling out a bottle of Macallan 18 and two glasses. She poured us both a drink, then brought mine over to me and set it down.

  “Let’s just enjoy the time we had together,” she said, lifting her glass to
mine. I clinked glasses with her, taking a sip. “It seems you’re running a pretty tight ship here. And you’ve got your partner. I’d just be a third wheel.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve got a point there. The kid is chaulking up to be a pretty good detective, I’ve gotta admit,” I tried hiding the sting of her not accepting my offer, however small it was, to join the firm. But deep down, I knew she’d never go with it.

  I was just hoping to have her back by my side.

  Gwen finished her glass of whiskey, and I followed her to the door, her hand in mine. We walked through the hallways in silence, went down the elevator, and out into the busy New York street.

  “You know you can call me if you ever need me, right?” I asked, pulling her into a hug.

  Gwen accepted, holding me tightly.

  “I know. The same goes for you, Jack. Don’t be a stranger, alright?” breaking the hug, Gwen drew her car keys from her handbag. I watched as she walked across the street, getting into her vehicle, and with a wave of her hand, drove off.

  I stood out there for a while. Even in the street full of people, I felt alone. Though the Mercer Detective Agency managed to bag another victory, it came at a significant cost. One that I’d never forget.

  But as I returned to the office, with Lauren and Aaron’s smiling faces, chatting and making jokes to relieve the tension in the office, I felt an odd comfort. They were my family, and together, we conquered all hardships that were put in front of us.

  It was now once more into the great abyss with only dreams of making the world a better place.

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  JOSHUA BROWN is a young author with American roots, born and raised in a small village near Nuremberg, who loves music, sports, cooking, nature, and, of course, books and movies.

  He holds a bachelor’s degree in both Music and Computer Science.

  You can e-mail him at contact@joshua-brown-author.com or contact him via Facebook

  Copyright © 2020 by Joshua Brown.

  Copyright © 2020 by Joshua Brown.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.