Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 2
by Christopher D. Carter, © 2013
Text and Illustration Copyright © 2013 Christopher D. Carter
All Rights Reserved
Also by Christopher D. Carter available at ebook retailers:
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 1
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 1
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 2
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 3
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 4
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 5
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound 6
Discover other titles by Christopher D. Carter at:
Table of Contents
Church On Wolf’s Mountain
Let The Old Times Roll
Said The Spider To The Fly
For More Adventure!
About the Author
*
Church On Wolf’s Mountain
*
Dr. Theresa Tatum sat on the wooden bench in the foyer with her legs crossed, and she gazed steadily through the swirling colors that comprised the stain glass window. There was hardly any evidence left of the repairs that had been made to the church since the destruction that Drakthos had wrought upon the historic building in his struggle to take control of the earth, or at least the city known as Winston-Salem. Only a few months had passed, and the historic church must have had a faithful group of highly skilled woodworkers to pitch in and make repairs in such a short span of time. As she looked around at the impressive woodwork that lined the walls of the church, Dr. Tatum could not help but feel a mixture of survivor’s guilt thrown in with a sense of accomplishment at the same time. The guilt that she felt was strong and stemmed from the loss of her employee and good friend, Sherry Lance.
“The sense of accomplishment,” she thought, “doesn’t feel so great to me.” Dr. Tatum clasped her hands together as she sat on the bench, and she let the guilt take over as her eyes rested on the plaque that bore the reminder of the sacrifice that Sherry had made. “You should never have involved her in the first place. She wasn’t ready to take on the responsibilities that being an agent of the DAM demands. I was a fool, and my negligence cost someone their life.” It was true that no one had seen hide or hair of Sherry since the showdown that had happened here at the top of a skyscraper in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and months had sluggishly passed with no news of her whereabouts. Dr. Tatum wondered if she would ever see her again.
“Ma’am,” a soft distinct southern accent reverberated from an adjacent doorway. “Would you like some company?” the preacher asked as he stepped into the open room and approached the bench where Dr. Tatum sat. He was pleasant in disposition, but she was not yet ready to talk.
“No, not right now, thank you,” Dr. Tatum responded rather quickly in an effort to keep some distance between the reverend and herself. She then covertly reached her hand into her pocket where it rested on the small can of mace that she kept with her at all times. Respecting her privacy, the reverend nodded once with his head as he then opened one of the front doors to walk out onto the front porch of the church. Dr. Tatum watched him closely as he closed the door and then walked out onto the tar of the roof that served as a church yard. The reverend then greeted a group of sightseers who had made the trip to the top of the building, and as he shook their hands and smiled, Dr. Tatum realized how ridiculous her fear of the cleric had become.
“What is wrong with you,” she muttered to herself as she stood to her feet in annoyance at the noticeable change in her own behavior. Tracing the engraved outline of Sherry’s name on the plaque, Dr. Tatum began to cry as she stood there in the foyer. With tears running uncontrollably down her cheeks, she rushed quickly over to the ladies’ restroom before the group could enter the church and see her in a state of dishevelment. Pushing the door to a stall open, she slipped into the confined space and locked the door behind as she swiped a length of tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes. Once the sobbing came back under control, Dr. Tatum tried to block out the personal feelings that she had felt toward Sherry, and she began to reflect back over the state of affairs that had brought her to this point in life. First and foremost the DAM had lost two agents, Sherry Lance and Philip Potts. Sherry had been a rather inexperienced member of the team, though highly talented in the use of relics, as her experiences with the Staff of Helios had proven. After the final battle with Drakthos in the church, Sherry was never seen again, and Dr. Tatum carried a guilt within herself that may never completely dissolve. Philip on the other hand had let his life be ruled by poor decisions, and he had actually been a double-agent of Drakthos, a choice which had ultimately cost him his own life at the hands of the demon. Phil’s body was recovered and buried with honors in Washington, D.C., and the circumstances surrounding his treachery were logged only in the classified workbooks of the DAM. Though upsetting, she could learn to live with the results of his poor choices.
As she went through all of the possible decisions that she had had to make as a field manager, Dr. Tatum once again understood that she could not continue to carry Sherry’s disappearance around her neck like a stone. She would have to let it go and move on with life just as the other members of the group had been able to do.
“How are they able to compartmentalize their grief?” she wondered as she unlocked the stall and made her way back outside to the rooftop. She had made the trip down to remember her friend, and she would put the grief behind her for the rest of her week-long vacation. After taking a deep breath of fresh air, she confronted her irrational fear of clerics, and Dr. Tatum walked up behind the minister as he stood looking out over the city scape. Tapping him on the shoulder, she put on a fake smile and waited for him to turn around and face her.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered as he turned to reply to her tap on his shoulder. “I was just admiring the view from up here. It’s quite refreshing,” he noted as he breathed in the fresh air above the city.
“I just wanted to ask you about the plaque in the foyer,” she started, and then paused to put together her thoughts. “Will the plaque honoring my friend be displayed in the foyer of the church indefinitely, or is there a time frame in which it will be taken down?” Dr. Tatum asked.
“That was your friend, Sherry Lance?” the reverend asked but then continued without waiting for an answer. “I am sorry for your loss,” he added.
“Thank you, your . . . um . . . what should I call you?” she asked timidly.
“Dr. Henning is fine, though my friends call me Christian,” he said with a smile. “I guess with a first name like that, I picked the right profession,” he added with a laugh. Dr. Tatum laughed with him, and she felt it become easier to let her guard down for a moment as he continued. “It is an honor to this community that the church has a plaque to remember Sherry, and her good deeds will not be forgotten. We plan on leaving it there indefinitely. Some might even say forever, though who can actually keep that promise. Someday the building below will be closed and demolished, and it will be up to that generation as to where the plaque belongs.”
“Thank you, Christian. Sherry was a good friend,” she added. Cutting the conversation short, she waved goodbye to the reverend and then walked away as the tears burned in her eyes once again.
**********
The mail dropped into the slot of the DAM office mailbox at the usual time of day, and Seth, who was busy researching the probability of losing the next hand of poker, threw his cards into the discard pile and took the liberty of retrieving the delivery.
“It’s funny how you seem to get a joker every hand,” he c
ommented to Pound as he opened the box. “Are you sure you’re not growing wild cards with that crazy power of yours?” Pound smiled and laid down three aces and a joker when Crush called his bluff.
“Yeah, dude. Nobody can be that lucky,” Crush remarked as he spread out a pair of kings and a pair of sevens. “That’s four hands in a row, and I’m out of spending money.”
“I can lend you a few bucks to play another hand,” Pound offered with a grin.
“Keep it,” Crush replied as he stood and stretched. “I need what I have left in my pocket to buy coffee.”
“I’ll get the next cappuccino. My treat,” said Pound as he stacked up the pile of one dollar bills and stuffed them into his front pockets. “You’re awfully quiet over there, Seth. I would say the cat got your tongue, but he’s sitting here empty handed.”
“Ha, ha, smart ass,” said Crush as he looked over his shoulder at Seth and the handful of mail. “What came today? A shutdown notice from the Department of the Treasury?”
“Nah. We’re still on the payroll,” said Seth. “We’re ‘essential’ employees. Can you believe that?” he asked as he opened a purple envelope with silver writing. “This looks official though,” he said as he removed the card from the envelope.
“What is it then? Since the Doc is away, you have the command,” said Crush.
“Right,” Seth scoffed. “Everyone knows you’re in charge when Dr. Tatum is on vacation,” he said as he handed the invitation to Crush. Reading the cover, the cat-man opened the card and continued on to the inside information. His face then began to take a more serious visage with every word. “It’s an invitation to a church. Kind of strange that it was delivered to an office and not a residence, don’t you think?” Seth asked.
“Careful, Seth. His mind’s like a waffle iron,” said Pound. Crush looked back up at Pound with a grim expression.
“You mean like a steel trap,” Crush corrected.
“No, I mean like a waffle iron. Put in the ingredients and wait for the burning smell,” Pound explained.
“You are full of yourself today,” said Crush, spinning his eyes back to the invitation, as if some puzzle were to be solved by studying it longer.
“And full of your money, too,” Pound added and patted his front pockets. “Seriously, what’s up?”
“It’s addressed to me,” Crush said with a glum look. “It’s an invitation to a revival this weekend at a church in York, Pennsylvania. According to the card, this church has a homecoming revival every fifty years, and the DAM is invited to the next one,” he said with a lament. “That’s really weird. Do any of you go to that church?”
“I don’t, and I don’t know anyone who does,” Pound replied and then looked over at Seth.
“Don’t look at me. I go to a Baptist church here in Baltimore,” Seth countered. Crush placed his hand on his chin and closed his eyes as if he were channeling the thinker.
“The name of the church is familiar though I can’t place it,” he said as he tilted his head and scratched his furry ears in deep thought. “Seth, where do we keep the old files? You know the stuff that’s over ten years old?”
“Back in the library, next to the artifact room,” said Seth as he shrugged his shoulders with disinterest and opened a set of coupons that had also come through the mail. “Heck, stuff that old should be in the artifact room,” he jested. Crush chuckled as he got to his feet and walked back in to look through the archives. Pound followed him back through the doorway to the library and shuffled the deck of cards in his hands like a casino dealer as he went.
“What’s got you so curious there, buddy?” Pound inquired. Crush’s behavior had his interest piqued.
“It’s the name of the church on the invitation. It does ring a bell, but I just can’t place it,” Crush said as he opened up the top drawer of the first filing cabinet. “If I were looking for a church name, where would I be?” he asked himself aloud.
“It would be a lot easier to perform an electronic search if Dr. Tatum had let Sherry finish her work recording the archives in the database before making her a field agent,” Pound sighed.
“You’re still holding a grudge against the Doc for something that would have happened anyway,” Crush lectured his partner. “Don’t blame her for Sherry’s disappearance. What happened in Winston-Salem was out of everyone’s control. In fact, if you want to blame someone for what happened to Sherry, you should blame me,” he added matter-of-factly. Pound paused and shuffled the deck again before replying.
“I don’t blame you. And I shouldn’t blame Dr. Tatum. I just miss Sherry, that’s all,” Pound revealed to his friend. “Besides, like I was saying, an electronic search would be easier, right?”
“Yeah, no doubt,” agreed Crush as he thumbed through the files one by one. “Examining these files could take days, and the invitation is for this Friday night. That doesn’t leave much time to look.”
“Here, let me see the invitation,” Pound said as he sat the cards down on top of the second filing cabinet. Crush handed the letter to him as he continued to dig through the files. “Church on Wolf’s Mountain? That’s the name of this place?”
“Creepy, huh?” Crush replied with a sarcastic smile.
“What were they thinking?” Pound continued with a shake of his head. “All right, I’ll help you look. But I’m starting with ‘Church’.” The top drawer of the second filing cabinet began with ‘C’, and Pound pulled the drawer open to thumb back through the files. “How far are you going back?”
“From the beginning,” said Crush.
“That’s way before my time,” Pound noted with a groan.
“I can’t say the same,” Crush countered, and Pound looked at him as if he were doubtful of the claim. “For some reason, the name of that church is familiar, but I just can’t recall why,” he said as he continued to skim through the first cabinet.
“How about that?” Pound said as he flipped past the last folder. “There’s no file for that church in here. I guess you’ll be at this for a while then. Let me know when you find what you’re looking for,” he added as he shut the drawer and picked up his cards again. Crush kept digging through information as Pound stood there shuffling cards and watching his partner engross himself in pursuit of an unknown goal. After a few more moments, he recognized that Crush was not giving up on the cause, and so Pound strolled back out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Crush to his thoughts.
**********
Two days later, Pound and Seth were in the car on the return from an appointment with the Director of the DAM in Washington, D.C. Director H. R. Roosevelt called a regular weekly meeting with his staff, and since Dr. Tatum was away on vacation and Crush had been sidetracked with his relentless investigation of the Church on Wolf’s Mountain, Pound was chosen to represent the Baltimore field office. Normally when the manager was away, the most senior agent in that organization assumed the responsibility of attending the staff meeting, but Crush had called the Director to inform him that an important project was underway and that the management of that project would keep him from the meeting this week. In his absence, Crush had elected Pound to attend, and Seth had opted to go along for moral support.
“The meeting seemed to go well, at least for me,” Seth commented from the driver’s seat. “Roosevelt didn’t seem pleased with Crush’s disregard for authority.” Pound made no expression that would give his perspective on the issue one way or the other. He simply sat in thought, staring out the window. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, never better,” Pound said with a bite of sarcasm. Roosevelt had tried to pin down Pound on a number of topics that Dr. Tatum had been covering for the agency, and since the lines of communication between Dr. Tatum and Pound had suffered as a result of Sherry’s disappearance, he was not able to answer the questions with any tangible depth. Roosevelt was not known for his patience with ignorance or incompetence, and he cl
early had not been satisfied with the field office’s representation in Dr. Tatum’s absence.
For his part, Pound was not satisfied with the DAM as a whole.
“This suit itches,” Pound remarked as he slid his arm up his coat sleeve to scratch the dragon wings on his forearm tattoo. “How guys like Roosevelt handle wearing these things every day is beyond me.” He then slid off the coat, loosened his black tie, and unbuttoned the collar that appeared to be strangling his neck. “Ah, that’s better,” he said as he raised one leg up to rest his itchy forearm on as he stared out the windshield.
“Sorry about the abuse you took in the meeting,” Seth replied.
“Don’t be. You didn’t dish it out,” Pound answered in his calmest tone. “Crush better be on to something big if I’m going to have to endure the bureaucratic end of the organization. I’ll bet the ‘Roose’ wouldn’t have given Crush a tongue lashing in person,” said Pound, referring to the director by the nickname that the field agents had affectionately given him.
“Probably not. From what Dr. Tatum told me, Crush always leaves his claws extended from his fingertips when he meets with Roosevelt,” Seth said with a devious grin. “She says it makes the meetings go quick.”
“I’ll bet,” he agreed. “The next time I go, maybe I’ll arrange for one of the trees in the front lawn to follow me in the building and sit next to Roosevelt in the conference room.”
“You could do that, couldn’t you,” Seth said with a beam as he imagined the scenario play out in his mind.
**********
Crush’s eyes were heavy as he leaned forward on the short stool and read through the last page of another disappointing report. For three straight days he had stayed in the archive room, skimming through every word on every page of the first four cabinets, only to come up empty handed. Even the web search had provided no clue as to what he might be looking for.
“What am I missing?” he thought to himself. Tired and having trouble focusing, Crush finally laid down on the thin beige carpet of the dirty library floor and closed his eyes to think for a moment about what it was that he was looking for. Within a minute, he began to purr as he drifted off into a restful sleep.
Uncanny Tales of Crush and Pound Annual 2 Page 1
