by Bob Williams
“So what happened?”
“There was a robbery attempt at the dry-cleaning business. The family had long since sold the operation, but it still bore the Matsuri name. Shentaka was a SWAT commander at the time. Hours of negotiations went unresolved. I could sense the rage building up within him. He could not stand to have his father disgraced a second time.
“Shentaka went into the building unarmed. It was wild, completely irrational, and totally out of character for him.”
“The invincibility you were talking about?”
“Yes. His anger was nearly at a breaking point. And this is when the story takes its most unfortunate turn.”
When he doesn’t continue right away, I tell him, “I need to know everything, Malcolm. In order to fight, I have to know it all.”
“What do you low lyers say? Things went south inside the laundromat and Shentaka was shot in the head.”
“Here we go.”
“No, we do not. For in this precise moment, I did something that has never been done before. Two things, really. One, I took Shentaka without his permission. And to make matters exponentially worse, I took his essence while he was still alive.”
“What? How does that happen?”
“Because Shentaka had been so ... arrogant. Or rageful. I don’t know why he went in there unprepared. No armor. No weapon. Dammit!”
“So I’m guessing there’s a procedure when recruiting for the Protectorate?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Everything about the Protectorate is regimented and laden with rules. First and foremost, the Point of Light must be given the information they need in the time they have left to make an informed decision about whether they wish to join the New Protectorate. They must vocally say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’
“Then they must let go. Once a candidate internally decides to let go, the human body they possess shuts down.”
“You mean by letting go, the ‘candidate’ as you call them, dies.”
“Yes.”
“And you not only didn’t get the okay, but you snatched him before he died.”
“Yes.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yes. So you can only imagine what a catastrophe this has been from the beginning. Since before your friend Doctor Midnite mentioned him on his broadcast, Shentaka has been upon the Low Lying Lands, killing fallen angels. He must be stopped.”
“Wait. You’re not getting out of this just yet. What happened after you took him upstairs without his consent?”
“He went mad. From the moment he set foot upon the Higher Grounds, he was incensed. Shentaka was furious that he’d been robbed of his moment of honor. He shouted time and time again that I had robbed him of the opportunity to defend his family’s honor. His father’s honor.
“I tried relentlessly to explain to him that a bullet was mere centimeters away from the center of his forehead when I took him. He was dead anyway.
“These debates plagued our relationship. His anger kept growing. His fury was almost tangible. Focused. Once, during a particularly grueling training session, a massive argument broke out. I was at my wit’s end with Shentaka. I’ve trained thousands for the Protectorate. None even remotely as challenging as he. At the height of the argument, I lost my control and lashed out at him. I cursed him for not moving on from the low lyers and redirecting his focus toward his higher purpose. I cursed him for disrespecting me and my attempts to train him. But what I am most ashamed of is I told him to his face that he had failed to protect his family honor due to his recklessness and cavalier bravado. From that moment on, Shentaka never said another word to me.”
“Can you blame him? What an asshole you are. Why would you say something like that?”
“I told you. I lost my composure. I’ve regretted those words since the moment they leapt from my lips. I now have the deaths of numerous friends that weigh on my conscience. Most recently, my dearest, most tenured friend, Demeter. He was slain by Shentaka just yesterday.”
“So if you thought Shen was off his rocker, how did his request to the ... uh ... Receiver get granted? I’m sure this Receiver guy asks ‘known associates’ for input before making his final decision. Right?”
“That is correct. I haven’t given you the timetable, Prescott. Shentaka was killed according to the Columbus Dispatch in 1992. He only fell in recent years. He was silent, but he trained, and he was calm, and he was obedient for twenty of your low-lyer years.”
“Jesus fuck, Malcolm!
“Watch your language, Prescott.”
“Fuck you, Malcolm! This whole fucking mess is your fault. Was your ego not getting stroked enough? After all, I mean, you’re the guy that takes souls for angelhood before they’re even fucking dead!”
“You don’t think I know this? I wish I could be more helpful, but I just can’t!”
“Oh, you’re good, Malcolm. You’ve done quite enough. With friends like you, who needs enemies? Can I wake up now? I’m feeling sick to my fuckin’ stomach.”
“Unfortunately, no. There is one more thing you must know. Shen has a weapon. A weapon of great power. It is called the Rohan Dagger. It is the only weapon known to those of us upon the Higher Grounds that can kill an angel.”
“Well, this just keeps getting better and better.”
“Yes, they can die. When their life naturally comes to an end. It is different for every fallen angel. However, no method born from the Low Lying Lands can kill an angel, fallen or not. Except the Rohan Dagger. This is an incredibly dangerous and powerful weapon that is currently in the hands of a madman. You must use extreme caution and all of your cunning, Prescott, if you and your friends are to defeat him.”
“Okay, okay. So how did he get the dagger in the first place?”
“I gave it to him.”
THE TASK AT HAND
I startle awake and kick the hell out of the seat in front of me. Lexi reflexively jumps to her feet on the back seat next to me and starts growling ferociously. She has no idea what she is growling about but for my disorientation and rapid breathing.
“For crying out loud, Prescott. I like my neck just fine. If it’s going to be broken I’d really like it to be from the bad guys and not you. Damn.” Well, Shields is awake now, too.
I can feel my heart beating so intensely I think it might jump out of my chest like the little baby from Alien.
“Sorry! Shields, start driving. NOW! Cole! Wake up! I have news. A lot of news.”
“What are you talking about?” Shields is still busy waking herself up.
“I’ll tell you on the way, but we gotta move. Now!”
Shields shakes her head a few times to shake out the cobwebs, then turns over the ignition. She pulls onto US 33.
Cole doesn’t initially respond. His military training plus wartime action has trained him to sleep through nearly anything but the USC Marching Band playing “Louie, Louie” at his bedside.
“Hey, Cole,” I say. Nothing. “Cole!” I say again, almost yelling while I flick his ear hard from the backseat.
It’s his turn to startle awake, and when he does his knee crunches the dash violently.
“Argh! Dammit, Prescott! What the fuck do you want? We all had a pretty good sleep going, you dried up nutsack,” he growls.
Despite coming off everything I just heard from Malcolm, I do allow myself a quick second to smile. I do love me some grouchy Michael Cole.
“Wake up, man,” I say kind of frantically. “We’re moving and there’s a lot I need to pass on before we get to Columbus.”
“Okay, okay. Calm down, Prescott,” says Shields. “Start talking and we’ll go from there.”
Cole is right, though. We’ve all been in the midst of our first quality sleep effort in quite a while. Sure, we sleep here and there. But honestly it’s usually in shifts and, well, believe me when I say none of us has slept well recently.
After I lit the gas trail that snaked across the cracked parking lot to the complete and total destruction of Schlagheck’
s Gas ‘N’ Go, we’d driven straight up Lima Street, or US 33 if you prefer, about twenty minutes and pulled over. It was there that we decided as a team we had to stop for the night. Sleep first and foremost, then regroup in the morning.
Several months ago—when we were in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, gearing up for our final confrontation with Kendrick Kade—I had had a similar meeting with Malcolm within a dream state. We met in a rustic cottage and Malcolm proceeded to tell me all the ways he wasn’t going to help us and that we were all going to die, of course.
This get-together with Malcolm felt altogether different. I’m not sure what was up with that place. The smoke was everywhere. And I honestly didn’t see anyone smoking. And that big black guy with the hat looked like he’d walked right of that 7-Up commercial from the eighties. The Chicago style jazz ... it felt like it was setup for me to be comfortable. Does Malcolm know the 7-Up man? Am I really somewhere? There? Or am I dreaming like before? I let out a breath. Questions for another time.
The next thing I know, Cole’s hand is about an inch from my face, and he’s snapping his fingers and, you know, being Cole.
“Okay, okay!” I snarl.
“You with us, Buckwheat?” asks Cole.
“Yes! What are you talking about?”
Shields says, “Where did you go, Prescott? You were a zombie there for about two minutes.”
“I ... uh ... I’m not sure. I thought I was just thinking to myself, but I guess not. Sorry to worry you.”
“Worry? Don’t flatter yourself, Prescott. I thought you were just, you know, being you.”
Jinx.
“No, I wasn’t, but I’m good now.”
“Okay,” says Shields. “What’s this news that you somehow acquired in your sleep?”
“It’s Malcolm. He’s back.”
“Well, it’s about damn time!” says Cole. He does sound happy, though. Maybe relieved.
“Prescott! That’s great! Is he okay? Where has he been? What has he been doing? Did he say why he’s been gone?” Shields is beside herself. Then again, she’s known him longer than any of us.
“Look, both of you. This is bad. Real bad. And Malcolm is right in the fuckin’ middle of it.”
“What do you mean?”
I lay it all out for them. The history of Admiral Shen. From his roots in Japan to his move to Columbus, Ohio, USA. The family business, the great schools, and the military service. I tell them about Beirut and that he’d survived the bombing.
I progress through the story, making sure to highlight all the times Malcolm broke the code. I explain in detail the numerous times Malcolm personally interfered in Shen’s life and how he’d actually been a manufactured Point of Light. Then I put the cherry on top by telling them Malcolm took Shen for the Higher Grounds before he was even dead.
“Shit,” says Shields.
“Yeah.”
“So basically we have to clean up Malcolm’s mess. That about cover it?” Cole is seriously agitated.
“Basically, yes. But let’s not forget, Michael, had Malcolm never crossed—had he not been the Network—there is no way in Hell we would’ve stopped Kade. So we owe him that.”
“Right. You realize this isn’t even Descent stuff, right, Prescott? This is basically Star Wars with an apocalyptic twist.”
“You know what, Cole? That is one hell of an analogy! That’s a fine use of a damn good movie right there. And I actually agree with you.”
“Come on, you two. Star Wars?”
“Cole is saying this whole thing boils down to the master and the student,” I tell her. “And it went south. Although Malcolm is hardly Obi-Wan.”
“You two make my head hurt.”
“I guess this makes us the Rebel Alliance?” says Cole.
“Fuck that. I already called Tombstone for this job. Star Wars can come later.”
“Fine.”
“Can we please get back on track? What the hell is wrong with you two? Goddamnit!”
Whoa. Shields is pissed.
“It’s foxhole humor, Laura. Like Prescott says. We gotta remind ourselves to laugh sometimes or we’ll all crack up.”
“I understand that. But all the time? Sometimes I feel like you two have already cracked.”
And then she starts to cry. Cole and I look at each other, and then we both go to her.
“You’re right,” I say, my hand on her shoulder. “It’s just been an exhausting couple of weeks. Even though Malcolm may not be exactly what we thought he was, he does want to help. He’s given us everything we need to know about who we’re going up against.
“And actually, there are still a couple important things we need to discuss in the immediate future that’ll affect how we get the ball rolling once we get into town. Malcolm has implanted the address of the Seventh Son in my head, so I know exactly how to get there. We’re only about forty minutes away.”
“So what else is there? Sounds important.”
I tell them about Pops.
***
“Why the fuck didn’t you lead with Pops, you asshole? Floor it!” says Cole. “We gotta get this guy Pops before the Freaks drag him off somewhere and dishonor him even more.”
“Agreed,” says Shields.
“I know, guys. Lexi’s in, too. But you above anyone know it’s not that easy, Cole. We need to talk this over while we drive and set up camp when we get there. We have to scout it out and make a plan. Okay? This is game on, you two. When Shields turns the key, we are live until this thing ends. Understood?”
“Yeah. Clear,” grumbles Cole.
“Of course,” says Shields.
Shields turns over the ignition and I point her forward. She pull onto the road and accelerates. As Robert Downey Jr. had guaranteed, the streets are clean. Lexi has her head out the window and is enjoying the wind blowing on her face.
She is, of course, working, too. Always sniffing, my girl Lexi. The best Freak detector I know. Case in point: she sensed a red flag before we approached Schlagheck’s. Yeah, I had to brawl, but she let me know to keep my guard up before I even set foot in the place.
We continue on US 33 for about ten minutes before I finally break the silence. I feel like the Comanche Crew needs a pick-me-up.
“You know what? Fuck it. We can plan and scout and all that shit when we get there. Let’s just ride for a few minutes and be ... us,” I say. And for no other reason than to throw a happy bomb into this shit party, I flash the world’s biggest smile.
“What the hell are you up to, Prescott?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Michael. Something that makes you smile. Go.”
“What? Fuck off. You just said it’s time to get serious.”
“And we will. What makes you smile, ya damn Grinch?”
“Thinking about my family,” says Shields. It wasn’t but two years ago that Laura Shields was forced to kill her husband after he had become infected and killed their two sons.
“Okay,” I say immediately. “What make makes you smile when you think about them?”
“Oh ... gosh. Shawn, my husband, was the most kindhearted man you’d ever know. I don’t think I’ve ever told you his name before ...”
“No.”
“I’m sorry for that. My sons, Jeremiah and Leo, were wonderful as well. Always smiling. Always ... investigating.” She laughs. “They were always playing detective, and Shawn and I had to leave clues around the house until they solved the mystery.”
“And what about Shawn?” I ask “What can you tell us? How did he make you smile?”
“Shawn was a giver. I swear I had no idea what he liked or didn’t like. I mean, of course I did, but it was like he lived his life for me and the kids. What do you want to do tonight? ‘I don’t know. What do you want to do, Leo?’ Or me. Or Jeremiah. And he wasn’t just saying it. He was sincere.
“He almost killed me. It was so damn close. Even though I discovered him standing over our sons. He had obviously killed them. I thought—”
“You don’t have to, Shields,” says Cole.
“No, it’s okay. I knew he was sick. He had broken. I didn’t know that then but I do now. I still, in that first moment, wanted to try and help him. No, you’re right—I don’t want to do this. Thank you, Prescott. This worked. Believe it or not. I’m going to think about my family until we arrive.”
“Cole? What makes you smile?” I ask.
“I’ll go last. This is ridiculous.”
“No. It’s brilliant,” says Shields. “Think of something, and when it’s your turn, you damn well better talk about it!” She’s slightly heated.
“Okay, everybody. Chill out. Channel your inner Bob Ross. Okay? Goddamnit. Happy trees.”
“Your turn, Prescott. Let’s hear it,” Shields says from behind the wheel.
“Okay. Let’s see. Right. Not sure I ever mentioned this dude before, but I used to have a partner in crime. We were brought together by the Descent. His name was Cooper. Coop for short. Before, you know, it all went belly-up, I was a finder. If Mr. Prescott did anything for me at all, it was teaching me that particular set of skills.
“Post-Descent, I tweaked the rules a little bit and used my finder skills to reunite families separated by the madness that was the happening all around them. As you can imagine, many of these cases didn’t work out. Coop was the one who introduced me to foxhole humor.
“I swear to little green men, that cat could make me laugh so hard it hurt. He had the most fucked-up sense of humor that was just right up my alley. I miss him so much.” I laugh, then pause for a beat.
“Hey, do you guys remember the baseball player Rafael Palmeiro?”
“Yeah. The doper,” says Cole.
“Okay, yeah, fine. Coop had a saying. It came from this story he told me once while we were staking out a Freak nest. He said back when he was in college he was sitting around in his frat house with a few of his brothers. They were watching the Texas Rangers on public access television. He said the broadcast was in Spanish. Now, he and his buddies, none of them understood a lick of Spanish. Well, a few plays later, a player for the opposing team hit a screamer that Palmeiro snagged right out of the air for the out. I mean, he just snatched it lightning quick. So out of a fully Spanish broadcast the announcer screams, “OH, PALMEIRO!” You should’ve heard him tell the story. But anyway, it didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing. We could’ve been running for our lives and he’d up and scream “OH, PALMEIRO!” I could’ve been about to die, but I’d always laugh. God, I miss him. He’s dead now. Gone but not forgotten.
