Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale

by Sean Cummings

  “Gimme a break.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Marshall, secrets are necessary for people like us,” she lectured. “I understand how everything that’s happened up to now feels like a lie, but—”

  “Shouldn’t it?” I snapped, cutting her off.

  Ruby crossed her arms and flashed me a disapproving frown. “You’re sulking, Conrad. Not a very attractive quality for someone with your gifts.”

  “Gifts?” I laughed. “I’d trade them in a minute for something resembling a normal life.”

  Ruby snorted. “What, and miss out on cool shit like kicking the crap out of bad guys? Seriously, are you telling me that you’d trade away all of your powers to do what? Become a chartered accountant? Get over it. You’d miss soaring above the treetops or bending the laws of physics and don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

  She was right.

  Though I pretty much dislike or mistrust everyone I encounter, I still feel a jolt of self-satisfaction whenever I save a person’s life. Even if the person I just saved would never know how close to death they might have come. It’s as if I’m shaping the future—for better or worse.

  “I don’t know how I am supposed to balance a Vanguard’s powers with those of a Sorcerer. Someone killed the father I never knew, and I’m to just pretend that nothing happened?”

  “There isn’t time for self-examination, Marshall,” said Stella. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Are there any more bombshells about my past that I should know about?”

  Ruby and Stella both shook their heads.

  “If this crystal is a talisman, what am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Grill Sallos for information,” said Ruby. “Oh, and by the way, he owes you big time. He impersonated five other demons and according to netherworld law, that’s akin to staging a coup.”

  I held the green crystal up to the fluorescent light above the dinette and gave it a little shake. “Hey demon, are you in awake in there?”

  It vibrated in my hand and then glowed brightly. “Where else would I be, asshole?” Sallos complained. “You’re the one who put me in here.”

  “Do I have to go into the netherworld in order to destroy Grim Geoffrey?

  “Yes and no.” The bright glow from the crystal faded, and there was a long pause.

  “Your understanding of the netherworld is based on religious beliefs,” the demon said. “Your kind speaks of hell as if it’s a punishment for the sins you commit in your mortal lives—mostly because humans are colossally naïve.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The demon gave a dismissive sigh. “Your kind doesn’t realize that hell exists right here in the near world. Humanity sows the seeds of pestilence, which yields a crop of pain and incalculable loss. You claim to learn from your mistakes and you dumb down the penance for your collective sins by invoking the netherworld as punishment for your failings as a race.”

  “Oh, this guy is a complete jerk,” Ruby interrupted. “He’s spinning a yarn of pure bullshit.”

  “Just can it for a minute, Ruby,” I said, as I motioned for her to stop. “I think Sallos might be onto something.”

  “Well thank you for your vote of confidence, mortal. It means so much to me,” it said, dryly.

  Stella shook her head in obvious disagreement. “Limit your discussions with Sallos to simple questions that require a yes or no answer, Marshall. He’s still a demon and he’ll do everything he can to deceive you. It’s his nature.”

  “Maybe,” I nodded. “Then again, if he’s persona-non-grata in his realm, it would seem to me that I own his ass.”

  “Now we’re talking,” chimed Ruby. “Lay into him!”

  I squeezed the crystal in my right hand just enough to remind the grave demon that I could destroy his essence on a whim.

  “You wouldn’t purposefully lie to me, Sallos, would you?”

  “I’m a demon, you moron. It’s what I do,” it shot back. “Of course, I am a coward at heart and my desire for self preservation would naturally ensure full and honest disclosure.”

  “Then disclose the location of Grim Geoffrey.”

  “That is impossible,” it chuckled. “He is protected by a vast army of followers. Assuming you entered a portal into the netherworld, his minions would destroy you.”

  “I defeated you, didn’t I?”

  “That you did, Vanguard, but I am one and his followers number in the thousands,” Sallos warned. “You also forget that your opponent isn’t just a demon. He’s a Púca. The only way to defeat a malevolent Púca is to destroy the source of its power.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Fear,” it said. “You must starve him of the fear he’s been spreading throughout your domain.”

  “Great!” I threw my hands in the air. “This just keeps getting better and better. How the hell do you stop an epidemic of fear in a small city like Greenfield where there are three unsolved murders and spiral symbols showing up all over the place?”

  Ruby got up from her chair and began to survey the damage to the back room of The Curiosity Nook. “Weinberg, you’re still an archivist, right?” she asked as she kicked at a pile of overturned boxes.

  “The best one on the eastern seaboard,” Stella said proudly. “Why?”

  “Do you have a copy of the Big Black Book?”

  “No!” Stella protested loudly. “Absolutely not. It’s forbidden.”

  “We’ll just stretch the rules a little bit,” said Ruby. “I’m pretty sure your order won’t be considering the ethical questions associated with using the Big Black Book if they’re all dead, so what’s the harm?”

  “What are you getting at, Ruby?” I asked.

  Stella glowered at Ruby and shook her head. “We mustn’t,” she lectured. “Dark magic is too great a risk, Ruby Thiessen. You know that neither of us has the power to undo the damage from even one small spell in that book .”

  Ruby looked unimpressed as she walked back to the dinette and took her seat.

  “Can we get back to the task at hand? The solstice is drawing near,” I said. “The grave demon said fear is the key to beating Grim Geoffrey.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about, Conrad,” said Ruby. “The Big Black Book is bound to have something we can use.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the Big Black Book?”

  “An archive filled with powerful spells that individual sorcerers have utilized and improved upon. Sort of like Wiki Pedia for the dark arts.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Isn’t Wiki Pedia filled with inaccuracies because many of its authors are frauds and charlatans? Call me crazy, but it might not be a good idea to use unproven methods.”

  “First off, many of the spells are proven, and the one Stella is concerned with is risky because the people who tried to cast it simply didn’t possess the power to bend it to their will,” Ruby said. “Now if the person had powers that were off the scale, well...”

  “It is morally wrong to cast a spell on an entire population!” Stella interjected. “You’re proposing that we use the Big Black Book to transform Greenfield’s entire population into zombies.”

  “I am not,” Ruby chided. “The spell I’m thinking of will simply desensitize everyone in town from the dangers associated with mass hysteria. If you’ve got a better way to stop fear from spreading throughout the community, I’m all ears.”

  Stella crossed her arms and glared at the ceiling while I considered what Ruby was suggesting. To my knowledge, there had been only three killings, but each victim had been killed in the most graphic way imaginable. Investigators had found numerous spiral engraved rocks at each crime scene, and lately, the city had been experiencing an outbreak of graffiti as the spiral symbol began appearing all over town. To make matters worse, the news media was publicly speculating on the likelihood of a serial killer being responsible the unsolved murders, and everyone in town was talking about it. If fear was the common d
enominator, maybe Ruby was onto something.

  “Stella, in your vast experience as a witch and an archivist, do you know of any spell we could use that doesn’t qualify as dark magic?” I asked.

  She shook her head.”There isn’t one.”

  “Is there any way we can find a portal to the netherworld and find Grim Geoffrey before the solstice?”

  Stella shook her head. “Not a chance. There simply isn’t enough time.”

  “If we cast this spell, how difficult is it to undo?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and gave me a dead-serious scowl. “Assuming I agree to do this, we’d have to ensure that the spell wears off when people are asleep. That way they can wake up in the morning oblivious to any possible ill side effects.”

  “How long could the spell last?”

  “As long as the person who cast the spell remains alive, or until they invoke a counter spell.”

  “Well, that sounds easy enough,” I said, with a hint of optimism. “I mean maybe we could cast the spell, and then it would draw out Grim Geoffrey’s host.”

  Stella shrugged. “That would definitely draw him out. But you don’t understand the ramifications of a mass spell and why it’s extremely dangerous.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if we die?” she asked. “Who’d undo the spell? We’d have an entire city wandering around on some kind of netherworld Prozac, completely desensitized to feelings and emotions that separate humans from drooling zombies. So do the math.”

  Ruby slammed her fist down on the table, causing the legs to buckle. “Weinberg, there isn’t time to discuss the ethical questions when all hell is about to break loose. You’re also discounting Conrad’s abilities pedigree as a Vanguard and a Sorcerer,” she said. “He kicked the living shit out of a G-D grave demon using elementary school freakin’ Latin—he captured its essence and he saved our lives. Cut the guy a little slack.”

  Stella was about to say something, but Ruby didn’t give her a chance.

  “Think about it, Weinberg. You do the math. Conrad is powerful. He’s never received any formal training, and isn’t it just a little bit strange that Grim Geoffrey has chosen Greenfield to launch his lovely assault on the near world right here, right now?”

  “I don’t think I understand,” said Stella.

  “Of course you don’t. That’s one of the reasons we’re in this mess,” Ruby groaned.

  The back room of Stella’s store fell silent. Finally, this was all making sense. Grim Geoffrey must have known about me, and that’s why he’d chosen Greenfield. The three murders were partly about raising the level of fear in the community, but also to test the waters and determine what kind of threat I presented to his plan.

  Stella chewed on her lip. “You’re right, Ruby—this is bigger than anything I’d imagined. Marshall has proven himself to be extremely powerful, even with limited knowledge. This is going to get me thrown out of my order, but I don’t see that we have a choice.”

  “Fabulous!” said Ruby, excitedly.

  “A word of caution, though. We need to produce an iron-clad plan on how to manage the intangibles, because Grim Geoffrey is extremely clever. He’ll throw everything he’s got at Marshall.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” I said, nervously.

  “Don’t worry, Conrad. Between Stella and me, there’s over a hundred years of combined experience.” Ruby said reassuringly. “You’ve got a grave demon that will help you figure out how to defeat Grim Geoffrey, your cat is a spy, and you, my friend, are a force to be reckoned with.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  “Stella will get the Big Black Book and collect the ingredients for the spell. The next move is up to Grim Geoffrey.”

  “Then what?”

  Ruby smiled. “Then we take a trip to the dark side.”

  Chapter 25

  TV has this nasty habit of giving viewers a distorted take on reality. Shows like Law and Order always have a District Attorney grilling a murder suspect in a sterile room with the hum of an air conditioner in the background. CSI has a hot female forensics investigator forcing a confession out of someone because their DNA was all over a bloody towel found in the suspect’s laundry hamper. Stupid TV.

  I’d just left The Curiosity Nook and was driving home when I noticed the flashing lights of a police cruiser in my rearview mirror. “Shit,” I muttered as I pulled over against the curb. Two Sheriff’s deputies walked over to my car, so I put on my best fake smile and lowered the power window on the Tempo.

  “What seems to be the problem, officer?” I asked. “I wasn’t speeding.”

  He peered inside my car and grunted. “You’re Conrad?”

  “Yes, what’s the problem?”

  “Sheriff wants to see you,” he said. “You can go voluntarily or I’ll impound this bucket of bolts you call a car. What’ll it be?”

  I glanced at the other deputy on the other side of my car and considered my options. Obviously the Sheriff planned to grill me for more information, and rightly so. I’d injected myself into the investigation at the second crime scene and he was treating me as a suspect. If I refused, I imagined they would somehow obtain a warrant to search my apartment, not that it mattered much. I didn’t have any evidence that would link me to the unsolved murders, but I did have a friend named Stella Weinberg who kept a large collection of spiral engraved rocks in the back of her store. If the Sheriff learned about those, he’d wind up investigating Stella as well.

  I’d better comply with the deputy’s request.

  “Sure thing,” I said, as I stepped out of the Tempo. “Can I drive your squad car?”

  “Shut up and get in,” said the Deputy, as he pushed me into the back seat and slammed the door.

  He flipped the cruiser in gear and took off, squealing the tires. We drove in silence for the next ten minutes until we reached the Greenfield Sheriff’s Office. I was led inside past a series of small offices until we reached a cubicle where a bespectacled man in a grey suit was typing furiously at his laptop.

  He said his name was Doctor Robert Duncan and the badge dangling from his neck emblazoned with the seal of the FBI said that I was probably in a helluva lot of trouble.

  “Conrad... What is that? Russian?” he asked, without looking up from the computer.

  “Ukrainian,” I muttered. “It might be Polish. I’m not sure.”

  “Got any family in town?”

  “Why?”

  He spun the laptop around so the screen was facing me and gave me a sly smile.

  “Well, for starters, it’s because this form requires that I ask if you have any family.”

  “No, it’s just me. Well, Walter is my family, I guess.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My cat. He’s a spy, you know.”

  “What makes you say that? Does he tell you he’s a spy?” he asked, dead serious.

  “Not the last time I looked,” I said, sizing him up. “I mean, he stares out the window all the time, so I accuse him of spying on the neighbors.”

  “Do you know any of your neighbors?”

  “What do you mean—like do I ever go over to the neighbor’s for a game of bridge?”

  “Nobody plays bridge anymore,” he said. “Save for little old ladies who go to church. Does your mother play bridge? Mine still does, and she’s seventy-nine.”

  “My mother passed away a long time ago.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Tell me about her.”

  “Why?”

  “Just for a bit of background on you, that’s all.”

  “Background as in whether or not she hit me with wire coat hangers or told me she’d cut off my penis if she ever caught me playing with myself in the bathtub?”

  Might as well be a smartass.

  “Did she?”

  “I had a good upbringing, no I’ve never been abused and yes, my penis is still attached,” I said, glancing at the badge dangling from his neck. “You introdu
ced yourself as Dr. Duncan. I’m not getting a physical and you’re asking me if I was Mommy’s special boy. I’m going to roll the dice and say you’re a psychologist, and you’re profiling me.”

  He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. I expected him to fire back at my comment with something clever. Instead, he grinned politely, which gave me the creeps.

  “It doesn’t work that way, you know,” he offered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t question a suspect and create the profile based on his response. We look at the evidence, the method of killing, similarities to other crimes, not to mention the similarities between suspects. All of this gives us a sketch of killer’s behaviors that act as a compass. It’s not a precise science by any means, but then you probably already know that, don’t you?”

  He was good. He knew that I was toying with him to get a response, and he’d called me on it.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “Actually, Marnie calls me on my bullshit a lot like you just did.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Marnie Brindle,” I said calmly. “She’s my upstairs neighbor who’s been dealing with a lot of personal problems lately. She can read me like a book. I hate it when she does that.”

  Duncan leaned into the desk and cocked his head. “Tell me about her.”

  I knew what he was doing.

  Duncan was trying to determine if I was capable of having an emotional connection with someone. I imagined he kept a mental checklist of attributes that are common among murderers, and if there were enough answers in the yes column, I’d probably be charged with the killings.

  “Well, she’s beautiful, you know? I mean, she’s twenty years younger than me and I’ll probably go to hell for admitting that I’ve undressed her with my eyes on more than one occasion, but she’s, well, rare.”

  “Explain—”

  “Most people are complete assholes, but there’s something special about her,” I said, surprising myself. “At first glance, you’d think she’s a red-headed bimbo because she dresses the way most twenty-three year olds dress—you know, sexy and all. She’s always gabbing on her cellphone about the most mundane topics that make me feel older than dirt, but she makes homemade applesauce, and she’s genuine when she’s talking to you. I mean, she makes you feel like she gives a crap.”