Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale

by Sean Cummings

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Looking for Marilyn Aldrich,” I said, sitting down at the table.

  “Jeez, that’s right,” said Marnie. “That’s the biggest thing that’s ever hit this town. The Sheriff’s office is swarming with reporters. Even the big networks are covering this.”

  “Yeah, it’s big news.”

  “Any leads?”

  “You mean other than the giant red spiral on the roof of her place out at Crystal Beach?”

  Marnie filled my plate with a steaming helping of Pad Thai and Coconut Rice. “You saw that on the news too, huh?” she asked, handing it to me.

  “That I did,” I said, as I stuffed a forkful of rice in my mouth. “No leads, though.”

  “This looks like a job for Greenfield Super-Duper Guy,” she said. “I wonder if he’s out there looking for her.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Then it hit me.

  A high order detonation of corrosive pain blasted its way straight into the middle of my brain and I doubled over in my chair.

  “Jesus Christ!” I screamed through my teeth.

  Then another blast of pain spread out from my temples to the back of my head. I clutched at my stomach as a hurricane of nausea shot through my stomach, knocking me to the floor.

  “Marshall!” Marnie scrambled to her knees and threw her arms around me. “Oh my god, Marshall, what’s wrong?”

  My mind flooded with a crystal-clear image of Marilyn Aldrich, bound and gagged. Her eyes were giant white O’s as the image of a large meat cleaver danced in front of her face, its blue steel gleaming in the light of a kerosene lantern.

  Her face was bruised and her nose looked broken as she struggled to free herself.

  The man in white coveralls leaned in and kissed her forehead, his stringy blond hair brushing her face, leaving a trail of slime on her skin.

  He was ready to end her. He had to end her.

  She was the last one before his master would come.

  His master would reward him for his loyalty, he’d been promised so much and he’d willingly given of himself because his master made everything happen.

  Amazing feats.

  Like knowing that God was talking to him. That God had selected him for this one task.

  He’d been reading the papers for so many years, searching the headlines for anything that would confirm the end-times were at hand—and the end-times needed the hand of God to usher in the final judgment.

  He danced around the barn, kicking up dust and straw as he sang about the hand of God. His hands. His pale white hands. God wanted the last one to end inside a stable, but the only place he could find that was secluded enough to carry out God’s will was the abandoned barn with the checkerboard roof on his family’s property. His family was gone now. All gone. It was early still. He’d come back to the barn before midnight—he always ended them before midnight, just as his master wanted. For he was a loyal servant, a favored prophet who would prepare this spoiled earth for God’s arrival.

  And it would be good.

  Marnie helped me to my easy chair and I collapsed in a heap. The migraine continued to stab at my head like an ice pick on a reciprocating saw as I glanced at my watch. It was 6:47 PM and I’d been out for half an hour.

  “I thought you were having a heart attack.” Marnie’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “I’m okay,” I said, weakly. “I get brutal migraines and you just witnessed one. Can we do a rain check?”

  “That was no migraine, Marshall Conrad!” She scowled. “We should take you to the hospital and get you checked out, just to be safe.”

  “I’ll be fine! I just need to go to bed.”

  Marnie recoiled from my outburst and I didn’t have time to feel like an abusive asshole because I had to find a barn with a checkerboard roof and rescue Marilyn Aldrich.

  “I-I’ll stay with you then, okay?” she pleaded.

  “It’s fine, Marnie, I’ll be all right. Just go home.”

  “I should stay here with you,” she insisted, sounding slightly angry. “You told me you wanted me to stay with you overnight!”

  “Leave me the hell alone and get out of my apartment!” I roared, certain I’d forever destroyed whatever affection might exist between Marnie and me.

  She shoved me into the chair and flashed a contemptuous glare straight at me. “You know what? You sound just like the guy who saved me when he was screaming at my stalker.”

  “Just leave, will you?” I groaned.

  “Oh, I’m leaving. I’ll be seeing you around—you just won’t know I’m there!” she shouted, as she stormed out of my apartment.

  Chapter 34

  I had no idea how my psychic radar miraculously reappeared, and I wasn’t going to waste any time speculating. The migraine that rolled into my brain like an avalanche showed Marilyn Aldrich was still alive, but I’d have to move fast if she had any hope of surviving the night.

  The image of a barn with a checkerboard roof filled my head as I changed out of my street clothes and pulled my kangaroo shirt over my head. I’d have to take to the skies and conduct an aerial reconnaissance to find the barn, but I couldn’t just walk out into my parking lot and leap into the air. Marnie Brindle had made it abundantly clear she would be watching me, confirming that she believed I was Greenfield’s elusive superhero.

  As I zipped up my leather jacket, it occurred to me that before the night was over, my secret would be out. There was no escaping that in order to rescue Marilyn Aldrich, I’d have to battle Grim Geoffrey’s host. Short of somehow luring him away from the barn, I was unable to plot a strategy that would guarantee her safety while simultaneously ensuring she wouldn’t see me.

  I ran out to the parking lot and hopped in my car. It was 7:04 PM and I had a little over four and a half hours to find Marilyn Aldrich.

  I turned the key and the Tempo sputtered to life. I slipped it into reverse, squealing the tires as I backed up and then tore out of my parking lot as fast as the four cylinder engine would carry me. I had to get out of town and find a secluded place where I could park my car, and then take to the skies without being noticed. But first I headed to The Curiosity Nook to grab Ruby and Stella. When I arrived, the doors were locked and Boris Yeltsin wasn’t waving from his familiar spot in the front window.

  “Crap,” I muttered. “No time to look for them.”

  I scribbled a note on a piece of scrap paper from the pocket of my leather pants and stuck it in the door jam, hoping they’d find it when they returned. The note read:

  “Radar working. Gone to collect M.A., Barn with checkerboard roof.

  Host is on-site, not sure if it’s a trap. M.A. severely beaten and will need medical attention, look for me at hospital. If you haven’t heard from me by 12:30 AM, assume the worst.”

  I jumped back in the Tempo and headed up Shelby Avenue, then turned onto the Interstate and headed north. I drove for another ten minutes, looking for a dirt road or a fireguard—anything that would allow me to get off the highway and out of plain view. I took Exit 12 and headed west on State Highway 6 for another mile and half until I spotted a fireguard that led from the highway into a thick stand of Spruce trees. It would have to do. I glanced at my watch. 7:44 PM.

  I pulled my car off the highway and drove up the cut line until I couldn’t see the highway through my rearview mirror. The Tempo’s engine strained against the mud earth, kicking up huge clumps of muck that sprayed out from both sides of my front tires. I got out of the car and looked around to ensure I was alone, then pulled the hood of my kangaroo shirt over my head. 7:53 PM.

  I stretched out my arms and then pushed off the ground with every ounce of energy in my body. I slowly hovered above the trees and then started scanning the area, hoping to find the barn. Nothing.

  I floated higher and winced as the setting sun blinded my eyes, amplifying the stabbing pain of the migraine. I squinted so I could get a better view of my surroundings but there were n
o buildings anywhere in sight. The best thing to do would be to fly at a high altitude in a zigzag pattern over a large area. Maybe that would lead me to the barn with the checkerboard roof.

  I spotted a series of rolling hills in the distance and used them as a navigational aid, scanning the ground as I went. The forest gave way to newly planted crops of corn and canola, and I spotted numerous barns, but none of them had checkerboard roofs. I considered heading toward Crystal Beach on a hunch that I might be able to hone into his location if I focused on his willful intent, and then it came to me.

  I shouldn’t have been searching for a checkerboard roof, instead, I should be combing the ground for signs where nature had reclaimed the earth from the constant plowing of farm equipment or from the grazing of livestock. That meant trees and brush should be growing where spring crops would normally be in full blossom.

  I continued zigzagging until I spotted a tract of land in the distance that wasn’t consistent with the topography surrounding it. I leaned into the air currents and clenched my fists, increasing my speed until I spotted a set of tire tracks cutting across a field of overgrown weeds and then disappearing into a depression in the ground. As I flew higher, I spotted numerous rusted-out farm implements scattered as far as the eye could see. Waist high weeds bobbed and weaved in unison with the damp evening breeze while a small group of sheep bedded down for the night. The low ground eventually gave way to a rise on to what once might have been a bald hill, carpeted with scrub and bramble. I noticed a rotting wind pump bent at a forty-five degree angle that pointed to another depression in the ground and then, jutting out from between two hills I saw it: the checkerboard roof.

  I immediately stopped in midair and hovered about five hundred yards from the barn. The left side had collapsed and the roof sagged in the center, as if a large anvil had been dropped from the sky directly above. A set of tire tracks circled the barn, but a truck or car was nowhere in sight. I listened closely for the sound of an engine or human voices and heard nothing. A faint ambient light glowed dimly through a hole in the roof. Someone was inside.

  I’d expected my eyes to explode into brilliant white light, but nothing happened. If Seeker’s Light was indeed a sure sign of the presence of evil, then Grim Geoffrey’s host wasn’t on site, and that meant Marilyn Aldrich was alone. I lowered myself onto the roof of the barn and landed softly, hoping it wouldn’t give way. It didn’t. I crawled to the hole in the roof and peered inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Aldrich, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  I flew to the ground and then walked the entire perimeter of the barn, just to be certain the man in white coveralls wasn’t hiding somewhere. Then it occurred to me that a barn probably has a million and one possible hiding places so I should hustle my butt inside and find Marilyn Aldrich. I found a side entrance. The weathered gray door hung loosely from rotting hinges, and banged against the wall with each small gust of wind.

  I stepped inside and my nostrils filled with the smell of rotting straw and mold. The dirt floor had long been overtaken by a carpet of moss that stretched out to the middle of the barn where the roof had given way. I noticed a small tree growing in a massive heap of soil and composted bales of hay, and there was a rusted-out John Deere tractor by the main entrance, covered with decades of grime.

  “Hello?” I called out, in a guarded voice. “Mrs. Aldrich, are you in here?” My voice echoed across the beamed ceiling and a barn owl fluttered its wings, scaring the crap out of me. Then I heard a scuffling sound coming from the loft.

  “Mrs. Aldrich, are you in here?” I called out again, as I walked toward the glowing light that I assumed was from the kerosene lantern in my vision. The scuffling came from the loft so I snuck over a ladder and carefully began climbing, ready at any moment for an attack.

  As my head poked over the ledge, the scuffling sound became constant as a muffled voice cried out from beside a pile of rotting hay bales. I glanced over and spotted Marilyn Aldrich dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. Her bound hands hung stiffly from a rusted hoist hook, stretching her arms to their full extension. Blood dripped from her torn wrists and down her forearms, staining the sleeves of her white sweater. Her legs were bound in two places, at the thighs and at the ankles, and her mouth was gagged with another piece of rope that cut into her face. Dried blood collected at the corner of her mouth and her face was a mass of bruises. She’d been beaten. Severely.

  I didn’t waste any time.

  I ran over and untied the knot behind her head while she flopped around, trying to fight me. It fell to the ground as she turned her head and stared at me, her eyes filled with terror.

  “H-Have y-you come to kill me?” she asked, her voice dry and hoarse.

  “Nope,” I whispered, as I untied the rope around her legs. “Stop struggling, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  “W-Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Shh. Where’s the man in white?”

  “H-How did you find me?” she asked. “H-how did you know about him?”

  “Mrs. Aldrich, there isn’t time,” I said, untying the knot above her head. Her arms dropped to the floor like a stone. “Is he nearby?”

  “N-No,” she said weakly. “He went away. He said he was coming back to purify my body.”

  “I hate to ask this, but has he?”

  “N-No, he didn’t rape me. W-Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, helping her to her feet. “Can you walk?”

  She took a tentative step forward and her knees buckled. I caught her and slung her left arm over my shoulder. “Try it now,” I said.

  Mrs. Aldrich limped forward, leaning heavily against me. Her right leg was dragging and it was clear she was in no shape to hoof it out of the barn.

  “I’m going to have to carry you,” I said. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  “W-why are you wearing a hood?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “Who are you?”

  “We can talk about it on your TV show sometime,” I said, trying to sound optimistic. “Put your arms around my neck, Mrs. Aldrich.”

  “I-I can’t move my l-left arm,” she winced, as she fell to her knees. “Shooting pain.”

  All the color left her face and she broke out in a cold sweat. I ran my hand over her left arm to check for any broken bones, but it was intact.

  “T-trouble b-breathing,” she coughed. “Pain in my jaw.”

  “Mrs. Aldrich do you have a heart condition?” I asked, as I carried her to the door of the loft.

  “I have diabetes and high blood pressure. I haven’t had my medication since before he took me.”

  “We need to get you to the hospital,” I said, kicking open the door. Darkness covered every square inch of the land surrounding the barn and I couldn’t get my bearings. She needed medical attention, my car was miles away and there wasn’t time to escape the barn on foot.

  “Mrs. Aldrich, close your eyes.” I tried to sound reassuring. “Bury your head into my chest and for God’s sake, do not look down.”

  “W-Why?” she asked.

  “Because the shit is about to hit the fan,” I said, stepping out the door of the loft.

  Chapter 35

  My eyes blazed furiously, cutting into the blackness as I climbed higher and higher into the sky. Marilyn Aldrich was screaming like a teenage girl in a slasher movie who was about to be hacked to death by a guy wearing a hockey mask. I winced as she dug her one good hand through my jacket and clutched a handful of my chest hair for dear life.

  “Mrs. Aldrich, you’re not helping!” Air pockets slammed into our bodies like rogue waves crashing against the shoreline. “Calm down. Just calm the hell down!”

  “What are you? What the hell are you?” she howled, as she stared at me with a look of unmitigated horror on her face. “Oh my god, you have a hood! You’re the grim reaper!”

  “Mrs. Aldrich, you’re not dead yet, but you will be if you don’t calm down!” I shouted, through the wind. />
  “This is a hallucination,” she wailed, as she buried her head into my shoulder. “I’m still in the barn—I have to be!”

  I slowed my flight speed because between the air pockets and Marilyn Aldrich clawing at my chest, it was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate in the darkness.

  “In a few minutes, you’re going to be in a hospital room and they’re going to pump you full of stuff to keep your heart going,” I said. “Tomorrow morning you’re going to wake up and the first thing you’ll see is the smiling face of your husband.”

  “B-But what are you?” she asked, her voice muffled by my leather jacket.

  “Do you believe in angels?” I asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Then maybe I’m an angel, how does that sound?”

  “You’re not an angel, you smell like Old Spice,” she cried. “Angels don’t smell like cheap aftershave!”

  “This one does.” I said, as I spotted the lights of Greenfield in the distance. “Are you experiencing any chest pains or shortness of breath?”

  “Y-Yes, are we almost there?”

  “A few more minutes,” I said. “You’re a popular woman. The entire national news media has been covering your disappearance.”

  “They’re vultures and they try to put words in my husband’s mouth. Did you vote for him? He’s an excellent Congressman.”

  I shook my head. “How did the man in white kidnap you?”

  “I don’t remember,” she said. “He was supposed to be a painter—we were renovating the summerhouse. I was showing him how I wanted everything done, and the next thing I knew, I was strung up in that barn.”

  “Did he give you any information that can help me find him?” I asked, increasing my altitude to avoid detection when we entered the city.

  “N-No,” she said, weakly. “He beat me severely and told me that he was a prophet. He said I was the ninth sacrifice and that God would reward me in heaven. Then he kissed me and disappeared.”

  It was just like in my vision. Grim Geoffrey must have somehow tantalized the man in white with a promise that would appeal to him on a spiritual level. He must be some kind of end-times evangelical nut job. I made a mental note to grab Ruby after I dropped Mrs. Aldrich off at the hospital.