For Everything a Reason

by Paul Cave

  The noise from both trains, coming from either side, was deafening. Now, Presley found himself trapped in a forward moving corridor, with no way out. He stumbled and almost fell to his knees. This blur of movement was nauseating. His senses were overloading with both visual and audio input. He clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to gather his wits.

  He stopped, turned and looked back the other way. The woman was still coming, like him trapped between these moving masses of metal. She was staying close to the slow cargo freighter, putting as much distance as possible between her and the fast-moving express train.

  She was yelling to him, pointing at him. He stood confused for a second before realising she was actually pointing to something beyond. He spun around to find the oncoming passenger train only three hundred yards away.

  “Oh Jesus…” he moaned.

  He tried to pick up his pace. It was no use. Even the slow cargo freighter was moving too fast for him to outrun. He tried to grab onto one of the carriages, but his fingers slipped. He tried again. His fingers found purchase but he couldn’t pull his ample frame up alongside.

  Glancing up, he saw the passenger train was now just two hundred yards away, and coming fast.

  He whined hysterically.

  He had to go back.

  His heels dug into the stones as he turned tail and quickly headed in the opposite direction. He tucked his head down and pushed himself to go as fast as he could. A voice came to him then, faint and indistinguishable. He looked up and was amazed to see the woman standing firm, with her arm out straight and weapon on view. She clearly wanted him to stop and give himself up.

  Fuck that you crazy bitch, he thought. He reached into his jacket and drew the Derringer. And then, without really aiming, he simply fired the pistol. He heard a crack, even over the roaring trains, and was astonished when she fell to the ground, her weapon lost and her hands clutching at her thigh.

  With his pathway cleared, he redoubled his efforts. He was closing on her fast. Yet the train behind him was gaining ground with every second. He chanced a look over his shoulder. His bladder opened. The passenger train was only fifty yards away.

  He was never going to make it.

  He almost clattered into a metal post, sidestepping it at the last moment, before grasping what it was he’d just passed.

  A lane changer.

  With a panic-stricken cry, he reached behind him, aiming with the Derringer. He fired his last shot, in an attempt to activate the lever. In his short life he’d only fired a weapon four times before, each time hitting his target. He had the Midas touch – right? How could he miss?

  He didn’t.

  The bullet hit the lever dead centre. However, the mechanism was designed to work in a vertical direction, not horizontal, and with a brief shower of sparks, the handle maintained its position and the tracks stayed fixed in the same configuration.

  In the next second the passenger train hit Presley full on. For just the briefest of moments, less than a millisecond really, he was pinned to the front of the engine, his arm and legs splayed out in a star-jump configuration, before his entire body exploded in a bright red shower of gore.

  ***

  Detective Tyler watched in horror as Presley Perkins vanished from existence. The train bore down on her. Then, mercifully, with only a second to spare, the last carriage of the cargo freighter passed. She launched herself into the next tracks. The passenger train zipped by, leaving behind it a crimson cloud.

  Tyler rolled onto her back and watched as the Amtrak Superliner cut its way through the station, before disappearing into the tunnel on the opposite side.

  She scanned quickly around. For now, the network of tracks was empty. The cargo freighter and express train had both rolled out of sight. She held her hand against the leg injury, feeling hot blood leaking from between her fingers. She climbed awkwardly to her feet and hurriedly hobbled back towards the platform and the startled passengers who stood there.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Yurius stood over Joseph. The weapon levelled at his head. Joseph began to rise, climbing up slowly, making sure his body stayed between the Russian and his son. A deep well of anger – pure hatred – boiled to the surface.

  What had this man done to his family? The agony they’d endured, both at Jake’s taking and Eugene’s loss. And for what? Nothing. Yurius’s identity was already compromised. By now, almost every law enforcement agency on the planet would know who and what he was.

  Joseph started to shake then. His hands formed into two solid fists and the muscles of his jaw clenched tightly. Rage was quickly taking over: a red mist started to form at the corners of his eyes. It was something he’d never experienced before – such a torment of emotion. This resentment felt alien to him. Still, Joseph remained the master of this dark sensation, as it boiled away in the pit of his stomach – just waiting to be released.

  Yurius misunderstood Joseph’s shaking as a symptom of fear. He smiled now, confident again in his authority.

  Joseph reached carefully into his pocket.

  “Hold it,” Yurius ordered.

  “I have something for you,” Joseph replied.

  The weapon drew closer, the cold metal almost touching Joseph’s brow. “Too late for you,” Yurius said.

  Joseph maintained eye contact. His hand appeared holding the crumpled letter that Edward Jones had given him. “This is from an old friend of Viktor’s.”

  The use of his brother’s name forced Yurius to take a step back. Now, his eyes flicked to the letter, just briefly, before finding Joseph again.

  Joseph brought the letter up for Yurius to see. “Edward Jones sends his regards.”

  Yurius’s eyes widened. Then they quickly formed into tight, questioning slits. “What is this?”

  “Take it,” Joseph said. The letter had had some impact on the Russian, proving that Edward Jones’ comment about it being his saviour could be true.

  “Take it,” Joseph said again, thrusting the letter outwards. Like a vampire in terror of a crucifix, Yurius reared back, bringing his free hand up in front of him, palm out, in a defensive gesture.

  The Russian’s confidence began to crumble in front of Joseph. His self-assured posture evaporated, leaving behind it an anxious, unsure mess. Yurius’s hand began to reach out, intent on taking the letter. At the last moment it returned to his side.

  “No more games,” he said, trying to gather his wits. His arm tensed, and the weapon found its mark once again.

  Joseph understood that this was it – his time of reckoning. Yurius had not taken the bait by reaching out for the letter, allowing Joseph to make a grab for the gun or throw a punch. Now he found himself staring down the barrel. He started to slip, first one way and then the next. His head bobbed back and forth. This made Yurius almost laugh out loud.

  “Big Bear thinks he can dodge bullet?” he mocked.

  Joseph just continued to slip from side to side.

  It worked.

  Yurius started to follow Joseph’s movements, mirroring them, the weapon trying to follow his progress. Like a dancing Cobra, Joseph bobbed and weaved. He continued to slip and slide. Yurius allowed the gun to fall, moving from head height down towards his chest.

  Then, with a flash, the barrel ignited with gunfire. Joseph felt himself hit with the force of a truck. He was thrown back and the air exploded from his lungs. Another round slammed into him, forcing him through the air. He landed heavily. The oxygen in his lungs exited in a violent burst.

  He heard a voice cry out from a faraway distance: Carter’s, maybe?

  His eyes fluttered and then something appeared above him. It blocked out the weak light of the sun.

  Yurius fired again and the darkness around Joseph Ruebins flooded in, covering him in a flood of liquid shadows.

  ***

  Carter skidded to a halt. Which way now? He had his police shield out on view, folded outwards and hanging from his breast pocket. It gave him immediate credibility
, and nearby pedestrians were pointing directions out to him, help being offered without his asking for it; the savvy commuters understanding that two men chasing each other was not your average morning’s activity – not even for New York City.

  A businesswoman came towards him. “They went that way,” she said, raising her arm and using her briefcase to point towards a narrow alleyway.

  “Thanks,” Carter replied, quickly heading into the tight maze of brickwork.

  He stumbled along, breathing heavily, almost falling over a trashcan that lay in his way. The brick passageway opened out to reveal a parking lot. There was just one vehicle in the lot, and two men stood close to it.

  Carter watched in horror as the Russian fired his weapon. The blast reverberated around the parking area. Joseph’s head rocked back and he back-pedalled, with his arms spinning full circle. Another shot threw him back and this time he lost his footing. The Russian fired again, stepping over Joseph and firing at point-blank range. Joseph jolted violently as the bullet ripped into him.

  “NOOO!” Carter yelled.

  The Russian looked up. He fired without pause – two shots almost finding their mark, even from this distance.

  Carter dropped to one knee.

  The killer leaned forwards to snatch something out of Joseph’s hand. He fired another shot at the detective from this position, and then made towards the car.

  Carter managed to get two shots off before the driver’s door slammed shut.

  With a screech of rubber the Ford took off.

  Carter tried to memorise the number-plate. The car disappeared within a matter of seconds. Silence fell and the two figures lay still. He edged closer. Did he want to see what lay there? No, absolutely not. Still, his professionalism guided him towards the two bodies. Legs that seemed to be wading against running water took him closer.

  Joseph Ruebins lay rigid, arms and legs splayed out at odd angles. His son lay curled up in a foetal position. Both looked like sculptures, as if they’d been chiselled from the rock beneath Carter’s feet.

  The detective concentrated on the boy. The condition of the boy was unknown. He passed Joseph, for now, forcing himself to look away.

  Hot bile rose in his throat. He gulped it back, understanding that this was likely to become another crime scene, another bloodbath, and not a place for him to contaminate.

  Treading carefully, subconsciously looking for spent casings or other evidence, he made his way towards Jake.

  “Jake?” Carter whispered quietly, not wanting to disturb the dead.

  Nothing. Not a sound. He stepped closer. The boy’s face came into view. Jake looked as if he were sleeping soundly.

  Dead peaceful.

  Chapter Fifty

  Joseph found himself once again in the empty void, where silence ruled absolute. He tried to look around, but the darkness was everywhere. He waited, half expecting the two rifts to open up, spewing forth the musical lines, notes and symbols. Nothing happened. No bright tears in the seamless dark blanket, no clash of guitars – nothing.

  He panicked then.

  Was this it?

  The end!

  Although no air could possibly be found in such a barren place, Joseph felt himself gasping for breath. His lungs hitched as he tried to force oxygen into them. A thought burst into his mind: The old man, Edward Jones’ father, lying at his side, desperately trying to draw a breath. Had Henry Jones come here to rest? Joseph hoped not. This was nowhere to be. What of the perpetual light that was supposed to shine down on God’s dearly departed children?

  Fear consumed him then – blind terror, which twisted his heart into tight knots.

  Was Jake here, lonely and lost?

  God no!

  Joseph forced himself to look around again. He imagined himself turning his head, first to look one way, and then the other. Now, he could just about make out the vaguest suggestion of outlines.

  Something with hard edges lay to his right. A square-shaped ‘something’ that had slightly more density about it hovered there. A doorway, Joseph noted. No – wait, not a doorway, but a garage shutter. The darkness gave way to detail, which cut slivers of light into the void.

  What was this?

  A grating noise filled the air. The shutter moved slightly. The squeal of metal rubbing against metal came again, and a flare of blinding light filled the gap at the bottom. Fingers appeared then, small digits, which wrapped themselves around the bottom of the shutter.

  The light grew by another few inches, and then stopped suddenly. A small head appeared.

  Jake.

  “Dad,” Jake called. “Hurry..!”

  Joseph took a step closer, now in possession of a solid state and a platform to walk upon. As he drew closer the shutter began to take on more definition. The metal panels that formed the doorway became more solid, glinting with a metallic sheen. The shutter was now fixed within a building and, as Joseph came even closer, the garage swelled out into a full-sized house.

  His house, he realised, instantly.

  “Jake,” he called.

  “Dad,” Jake replied. His little hand appeared, and he used it to wave his father over to him. “Hurry,” he said again.

  “What is it?” Joseph asked, bending low to see Jake’s worried looking face.

  “Mom,” Jake said.

  “What?”

  “Hurry, mom needs you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs. The thing is trying to take her…”

  “Thing?”

  “The bad thing,” Jake said, tears appearing at both corners of his eyes.

  Joseph reached out to take Jake’s hand. “What bad thing?”

  Jake swallowed deeply. “Mom’s trapped and the dark thing wants her.”

  Joseph had no idea what his son was saying, but the boy’s panic was obvious. He took a quick step back, surveying the house. He understood then that this wasn’t an exact replica of his home; no doors or windows could be seen on either of the two levels.

  “Stand back,” he ordered.

  Jake’s head disappeared out of view.

  Joseph wrapped his thick fingers underneath the shutter’s edge. He took a deep breath, now able to fill his lungs, and then heaved with all his might. A sharp squeal of protest filled his ears. He tried again, but the shutter remained tight.

  He looked up to see if something blocked the shutter at the top, and found that the metalwork had a distinctive crease running down the front.

  He remembered then how this had come to be. The basketball game that he and Jake had been playing only weeks earlier.

  His head.

  His stupid, thick head had bent it out of shape.

  A noise came to him then, a desperate shout for help.

  “Marianna!” he called.

  Her voice came again, desperate and scared.

  Joseph dropped lower, bringing himself almost to floor level. He pushed himself into the small gap the shutter had to offer. Beyond the doorway, darkness had now filled every inch of space.

  “Jake?” he called, fearful that the ‘thing’ had taken him too.

  “Dad,” Jake said, reappearing at the gap. Fear was still visible in his face, but less so now that his father was nearby.

  “Hurry, Dad,” Jake said.

  Joseph concentrated on working his fingers underneath the shutter. He tensed and then heaved with all his might. The squeal of metal came again, and the barrier held firm.

  Jake brought his head as close to Joseph’s as he could. “MAN OF STEEL.”

  “What..?” Joseph asked.

  “Remember – Dad. You’re the MAN OF STEEL.”

  Joseph looked deep into Jake’s eyes. He found such a mixture of emotion there that its power almost knocked him to the ground. Pride was in the boy’s eyes, a deep understanding that Joseph had never seen or thought his son was capable of. Joseph almost burst into tears then, understanding that this admiration was aimed at him. Jake not only loved his father, but also revere
d him. Fear was evident too. Jake reached out and touched his father’s arm. A sudden surge of panic filled Joseph to his core. Whatever had Jake spooked had now been transferred to Joseph. Finally, grim determination and belief shone from the young boy’s eyes. At that moment, Joseph knew, without doubt, that his son would grow to be a man who valued integrity and morality in equal measure. They were qualities that Joseph wanted to see for himself – wanted to experience his son’s rise into adulthood with his own eyes.

  Joseph nodded. “MAN OF STEEL.”

  “Yes, Dad. MAN OF STEEL.”

  Joseph looked away from his son, concentrating on the barrier between him and Marianna. He took a huge breath and then attacked the shutter with everything he had. The thing was jammed tight, forcing Joseph to find strength he’d thought had long abandoned him. His arms bulged with effort and a great roar burst from his lips.

  The shutter moved an inch.

  Joseph bent his back, pulling with all his might. Another inch was gained. Marianna’s plea was clear, coming through the gap loud and distinct.

  “Don’t leave me, Joseph,” she was pleading.

  Joseph forced the barrier to rise a foot higher. Now, he was able to place both shoulders underneath the shutter’s edge. He felt the sharpness of the metal cutting into the muscles around his shoulders and neck. No matter – he ignored the agony and redoubled his efforts. He planted his arms firm and then began to push upwards, as if doing a push-up. As the shutter rose, the light inside the garage began to grow, and with each inch gained it intensified. Joseph began to make out individual items.

  The winter tools that he and Jake had used to shovel away snow were piled untidily in the centre of the floor. Hand tools that Joseph had never used, and probably never would, hung shiny and new from pegs that displayed each one in a careful arrangement of size and shape. Their modest Sedan was parked to one side, rust taking hold around the wheel-arches and patches of paintwork scraped down to the metal – a symptom of Joseph’s bad parking. A medicine ball, brown and lumpy, lay in one corner, looking like a ripe pumpkin, shadows casting a macabre face across its surface. Another ball had bounced underneath a worktable: Jake’s basketball.