Something Always Remains

by M. L. S. Weech

  The door opened, and a bottle of Jack Daniels slid through the crack. Drisc thought he was dreaming until Bob’s face appeared from behind the door. The red haze around Bob made him hard to see for a moment, but Drisc focused his thoughts and managed to see past the Death Sense. It was still there, reminding him that the only person he could count on was bound to die within a week, but it wasn’t all Drisc could see.

  “Ye’re a lifesaver,” Drisc said cheerfully.

  “I thought you could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” Bob said, his voice still raspy from the mongo-sized ass-kicking he’d gotten. “Plus, I thought I could talk to you so long as I helped you with the work.”

  “Ye’re not the one who pissed off the boss.”

  “You called him a blind asshole.”

  “I did not.”

  Bob stared at him.

  “Well, he is.”

  “It doesn’t make him wrong,” Bob said softly.

  Drisc leapt to his feet so quickly that the chair folded and fell over. “It doesn’t mean we can just sit here and watch.” His throat caught.

  “You don’t have to watch me die.”

  “I’ll be damned if I run from it. If something’s coming for you, it’ll have to bloody kill me first.”

  Bob smiled at him, opened up the Jack, and took a pull straight from the bottle before handing it to Drisc.

  “You’re hitting it a little hard, aren’t ye, laddie?”

  “I don’t think I have time to die of alcohol poisoning.”

  Drisc was pulling a fist back before he realized he’d just punched his best friend in the face. “Ye shut up about that! I’ve said it enough times already; it’s not happening.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  Drisc remembered Patience—how hard Bob fought to save her, and what it had done to him when he couldn’t. “I can’t go through that, lad. I won’t. We know more now than we did before.”

  “There might be a way to help,” Bob said.

  Drisc gave a wry chuckle. “Did ye find out how ye manage to keep hurting the bastard while I was trapped in here?” He tossed another armload of useless junk to the side.

  “Not really, but I think I know another way.”

  “Not that again.” Drisc started to stand up before he remembered that the closet he was in wasn’t quite high enough. He stopped inches away from bouncing his head off the ceiling.

  “Drisc, it’s the only way.”

  “That doesn’t make it a good idea.”

  “But it does make it the only option.”

  “And do ye think he’ll just hand one over to you? Maybe ye mean to—” Drisc stopped an instant after he realized where Bob was heading with the conversation. Please don’t ask me that. Anything but that.

  Drisc picked up his chair and sat down before his knees had a chance to give out. He reached into his pocket where Lynne had melded herself into the fold. Bob looked at him with so much pain in his eyes.

  “It’s the best way,” Bob said softly. The man didn’t understand a damn thing about it, except that he didn’t understand. Even knowing his friend was trying to be gentle, Drisc felt a surge of anger.

  “Lad, it’s not that simple.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Is it that complicated?”

  “Damn it, Bob, it’s that personal!” Drisc really had been trying to keep his temper in check. Everything about the plan made sense, except for the cause.

  “Is that ... thing ... really that important to you?” Bob nearly spat the words. Drisc punched him in the face for it.

  “Ye don’t know a fucking thing.”

  For an instant, Drisc thought they were going to fight. Not a simple trading of blows, which Drisc usually started for something that was entirely his fault, but a real fight. A part of Drisc wanted that. He wanted to fight, to get angry and to think Bob was being an ass.

  Of course, Bob was Bob. He saw the fear and self-loathing behind the mask of rage Drisc wore. His look morphed from anger to pity in a single blink. He didn’t stand up.

  “Who was it?” Bob asked.

  “You can’t do this to me,” Drisc said, tears burning his eyes. “Not this.”

  “It’s more than just remembering who you were, though,” Bob said.

  “That’s the worst of it! It’s the worst thing aye’ve ever done in two lifetimes, an’ aye can’t even bring myself to do a damn thing ta fix it.” Drisc turned his face away so Bob wouldn’t see him breaking down. A soft rustle told Drisc Bob had found his feet.

  “Then I’ll find another way,” Bob said. He was right, and they both knew it. He was dying, out of answers, and even shorter on time. All that, and he was willing to let Drisc off the hook, because it hurt. The wonderful son of a bitch.

  “Her name was Lynne,” Drisc said. The sound of her name caused the Blacksoul to flutter. They didn’t like their names, but it’s how they were controlled after the link formed. Drisc kept his gaze locked on a pile of spare parts to keep from looking Bob in the eyes.

  “Did you know her?” Bob asked. “Was it ... was it like Patience?”

  “No,” Drisc said. “But ... but she was the last part of my old life.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Lynne’s father was Arlen. Her mother was Aileen, and her mother was Duana. Duana’s grandfather was Keary O’Quinn. I was Keary O’Quinn, Bob,” Drisc said. He had to take a moment to catch his breath. His lungs were burning as if he’d run farther and faster than he’d ever run before. “She was the last member of my family, Bob. I watched her die, and then—”

  “I’m so sorry,” Bob whispered.

  “Don’t you say that!” Drisc shouted. “Aye was right there when it happened. All aye had ta do was touch her, and then that damned storm kicked up. The whole bloody place came down around me, but aye was right there! Damn it, Bob, aye watched her die, and then aye watched her rot!”

  Any ounce of composure Drisc might have had evaporated at the confession. She bled out even after Drisc had Taken her pain. Just as she died, the roof caved in and everything went black. He had just enough time to claw his way out of the rubble when he heard that horrible scream. He Linked with the Blacksoul before he knew what he was doing. Then it came back. Not in any way that made sense. A series of flashes that were too overwhelming to understand or deny. It left him with only enough to know what a horrible thing he’d done.

  A hand lightly grasped Drisc’s shoulder. He looked up at his friend. The dumb bastard was dying, and he still had the compassion to cry over something that had been done and over with for three-hundred-something years.

  “I had no right to ask,” Bob said. “I’m sorry.”

  Drisc let his head sink again. Bob could have hit him, yelled at him, called him a coward or an asshole, and any of that would have been true. And it would have been less painful to hear. Bob would never take from anyone. He gave of himself, and he cared about everyone else first. It’s what made him such a dear friend.

  “Do ye really think you c’n do it?” Drisc asked. When he looked up, he realized Bob was about to leave. Would he have ever asked again if I let him go? Would he blame me for holding on?

  Lynne flowed from his pocket and into his hand. Drisc focused on her name and the memory of who she was. She lay dormant in the shape of a black sphere.

  “It’s the only plan I have,” Bob said honestly.

  Drisc rose and bent his head to fit in the small workspace. He placed Lynne in Bob’s hand, focusing on her and her current shape. “She’ll stay that way,” he said. “I don’t know if I could Pass her to you, and even if I could ... ” He paused. “You wouldn’t want it, lad. Trust me.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Bob said. He sounded like Drisc had just handed him his mother’s china or something.

  “You figure it out,” Drisc said, shifting around Bob. “You fix her, and you send her home!” He opened the door.

 
“Where are you going?”

  “I’m doing the right thing, Bob,” Drisc said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “It doesn’t make it hurt less, doesn’t make me feel be’er, so aye’m taking a break. It’s right, and it’s good. I know all that. Doesn’t mean aye have to sit and watch, though.”

  Drisc almost stepped out, but he froze for one last comment. “We feel what they do, in a way.” He knew he didn’t have to explain what he meant any further. He walked out of the store before anyone could ask him what he was up to.

  10

  A Search

  Todd Evans didn’t envy Drisc. Not 513 years ago, when he was a brand-new Journeyman and had first heard of the man, and not 365 years ago, when they’d first met. Todd especially didn’t envy him since that trouble in Syracuse. Todd was pretty much left alone except for any issues with Journeymen in his general area. Todd roamed the East Coast and pretty much stayed in Norfolk under the guise of being a small-shop owner, selling military memorabilia along Hampton Road.

  For Todd, a bad day included an order not coming in on time or a pair of Journeymen who argued over whose job it was to monitor a certain area. These bad days usually ended well enough, and life was grand—mostly because if he ever ran into something he couldn’t handle, he called Drisc.

  They called Drisc if someone didn’t want to move. They called him if someone broke one of the rules. They called him if they “just wondered” something. No wonder the man drinks like a fish, Todd thought. Then Todd made what he felt was the biggest mistake ever. He asked what he could do to help, and he meant it.

  For some reason, Drisc and Archie thought that since Todd had a degree in history, with specializations in historical conflicts, that made him some sort of general. They told him to think of a plan to confront Grimm and assemble as many Journeymen as he could to make that plan happen. Well, that and the fact that he was a medic during the Revolutionary War and World War I. ‘War to end all wars,’ my ass.

  “Sure,” Todd said aloud as he turned his car onto an exit ramp from the I-5 to the downtown area. “I see two major conflicts, and suddenly I’m General Patton. I Transported his soul; I didn’t download his brain.” He’d told Archie and Drisc as much. Then Drisc reminded him that he had asked what he could do, which is why Todd found himself respecting Drisc a hell of a lot more than he used to. Life was hard when you were the guy everyone needed everything from.

  He stopped his car at a light and waited for a chance to turn into an apartment building’s parking structure. Todd liked the plan he’d come up with: start by talking to the Journeymen in the area, and then send out the call to arms. He’d see what he could find on his own and then give Robin a call once he’d gotten the ball rolling. For starters, it wasn’t a bad idea to have a martial-arts expert in the area, and Todd had never seen Robin refuse a chance to either insult Drisc or show how tough she was.

  Todd walked to the glass front door of the entrance. The door had a phone next to it. A series of buttons had a list of names next to it. He ran his fingers down the list until he found the name Villisea. A loud buzz sounded as he pressed the button. A few moments later, the phone rang.

  “Norm?” Todd asked.

  “This is,” the voice belonging to Normand Villisea responded.

  “My name is Todd Evans. A friend gave me your information because he said you might be interested in joining my bowling league.”

  “You any good?” Norm asked. It was the most idiotic code phrase Todd had ever heard of, but it worked.

  “Well, I’ve been at it a long time.”

  Another buzz sounded and the glass door popped open. “Come on up to room 1050, and we’ll talk about it.”

  Todd hung up the phone and made his way through the lobby and up a flight of stairs. The place looked like a converted hotel. The hall looked uniform, with rooms lining each side perfectly. He eventually found the right door and knocked. He didn’t pound on the door, but his polite tapping cracked the door open a bit.

  “It’s open,” Norm shouted from down a hall. Todd walked in and looked around. A short hallway with a small closet opened up to a living area. There was a single door to Todd’s left, probably the bedroom. Todd found Norman under the sink in the kitchen. He had on a set of dark-blue coveralls. Spots of grease were splotched along the uniform.

  “I’d get up to shake your hand,” Norm said, “but the management thought since I was their head maintenance man, that meant I could have the shittiest apartment.”

  He seemed to be trying to clear a stopped drain. He focused on what he was doing and moved from using a small wrench to a pipe wrench.

  “Do you need a hand?” Todd asked.

  “Nope ... um ... do I call you Mr. or Sir or Senior?”

  “Todd is just fine.”

  “What can I do ya for, ‘Todd-is-just-fine’?”

  Todd chuckled. He liked a guy who didn’t take things too seriously. It made life less difficult, especially when he had to deal with Robin. That woman had never met anyone she thought measured up.

  “Grimm is in town.”

  Norm froze for a few heartbeats, then started back at his project.

  “I asked around, and I heard you were in Iraq a few years back to Transport souls in the north area of the war zone,” Todd said.

  “Yeah,” Norm muttered. “I was there. The unit hired me as a civilian contractor to work on the Humvees, mechanic stuff.”

  Todd took a deep breath. “I’m supposed to gather up anyone who’s seen any sort of combat and brief them on a plan to stop Grimm from collecting any more Blacksouls.”

  Norm’s pipe wrench slipped when Todd said Blacksouls. He heard Norm curse under his breath. “Ya don’t want me, then,” Norm said. “Most combat I saw was when I had to fight an oil can of a vehicle, and the oil can won. I was over there, but I stayed out of the fighting.”

  Most Journeymen did. They couldn’t kill, but bullets would murder them just fine. If a Journeyman went out on mission, he’d be a liability to the unit since he couldn’t effectively engage the enemy.

  Norm set the pipe wrench down and slid out from under the sink. It was the first look Todd had had of the man’s sun-darkened, dirty face, but Todd couldn’t help but think that was the way Norm was supposed to look. His hands had deep callouses. He looked comfortable near his toolbox. It was a real shame Todd couldn’t give him a choice.

  “Doesn’t matter how much fighting you did,” Todd said calmly. “All that matters is we got a fight coming.”

  “I did the draft thing,” Norm said; his voice had a slight edge to it.

  “Me, too,” Todd said flatly. “Three times; call me when you’re five hundred. In the meantime, we’re meeting with everyone you can call in two hours. Send them to the hotel off Exit 10 of Interstate 5.”

  Todd set his phone number on the kitchen counter. He wished he were more like Drisc, who may not like to do the work, but he never felt bad when he had to tell someone what to do.

  “If I don’t show?” Norm was a terrible liar.

  “See you in two hours.” Todd made an effort to not look back as he left the small apartment. He could understand how anyone would feel. Fighting wasn’t something Journeymen did. Blacksouls weren’t something they talked about. Todd was asking Norm to fight Blacksouls. I understand how he feels. I want to run for the hills too.

  11

  A True Murder

  There wasn’t really enough left of Pilar Feltes to know what she used to look like. Whatever had happened to her, she died in a car crash. Only this wasn’t some ten-car pile-up or some idiot on a crotch rocket who wasn’t looking where he was going. It was a rear-end hit and run.

  Sergeant Richard Hertly found the asshole responsible for that in about three hours. From what he’d learned, the man who rear-ended Pilar didn’t have insurance. The idiot just took off, hoping no one would find him. Only Pilar’s neck had broken. He found the asshole’s paint on her bumper and used traffic cameras to identify the
offending driver.

  The problem was, Richard knew exactly how she died; he just wasn’t sure how she ended up slashed to ribbons. The front half of the mid-sized sedan was covered in blood. When Richard first arrived, he wondered if the man who’d rear-ended Pilar had killed her to get out of the hit and run. Then the on-scene investigator said the cause of death was a broken neck.

  Richard had the man who killed her, but someone else had come along and decided to desecrate the body. When the M.E. mentioned something odd about the woman’s wounds, Richard felt a cold pit form in his stomach. For the first time in his life, he was looking at a crime and hoping to find something that proved him wrong.

  That was how Richard ended up at the impound yard looking at the blood-soaked interior of the mid-sized sedan. He had the M.E., Christian Sandavol, on the phone.

  “So you’re sure that the cuts are post-mortem?” Richard asked. He looked through the glove compartment but found nothing that helped his investigation.

  “That’s not what I said,” Christian said, as if talking to a particularly unruly child. “I said she died of a broken neck. Everything else happened at about the same time.”

  Richard was willing to bet they happened an instant after she died. He looked at the witness reports quickly. Lights went out around the area near the time of death. Witnesses reported hearing screaming. Damn! Damn, damn, damn!

  “So,” Richard said, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Now that you’ve had time to look at the body, what was with the blackened flesh near the cuts?”

  “Frostbite,” Christian said flatly. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know, maybe the nut job had his knife dipped in dry ice before he went hacking around the body.”

  “No,” Richard said, feeling the cold pit in his stomach turn into a cavern. “I think it’s much worse.”

  “So you’ve seen something like it?”

  “Yeah, in Syracuse. Thanks for your help, Christian.”

  Richard didn’t wait for a reply. He hung up the phone and decided to give Death a call.