by Barry Reese
* * *
A few moments later and Max was sitting in a comfortable chair in his study, Benson seated on the couch nearby. The man had turned down Max’s offer of a drink, though he had consented to drying himself off.
Evelyn hovered just outside in the hall, her curiosity compelling her to eavesdrop. Both men knew this, and Max was tempted to simply invite his wife into the conversation, but Benson had seemed to desire the appearance of privacy.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Benson?” Max asked at last, when it became clear that Benson wasn’t going to begin his spiel without prodding.
“As you know, I’ve operated a unique business for the past decade or so, devoted to helping those in need.” Benson sat forward on the couch, his expressionless face never wavering. “Shortly after the devastation of Japan”—Max took note of those words, as most Americans spoke glowingly of the end of the war in the Pacific, but Benson obviously shared his concerns over the suffering of those innocents caught in the aftereffects of the bombings—“I was approached by individuals within the United States government who wished for me to take a position outside of normal channels. I was offered control of a group dubbed the Shadow Sanction. With the disbanding of the Office of Strategic Services, some of their old duties are being scattered to other agencies. In the end, I think we’ll have some sort of central agency for intelligence affairs. But even then there are certain things that the feds won’t want to have out in the open, a group of men and women who might sometimes have to bend the law in order to protect the spirit of the law.”
“If you’re here to try and draft me into some sort of service—” Max began, but he broke off when he saw Benson offer a stern shake of his head.
“Not at all. But I would like the opportunity to call upon you when your particular skills might be useful. For instance, I understand that you recently had an encounter with an entity called Stickman.”
Max couldn’t hide his astonishment. “How did you—?”
“I spoke to Chief McKenzie by telephone last night.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remind Will not to be so free with the details of our exploits. What about it?”
“Stickman is a dangerous individual. I believe he’s responsible for the deaths of upwards of two hundred men. His growing collection of occult artifacts isn’t just for show. I believe he intends to use these things, and use them for nefarious purposes. He must be stopped.”
“And you want me to it?”
“You were planning to do it already, I’m sure. This just means I can take it off my radar, and we don’t have to worry about duplicating our efforts.”
“Do I get anything in return?”
Benson nodded. “Of course. You get the ability to call upon me for assistance in the future. My new position gives me access to more information and more authority than ever before.”
Max grinned suddenly. “Fair enough. Give me a few days to get started on it, though. We just lost a close friend.”
“My condolences.” Despite the fact that his face didn’t alter as he said this, there was a softening in his eyes that suggested that Benson meant his words.
The government agent stood up quickly and gave Max a quick nod. “Please keep me informed of your progress. I’ll show myself out.”
The Peregrine nodded, rubbing his chin and already thinking about how to best pursue Stickman. He had the address book and could begin checking the names and places contained in it, but what if none of those bore a lead? He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed Evelyn coming and sitting down near him.
Evelyn’s black dress was perfectly suited for a woman in mourning, though it did little to hide her beauty. Ten years younger than her husband, Evelyn had enjoyed a moderately successful career as an actress, first on the stage and then later in a series of grade-B movies. Now that she was in her mid-thirties and the mother of two, the roles had been a bit harder to come by, and she’d reluctantly begun taking on acting jobs that she would have never considered in the past: the mother, the older sister, or the next-door neighbor, rather than the leading lady.
“Max? Are you still with me?”
The Peregrine blinked and realized that his wife was watching him with amusement. “Sorry. Were you saying something?”
“I was just going to let you know that Josh had some good news. His cousin showed up while you were in here with Mr. Benson.”
Max leaned forward with sudden interest. “Hayward Haley? You’re kidding.”
“No. He walked up about five minutes after you came inside. Josh was thrilled. Hayward said he heard about Nettie’s death and tried to make it in time for the funeral.”
“Where has he been?”
“Don’t know. They’re up in Josh’s room now.”
Max whistled softly. “What a day. Josh’s cousin hasn’t shown up in years… I’ve never met the man, but I know he and Josh were like brothers growing up. Josh told me that Hayward fell in with a bad crowd and vanished back in ’42 or so. Nettie kept praying for him, but Josh told me he thought was dead, probably having been gunned down somewhere.”
Evelyn nodded, having overheard similar talk from both Josh and Nettie. “I called Kirsten and Will. They said they wouldn’t mind watching the kids this evening.”
“Why…?”
“Because I overheard what Benson wanted from you, and I know you too well to think you’re going to wait a few days before getting started. You’re going to throw yourself into it tonight.” Evelyn reached out and took his hand in hers. “And Nettie’s not around to babysit for us anymore.”
“And you’re planning to help me.” Max didn’t phrase it as a question, and Evelyn’s smile confirmed his thinking. “Okay. How about we drive them over to Will’s together? That will give Josh some time to be alone with his cousin.”
“Which you’re hoping will allow him to solve the mystery of where he disappeared to,” Evelyn said knowingly. “You’re incorrigible.”
Max raised his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’m pretty damned lucky, is what I am.”
“Keep up the flattery and we might end up staying home tonight… with the kids away, we’d have the house all to ourselves.” Evelyn’s eyes flashed meaningfully, and Max brought his lips to hers.
* * *
“I figured you’d been lynched or something.” Josh leaned back on his bed, bunching up a couple of pillows behind his head. He had one foot still on the floor and the other outstretched atop the covers.
Hayward Haley shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked more than a little uncomfortable and kept tugging at the clothes he wore, like he wasn’t used to being in them. He was a tall, strapping man, just like Josh, but with a nose that had been broken more than once, and one corner of his mouth that was slightly turned upwards from a scar. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got time.”
Hayward laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“You have. Something’s different about you. I can’t put my finger on it, but you seem like you just came back from a war or something, the way you keep fidgeting and looking around.”
Hayward’s smile took on a sad quality. “Man, you and Nettie… both of you were always able to read me like a book. Sometimes you two knew things about me that I didn’t even know.”
Josh sighed and closed his eyes. “Look, I’m happy you’re back. Nettie missed you like hell. So did I. And if you don’t want to tell me where you’ve been, that’s fine with me. Because in the end, I’m going to be here for you no matter what. So keep your secrets and just tell me you’re going to be sticking around.”
“That’s… really nice of you, Josh. Can’t say I’d be as understanding if the positions were reversed.” Hayward walked closer and Josh kept his eyes closed, though he sensed the movement. “The night I vanished, I got a little drunk. And a man came and talked to me. His name was Abraham Klee. He said he was looking for somebody who could help him out with a few jobs, the kind of jobs that had to be done
under the table, know what I mean? He offered me good money and I took him up on it. He had me robbing graves for him within a week. And then I started doing package deliveries, really weird things… things that just didn’t feel natural. And eventually he turned on me, beat me up, and locked me in his basement. He did some stuff to me… stuff involving the devil and all his demons!”
Josh cracked a grin. “Man, you don’t have to come up with some cock and bull story. Just tell me you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Josh… look at me.”
Josh opened his eyes and immediately let out a few choice swear words. Hayward had opened his shirt, revealing a stunning array of scars crisscrossing his torso. Here and there were tattoos, intricate drawings of occult symbols and vile creatures. “What in the hell…?”
“I’m telling you the truth, Josh. I was dragged down to hell. I’ve been in the stink of hell for over three years.”
“And… you managed to escape?”
“Yeah. There’s always fighting going on down there—demons warring with other demons, you know? And one day I managed to get free from my chains and I took off. There are portals all through hell, leading back to the real world. But it took me so damned long to get here… I can’t believe I missed Nettie’s funeral. I thought she’d live forever.”
Josh stared at him in horror. “Jesus Christ.”
“Jesus doesn’t care nothing about me,” Hayward muttered. “Never did. And he certainly doesn’t now. I’m tainted, Josh! And the devil’s not going to just let me get away… he’s going to be looking for me. But I ain’t going back. I’m gonna make a new life for me. I just wanted to see you and Nettie one more time.” Hayward suddenly looked like he’d gotten a wonderful idea. “Listen, why don’t you come with me? It’ll be like old times. You and me, partners!”
Josh turned away, his head spinning. “Are you serious? I just got my degree. I’m going to work soon.”
“Did that white man downstairs get you a job?”
“He helped, yeah.”
“Well, at least you won’t be working in the fields on his plantation any more. Guess he didn’t hear that slavery ended awhile back, huh?”
Josh frowned. “It wasn’t like that. Mr. Davies is a good man. He paid for my schooling and he treated Nettie like she was his own mama.”
Hayward sighed and shook his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t even know the man. It’s just that coming back to Earth after being out in hell… it brings all the old feelings back. Around here, no matter how much schooling you’ve got, you’re never going to be the equal of the white man. It’s just not going to happen.”
“Whatever,” Josh said, waving his hand dismissively. “Look… Mr. Davies can help you. He knows about this kind of stuff. If you really are on the run from demons and such, then you need to talk to him.”
Hayward moved towards the door. “Can’t nobody help me. I just thought… I thought if you were with me… maybe it just wouldn’t be so bad. But I shouldn’t have come here. You and Nettie were too good for me. Always were.”
Josh said nothing as his cousin hurried out. He knew he should chase after him, but he wasn’t sure what he would say, even if he caught up to him.
One thing he was certain of, however: As soon as Max and Evelyn returned, he was going to tell them everything that Hayward had told him. If there’s any way to save you, he thought to himself, picturing himself and Hayward as they’d been in childhood, I’m going to do it. You’re family… and Nettie would never forgive me if I didn’t try.
CHAPTER III
Sticks and Stones
The house was a modest affair, having been built in the early twentieth century. It was situated in a neighborhood that was home mainly to the retired or the elderly, giving it a quiet air that suited its owner just fine. Men and women you passed on the street were willing to give a quick hello, but rarely took the time to keep up with the goings and comings of their neighbors. And there were no busybodies who snooped around, asking too many questions.
This, too, suited the house’s owner quite well.
Born Abraham Klee, Stickman had purchased the house in 1943, though he traveled so often that he spent most of his time elsewhere. For most of his life, Klee had looked just like any other man—a bit more handsome than most and thinner than some, but nothing remarkable. It was in 1945 that his appearance had begun to radically change.
Klee had been a member of various Thule-related cults in the thirties and early forties, but when the Nazi party inevitably absorbed the Thule worshippers in Europe, he’d broken free of them. Klee held no love for Jews or for any of the other “subhuman” races that the Nazis held in such low regard, but he abhorred Hitler and his rantings. There was just something about the man that rubbed Klee the wrong way.
And so Klee had begun his own private study of the occult. Blessed with a fine inheritance after his parents died in a plane crash, Klee sank most of his money into the acquisition of an impressive collection of mystic artifacts. Amongst his holdings was a unicorn horn dating back to the time of the Flood; a thirteenth-century edition of the Necronomicon, bound in human flesh; and now the fabled Onyx Goddess, who resided on a small pedestal alongside his other trophies.
The acquisition of the goddess was a thrilling affair, but it also disturbed Stickman greatly. He’d tried to avoid drawing attention from the Peregrine and, despite the fact that they lived in the same city, he’d succeeded all this time. How ironic that it was in another country that they should finally come face to face.
There was also the small matter of the Crimson Gem, a fist-sized jewel that Klee had found in Saudi Arabia. The Crimson Gem was reputed to possess the power to bequeath immortality on those who activated it, and Klee had done just that. At first, he’d felt nothing different, and had assumed that the Gem was, like so many other objects he’d collected, a disappointment. He’d gone to bed early that night, suffering from an unusual drowsiness. When he’d woken up, his skin had begun to harden into bark-like strips, and his limbs had grown into thin branches. When he bled, it was an oily sap that oozed from the wounds—but at least he’d found his immortality.
“I want more,” he said aloud, stalking back and forth across his study like a caged tiger. “This can’t be all of it.”
Sitting on the carpeted floor, surrounded by books, was a young brunette woman dressed in a blue-and-black blouse and skirt. Like Stickman, she’d adopted a false identity—in her case, she fancied the name Belladonna. It was certainly more evocative than her birth name—Harriet.
Bella was a pixyish sort of girl and was obviously not the least bit intimidated by Stickman. She rolled her eyes in response to his words and kept her attention fixed on a small cylindrical device that hung suspended in the air before her.
“I’m doing the best I can, Abe. You need to be patient.”
“Don’t call me that,” Stickman hissed, coming to a stop. He pointed a gnarled finger in her direction. “Abraham’s dead.”
Bella resisted the urge to laugh. “Riiiight.” She reached out and ran a hand over the cylinder, hissing as she felt the heat rush up her arm. “I think I’m onto something here. I’ve got the thing turned on—it’s just a matter of figuring out how to open the canister.”
Stickman watched her closely. His hands continually opened and closed, a sure sign that he was anxious. “You really think this thing is from another planet?”
“I’m positive. I stole it from a scientist up in Richmond. He was convinced it was some sort of military biological weapon. He hadn’t been able to figure out how to get into it, but he said he thought there was a creature in there. Expose it to oxygen and it grows to its full size. Until then, it’s miniaturized and dormant.”
Stickman moved towards her. “And where did he acquire this device?”
“It fell to earth about six years ago, in Australia.”
“He certainly told you an awful lot about this thing,” Stickman murmured, making s
ure that she caught his meaning. He didn’t completely trust her and he wanted her to be aware of that.
“Men can be pretty talkative when they’re in a bed with a girl half their age.”
Stickman failed to hide his surprise at that. He examined her in a new light. “I had no idea you were a whore,” he hissed.
Bella looked up at him and grinned. “My, my… a mystically empowered killer who has such high morals. Will the wonders never cease?”
“Very funny. I just don’t believe in using one’s sexuality to get what they want out of the world.”
“No, you just believe in tossing aside your humanity in order to do the same.” Bella shrugged her shoulders. “I had fun. He had fun. It was a hell of a lot nicer way to get into his house than if I’d beaten him up and did a smash and grab. He fell asleep with a smile on his face and I took this weapon, which you probably intend to use to bring about the deaths of a lot of people. So we’re both evil. No need to throw stones.”
Stickman grunted but said nothing. He hadn’t been such a prude when he’d been a normal man. In fact, he’d have tried to bed Bella without a doubt. But in his current form, he had no genitalia, and the best way to keep from missing pleasures of the flesh was to develop an aversion to the whole affair.
Belladonna had turned her attention back to the bio-weapon, and with a gasp of pleasure, she realized that she’d finally accomplished her task. She stood up and pointed at the cylinder, which was beginning to release a gray-colored gas into the air. “I did it.”
“Is this dangerous?” Stickman wondered, glancing back towards the door. Perhaps he should leave Bella with the weapon and see what happened first before exposing himself to this…
Bella ignored him. The cylinder was cracking in a dozen places now, pieces of the white metal falling to the floor. The gas that was emerging was beginning to coalesce into some sort of form now, vaguely humanoid in that it possessed a long torso with arms and five-fingered hands. Its head was mostly hidden beneath some form of hood, but two red eyes glowed from within. The hood was not the only garment it wore. On its torso was a cloth tunic, a dark brown in color. The creature remained gaseous and semi-transparent, but it was now openly inspecting its surroundings and appeared to be quite tangible.
