by Matt Drabble
“You must have mentioned it in passing I suppose,” Casper answered, his voice a little shaky.
“No, I don’t think so; I rarely talk about that to anyone. It’s the guilt, you see; I have always blamed myself for the accident. It’s a twisted, knotted, rotten secret that I keep hidden, buried in my basement, festering in the dark.”
“Emily must have told me then. What is this, Michael? Time is wasting here whilst you play twenty questions. We need to move.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Michael said, standing rock still, the gun still leveled. “It’s possible, but I don’t think that she did. It’s in your eyes; you’re lying to me Casper and lying badly.” Michael cocked the revolver; he had seen enough movies to know that such a weapon had a safety on the side and that you had to pull back the hammer.
Casper stared back at him for what seemed like an eternity, his face creased as he sought an answer. “Well, I guess that she didn’t then. You really are proving most problematic, Michael - you and your merry band.”
Michael glanced over at Thom; the young man’s face was showing a red handprint on his cheek from where it had been struck violently.
“I suppose that it has been such a long time that I’ve forgotten what it is like to have to expend any sort of energy. Even with all of my experience, I suppose that I need a little reminder about the sins of pride and sloth. I thank you for that, Michael, I truly do.”
“Why did you bring us here, Casper? Why the charade?” Michael asked.
“Just a little housekeeping, my dear boy; we’ve got to keep things neat and tidy. Everything and everyone in their place. You see, this town has grown complacent. The people here have forgotten just who it is that keeps the lights on. I thought that it was time for a little public exhibition; it’s been so long since I have preached to a crowd. All of this cloak and dagger stuff does grow so very tiresome.”
Michael tensed as Casper took a step towards him; he gripped the gun tightly and aimed with great care. “Stay where you are, Casper.”
Casper took another step.
“I’m warning you, stay back,” Michael said again, his fingers tensing on the trigger.
Casper took another step, smiling broadly with his hands linked behind his back. “Are you really going to shoot me down in cold blood, Michael? Do you really have that in you?”
The hammer snapped down loudly in answer. Michael tensed himself for the explosion that never came as the hammer hit an empty chamber. He pulled the trigger again, over and over, as Casper walked towards him, but every chamber was empty.
“Did you really think that I would give you a loaded gun?” Casper laughed loudly.
Michael hated himself for his judgment. Everyone in town had told him in one way or another that nothing happened in Eden without Casper’s knowledge or consent.
“THOM, RUN!” he yelled, before throwing the gun and launching himself at the town manager. The silver revolver glinted beneath the soft streetlights as it flipped end over end. With a primal growl somewhere deep in his throat, Michael followed the weapon's path. Casper was older and looked healthy but frailer, and Michael flung his full weight into the white-haired man. It was like hitting a redwood trunk. Michael bounced off of the man like a rubber ball thrown against a building; his already severely damaged ribs howled in pain and protest as he hit the ground. He looked up at Thom who was still rooted to the spot. “Run,” he whispered to the youth, “please.”
Suddenly, he was lifted off the ground with ease. Michael looked down into the eyes of Casper; they were eyes full of power and madness, and then he was flying through the air. The last thing that his conscious mind saw, before he smashed through the large delicatessen front window, was – gratefully - the sight of Thom running away as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.
Thom ran fast; his under-muscled legs pumped hard as he charged back into the anonymity of the dark streets. He cursed his lack of natural athletic ability. The last thing in the world that he wanted to do was to run away, but he saw no other option. He had watched as Casper had put Michael under some kind of spell. He had shouted and pulled at the writer’s shirt to no avail; all that had bought him was a resounding slap across the face. Casper’s hand had been smooth but hard; the blow was strong and undeniable, but in a flash Michael had found himself and returned just in time. Whatever Casper had overlooked had come back to haunt him big time. Thom had rooted for the gun to fire, only to be sorely disappointed. Casper’s true face had been revealed ever so slightly when Michael had denied him his will and Thom had furtively peeked around the corners of Casper’s mask. His face had briefly looked drained and gaunt: a face full of age and fury. Michael was a good deal younger and looked like he could handle himself, but Casper had flung him aside with inhuman strength and contempt. For the time being, Thom could only pray that he was so far down on the relevance list that he had a little time on his side. He had to come up with some kind of a plan. Was there really anyone in town that he could actually trust anymore? His mother, a teacher, a town official? He instinctively knew that if he told the wrong person, then they would all pay the price.
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Emily sat still and quiet on the altar; her tears and fear were beginning to subside. There was only so much panic that one person could emit before tiring. She wondered that if a person fell from a tall building, would they scream all the way down, or would there come a point when screaming suddenly seemed pointless?
Her mind searched desperately for a plan, any plan. Morgan (the kindly deli owner who had often spoken to her warmly and with affection), Eddie (the tram driver who always had a smile on his face and a friendly greeting), and her supposed best friend were now all standing guard over her. Their faces were slick with a sheen of insanity and there was a pungent, ripe, acidic odour that flowed from them. Their eyes were all glassy and distant and no one would respond to her attempts to engage. The huge Sheriff Quinn leant against the side of the bandstand, his bulk a test for the wooden structure. The white robes that the three incumbents wore would have been laughable if it wasn’t for her dire predicament and that of her child. She had seen enough movies to know that long robes and altars with restraints could only ever mean bad news.
The three men suddenly jerked to attention and a few seconds later the thronged and strangely silent audience parted and another tall man appeared. Emily gasped in anguish as she recognised the hopefully-only-unconscious Michael, being carried effortlessly over Casper’s shoulder. Casper’s eyes lit with delight when they met hers.
“Mrs. Torrance.” He greeted her as though they were meeting under the most pleasant of circumstances. “So good of you to join us. I must apologize for the unpleasantness - a necessary evil, I’m afraid.” Casper placed Michael down gently upon the bandstand floor.
Emily could only stare daggers back, infuriated by the politeness almost as much as the situation. “What do you want with us, Casper?” she said low and angry.
“Is that not clear?” he said smiling and looking towards the altar. “I would have thought that the more pertinent question would have been why.”
“Alright,” she said, playing the game and praying for time. “Why?”
“Because you will be our savior, Mrs. Torrance, or may I call you Emily?” He smiled.
“You can go fuck yourself,” Emily spat, enjoying the recoil that the profanity produced.
“Really, Mrs. Torrance, there is no need for such language.” Casper aimed a powerful kick at the slightly stirring Michael who curled under the blow. “Why is it that we always hurt the ones we love?”
“No, please,” Emily immediately pleaded.
“You will allow our little town to continue to thrive and prosper, Mrs. Torrance. I’m sure that you have come to appreciate the sheer delights of Eden. Unfortunately, such privileges for the many must come at a cost for the few.” He bowed his head sadly. “We have created a utopia here, a heavenly haven for those disciples pure of heart and deed.�
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The crowd chanted in unison, “Pure of heart and deed.”
“This is a place where we will tolerate no dissention to the word,” Casper preached. “This is a place free of sin, free from the horrors of the outside world; let them wallow in their filth and decadence.” He spoke with fervor and passion to the crowd beyond. “We denounce them as unbelievers; they are the forsaken, the lost, and the discarded. Our faith is rewarded in a fertile land under God’s hand. We rise above the tides of man’s blasphemy and they will be punished accordingly.”
“We rise above,” the crowd chanted in unison.
“Bullshit.” Michael’s soft and steady voice rose from his prone position on the bandstand floor. “What happened to my neighbor Janet?”
“An adulterous whore,” Casper dismissed.
“And her husband, Chris. What was his richly deserved fate?”
“Mr. Beaumont proved to be a disbeliever, one who sought to usurp our authority, the authority of God, Michael. You know, omelettes and eggs and all that.”
“And Darnell?” Michael countered.
“A drunkard, an abuser of alcohol, hardly a pillar of the community,” Casper answered.
“How many others, Casper?” Michael said, struggling to his feet. “How many others have you judged to fall short of your standards? How many shallow graves would we find in the forest?”
Casper waved a staying hand towards Quinn, who had taken a menacing step towards Michael. “Ours is a community of God, Michael” he explained as though speaking to small child. “We will not suffer the sins of the fallen; a pedophile teacher, a racist old woman, betrayers, adulterers, thieves, swindlers, addicts, abusers, BLASPHEMERS!” Casper yelled, his voice reaching strident preaching tones that echoed through across the square.
“Blasphemers,” the crowd’s joined voice rose softly.
“And what does that make you, Casper? What can possibly be gained from killing us?” Michael yelled back, his voice gaining strength.
“You misunderstand, Michael; we are not here to kill you - this is not murder.”
“Then what is it?” Michael said, incredulously.
“Sacrifice,” Emily answered.
“Exactly, my dear,” Casper said happily. “The earth must be renewed, the sky reborn and God must be worshipped.”
“How the hell is this worshipping God?” Emily threw her hands in the air.
“Oh, don’t be confused by the teachings of your Sunday schools, Mrs. Torrance. God is not a being of divinity and love. His is a desire for servitude and bowing; his is a demand for blood and sacrifice.”
“Blood and sacrifice, blood and sacrifice,” the crowd chanted.
“Blood and sacrifice,” Quinn agreed.
“Then just take me; let Michael go,” Emily implored.
“Not a chance, you bitch,” Quinn snapped, much to Casper’s obvious disgust. “I’m going to take my time peeling the skin off of that bastard, and then the little boy too.” Quinn’s eyes sparkled with sadistic glee.
“Sheriff, please.” Casper cast a warning look towards the much larger man, “We will have none of that here. This is a holy place - a sacred place of worship.”
“Sacred place,” the crowd agreed.
“You are all out of your fucking minds,” Michael shouted to the bowed heads of the gathered. “What’s wrong with you people? Can’t you see that this is murder?” Michael scanned the audience for signs of recognition and life. “Wake up, damn you! WAKE UP!” he screamed. “For fuck’s sake, you must have your own minds, you can’t agree with this madness.”
Emily could see Casper flinch at the bad language and wished that Michael would be quiet.
“The lot of you are fucking certifiable. There is no God here; God is hell and gone from this place,” Michael continued.
“Michael,” Casper warned in a low angry tone.
“This place is damned, Casper - Goddamned,” Michael laughed.
“Sheriff,” Casper instructed.
Shut up, Michael, just shut up, Emily thought desperately as Quinn marched threateningly towards him.
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Michael watched as Quinn walked closer. It wasn’t much of a plan, but at least it was something. He’d staggered and swayed in an exaggerated fashion, and he was somewhat more recovered than he was letting on. He could never understand why - in movies - people would submit to digging their own graves; if you’re going to die, then the only thing that you had left was how you went out. Quinn moved in closer; his confidence in his own massive bulk was overwhelming and entirely justified.
“You’re going to eat those words, little man,” Quinn said with a cruel grin.
Michael was never one for the Marquis of Queensbury’s rules and stepped forward, swinging his boot as hard as he could possibly muster. His foot struck Quinn between the legs and the huge sheriff’s face crumpled in pain as he sank to his knees. Michael closed the space between them and lifted his knee stiffly into Quinn’s face. He grunted in satisfaction as he felt the sheriff’s nose shatter under the impact, but the collision also sent shockwaves painfully up his leg. Quinn rolled onto his back, clutching his face, and Michael launched himself on top of the sheriff. He landed hard, knocking the remnants of breath out of the bigger man. Michael grabbed for the large revolver on Quinn’s belt and pulled it free; he rolled off and stood rather drunkenly, his head still feeling the after-effects from his unconscious spell. He staggered towards Casper, who had remained unmoving and unmoved during the brief struggle. He raised the heavy gun with difficulty. “Want to bet that this one’s loaded, Casper?”
“Oh, my dear boy. Bravo … such spirit … well done! Well done indeed!” Casper clapped sincerely.
Michael stared back at Casper. Despite the large and loaded handgun that he was currently pointing, Casper merely looked amused. Movement to his side caught his attention and he turned to see Eddie, the once-friendly tram driver whose face was now a snarling mask of hatred, charging towards him. Michael swung the gun towards Eddie. He thought briefly of his pregnant wife and their current situation and then he pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening, even in the clearing of the town square. Eddie staggered backwards and fell to the floor. The bullet had struck him in the centre of the chest more through luck than any judgment and the coppery smell of gun smoke filled Michael’s nostrils. He spun around to face Morgan, the welcoming deli owner who had fed them during the first few weeks of their arrival in town. Morgan took a step backwards under Michael’s glare. Michael fired a second time, telling himself that these men had sought to murder not only him and his wife, but also their unborn baby and a cold reptilian rage filled him. The once-friendly deli owner was flung backwards off of the bandstand and into the silent audience. The vacant-eyed masses merely cleared a space for the body that now lacked a face. Michael looked over at Sarah-Jane, the biggest betrayer of them all; she was huddled on the floor cowering before the violence, and she seemed to be no threat, at least for the time being. Michael looked out across the crowd; their faces were expressionless and the gazes were distant and far removed from the reality and gravity of the unfolding death that surrounded them. They seemed transfixed by a voice that only they could hear. Michael thought of the graffiti that had been sprayed around town: “Wake Up”. If only they would, or could.
With Casper still making no attempt to physically intervene, he walked slowly back towards the downed sheriff, the gun still raised.
“Casper?” Quinn said in a blood-choked voice as he struggled to sit up and face the wrath.
“Oh yes, Michael. By all means, we can never have too much bloodshed in his name,” Casper said delightedly, rubbing his hands with glee.
“Casper, what are you doing?” Quinn pleaded as Michael loomed over him. “You can’t let this happen, not after everything that I’ve done for you.”
“Sadly, Mr. Quinn, I’m afraid that we no longer have a position for you. You have grown sloppy and dangerously prominent in our town. Y
our little escapades are rather too messy for my tastes these days and I’m afraid that you draw a little too much attention to us. Look where we are now; some amateur detectives have pieced enough information together to put us all at risk. Driving women off the road, beating poor old ladies to death, all rather distasteful I’m afraid. But I do wish you luck with all of your future endeavors,” Casper smiled gently.
“You can’t be serious! Stop him … stop him … you bastard! Stop him! I’ve given everything for this town,” Quinn begged.
“Not quite,” Casper replied.
Michael pulled the trigger. At such close range, the sheriff’s head disappeared in a red cloud. Michael kept the thought of his family close as he carried out the impossible. His nature repelled against his revolting actions, but he locked that sense away and thought of his family. With a final deep breath he turned back towards Casper. He risked a look at Emily; her sweet face was strong and she nodded through her horror, imbuing him with the knowledge of what had to be done. Michael lifted the heavy weapon one last time and walked back past the still motionless Sarah-Jane towards the ever-smiling Casper. The gun seemed to weigh a thousand tones and his shoulder protested at the torturous effort.
“Tell me something, Michael. Would…”
Casper’s voice was silenced by the gunshot; Michael had no more patience left for the ramblings of madmen. Casper’s body fell to the ground with a large hole punched through the middle of it. Michael dropped the gun and went to his wife. “Emily … Em … are you okay?” he asked, worried as much by her health as how she might feel towards him after his actions.
Still sitting on the altar, she grabbed him and pulled him desperately close; her vice-like hug almost crushed the life out of him and ground his damaged ribs together. It was still the greatest sensation that he had ever felt.
