Road Trip To Hell

Whisperer in the Woods

Cover: A clearing in the woods. There are three fresh graves, but one of them is open... dirt is strewn everywhere, as if whatever was buried there had dug itself out with great force. In the background, amid the trees and shadows, is the dark outline of a man wearing a hat and trenchcoat and holding a gun.

he truck bounced over the rocks as Doug steered it down the incline.   The vehicle's suspension squeaked and groaned in constant complaint, but Doug kept his foot firm on the gas pedal.  He squinted at the line of trees looming before them... dark shapes that grew steadily larger as the truck gained speed.

"Heeey!"   Brewster gulped.   The chubby redneck grasped the dashboard so hard that his knuckles were turning white.  "Hey, slow down!"

"Shut up,"  Doug snapped.

The truck hit a particularly large bump, which sent all three occupants bouncing around the cab.  Doug's hands came off of the steering wheel for an instant.  The rear of the vehicle began to skid in the grass, but Doug brought it under control... barely... with a hard jerk of the wheel.   He hit the breaks and struggled to keep the truck from in line while rocks and holes continued trying to bounce them off of the hillside.   The truck slowed... skidded.... bounced... skidded again... and finally rolled to a stop just a few yards from a large tree.   The headlights splayed across the landscape beyond, creating long, crooked shadows from the branches.

The driver's side door flew open and Doug hopped out.

"C'mon,"  he barked.  In the cab, Nate and Brewster were still catching their breaths.  "Bring that shotgun."

There was a .308 hunting rifle mounted on a rack behind the seat.    Nate grabbed it and got out, while Doug opened the truck's toolbox.  There were a .30-06 rifle and a 12-gauge shotgun.  Doug kept the .30-06 for himself and tossed the other weapon to Brewster.  Brewster's nervous, chubby fingers almost didn't make the catch.   He fumbled with the weapon, almost dropping it twice.

"You drop my gun and I'll blow your damn head off,"  Doug growled.

"I'm sorry... I just-"

"What the hell's wrong with you?"  said Doug.

"He's just a little shook up, that's all,"  said Nate.  "He'll be all right.   Right Brew?"

"Uh-huh.  S-sure.  I'm just shook up, that's all."

Doug and Nate exchanged glances.  Nate looked away.

"S-so what are we gonna do?"   said Brewster.

"We followed that boy down here... and now we're all standing around holding guns.  What does it LOOK like we're gonna do?"  Doug grabbed three flashlights and two boxes of ammunition from the toolbox.   He tossed box one to Nate, and began loading his rifle from the other.  "He's hurt... he ain't gonna get far.   Probably already passed out somewhere.   We'll go in and haul him out.   Finish what we started... if he's alive."

"And if he ain't?"

"Lucky for him,"  said Nate as he handed out the flashlights.  "Let's go..."

The three of them started for the woods.   Doug paused at the first tree they came to.  There was blood on it.   And small splatters of red on the ground.

"Hell,"  he said.  "This is gonna be too easy."    Doug got down on one knee and ran his hand across the grass.    He squinted and held his flashlight at different angles so that he could make out any footprints.   Brewster leaned over Doug's shoulder to see what he was looking at.

"Looks like he crawled outta here.   "This way-"  Doug pointed, then stood up suddenly... too suddenly.   He bumped into Brewster, who lost his balance and staggered backward.   The shotgun Brewster was holding went off-

BOOOM!

-and blasted a huge trunk of bark off of the tree.

The blast echoed for a looooong time.

Doug stared at Brewster... teeth clenched... lips pressed tightly together.   His face drew up into a squinting scowl of barely-contained rage.

"I'm s-  I'm s-  I'm sorry,"  Brewster stuttered.

Doug took a deep, slow, hissing breath.   His fingers twitched on the barrel of his rifle.

"Hey, you bumped into ME!"

Doug stared at him.  Silently.   And then he blinked.    Brewster recoiled as if Doug had slapped him.

"This idiot isn't goin' in the woods with me,"  said Doug.  "Brewster, you take that shotgun and you go guard the truck.  You think you can handle that?"

Brewster nodded.

"Go."

Brewster started back toward the truck.

"He's not gonna make it,"  said Doug.  "I can see that now."

"You oughta cut him some slack, Doug,"   said Nate.

"Slack?  The man damn near blew one of us to kingdom come.  He's one of the best hunters in this town, 'cept for me and you... and now he can barely hold a gun.    What do you think's gonna happen when the law starts askin questions, eh? You think he can stick to the story when the pressure's on?  Hell no, he can't."

"He's scared.  He killed two people... he's got more to loose than either of us-"

"No, Nate, that's where you're wrong.   State law says that helpin' a criminal is the same thing as committing the crime yourself.   So if Brewster starts flapping his lips to the cops, then we ALL go down just like it was US that killed Elizabeth and that girl."

"Wha... huh?"

"Didn't know that, did you?"

"NO!"

"So, ya see.... we're all in this just as deep.    But you don't see ME stumbling around and blubbering like some damn retard, do you?  No.  Because I'm a man, and I know how to handle a man's business.    What about you, Nate?"

Nate just stood there... mouth open... staring at the trees.   Doug could see the realization sinking in.

"You understand where I'm coming from now, don't you?"

Nate nodded.

"Are YOU gonna be a problem, too?"  said Doug.

"No..."  Nate said weakly.  "Doug, what are we gonna do about Brewster?   If he talks-"

"If I'm gonna risk taking the fall for murder, then it's gonna be for one that I DID do... not for somebody else's mess. And I'm not talking about this darkie we're chasin' through the woods.  I'm talking about doing whatever I need to do to stay out of a jail cell...  You know what I'm saying, Nate?"

"Yeah... yeah."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"Now let's go find this boy before he bleeds all over the damn woods.  Don't wanna leave TOO much evidence layin' around..."
 

he tracks told the story.  A short distance into the woods, the stranger found the strength to stand... and a good-sized tree branch to help him do it.   He was moving a little faster, but was leaving an unmistakable trail of blood and footprints behind him.    To an experienced hunter, the trail stood out from the surroundings like a neon sign.  They were impossible to miss, even with only flashlights and the moon to light the way.   At first, the trail led in a straight line... moving into the woods from the tree where Doug and Nate had begun the hunt.   Slowly... almost imperceptibly... the tracks began to meander.    They veered to one direction and then turned back toward the straight path... only to wander off at another angle a few yards later.    Over time, the meanderings became the rule rather than the exception.   The trail devolved into a random series of zigzags that seemed completely devoid of reason or intent.

The wildly-divergent paths made tracking slightly more difficult.   Doug had to stop and check for prints or blood every few feet instead of every few yards.

"This guy's all over the place,"  said Nate.   "Where the hell is he going?"

"He doesn't know,"  Doug replied.  He had paused to examine some footprints in a patch of dirt.   The prints were deep, and pointed at strange angles.   The man who'd made them was staggering... almost ready to drop.  He'd probably be crawling again pretty soon.    There was even a bloody handprint from where their quarry had fallen and gotten back up.   "He's wounded and probably delirious.   He doesn't even know where he IS, let alone where he's going.  He can't be far now."

Doug found the set of prints leading away.

"This way-"

"Hey, Doug..."  Nate called.

"What?"

"Check this out."

Nate had found more blood.  That wasn't unusual, but he'd also found more tracks.

Tracks that were pointing back the way that Nate and Doug had just come.

"Uhhh-huh."  Doug scratched his chin.   He swept his flashlight across the ground.  Another print.

"It's him alright.   This boy's boots is unmistakable."

"Did he double back?"

"Maybe.  Or maybe he was just stumbling around.   All these tracks are new... can't tell which ones was made first."

"If he doubled back, that means he ain't as delirious as we thought, eh?"

"OR maybe he's lost so much blood that he doesn't know WHICH way he's going.   You follow these tracks... I'll follow the other ones.   I'm sure they'll cross each other sooner or later."

"Right."

"And Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"You be damn sure what you're shooting at before you pull that trigger."

"You too."

Doug and Nate split up, following the stranger's trail in opposite directions.

he gunshot filled the room with sound and smoke.   Instinctively, Ashley dropped to the floor and covered her head, while Sebastian charged.    The bullet zipped past his right shoulder as he leapt atop one of the desks.   He jerked to one side, allowing the deputy's second bullet to miss his left ear by an inch.  Then, swords whistling through the air, he flung himself at the deputy-

"Sebastian!"  Ashley shouted, remembering what resulted from the LAST frontal assault.   "Don't!"

But a frontal assault wasn't Sebastian's plan.   He swung one sword at the startled deputy's throat, but he released his grip at the last moment... turning the sword into a razor-sharp missile.

K-TANK!

The flying sword was rebuffed mere millimeters from its target by a splash of multicolored light.   The deputy squeezed off his third shot.   Sebastian was already dodging it before the weapon even fired.   He grabbed something from his belt and threw it at the deputy-

POOF!

The small bundle exploded.  The chemicals it contained evaporated on contact with the air... forming a small, but thick cloud of brown smoke.   In an instant, the fog had enveloped the deputy.    Sounds of his coughing and wheezing filled the room.

"NOW!"  Sebastian shouted.

"huh?"  said Ashley.

"...dammit, girl... RUN, NOW!"  Sebastian pointed at the door.  Ashley sprinted across the room.   She was almost at the door when the deputy stumbled out of the fog.  He wasn't after her; he was merely trying to escape from the chocking gas.  But when he saw Ashley, he lurched toward her with one hand extended...

"Oh, no ya don't!"  he grunted.

"Oh, no YOU don't!"  Ashley retorted.   She dug deep into her mind... accessing parts of her psychic gifts that she kept hidden away, even from herself.   She unlocked the mental floodgates, and shuddered as the power surged forth.   She hit the deputy with a mental hellstorm that would have stopped a stampeding elephant... but the deputy never even felt it.   The field surrounding his body flashed in a thousand different colors, and then it sent Ashley's blast right back at her...
 

rewster watched the woods with all the intensity of a hawk scanning horizon for prey.

At least, that was his intention.

With Nate's and Doug's departure, Brewster was left alone for the first time since this whole mess had started.  Guilt took that opportunity to fill his mind with the shocking totality of what had happened.   Of what was still happening.

He'd killed the little girl.  Ran her over in the street like a dog.

His stomach lurched at the thought of it...  and the thoughts kept right on coming.

He couldn't see her.   It was dark and the road was narrow and she just ran out in front of him... he didn't have a CHANCE of seeing her, even if his eyes WERE on the road.   But they weren't.  His attention had been focused elsewhere... changing the channels on his radio.    Wondering if he'd had enough money in his pocket for another sixpack.  The road was clear when he'd looked down, but then...

... he could still feel the sudden jolt when the car hit.    He could hear the thump... and the sickening crunch of young bones under his wheels.   He'd been going so fast that the girl HAD to be dead before she went under.   Killed on impact.

But if that were true, why was she still moving when he got out to look?   Her eyes were staring up at him... bloody lips trembling... and then she was gone.

Brewster wished he'd had something on his stomach so that he could throw it up and be done with it.   But his empty gut kept churning and spasming with every image his soul summoned forth.

The girl.

Elizabeth.

He'd killed her, too.

Murdered.   Head nearly severed at the neck.

The little girl was an accident.  But Elizabeth?   That was murder.   They would kill him for that.

Absolutely.

They'd kill him for sure.

Brewster moaned at the weight of it.   He'd killed two people, for which he would surely die.   But it didn't stop there.   Nate and Doug.   Burying the bodies in the woods was THEIR idea... right?    He just went along with it.   He helped dig the holes.  He helped pour the chemicals on top of them and then shoveled the dirt to cover them up.   None of that was his fault.

And this business they were doing now.   Finding someone to blame the deaths on... and then beating him to death so he couldn't say otherwise.  That was Doug.  And Nate.   Surely HE wouldn't be responsible for what Doug and Nate did, would he?

But what difference would it make... he was already a murderer.   Could it get any worse?   Did he have anything else to lose?

No.

But if that were true... why did it still feel wrong?

A rustling in the underbrush interrupted the turbulent flow of Brewster's thoughts.

"Huh?"

Brewster aimed his flashlight into the trees, looking for whatever had made the sound.   He saw nothing.

Then he heard it again.  And he saw it... a patch of bushes just to the left.   Brewster raised the shotgun, aimed...

"Who's there?"

Further into the woods, a branch moved.   If Brewster hadn't been looking for something, he never would have seen it.

But he did see it.

Something was definitely out there.

"Yup,"  Brewster whispered.  "Yuuuup."

He looked back at the truck... and beyond... up at the road.   There was no one else around.

Another movement in the woods.  Further away.   Whatever it was, it was moving away from him.   If Brewster was going to catch it...him.... he had to act now.

He walked a short distance parallel to the tree line, then slipped into the woods.    He moved away from the occasional sounds he heard, making it seem as though he were going the wrong direction.    But then he killed his flashlight veered back toward the sounds.   Whatever it was, it wasn't moving very fast... like an injured man, perhaps?    Brewster planned to hide in its path and surprise it when it came past.   That way, he could see what it was before it saw him.  Maybe.

The rustling and movement continued... sometimes going faster, and sometimes stopping altogether.    Brewster tracked it easily from a distance while keeping his own movements as quiet as possible.   If it was an animal out there, it would have caught his scent already.   But if it was a man... then he could easily take him by surprise.

Silence.

The sounds had stopped again... and so did Brewster.  He crouched behind a large tree and waited.    And watched.

...thump...

Something hit the ground in front of him.   It was a tiny sound, not at all like anything a man would make.   Something small.   Squinting in the moonlight, Brewster scanned the ground...

...there...

Something in the grass.   Something shiny.

Brewster paused to listen.   He waited.   Then he reached out for the tiny object.  His muscles were tensed... ready to shoot or bolt at the slightest sign of a trap.   But there was no trap.  Nothing happened when his fingertips brushed across the small metal thing.   Nothing happened when he slipped it in his palm and brought it close to his face to examine it in the dim light.

It was a bullet.   Someone had thrown a bullet at him.

"...what the hell-"

"It's the bullet I could have used to kill you-"

Brewster raised his shotgun as he spun to face the man behind him... but there wasn't anyone there.    Just trees and darkness.   Brewster crouched even lower and tried to see through the shadows.

"-but I figured," the deep, whispering voice continued.  "Why bother?  Your friends will take care of that for me."

Brewster twirled toward the sound and fired-

BOOOM!

A cluster of bushes disintegrated in a spray of wood and leaves.   Brewster racked another shell into the chamber and sprang from his hiding place.    He streaked across a small open space and quickly hid behind another tree.  He opened his mouth to shout for Doug and Nate...

"You missed," the whisper taunted.

BOOOM!
BOOOM!

Brewster spun away from the tree and fired into the darkness behind him as he sought new cover.   He threw himself behind a bush-

"You're wasting your time-"  something whispered almost into his ear.

Brewster clutched the shotgun... but didn't move.   He waited for the voice to come again, so that he could be SURE...

"-I'm not the one you need to be worried about."

Low.  Brewster had been aiming too high... the source of the voice was lower... almost on the ground.   One more word and Brewster would have him...

t the sound of the first shot, Nate started running.    The blast was from a shotgun.  Brewster.   The tracks that Nate had been following were leading back toward the truck, so Nate knew what had happened even before the second round of shots exploded somewhere in the woods.

He'd doubled back.  And now Brewster had him.

Or HE had Brewster.

Nate wouldn't know which it was until he got there.   He sprinted past trees and shrubs, using the echoes of the gunfire to guide him for the first few seconds... and then just running as fast as he could toward where Doug had left the truck.

Doug...

Had HE heard the shots?   Probably... a shotgun blast was hard to miss.  But Doug had been going further into the woods... maybe too far to hear?

Too late to worry about that now.  He had to get to Brewster.

There were no additional gunshots, and that unnerved Nate.   What had happened?   Was it over?  Had the stranger gotten away... or did Brewster bag him?

He'd find out in a second... he was almost there-

Nate was still running at full speed when something snagged his left ankle.  It could have been a root... but it felt suspiciously like something had reached out and grabbed him.   Either way, the result was the same.   Nate went flying.  His rifle disappeared into the woods as he fell.   The last thing he thought was that the pile of rocks rushing up toward his head seemed just a little too convenient...

CRACK!

t was just like he'd thought.... the trail went deeper into the woods for a short distance... then circled around and went back the way it had come.   Nate was already on the return trail, but if he hurried, Doug would be able to catch up with him.

Doug almost missed the first gunshot.   He heard just enough to get his attention.

The second two shots got him moving.

Doug didn't run.    He moved cautiously through the undergrowth.  Whatever was happening, it wasn't worth him braining himself on a tree branch.  Besides... Nate was closer.

He passed the clearing where he and Nate had split up.  He kept going, the trail and heading back to the truck by the most direct route.   There weren't any more gunshots.  None from Brewster's shotgun, and none from Nate.   Doug slowed down.  Something was wrong.   He stopped.

"...Nate?"  he said.  He didn't shout... he merely spoke in a soft, conversational tone.  "Brewster?"

No one replied, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.   Someone close.

Doug's flashlight was still on.   He turned it off and crouched low to the ground.

Nothing moved.  Nothing made a sound.

He crept forward... waited... moved forward again...

He came to a small clearing.   He didn't trust it.   He decided to circle around.

He'd just started moving when he saw it.

A shadow.  A shape.  He couldn't tell for certain what it was, but it LOOKED like someone was hiding behind some bushes on the other side of the clearing.

Doug smiled and checked his weapon, making sure it was loaded and ready.  It was.

Taking extra pains to make his movements as silent as possible, Doug crept around the side of the clearing.   As he got closer, the shape became more distinct.   It was a man.   Sitting there... waiting...

Doug could kill him without getting one inch closer...  but he didn't.   He had to make sure...

omething was coming.   Brewster heard something moving in the woods.   He couldn't tell how close, but it was close enough.   His muscles tensed as he prepared to spring from his hiding place.   He wouldn't miss this time...

oug was about as close as he could get without giving himself away... if he hadn't done so already.  He thought he saw the shape move slightly... like it was tensing... readying itself for action.    It knew he was there.

Doug leapt away from the tree that concealed him.   He brought his gun around while turning on his flashlight... aiming both at the figure before him.

There was a tiny instant in which nothing happened... a brief moment of time in which the details of what was before him sank in.   He saw the tattered brown trenchcoat... ripped and bloody... pulled tightly around a man who looked more dead than alive.  He was propped up on a tree behind the bushes... his head was turned away from Doug, half-hidden in the coat's collar.   But when the light hit him, the man reacted.  His arm twitched.  He groaned weakly... then gasped reached for something-

Doug fired.

His rifle jerked in his hand, and the awful CRACK of the weapon filled the forest with sinister echoes.

CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!

The man convulsed as the bullets tore through his flesh, turning muscles and organs into bruised and bloody pulp.  The last shot was to the chest.   The impact knocked him sideways... he hit the ground and flopped over onto his back.

"Oh, shit!"   Doug gasped when he saw the man's face.

Nate.

It was Nate.  It WAS Nate.  Someone had knocked him unconscious and dressed him up in the stranger's coat... then propped him up in the woods as a cruel trap.

"Oh, my God...."

Doug had shot him four times with a hunting rifle.   Nate was dead.   His expressionless eyes looked up at Doug with a cold emptiness.

Doug turned away.

"WHERE ARE YOU!"  he howled, slashing at the darkness with the beam from his flashlight.  "WHERE ARE YOU!?  YOU THINK HIS IS FUNNY!?  YOU THINK THIS IS SOME KIND OF JOKE!?!  SOME KIND OF GAME!?!"

Something moved in the woods.   Something big....

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, NIGGER!"

Doug fired.   Again, the rifle jerked in his grasp

CRACK!
CRACK!

"AAAAAAA-"

Came a terrified cry.

"DOUG!  IT'S ME!  STOP SHOOTIN'"

"What?"

Doug lowered his weapon as Brewster stumbled out of the woods.  He was clutching his shotgun in one hand... and his stomach in the other.   Blood spurted out from between his trembling fingers.

"Ya....shot...me..."  Brewster moaned.   He fell to his knees.  "...help...me..."

"No,"  said Doug.  "This is all your fault.  Nate's dead now... and its all YOUR fault.   Now your gonna get what's coming to ya"

"...please..."

Brewster tried to steady himself with his shotgun, but he collapsed anyway.  He fell face-down in the dirt, still grasping the gun.

"Shoulda done that a long time ago-"

Suddenly, Brewster propped himself up on one arm and slung the shotgun around toward Doug.

"Wha-"  Doug raised his rifle.  Both weapons went off at once, but the crack of the rifle was lost in the thunderous BOOOOM of the 12 gauge.   Pain exploded in Doug's chest at the 00-slug struck him.

"UNNNNGH!"   Doug flew backward... blood blossoming from the hole in his chest... and landed beside Nate.   In front of him, Brewster lay still.   Doug's final shot had finished him off, just as Brewster's had almost done for him.

"...unnnngh....."   Doug tried to get up... but he couldn't.     He could move, but every attempt sent fire boiling through his chest.  Dizziness and nausea came over him in sickening waves.  The bloody hole in his chest make wet, sucking noises as he struggled for breath.    He could feel his lungs filling up with blood.    His legs started to shake...  the shaking slowly spread to his other extremities as the woods grew darker...

Over the labored beating of his own heart, Doug heard something.  Footsteps.   Someone walking.   A shadow fell over him.

"...help..."  he gasped.    The pain was so great that the mere act of speaking nearly knocked Doug unconscious.  But he hung on... managing to lift his head and see who it was that had come to rescue him...

The stranger.

He stood over Doug like a statue of pain.  The man was bloody and weak... remaining upright only with the help of a tree-branch that he used for a cane.   He looked down at Doug with a cool, blank expression that reminded Doug of the one Nate wore.

"...you..."    Doug searched for his rifle.   It was right next to the stranger's boot.   He reached, but the stranger nudged it away.   But that wasn't his only weapon.    Doug grabbed the pistol in his belt... the pistol he'd taken from the stranger before they started beating him.    The gun was heavy... he could barely lift it...

...and he could offer no resistance when the stranger reached down and gently took the loaded weapon from his hand.

"That's mine,"  Jason whispered.  He removed his trenchcoat from Nate's corpse, then donned the tattered garment and retrieved his weapons from the others.   He took the truck keys out of Doug's pocket.

"I could have just shot you all,"  he said as he stowed his weapons in their various holsters and pockets.  "But I didn't.   I'm better than that... and you're not worth the bullets."

"...you can't... leave me here... to die...."

"Watch me,"  said Jason.   "I'm sure somebody will come looking for you eventually.   You might be alive when they get here.   Or you might not.  I don't particularly care."

The stranger slowly... painfully... hobbled out of the clearing.

Doug watched him go.

"...stop..."   Doug hissed weakly.   "...come...back..."

"AAIIIIIIIIIIEEE!"   Ashley screamed as her own assault overwhelmed her.  Her mental defenses, already weakened by the effort it took to make the attack, collapsed immediately.   Power and pain hit Ashley's mind like a sledgehammer... shattering her strength and will.   She didn't even feel the floor when she fell... or realize she'd fallen until she opened her eyes and saw the deputy reaching down for her.

-CRACK-

There was another flash of light as something bounced off of the deputy's head.   He turned away from Ashley,  just in time to catch a flying telephone with his face.

"Heey!"  the deputy exclaimed.

"Leave the woman and face ME!"  Sebastian growled.   He was perched on one of the desks, holding a sword in one hand.

"Whatever-"   The deputy raised his gun, but Sebastian kicked the sheriff's inbox off of the desk, sending the stack papers flying.    With the deputy's aim obscured by the hail of paper, Sebastian leapt into the air, flipped over the deputy's head and landed behind him.   His sword drew multicolored sparks from the deputy's legs as he tried to slice them off at the knees.    The deputy spun, and that's when Sebastian hit him with a long blast of teargas from the canister he'd snatched from the desk-

PSSSSHHHH!!!

"AAAARRGGH!!"   Clutching his face, the deputy dropped his gun and backed away.   Sebastian thrust his sword between the deputy's stumbling feet and tripped him.

The deputy's force-field flashed violently when he hit the floor.  Sebastian sprayed him with more gas, dousing his face and hands with the powerful irritant.

PSSSSHHHH!!!

"AAAK!!"   The teargas... ultra-fine droplets suspended in a white mist... passed right through the force field to the tender skin below.  The deputy tried to clear his face, but his efforts only rubbed the irritant deeper into his skin and eyes.  His chest and throat went into uncontrollable spasms that got more painful by the second.   Sebastian sprayed him again.  "AAAARRRRK!"

The deputy scrambled to his feet... but Sebastian put him right back on the floor with a simple leg-sweep.

Then he sprayed him with more teargas.

PSSSSHHHH!!

"Tell me of your connection with the dragon,"  Sebastian demanded.

"You can't hurt me..."  the deputy moaned.    He tried to get up again-

"YAAAAAAH!"   With a single swing of his sword, Sebastian sliced the front legs off of the sheriff's's desk.  Now unbalanced, the large, wooden desk toppled forward.   Sebastian grabbed the other end of it and rolled it over... right on top of the deputy.

The magical field sparked and flashed as it kept the deputy from being crushed.   Unfortunately, it didn't do anything to keep the deputy from being pinned to the floor by the heavy desk.

Sebastian knelt by the deputy's head.... and sprayed him with more teargas-

PSSSSHHHH!!!

"AAAAA! STOP!  STOP!"   Tears and mucous stained the deputy's face in long, disgusting streak.   His eyes were sealed shut... he couldn't open them now if he wanted to.

"The Dragon!"  Sebastian sneered.

"I don't know what you're talking about!   And even if I did, I'm not telling you ANYTHING!"

PSSSSHHHH!!!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGH!!"

"The magic you use!  WHERE does it come from!"

"I'm not TELLING YOU!"

"Ashley,"  said Sebastian.  "There's a box of cleaning supplies in the closet.   Bring it to me."

Ashley had barely managed to get to her feet, and now Sebastian was sending her to fetch cleaning supplies!?

"GO!"

Ashley found the box Sebastian wanted.   Inside were a half-dozen bottles of various chemicals.   Lacking the strength to pick it up, Ashley dragged the box across the floor to Sebastian.

"Good."   Sebastian rummaged through the box until he found the bottle he wanted.   He opened it and poured the contents all over the deputy's head.   It rolled off of the force-field and formed a pool on the floor around him.

"Heeeey!"

"Sebastian, what are you doing?"

"Getting some answers."

Sebastian took another bottle... a gallon of bleach.   He opened it... sniffed its contents... and smiled.

Ashley hated it when Sebastian smiled.  It sent chills down her back.

"Deputy... do you know what happens when you mix certain household cleaners?"

Maybe the deputy didn't... but Ashley did.

"Sebastian!  You can't-"

Sebastian poured the bleach.  It mixed with the other chemical on the floor, and instantly a hissing, white fog began to form.   Sebastian took a step back before the gas reached his nose.   The deputy didn't have that option.  He was still trapped under the table, with is arms pinned to the floor.

"Magic protection or not,"  said Sebastian.  "You still have to breathe.   And right now, you're breathing poisonous gas. You'll be unconscious in about ten minutes.   Dead in less than twenty-five.   I suggest you use your remaining breaths to tell me what I want to know."

The deputy held his breath

Sebastian waited.

The deputy finally breathed a huge lung-full of the mist rising from the floor.    His breathing quickly degenerated into violent, spasmatic coughs that shook the table resting on top of him.

"Sebastian, you're killing him!"  Ashley protested.

"Yes,"  he replied.  "I am."

"...that's murder..."  the deputy managed between coughs.  "...I knew... I knew you were...evil..."

"I'm not the one protected by demon-magic,"  Sebastian said calmly.   He took another step back to get away from the growing cloud of poisonous gas. "I'm not the one wearing a dragon's mark on my arm."

"...just... just a tattoo..."

"A mighty convenient one, considering we followed a dragon here."

"I don't... don't know anything about it... I SWEAR!  It's just a tattoo!   I got it...years...ago..."

"And the magic?"

"...I..."

"You have only a few minutes remaining,"  said Sebastian.  "I wouldn't waste them trying to lie."

"It was a man... he... came... came through town.  Sold it to me..."

"Sold WHAT to you?"

"... a shield... a badge...  sold me a badge... for... protection..."

"Your 'badge' is cursed,"  said Sebastian.  "It protects your body at the cost of your soul.  How long have you been using it?"

"...months... he... he never said anything... about... about a curse."

"He wouldn't have.   This man.   Where is he?  Where did he go?"

"I don't-"  The deputy's reply was interrupted by a fit of coughing that lasted almost a minute.  Ashley started to help him, but Sebastian held her back.  They waited... the coughing got weaker....  "...west..."  the deputy managed.  "...Mississippi... I swear, that's all I know!  Please help me!"

"What did he look like?"

"SEBASTIAN!"  Ashley snapped.  "He's DYING!  You can't just stand there asking him questions!"

"We need to know-"

"Get rid of his magic and I can get you everything you need!"

Sebastian gave her a suspicious glance, then nodded.

"Take off the badge,"  he said.

The deputy squirmed around under the table, trying to reach the badge pinned to his shirt.   He managed to grasp it...

There was a bright flash... accompanied by a brief hum and a tingling sensation in the air.  The table... which had been supported by the force field... settled onto the deputy's chest and ended a chocking spasm in mid-gasp.

"He's suffocating!"

Sebastian drew his sword, raised it... and brought it down-

CHUNK!
KUCHEN!

It took two strikes to cleave the desk in two.  Both halves fell away from the deputy, allowing him to breathe more of the poisonous air.  Sebastian snatched the plain-looking metal badge from the deputy's limp fingers.    Ashley grabbed the man's feet and dragged him free of the cloud... which had now grown so large that is was threatening to fill the entire room.

The deputy gasped... filling his lungs with reasonably clear air.

Sebastian took a piece of paper from the floor, rolled it into a tube, and lit the end of it with a cigarette lighter.   He hopped onto the deputy's desk and held the flame underneath one of the fire sensors.

A loud, shrill alarm sounded.  Sprinklers all over the building clicked open and doused everything beneath them with torrents of cold water.   Everything in the room was instantly soaked.   The artificial rain washed the cloud away, along with the dangerous mixture of chemicals that had created it.

"AAAA!"  Ashley squealed as the cold water saturated her hair and clothes.  "HEY!  You never said anything about making it RAIN!"

"Get the information,"  Sebastian ordered.  "Before the fire department gets here."

Ashley peeked into the semi-conscious deputy's mind.   The information she sought was right on the surface...

"...he told us everything he knows,"  she said.  "I've got a description.... that's all there is.    Nothing about a dragon or demons or anything nasty; he's just some country redneck that didn't want to get shot in the line of duty."

"His soul,"  said Sebastian.

"What about it?"

"Is it still there?"

"Uhhhh.... I guess?  How would I know?"

"You'd know."

"His aura's really weak.  I can see it now that the magic isn't shielding him... it's like he's been drained.   Is that what you mean?"

"We got to him in time.  Let's go.  We have to find Brooks."

Sebastian turned away and walked toward the door.

"Are we just going to LEAVE him here like this?"

"Yes,"  said Sebastian.  He stepped outside and was gone.

Ashley plunged herself into the deputy's mind and clouded his memories of the night.  They would return in time, but until then, he wouldn't be able to remember anything that happened.  At least not without a hypnotist.   Or another psychic.

"ASHLEY!"  Sebastian called from outside.

"...dammit, if he screams my name like that one more time, I'm gonna-

"ASHLEY!"

"WHAT!!!!"  Ashley yelled.   She stepped out of the police station and saw Sebastian standing next to an old, rusty truck.    The driver's side door was open.  A bloody figure in a tattered brown trenchcoat lay halfway out of the vehicle, cradled in Sebastian's arms.

"Jason!"

Ashley rushed over to the truck.   She choked when she saw him.

Jason looked like he'd been through a shredder.  His large patches of clothes and skin had been ripped away.   Much of what remained bore what appeared to be friction burns.  There was blood all over the driver's seat and the floorboard. Jason lay unnaturally still... the only signs of life in him were his shallow, uneven breaths and the occasional fluttering of his eyelids.

"...what happened to him..."

"I don't know,"  said Sebastian.  "He was strong enough to drive, but when I opened the door, he mumbled something about the woods and collapsed.   He's lost a lot of blood."

"Will he be all right?"

"We should go.  I have some medical supplies in my car... I'll do what I can."

"But will he be all right?"

"I'll drive."

"Sebastian!   You don't want to answer me, so it must be bad-"

"Get in the truck."

"Is Jason going to be okay?"

Sebastian looked Ashley in the eyes and told her the truth.

"Probably not."

[To Be Continued.]

copyright 2005 by Dark Icon Entertainment