Heeeeeeee's Back ....
I wish I was the brakeman
on a hurtlin' fevered train
crashin' head long into the heartland
like a cannon in the rain
with the feelin' of the sleepers
and the burnin' of the coal
countin' the towns flashin' by
and a night that's full of soul
-The Waterboys,
Fisherman's Blues
“Who are you talking to Gabe?” Jack Casey asked, moving toward Gabe.
“I… uh,” Gabe stammered. Embarrassed, he looked toward Jack Casey. A pale yellowish glow flickered in the detective’s eyes.
“Oh
.”
Jack moved steadily towards Gabe. In one fluid motion he drew his 9mm Baretta pistol from beneath his overcoat and trained it on Gabe’s head.
“You really should have taken the detective’s advice about carrying a sidearm Gabriel.” The voice was Jack’s but changed, deeper and resonating.
“
RUN!”
Gabe’s legs moved quicker than his mind, speeding him towards the side of the house. The report of a gunshot rang out behind him, the unseen bullet sending up a spray of snow to his side. Gabe swerved and vaulted the low chain-link fence, cutting his hand in the process. Red splotches marred the white ground where Gabe ran. His ears told him that Jack was close on his heels.
“
This is bad,” Mary’s voice flashed in Gabe’s mind.
“Oh, really?” Gabe panted. “What on earth would give you that idea!”
“
This is no time for sarcasm, he knows that you’ve seen him.” Mary retorted. “
You’re a threat to him.”
"
I'm a threat to
him?! That maniac's shooting at me!"
"
Us ... he's shooting at US!"
Gabe crashed through a scraggly evergreen hedge onto an icy sidewalk. Jack was seconds behind him.
No good, Gabe thought. Too open, easy shot. Gabe ran across the street, cutting between houses, keeping as many obstacles between himself and Jack as he could. Another fence, another hedge, another street. Gabe had no idea where he was running. The houses were older, more dilapidated. He cut again between houses. Gabe looked behind him. He didn’t see Jack.
"
Gabe, watch ...!" Suddenly wood snapped underfoot and the world fell away beneath him. He experienced an instant of freefall before landing in a heap on a cold stone surface.
Gabe’s head throbbed from the impact with stone. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself staring at a waxing gibbous moon through a jagged opening. Gingerly he tried moving his arms, then his legs. Good, nothing broken. Gabe was lying at the foot of stone stairs, an old cellar entrance above. Mildew and lichen gave the stone surfaces a mottled appearance in the dim light. Miniature frozen waterfalls evidenced chronic leaks around the once dilapidated, now destroyed cellar door.
“
You had better move, he’s getting closer.” Mary’s voice held an urgency which jolted Gabe from his concussed reverie.
“Well, Gabriel,” Jack Casey’s voice floated down eerily from above. “You’ve certainly made things easy for me.”
The moon was eclipsed by Jack’s head and torso leaning over the ruined cellar door. One arm was outstretched. Gabe saw the faint glint of moonlight off of the gun barrel.
“
Caer’aroon naes naeor,” Mary’s voice intoned inside Gabe’s head. Again, “
Caer’aroon naes naeor.”
“
Caer’aroon naes naeor.” Gabe heard his own voice speaking the words. His arms lifted of their own volition, pointing directly at Jack’s chest.
“
Caer’aroon naes naeor!"
Blue fire erupted from Gabe’s hands, streaming upward to strike Jack Casey full in the chest. Jack issued an inhuman scream and fell from sight.
“
MOVE!
NOW!” Mary’s voice reverberated in Gabe’s head.
Gabe scrambled to his feet, running up the uneven stairs. Jack lay on his back writhing some feet away. Small tendrils of smoke rose in wisps, glowing in the moonlight. Gabe ran faster than he thought possible. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his lungs felt as if they might burst, but he felt as he never had before. He noticed that his hands were surrounded by faint blue light.
“
I’m amazed that worked.” Mary’s voice held both relief and a more than a little disbelief. “
You are more than a seer, Mr. Investigator.”
Gabe could not spare the breath to reply, nor was his battered brain capable of forming words, let alone a coherent sentence. Gabe cast a furtive glance over his shoulder in time to see the muzzle flash of Jack’s pistol. He felt the burning trace of the bullet across his temple a split second before hearing the gunshot. He staggered and fell to his knees, but quickly recovered and ran on. Warm blood ran in rivulets down his face, occluding vision in his right eye. Behind him he heard more gunshots. Jack had abandoned all caution after losing his prey.
Gabe noticed now that there were no houses on the streets. Abandoned warehouses, dilapidated brick structures, rose three or four stories above. The area looked familiar. There were many homicide scenes around the old railway warehouses on the south side of the city. He wondered how close he was to the Orange Line…
“
Left!
Now!” cried Mary.
Gabe angled sharply to his left, down a narrow alley. A quick look showed Jack about 20 yards behind him and closing fast. Gabe heard nothing but the roaring of his breath, his pounding pulse, and each footfall on the rough pavement. Ahead he saw illuminated mists which obscured the alley’s end. He was reminded of a recurring nightmare which had plagued him from childhood. In the dream he was always running from something terrifying. Something which he could not see, yet filled him with dread.
Gabe tripped on an unseen obstacle and tumbled out of the mists. Cold gravel pressed into his face. He looked up to see train rails inches from his nose. He looked back to the railway dock of the old warehouses. Jack Casey burst from the mist and leapt from the elevated dock, his overcoat spread behind him like leathern wings. Gabe rolled to his right, Jack’s foot slamming into the gravel where his head had been an instant before. Gabe floundered in the gravel. Jack grabbed his coat collar with one hand, lifting Gabe off the ground and hurling him into the air.
He lay there for a moment, dazed, blinded in one eye by the blood gushing from the wound on his forehead. Once again he felt himself flying through the air. Lights exploded in his head when his trajectory was stopped short by a railway signal pole. Gabe’s world began to dissolve…
“
Get up!” Mary’s voice cried out. “
He’s ready to finish you!”
Gabe moved his arms with great difficulty. His hand brushed against something cold, round, metallic. He seized it. Through his one clear eye he watched Jack Casey walking slowly toward him like a predator, confident that the prey is spent.
“
Voraes ni tuagh banigh.”
A warm tingling began in Gabe’s spine and spread to his arms and legs. He felt strength return to his extremities. His grip on the pipe tightened. Jack stopped an arm’s length from Gabe’s prone form. An empty clip fell to the ground inches from Gabe’s ear. He heard the metallic scrape and click of a new clip sliding into place. In his mind’s eye he saw Jack slowly extending his arm, the Baretta pointed at his head. Gabe rolled, swinging the pipe with strength born of desperation. It struck Jack’s outstretched hand, sending the pistol skittering across the gravel.
With both hands on the pipe Gabe swung again. This time the pipe struck Jack’s knee with a sickening wet crunch. An inhuman howl echoed through the mists. Gabe continued to roll. He saw Jack’s Baretta laying only feet away. Gabe felt a slight rumble in the ground beneath him. Something looked familiar about this place … he remembered. They were on the tracks used by the Orange Line on its spur to Midway Airport and South Cicero. Gabe had seen these warehouses many times from the train. It must be approaching dawn, and the first run of the southside to downtown loop was on its way.
Gabe frantically scrambled for the pistol. He felt a sharp pain in the small of his back. Jack hammered two more blows into his kidneys before Gabe spun, swinging the pipe like a mace. Jack caught the pipe mid-swing, holding it fast. The rumble in the ground became an audible roar as the Orange Line train grew near. In his peripheral vision Gabe saw the Barretta lying on the gravel. In front of him Jack’s face was hardly recognizable, twisted and contorted, the eyes glowing with devilish yellow light. Gabe released the pipe and dove for the pistol. Gravel dug painfully into his elbows when he hit the ground. His hand closed around the butt of the pistol. He rolled with the momentum and came up on one knee, the pistol trained on Jack Casey’s chest. Jack growled as he rushed forward. Gabe’s finger tightened on the trigger. The report of the pistol rang above the din of the approaching train.
Jack stopped. He looked quizzically at the hole in his coat and the bloody froth that emerged each time he drew a breath. For a moment the yellow glow in his eyes vanished, his face softened. Gabe's hands shook. It happened so fast. He'd never shot a person before ... never even been in a real fight.
“Gabe?”
The yellow fire returned. Jack snarled, bloody foam trailing from his mouth, and lunged at Gabe.
“
!” Gabe pulled the trigger twice more. The first shot was errant, flying unseen into the night. The second shot found its mark, slamming home into Jack’s chest.
Jack fell to his knees on the tracks. When their eyes met, the yellow glow was gone.
“I’m sorry, Gabe,” he said, spitting blood with each word.
“Jack.”
A train horn and a bright light shattered the moment. One instant Jack Casey was before him coughing blood, the next the blurred lights of train windows streaked past.
Gabe stumbled backwards in horror. He turned and ran from the tracks and down a black alley. He didn’t know if it was the same one he had come out of or not. His rational mind was shutting down. Gabe was running on instinct. He didn’t know how long or how far he ran. Exhaustion claimed him outside of an indistinct abandoned warehouse. Snow was falling again, and the eastern sky was lightening with the coming dawn. Gabe entered the warehouse through a broken door, seeking some shelter from the bitter wind blowing off of the lake. Gabe huddled in a small room that once served as an office in the warehouse. He felt consciousness slipping away.
“
Gabe, there’s someone else in here…”
© 2002 Austin Hale
I have the task of writing up the next entry, although it's been awhile since we covered this ground, so I'll have to burn some cobwebs in the ol' cranium. I'm still trying to decide on the right musical quote ... going to be hard to top the Waterboys entry I gave Lampy last time. I'll post the next installment sometime this week ... the action only heats up from here, folks!
