“So,
just like that, the…”
“What?”
David’s head turned like a dog,
pointed itself at an open alley. The alley in question was dark. The pavement
at the bottom was appropriately slick with water, although from rain or mist it
was unclear. It wasn’t a particularly misty or rainy day. Just one of those
mysteries, Neil had long since decided.
So there was David and Neil, out at
night in the Downtown. On the street they stood upon were primarily antique
shops, but also privately owned restaurants and thrift stores. David and Neil
had never been inside any of them. David primarily liked Downtown because it
was far away from home, and Neil liked Downtown because he thought it looked
nice. Neil also occasionally imagined he was a detective of the sort found in
serials from the 20’s and 30’s, and that whenever they were Downtown it was a
Night Off The Job, or an opportunity to relax. Neil hadn’t voiced this dream
since he’d been seven, but that hadn’t diminished his dreams or aspirations,
and so they were, as Neil stood, at age sixteen.
And at the moment, David was pointed
like a Setter at the alleyway before them, where there issued a pair of voices,
held in a constant conversation, one never giving way to the other. Neither
David nor Neil could properly understand either of the voices, and since David
cared to overhear, he stepped closer.
“What?” Neil asked. He’d refused to
move from the wall they had chosen to lean against while David had told his
story.
“You hear them,” David said, “It
sounds like some villains.”
“Villains?” Neil asked. For a moment
he forgot how silly the word sounded. He was Dowtown. Downtown is where detectives could find ample supplies of
villains.
“One of them has the roughest voice
I’ve ever…,” David said, trailing off, both in his voice and in the way he
started walking towards the alleyway. Neil followed after a moment unsure of
whether or not he actually wanted to go forth and uncover what it was David was
after.
Neil could hear the voices clearer
as he stepped after David, keeping one foot ahead of the other at all times.
His legs were tense, as he figured he’d need to break off and make a run for it
at any moment. Detectives did that.
“Candle Crown?”
Neil looked at David, even though it
hadn’t been David that’d said it. It’d been one of the voices ahead. David
looked back at Neil, “The fucking Candle Crown,” this spoken in a whisper.
“The Candle Crown?” Neil whispered
back. It stirred memories. Ghost stories told at campfires. Going into
bathrooms and turning off the lights and chanting incantations intended to
rouse the spirits of the dead. Those kinds of memories.
“The Candle Crown,” the second voice
affirmed, “The Mason’s son found it, if you’d believe it. Found it in, uh, the
tunnel by Gebirr bridge. You know the one?” This one wasn’t the one with the
rough voice. This villain’s voice was tinted with the accent of the region,
which is to say, an accent between Boston’s and New York’s, even though Falling
Rocks was at least two hundred miles away from either city, at the closest.
“Yeah,” the other said. And his was
a voice that sounded like gravel, or more accurately, like a voice that’d been
used to smoking cigarettes in quantities that were supposed to kill most living
things.
David turned around with a raised
eyebrow, his mouth open as though to make an announcement, but then the other
villain replied, “The Mason’s son says that only Jamie is to look after it.
Something about Ember Horrors. I don’t quite get it. Jamie always seemed like a
normal kind of guy. What does he know about Ember Horrors that I don’t?”
“Jamie’s fuck-deep in Ember Terrors,”
Mr. Coalchest said, as though the statement were normal.
“Isn’t he though?”
David turned, “Sounds like a couple
of goons,” he said.
Neil knew that David knew all about
which words would get Neil interested in things. David even knew exactly which
words would make Neil not be afraid of things Neil was typically afraid of.
As David crushed his cigarette under his
shoe, he added, “We need to get closer.”
“Need?” Neil asked, “Need’s a pretty
strong word for the situation here. I think we certainly can get closer.”
David already did get closer, but Neil hung back. His phone chimed once, and
David looked back in horror before diving behind a dumpster with a noise that
was at least three times as many decibels as Neil’s phone had produced. Neil
didn’t wait to see what the two goons ahead would do. Goons would do what goons
did.
Neil took off, knowing exactly the
quickest route out of Downtown. Up North Street, down that street that he used
to go whenever he wanted to play with that one kid (what was her name?),
between two buildings that looked abandoned but were in fact un-abandoned, and
then up the road to the Supermarket, where Neil could lay low.
At least, those were thoughts that Neil
had as he’d started to run. Neurotransmitters and hormones shot through his
body like potentially lethal drugs, which they were, and his mind flooded with
the instant need to get away, a need
that isn’t conductive to planned escaping.
He certainly made it onto North Street
alright. North Street is particularly well lit. Neil even considered stopping
there to see if the goons would even
bother to try to grab him there. After all, they’d sounded like they were much
older than Neil. Too old to be playing catch with teenagers.
But Neil thought back to David, alone in
the alley by the dumpster, and a different set of emotions rushed through his
head. Ones that rhyme with lame and begin with the letter S. He was steeling
himself to return to the alley when a man wearing a leather jacket and tight
black jeans rounded the corner.
This man undoubtedly dressed like a
mobster, and visually, fit the goon ideal
to perfection. He even had a concentrated look of loathing etched on his face
that perfectly embodied his intentions, or at least embodied the intentions the
animal sections of Neil’s brain were screaming at Neil to avoid. Neil noted the
absence of the second goon, and his heart dropped. And he hung there in the
road for a moment, staring, expecting the slick goon ahead of him to stop
running, or to at least slow. But the slick goon must have chased people
before, and had anticipated Neil’s next move.
Which, obviously, was to run the other
way
At the speed the goon kept up with Neil,
Neil knew for certain he hadn’t been the goon who’d had the raspy voice. This
goon was simply too fast. Neil kept his pace, quickening it every other second,
as he flew down that street where he used to go whenever he wanted to play with
that one kid. Neil began to consider the thought of being captured, and his run
quickly turned into the fullest sprint Neil had ever experienced. It was the
sprint that had been absent on the hundred meter dash last year.
As Neil slipped between the two beaten
down houses, both of which had likely been constructed before the turn of the
19th century, Neil looked over his shoulder and slowed, and saw that
the slick haired thug was further behind, but had not stopped. The same look
remained on the goon’s face.
Neil kept running. The supermarket was
ahead. If he could get inside, he’d be in a public place at least. The goon
could come after him in there, but Neil would be safe. Neil could call his
parents or something. It’d be lame, but he’d be safe.
The road up towards the supermarket was
old and riddled with cracks. And additionally, it was uphill to the
supermarket. Neil honestly didn’t notice the cracks at all. He was more
concerned with the potential murderer behind him, who may or may not have
pulled out a knife from his leather jacket, than with flaws in urban
development that had been mentioned repeatedly at town hall meetings but
ignored, year after year.
At the top of the hill, the final of the
cracks found the toe of Neil’s shoe helplessly trapped inside. The crack gave
way, busted open, almost shouting, “You’re free, Neil! Escape is so close you
can almost taste it!”
But Neil had never been very good at
ballet, sports, or regaining his balance after tripping. Instead of tasting
escape, Neil tasted blood as he pitched forward into the ground.
Thankfully, there was no ringing noise.
Neil had always hated the ringing noise in movies or games that came after
someone suffered a head injury.
Neil slowly propped himself up on his
arms, and turned his head.
David had hidden from the very
beginning, of course. Both of the goons had left the alley in pursuit of Neil
who, while not being the one who had given away their location, had been the
only one the goons had seen. David had chosen to creep out and escape while the
thugs pursued Neil.
David had seen the goon wearing the
leather jacket, but had also seen the second goon, the one with the rusty
voice. The rusty voiced goon was much shorter, and was wearing only a black
t-shirt with the tour dates of a metal band on the back of it along with a pair
of dirty blue jeans.
The metal fan veered left, when the man
wearing the leather jacket veered right. It was obvious to anyone spectating
that the metal fan was to somehow cut off Neil, should Neil head in the
direction that the metal fan was heading.
David wanted to give Neil every chance
he could get.
David kept on his person at all times a
switchblade he’d inherited from his grandfather. He pulled this out as he
pursued the metal fan, not entirely sure of what he’d do once he caught up with
the goon. The fast goon had soon vanished, but the second goon took his sweet
time in going wherever it was that he’d chosen to go. David didn’t know exactly
where Neil had gone, but he was pretty sure the metal fan was headed in the
wrong direction.
This is because the metal fan was headed
for the bridge, and Neil’s house lay on the side of the river that David and
the metal goon was currently on. David kept on him for a time, clutching the
switchblade in his jeans pocket. They passed several houses with the lights
still on inside, not at all uncommon on a late Saturday night. David had
decided his pocket was a safer place to keep his weapon
The goon walked onto a staircase that
ran parallel to the bridge and ascended to street level, where he continued to
walk, heading across the river. It was at this time that David decided he’d
better double back. This whole exchange, while pleasant and calm, took exactly
the same amount of time it took the leather jacket wearing goon to finally
catch up to Neil.
Neil had recently face planted in the
worn concrete of a well rode road.
Remember?
As Neil turned his head, he saw that
there was indeed a knife in the thug’s hand. Neil also saw that there weren’t
many houses on the hill he’d chosen to run up. In fact, it was just forest on
either side. When Neil felt the grip of the thug’s hand on his shirt collar,
Neil twisted to try to free himself, started to yell. “Quiet,” the man barked,
and with a tug, pulled Neil aside into the brush. As Neil watched the street
fade away behind branches and leaves, he had the thought that perhaps it’d been
a bad idea to run up a hill with such a well secluded spot nearby.
It may have been a good idea, had Neil
been further ahead. And had he not tripped over a crack in the pavement. Maybe.
“What were you doing?” The thug asked.
Neil, being dragged over rocks and
roots, didn’t much care to reply. He was in an uncomfortable enough situation,
with holes being torn in his shirt and the skin of his back, that forming
words, let alone sentences, was beyond his current capabilities.
He did manage to grunt, but a hefty
smack to the back of his head convinced him that further attempts at making
noise would warrant further aggression. Indeed, the thug carried a knife. It
was not unreasonable of Neil to expect that there was much further aggression
that the thug might very well be capable of.
When they stopped moving, Neil twisted
again, arching his back and kicking. To his surprise, the man let go. Neil
flailed for a moment, unrestrained, and attempted to stand. The world spun
around him as this occurred; he hadn’t expected the man to let go and so Neil’s
kicking had been quite forceful. Neil lost his balance and fell onto his side,
but immediately started to stand. The jacketed goon was before him, and
immediately forced Neil down to the dirt, holding the knife to his throat.
“Again,” the thug said, “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Neil said.
“Didn’t look like it,” the thug said,
“The way you got to running it seemed kind of like you were up to something.
People who run are usually afraid of retribution for what they’ve acted.”
“For… What?”
“Don’t what me, kid, you’re just cutting down your thin thread of life
when you what me. Who sent ya? The
Scanners? How about the Greys?” At this, the thug pressed the knife in just a
little deeper, just enough to draw blood. “The Greys have something they want
found out?”
“Greys, like, the aliens?”
The thug punched him in the side of his
head, and pain unlike Neil had faced since breaking his arm flooded his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about!” Neil shouted, “I wasn’t sent by anyone, I’m just a kid.”
“Just a fucking kid, huh?” The thug drew
back his hand to throw another punch, but stopped himself, “I mean, really?
They think I wouldn’t kill a kid?
“I don’t know, I mean,” Neil was left
without a propensity for coherent sentences, this time out of terror, “Just.”
“Just what?” The thug asked.
“Just don’t kill me; I swear I won’t
tell anyone about the stupid Candle Clown.”
“Crown,”
the thug said.
“What?”
“It’s the Candle Crown, not the Candle Clown.
That’s absurd. Who gives two shits about a Candle Clown?”
“I don’t know,” Neil said.
“You’re a pretty dumb spy,” the thug
said. He smirked. “You know, as a Bricklayer, I’m insulted. Maybe you should
run off and tell them how insulted we are. I mean, after all, what did you hear
that was so important? Candle Clown?”
“Yeah,” Neil said, “And plus, I’m still
not a spy. That never started happening since we began this conversation.”
“Wiseass,” the thug said. His grin
vanished. He drew back his knife, tensed, and stopped.
All Neil heard was a rustling in the
bushes. But the thug looked up and saw a pair of teeth, sharp, glinting in the
dark. In other words, a threat; even though the teeth were sitting snug inside
of a wide smile.
And then the thug stood, backed away,
and vanished. Neil wasn’t even sure how someone could run away from something
so fast. Neil couldn’t have done it if he tried. Of course, when Neil turned to
look, he didn’t see any teeth, let alone any threat.
She hadn’t saved Neil’s life for Neil.
She’d done it because she’d been following that thug, and she’d been told she
was supposed to make him get scared. Get him to run off somewhere safe. Get him
to run back home. She was supposed to follow.
Neil didn’t know any of that of course.
He just felt at the cut on his neck and stood slowly, looking around in the
woods to try to see what the thug had seen. He wanted to figure out what the
big deal had been. And then Neil felt all the adrenaline leaving his system,
and he wanted nothing else than to go home.
His phone buzzed again, and rang once.
Another text message. He flipped it open, and saw:
Neil???
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