Epilogue: WoW (part 3)
My time is running out. So is my money. I've ran as far as I can. I've hidden as long as possible. But still they keep coming. I've tried laying traps for them; I've paid good money for hired guns, only to bear witness to their slaughter at the hands of those monsters. Nothing, I realize, can truly stop them. They are agents of death, maybe Hell itself. And me? I'm just a man. Just a monkey. I'm just a meatpuppet. I'm just another stalk of grain that must be cut down by those horrors. I cannot stop them, I cannot stall them any longer. They'll find me, soon. And then...I dare not even think of what lies in store for me. How do you even begin to deal with the very real possibility that could be dragged down into the very mouth of Hell itself?...I doubt there's a Hallmark card for that occasion...
Let's face facts here--the bitter truth, as it were. I'm running out of options. And money. Fast. Those two freaks are hot on my trail, as they always are, and it won't take them long to find me. And when they find me, I know just what they'll do; they'll drag me back to the old man. The preacher. Those two scare the shit out of me as it is, but the old man...just thinking of him sends a shiver up my spine. He's a whole world away from the other two. He's worse than those two combined...if that's even possible. It's him, really, that I fear the most. Those eyes of his...when I looked into them, I knew I saw right into the very burning heart of Hell itself...I haven't slept much since then...I don't know what he is...but he's definately not of this world. He's the one they'll drag me to. He'll look into me with those eyes of his, and proceed to rip and tear into my very soul itself...And once that job is accomplished, he'll offer me a reward I won't be able to refuse--death. The only thing he'll ask of me is the key. And God help me, I know I'll hand it right over to him...
I've dreamed this nightmare every night since I brought Zill Towers down in flames. I know all too well that if they catch me, I'll surrender over the key. And in doing that, I'll have damned us all...There's only one choice I have left. It's not an easy one, most important decisions never are. But it's one that must be made. I don't know...maybe it's my fate to damn this world. Maybe it's not. I don't really know if I even believe in fate. But I've got to try and defy it, all the same. But who? Who is worthy enough to stand against those demons?...I know I am no longer capable of holding them at bay. I've grown too tired and too weak to carry this never-ending struggle onward much longer. I must have someone take this 'gift' from me, willingly or not. But who?...I think I have the perfect candidate; God forgive me for what I'm about to do.
Oh shit--they're here!
--James
Boom! Boom! Boom! We fade in on what must surely be claps of thunder. James stares blankly across his hotel room at the door. The pounding continues, unrelenting, unyielding. He quickly leaps to his feet and darts for the nearest window. On the other side of the door we can hear them, and they're not happy.
"Might as well open this door now Mr. President, you can't keep running forever.
"You miserable little fool, there's no escape!"
James lifts up the window, slipping out onto the fire escape. Seconds later, the door bursts open. Necron and Spatter spill into the room, glancing around only a moment before they take to the fire escape too. We rush with James down the fire escape, running for our lives and nearly out of breath. Only a flight of stairs above us we can hear the loud heavy trodding footsteps as Necron and Spatter race down the fire escape after us. James takes a gamble, leaping off the fire escape. He lands face up in the middle of a dumpster. But he hasn't time to catch his breath or even look around. Neither do we. We scramble out from the dumpster with him, looking frantically, back and forth. James races down the dimly lit sidewalk, Necron and Spatter not far behind. He darts down an alleyway, gasping and panting. Time's running out. A terrible, ear-splitting roar fills the air. As we're just about to exit the alley, the battered old hearse races out from the dark street, sliding up onto the sidewalk to block our path. We glance back: Necron and Spatter are closing in. The car door opens and we see the tip of a black wide brimmed hat. James glances back over his shoulder, then over towards the hearse again, trying to come to a decision. Brimstone emerges from the vehicle, watching with a wicked gleam in his eyes as Necron + Spatter move in for the kill.
"No more running, no more hiding. You've played a good game boy, but now the game is over. Give us the key! NOW!"
James turns, glances back--Necron's nearly within arm's reaching distance. Spatter's knife shines, reflecting off the pale sliver of streetlight filling the alleyway. With no other option, James rushes for the hearse, takes a running leap, and slides right across the hood, plowing Brimstone over in the process. He scrambles, jumping to his feet just before the firey eyed preacher can grab hold of his leg. He races off across the street without even looking for traffic. The old hearse roars back to life, pulls out of the alleyway--WHAM! Am armored car smashes into the passenger's side door, spinning the hearse out of control and smashsing it into a lamppost, toppling it over. The doors open and a group of men in black security outfits quickly draw their guns, looking around. James steps out from a nearby alleyway, gasping and panting. One of the men rushes over and quickly escorts him into the vehicle. It speeds off, dissappearing down the road and into the night. We glance back over to the smouldering wreckage of the old hearse as the scene fades out. Necron steps out from the alleyway, his face an angry sneer. He lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag. James has made his escape, but Necron knows he wont be so lucky next time.
A dull grey sky hangs over the Toronto based Netlink Offices. Things were going well, very well, in fact. Alot of the former talent was re-signing, and a few new faces were singing on as well. Should we have expected less? Darren leaned back in his chair, staring out across the deep face of the clouds. If things were going so well, why did he have that sinking feeling in his gut?
Because he's still out there, somewhere. That's why. And we both know he's capable of anything.
The thought disturbed him, but it was the truth. Noone had seen James since the night Zill Towers went up in flames. Well, noone but those freaks...what was it that creepy bastard had said?
[ "Now you listen up, and you listen up well. Because I'm only going to say this once. And if you're the smart man I know you can be, Darren, you'll make certain to see to it that I get what I want...He wanted everyone to think he went up in that explosion that destroyed your tower, but that...well, that's a lie....He knew we were coming for him. He stalled us until the very end. Tried to buy us off. And when all of his other plans had failed, he tried to destroy us, just like he tried to destroy you." ]
Darren rubbed his neck gingerly, thinking back to that night a few weeks ago.
[ "He has something we want. Something more valuable than your lives' works combined. More valuable than gold. More valuable than your eternal souls. And he knows he has it. We want it. And we want it now.! ...There is no escapeing us. He can't hide forever...He'll come to you for protection...This is the important part Darren; you had better burn it into your memory. You'd better carve it into your own skin. Because if I find out that you've had contact with him, and havent told me about it, you'll suffer a fate even worse than his. When he comes to you, begging for help--ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME DARREN!?...Or are you reaching for that stupid little gun of yours?"]
He had reached for his gun. Not that it had done him much good, the big freak pried it from his hands without much effort. Whatever this was about, Necron wanted to make damn sure he got the message, loud and clear.
["Now then...when he comes begging at your doorstep for sanctuary, you go right ahead and let him in. You go right ahead and send him somewhere safe. And then, Mr, President, you call up my dear old friend, Mr. Gardner, and you tell him everything. Spare no detail. No matter how small, no matter how insignificant you think it may be. Because lest you forget, you've got alot riding on this. And don't even think about trying to call the copppicemen, or the FBI, or the Fox Protection Agency. They've got better things to do than get slaughtered. And the good Reverend has eyes everywhere, watching, waiting. If you two try anything, we'll find out, one way or another. And even if we don't. You won't stop us. We will track you down. NOONE ESCAPES THE GRIM HARVEST--Ever."]
You wont stop us. He wasn't sure why, but that sentence alone bothered him more than any of the other insane rantings that madman has screamed at him. The rest of it could have been just for show, it could've all been done just to toy with him. But that one simple phrase, it said to him that the nutjob was serious. Dead serious.
[ "The good Reverend has already forseen it."]
Suureee he has! Tell me another good one buddy. I'll bet he knows who killed Kennedy. And who shot J.R. Heh, heh. He'd tell you anything and you'd believe it, wouldn't you?...Yes, you would...wouldn't you?
That was what really frightened Darren. The old man's psychic prophecy mubo jumbo didn't bother him one bit. He was just like those people on late night television informercials advertising their hotline. "Call now!" and "Wow! They knew so much about me!", and "Only $1.99 a minute!". The old man could spout out all the mumbo jumbo he wanted, so long as he left him the Hell alone. But that big ugly bastard Necron...he was the one to watch out for; blind devotion is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.
["He'll come to you for protection."]
That freak probably believes it too. He sincerely believes that my old partner's just going to come barging into my office one day asking for my help. Where the Hell do they get these brilliant ideas? James--for all I know--either went down in flames taking Zill Towers with him, or is living it up on some tropical paradise with all the money he made by running my company into the ground. Either way, the last thing that's going to happen is for him to--
The door to Darren's office flies open. With a wild look in his eyes, James steps into Darren's office, smiling. His suit and tie look hastily thrown on, his hair is matted and poorly combed, deep bags hang underneath his eyes, a shadow flowing down from his brow to his dull lips. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. Darren wheels his chair around slowly, gazing across his desk towards his ex-partner. He should be suprised, should be completely shocked to see what he was sure to be a dead man now standing in his office, but for some reason, he wasn't suprised or shocked at all. Not in the least bit. It made perfect sense, if there is such a thing.
Okay, so he's here. But there's no way he wants my help. He's here for something alright, but definately not help...
"Well well, look whos come crawling back from the grave. James, old buddy old pal. Good to see ya."
There is a long moment of akward silence as both men stare at one another, eye to eye. Finally, James glances off towards the window.
"...What a dready day outside, don't you think Darren?...Much too cold today. Much too cold...You know why I'm here. I don't think I need to tell you. You by now already know..."
"What's that?--Did you finally spend off the rest of the money you stole from my company?"
James shakes his head a moment to himself, and we get the distinct impression that he hasn't heard a word Darren's said yet. He walks over to the window, looking out at the grey sky and the empty streets below. He paces across the room, glancing out the opposite window. He glances back over his shoulder at Darren, and there's no doubt in our minds that James has just about gone off the deep end. He slides a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up, puffing away as he paces back to the first window again. His question either unheard or ignored, Darren's face flares up with warmth.
"It didn't take you long, did it? Did you blow it all on that secretary of yours? Maybe you took a nice vacation to vegas and bet it all away? You always were a lousy gambler...Here, let me go get my checkbook. How much do ya need old friend?"
James glances back over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with just a hint of madness. He smirks, just a moment, and then frowns. He snubs out the cigarette, dropping the stub to the floor. His line of sight darts about the room, checking for something. After another moment of akward silence, James nods to himself, and sighs.
"...I really don't like all those cameras, Darren. Turn them off."
"...And why should I do that?"
"They don't need to see this. They don't need to know what happens. There'll be plenty of time for those things later...my time's almost up. A shame, really. I had such a long life ahead of me...I don't suppose that matters right now though. I've made my choices...now I've got to go through with them. So do you Darren."
"You've got exactly ten seconds to explain what the Hell you're doing here in my office, and just what the Hell you want, before I call security, and then the police. And in case you've forgotten, I've got enough records on you to keep you locked up till you're as wrinkled and grey as I am."
"...I need your help Darren. I've tried so hard, I've ran so far, I've fought so long...I'm tired of knowing. I'm tired of seeing. I'm tired of being responsible...I cant do this anymore. I can't! It's just too much for me...always looking back over your shoulder, always hiding, always barricading yourself up in the middle of nowhere...I'm just not cut out for that. But I think you are..."
"What are you talking about? And, just to humor you, just why SHOULD I help you, eh? I seem to remember you being the one to send me to that god awful insane asylum. I also seem to remember you being the one responsible for getting my son's neck broken because you didn't want him signing off with another promotion."
James' face goes blank for a moment, as he listens to Darren spout off.
"Another crazy thing, I seem to remember you running my company into the ground, cutting corners, skimming money off the top, underpaying the talent, and blowing up Zill Towers. Now tell me, just why I should help you. I'm sure this is going to be good. I've got to--"
In an instant his face twists into a cold scowl as he glares at Darren. He rushes the desk, slamming his hands down.
"Shutup! Shutup! Shut UP! The fact of the matter is Darren, you're going to help me, wheather you want to or not. I've made my choice, and I've made yours for you. Now give me your hand!"
James reaches over, trying to snatch Darren's hand from him. With his other hand he slides a rather large knife out of his suit pocket. Darren immediately cringes back in his chair, trying to get away from James. He desperately fumbles around his pocket, trying to free his gun from it's holster. James finally grabs hold of Darren's hand, and smiles cryptically. Darren looks on suddenly paralysed with fear as James brings the knife down.
*beep*
*Mr. Gazinya? A Mr. Brian Graves is here to see you, shall I send him on--Hello, how can I help--Hey! STOP!You can't go in there without an appointment!*
James glances towards the intercom a moment, distracted. Darren siezes this opportunity and frees his hand, pushing his chair away from the desk. James mutters something incoherently and knocks the desk down, moving in on Darren. He reaches for Darren's hand, but is caught by a large muscular arm. We glance back with James over his shoulder, to stare right into the face of Ichabod! A look of confusion comes over James as he stares at Ichabod; the look says to us "what are you doing here?".
"I don't know what it is you're trying to do James, but don't do it! This is not the answer!"
"..How right you are. You'll do nicely."
James breaks free of Ichabod's grasp, and swings his knife towards Ichy's hand. The evil redneck falls back, landing on his ass, and backpedals, trying to get enough distance to make it to his feet safely out of range of the knife.
*Mr. Gazinya!? Are you okay!? What's going on in there!?*
James stalks in on Ichabod, swinging his knife wildly back and forth in the air. He's laughing. Ichabod makes it to his feet and delivers a strong left hand to the jaw, staggering James back. A trickle of blood runs out from the corner of his mouth. He lunges forward with the knife, Ichabod moving out of the way at the last second. James almost smacks dead on into the opening door, he catchesw himself only at the very last moment. Brian graves stands, partially in the hallway, partially in the doorway, looking at the scene in confusion. James looks up at him a moment, smiling. He goes to drive the knife into Brian's arm--
BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!
Mutiple shots ring out across the office and nearby hallways. Darren stands shaking, his hands wrapped in a death grip around his smoking handgun. James gazes down a moment, a blank expression on his face. Deep crimson stains spread out across his chest. He gasps a moment, staggers, then collapses to the floor. There is a long moment of silence.
*Beep*
*MR. GAZINYA? SIR? ARE YOU OKAY? I JUST HEARD GUNFIRE!*
"I....I'm...okay. Call the police. And get an ambulance out here. Now!"
* Yes sir!*
"....Jesus! What just happened here?"
"...I don't know. But something kept telling me to come up here today...a gut feeling, I guess you could say."
"Well it's a good thing you did show up...Darren, are alright?"
"...I'm fine...I just need a drink...What about him?"
"...I'm no doctor, but I don't think he's going to make it. He looked like he was on his last leg to begin with...poor crazy bastard. Why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?.."
"I thought he was dead to begin with. Like everyone else, I figured he went down and took Zill Towers with him...damn, was I wrong..."
We flash through the blaring sirens and the flashing lights. Past flashing photographs and past the local news crew reporting live from the scene of today's top story. We drift past policemen asking questions, we wander past Darren, past Ichabod, and past Brian as they retell their recollection of the day's events. We drift until we at last find what we need to see. A bodybag is wheeled out to a waiting ambulance. The doors shut tight, and the chariot for this dead man departs. We drift aimlessly through the night, only to drop down into the couroner's office. Two men stand near the nearly empty coffee machine talking for a moment.
"Yeah, I hear you there. Anyways, I'd better get going, don't forget to lock up when you're through. I left you the new guy. He's quite the celebrity tonight."
"The guy on the news? Great..."
The first man shurgs his shoulders a moment before sliding on a coat and stepping out the door into the night. Now it's just us, the coroner's assistant, and the dead man. James. The assistant slides on his gloves, and steps into the adjacant room. He flips on a lamp and moves it over to the bodybag resting silently on the gourney. Ziiiiiip. We see the pale dead face staring up at us, the image is haunting. The assistant shakes his head a moment, and closes James's eyes. Sliding the bodybag off, he glances over the body once, a quick assessment.
"No doubt about this one. Cause of death: lead poisoning....Well Rasputin, what army did you piss off?"
As the last word escapes his lips, we can hear an all too familiar roar echoing out from the street. The assistant glances up from his examination a moment. We can hear him thinking to himself "What the Hell was that!?" He's about to get his answer. The lamp flickers, fizzles, sparks, and the bulb explodes. One by one, the rest of the lights fade out, flickering to their deaths. We can hear him groping around in the dark for something. *flick* *flick* *flick* *flash* Matchlight drives back the overwhelming darkness. The assistant turns around, only to stare into the eyes of the dragon. Screams rise up into the night, drowned out by the deafening roar of something terrible; something so horrible we couldn't imagine it in our worst nightmares. And then there is silence, broken only by a single whispered word carried on the bitter cold wind.
Confess.
