dochermes | Entries tagged with quilt

"Snow, Cold, Darkness and Death"

1/21-1/22/2013

I.

By midnight, three inches of wet heavy snow had fallen and more was coming down. On the deserted back roads of the north end of Long Island, a dark massive form stomped along doggedly. Even through the clouds, enough moonlight penetrated to see by. At a crossroads, headlights cautiously approached from behind. The dark figure stopped as a big white SUV slowed to a halt. A power window slid down and a man' voice called out, "Hey buddy, get in! I'm going your way."

A second later, the huge form reached the SUV and unexpectedly yanked the door open. A huge gnarled hand clamped down on the driver's arm and hauled him violently out. Getting a glimpse of a horribly twisted white face from the back glow of the headlights, the helpful man barely took in breath to scream before his neck was broken and his body thrown effortlessly ten feet off the road into the bushes.

The giant bulk squeezed in behind the wheel, pulled the door shut and started the vehicle forward at reckless speed. Through the still open window, a surprisingly mellow and polished voice said, "Thank you ever so much, my good man."

II.

At eight-thirty AM, Haley Lawson stepped out the front door of her house while her mother was enjoying a second cup of coffee. The seventeen year old was prudently wearing boots, heavy sweat pants, her bright blue down-filled coat and black gloves. It wasn't that cold out, just under freezing, but she had pulled her auburn hair up under a wool ski cap.

It looked like the roads had been plowed well enough. She faced the patio and fifteen feet of driveway. Haley's green eyes were bright enough with the pupils contracted from the glare off the snow, but the glee in them added to the effect. The snow shovel remained untouched in the garage where her mom's car was safely parked.

This was going to take some concentration. Under her coat and sweater, the ancient Air Gem was fastened securely to a choker around her neck. Haley visualized what she wanted to summon, nothing too dramatic or violent. Part of her mind reached out through the Melgar talisman and summoned warm arid air from New Mexico. The snow began visibly melting, sinking down and running off, leaving a patch of the driveway exposed. The Windcatcher kept at it, bringing more warm air to expose the entire driveway and patio. She satisfied herself that the asphalt was dry and there wouldn't be any ice forming from moisture refreezing.

Placing her hands on her narrow hips, Haley beamed with self-approval. The whole process had still taken maybe ten minutes but was easier than shoveling. She went back inside the snug cozy kitchen, plopped down ungracefully on a chair and began unlacing her boots. "All done," she announced.

Lisa Lawson did not much resemble her daughter. She was shorter than Haley's five feet seven and had black hair and darker green eyes. They had the same sassy grin though. Putting down her cup, she said, "And it was a lot easier than it was getting you OR your sister to do it the old-fashioned way."

"Maybe I should go around the neighborhood, clearing off everybody's walks and stuff," Haley said. She started gathering ingredients for some Shredded Wheat, including a plastic bowl big enough for a chef salad. Almond milk, sugar, one of those bananas on the windowsill...

"Honestly, I don't think that's such a great idea," her mother said. "This isn't an emergency. Only four inches on a Sunday morning and people can handle it without the Windcatcher. I think the danger is that if you start doing feats like that, everyone will quickly come to expect it from you. And then you'll be caught in an obligation."

"Hmm. Yeah, you got a point." Haley brought her cereal over to the table and began to shovel it down. Slender and coltish, she had the teenager's gift of being able to eat constantly without putting on weight. After a few mouthfuls, she went on, "When you had the Air Gem, did people bug you to help them out alla time?"

"No, because we didn't start. We used our Gems sparingly. I've told you what happened when I tried to break up a thunderstorm and just made two separate storms that were worse. That's a great power you're fooling with, young lady. You can't catch mice with a hand grenade."

"Got it. Lesson taken to heart. I still think it's totally weird how casual everyone is about my flying over the town and everything. They're so, well, blasé. It's crazy."

Lisa folded up the local paper and handed it over to her younger daughter. "It was the same with us. Midnight War scholars think that's a side effect of the Gems. Their gralic effect sort of dampens everyone's curiosity. What did you say you were doing today again?"

"Oh, Gina's been texting me non-stop about a big Mysterious Mystery. A man's body was found out on Van Broek Road and his car was found miles away. She's all excited. I think she's been watching too many Unsolved Crime shows and sees us as genius detectives."

Lisa got up with her coffee cup and saucer and, seeing that her daughter had finished the cereal, took the bowl with her to the sink as well. "I know, I know, telling you to be careful is like telling a stone wall...."

"Mommmm," complained Haley. "I can summon tornadoes and fly. What could happen to me?"

( the rest of the story )

"Fear Has Many Faces"

October 3, 1979-

I.

At ten minutes after eight, Jeremy Bane stepped into the conference room. He was wearing the black turtleneck and sport jacket and slacks which were his trademark. So much had to be done here yet. The long polished oak table had been there when he took ownership of the building, as had been the ten heavy straight back chairs that lined it. One wall was taken up with reference books and filing cabinets; another had two tall windows looking down on East 38th Street. There were two lockers he had brought up to hold his field suits, and a refrigerated cabinet at the far end held drinks and snacks. But he wanted to add more equipment, particularly communication equipment.

The Dire Wolf moved to the windows and held the heavy curtains aside. it was raining. He stood looking down at traffic, thinking that Kenneth Dred had been dead for barely two months now. It had been an uneventful passing, an old man's heart stopping in his sleep. They had already discussed what would happen, the will had been made out and transfer of property had been uncontested because there was no family. Bane was now wealthy, but it did not register. He now had millions in his bank account, when two years earlier he had owned only what he could carry. The Dire Wolf folded his arms, lost in thought. He did not grieve for Kenneth Dred as much as he had thought he would, but maybe it had not sunk in yet. Maybe he was just unfeeling. The old man had been failing for the past year. Perhaps that was another reason he had taken Bane on as a protege and heir.

At only twenty-two, the grim young man with pale eyes and cold demanor had taken on a huge responsibility. He was glad, though, it felt like something he had always been meant to do. The more he learned about the Midnight War, the more he was determined to assemble a group that could handle its menace. As an orphan of the streets, he had been offered membership in various gangs of thugs and racketeers but had always declined and worked alone. Now he would have his own gang, but one like nothing this city had ever seen.

Standing there, he felt a vague tickling in his thoughts that he was coming to recognize. He turned his head and saw Cindy in the doorway. A pretty blonde a little more than a year younger than himself, she had an impudent face, dark blue eyes and a wide grin. Cindy was dressed much more formally than usual, wearing navy blue slacks, an off-white blouse and a thin blue cardigan. Bane nodded to her, "Good morning."

"The BEST morning," she answered. "Don't try to hide your excitement, you've got a telepath in your life now."

"We agreed, no mind-reading without permission."

She came over to stand next to him, almost leaning up against his shoulder. "I know. I'll be good. Oh, I love my room. It's twice as big as my apartment down on Crampton Street, that was almost a closet."

"Here they start to come," said Bane, pointing outside. She leaned over to look out the window, deliberately pressing one soft breast against his arm. Down in the street, two men were walking up to the front door. They let themselves in and a moment later ascended to the stairs to the second floor and came into the conference room. Michael Hawk was the only KDF member known to the general public, a famous criminologist and manhunter from a family of crimefighters. Now hitting sixty, there was grey in his brown hair and his square face was lined but he still moved with confidence and authority. He was wearing a neat topcoat over a black business suit, with white shirt and dark maroon tie. "Hi, you two."

"Mike. Ted. Glad to see you."

Entering with Hawk was a tall black man with a sad heavy face and short beard. He wore a beige raincoat over a plain white dress shirt and dark slacks. Ted Wright was a Blue Guide, master of the Tel Shai healing art, and a man who took everything too seriously for his own good. He nodded to Bane and Cindy.

The blonde telepath came over to held them hang up their coats. She was helpful and gregarious by nature. "You guys look like you're freezing. Don't you think coffee is a good idea?" She seized Ted Wright by the arm and dragged him downstairs to the kitchen. "Come on, I need help not to burn it."

Left with Hawk, Bane said, "Mike, thanks again for helping me get my PI license. It'll be a big help."

Hawk grinned his crooked smile and came over to look out the window with him. "You had no documentation, Jeremy. Nothing. Not even a library card. I got you what you need but it's up to you to hold onto them. Not the first forged IDs I've created but I hope you put them to good use."

"Oh, I will," said the Dire Wolf. "You won't be sorry. Mr Dred told me you were the master in the fields of crimefighting and I should learn everything you want to teach."

Before Hawk could answer, Cindy and Wright entered with two pewter trays of mugs, sugar, milk and a huge coffee pot. Wright was smiling and more relaxed than when he had tentatively entered that building. Cindy had that effect. As they moved over to the conference table and started pouring and drinking, Bane was the one who abstained. With his enhanced metabolism, he needed to avoid caffeine.

Leonard Slade appeared in the doorway. He was very well dressed in a tailored dark blue suit. Slade was a Trom, without emotion but more intelligent than Humans in a scientific sense. His greeting was formal and polite, as he took a seat and waited. Bane watched him thoughtfully. He had met Slade not long earlier and they worked well together because they had common goals. But the Trom were sure cold fish.

Now it was nearly nine. A taxi door slammed outside in the street, they heard footsteps up the stairs and Dr Lawrence Taper hurried in, habitually late, his topcoat over one arm. "Hello! Hello, everybody!" Taper was not as imposing or dignified as the other KDf members. He was maybe five foot ten and solid in build, with a roundish face and short dark brown hair. Sometimes he had his glasses on but not now.

"Well, that just leaves Khang-" Bane started to say. He was interrupted by an explosion of white light in the hall outside and a peal of thunder. As the members jumped and one or two cursed at the sudden surprise, a huge form filled the doorway. Khang stood well over seven feet tall, bundled in a long coat, with a wide-brimmed slouch hat, wraparound sunglasses and muffler hiding as much as possible. Yet a gleam of silver could be spotted here and there when he moved.

"We are well met, my comrades," he rumbled in a deep voice that seemed to come from every direction. "Honored I am to join such illustrious knights."

"Glad to have you," said the Dire Wolf. He moved over to the head of the table. "Now if everyone will take a seat, we can begin. I call the first meeting of the Kenneth Dred Foundation to order."

( the rest of the story )

"The Beast In the Basement"

12/28/2019

I.

All of Bane's instincts were screaming at him to watch out. He had seldom been so keyed up, and he tried to figured out what was scaring him. Being tense meant not being able to quickly respond to an attack. A rapid heartbeat and increased adrenaline were not the problem, he expected that on a case, but the faint trembling in his hands was something new. So was the feeling of tightness in his chest.

As he followed Lewis Gottfried down the narrow creaky steps into a basement lit by a single naked light bulb hanging by a cord, the Dire Wolf wondered if he had passed his peak. The past two years, he had been noticing his techniques were not as flawless as before, his nerve not as solid. Several times in a fight, his strikes had fallen below what he had been attempting and even normal Human opponents had been able to tag him although not enough to deal real harm. Yet. Maybe it was time to really retire from the Midnight War once and for all.

"I am glad you arrived so quickly," Gottfried said. Not only did the stink of cigarette smoke cling to his hair and casual clothing, the man's voice grated. "I bought this house sight unseen as part of a real estate changeover. The previous owner was an occultist named Elsa Weiss, you may have heard of her. As soon as I saw what was down here, I thought of you."

"I'm surprised you even know about me," responded Bane. "Or how to reach me. I closed my Dire Wolf Agency years ago."

"Oh, I have been interested in the Midnight War for a long time. Call it a hobby, I have clipped many articles from the papers about you and your KDF. Here we are."

The basement was forty feet to a side, its walls unfinished damp rock. To their left was an oil-burning furnace and a cylindrical water heater, with a few bits of debris on the floor and a chest-high shelf holding some tools. In the center of the basement, the dark opening of a pit stood taking up most of the floor space. Gottfried took a heavy flashlight off the shelf and clicked it on.

The more he studied his host, the more Jeremy Bane's alarm increased. It wasn't the sheer ominous bulk of Gottfried, who stood at least six foot seven, nor the thin white scars on the man's hands and neck. There was something else very wrong. That glossy black hair was too thick and healthy for a man evidently in late middle age. It had to be a wig. Gottfried moved oddly, as if he was much stronger than his size and build would indicate. Bane's Kumundu training automatically gauged the capabilities of everyone he met as a potential opponent. It worried him that he could not reach a conclusion about this man.

Under the bench was a three-legged stool. Gottfried tugged it out and dropped down on the chipped surface with a grunt of relief. "That's better," he admitted in a hoarse voice like that of a lifetime smoker. "Getting old sneaks up on you. What doesn't hurt on your body, doesn't work."

The Dire Wolf stepped closer to the opening. It was not new, its edges had been smoothed by time. After a moment, he said, "The house was built over this pit."

"Eh? Yes, that matches the dates I have been able to learn. So many records were lost in time, either by fire or water damage or simple misplacement. From what I have been able to uncover, my family bought the property in the mid-19th Century and put up the house before 1900." The huge man forced himself up with a faint groan on effort, moving over to stand beside Bane. "Here. Take a look."

In the beam from the flashlight, the bottom of the pit was revealed, eleven feet below them. The surface of the rock was slick and shiny for some reason, and one end was covered with a wooden plank bigger than a door. But what held Bane's attention was the jumble of yellowing bones that lay in a heap, thicker than Human bones. The skull was intact except for the lower jaw, and it resembled that of an immense alligator but with a higher cranium that gave it an actual forehead. In life, the beast would have been more than ten feet long.

Despite all his misgivings, the Dire Wolf dropped his caution as he leaned forward. "Hold that light steady," he said. "Hmm. I would say that's the skeleton of a Dragon. A Garmiri, I think..."

A huge open hand smashed between his shoulder blades with impact that might have killed a normal man. Taken off-guard for once, Bane had been off-balance and he was thrown down into the pit. In the brief split-second that he was falling, the Dire Wolf reached back in an attempt to grasp Gottfried by the arm or by the clothing, but his hand only closed on empty air.

Landing unharmed on his feet and fingertips, Bane instantly wheeled around and leaped straight up. He didn't make the rim. The Dire Wolf dropped back down. From behind his left hip, he whipped out his long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 but of course Gottfried had stepped back out of sight.

"I have done on a little research on you, my old friend," rasped the man. "The pit is two feet higher than you have been known to jump from a standing start. Knowing your... eh, shall we say unusual physical powers, I thought it best to be prudent."

The Dire Wolf held his revolver up, ready to fire if Gottfried showed himself. "Okay, I admit you suckered me. But 'old friend?' I think I'd remember if we had met before."

The voice changed. It became smooth and polished, like that of a classic BBC announcer. "Heh heh, I do not look quite the same as you remember me."

Bane could not hide the shock at hearing those mellow tones. "QUILT...!"

( the rest of the story )

"Passing For Live People"

1/11/1995

I.

When Bane finally finished some hated paperwork at seven-fifteen, night had fallen with a vengeance. He got up gratefully from his desk and stretched, then went over to the windows that looked out at the sidewalks of East 38th Street. It was cold and dark, the holidays were over, and nobody was out on the street who didn't have to be.

Jeremy Bane was more restless and unhappy than usual. He was alone in this huge empty ten-story building which had once been alive with the hectic activity and purpose of his team of Tel Shai knights. Maybe Cindy was right. Maybe it was time to start assembling a new team. He felt like he was living in a museum....

As the Dire Wolf gazed sourly out at the street, he watched two odd men hurry past. They were mismatched, with one being tall and thin, the other a short pudgy fellow with a belly like a beach ball. They both wore tan suits, with ties neatly knotted and even matching fedoras which gave them an old-fashioned look. Whatever they were arguing about, it seemed to be a routine they were used to.

Bane saw them slow as they approached the front door of his building. Suddenly he snapped into full awareness. Clients? Business for the DIRE WOLF AGENCY? He hoped so. He turned and rushed from his office, getting out in the hall by the front door just as the doorbell rang. Good. He was so bored he had thought of prowling the bad parts of town that night looking for trouble.

Pressing the intercom, he said, "Come right in," and unlocked the outer street door with a white button. He heard the buzz and click as the two visitors were admitted into the tiny vestibule which held only a bench, a shelf with a lamp and some magazines, and a framed oil portrait of the late Kenneth Dred.

At eye level where he stood, there was a wooden panel which slid aside to reveal a monitor screen and rows of controls. As always, he activated the advanced Trom sensors in the vestibule which scanned any visitors more quickly and thoroughly than a MRI would. As he saw the bizarre readings, Bane's grey eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam. No respiration, bodies at outside air temperature. He zoomed in on one of the skeletal images and saw the sharpened upper canines...

As always, the Dire Wolf was wearing his trademark outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. As he closed the control panel, he reached up his sleeves and adjusted the matched silver daggers that were sheathed there to be sure they were ready for use. Tonight might be interesting after all. He opened the inner door and said, "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

This close, the signs of their condition were more obvious. Both men were pale, with dark circles under their eyes. Their skin looked dry and unhealthy. The short obese man took off his hat and held it in front of him humbly. "Gosh, I sure hope you can help us, mister," he began in a juvenile voice that didn't match the forty year old face. "We're in an awful jam."

"Quiet, Tubs, let me do the talking," interrupted the tall thin man. He had a neat pencil mustache under a slightly oversized nose. "Mr Bane, I hope? Jeremy Bane, of Dire Wolf fame?"

"That's me," Bane admitted. "And you...?"

"Ah, I'm Donald Flaherty and this is my bud Gene Marino. Everybody calls us Stretch and Tubs, I hope you do the same."

"Fine with me, Stretch. Would you two mind standing right over here? On this rug. You don't feel uncomfortable there? Interesting." Bane folded his arms and gazed thoughtfully at the two visitors. "There's a powerful talisman under the floor that protects against hostile gralic force. So I know that you guys are not here to attack me, at least not right at the moment."

"I don't follow," said Tubs. He turned to his partner in confusion. "What's he talking about, Stretch?"

The Dire Wolf watched the two men warily. "You guys must have just risen. You aren't aware yet. Do you know that you're both vampires?"

( the )

"Throw a Drowning Man an Anchor"

8/2/2003

I.

At ten-thirty that evening, Bane parked his Mustang in the nearly empty parking lot of the SAFE HARBOR seafood restaurant. Last orders were taken at nine, he knew, and by now the final customers had been politely ushered out. Five big black Lincolns were parked around in the back. As the Dire Wolf got out of his car, he saw the dining room windows blink out and only the floodlights over the front of the building revealed his presence. He stood in plain view away from the Mustang to be sure that the suspicious minds within were certain he had indeed come alone.

In his fifties, lean and active as ever, Jeremy Bane wore his widely recognized trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket. He was more distressed than he had expected at the absence of his silver daggers. The matched pair which he invariably wore sheathed to his forearms were not only his most useful weapons against the children of the night, they were also his most valued possessions. But they were too well known to the underworld. He did not want to risk having them confiscated and then needing to fight a dozen gunmen to get them back. For the moment, the silver bladed knives were secured in an armored panel built inside the back of the driver's seat.

Feeling vulnerable and unhappy without them, Bane held out his arms from his sides and began walking toward the front of the restaurant. A breeze off the East River ruffled his short black hair. It was a comfortably dry September night. As he took a few more steps, he spotted movement by the side of the SAFE HARBOR and watched a huge beefy figure in a dark business suit swung around from behind a propane tank and head toward him.

Waiting patiently, knowing they were being observed by other gunmen in the area, Bane allowed himself to be patted down and as he expected his long-barreled .38 Smith & Wesson revolver was confiscated from its holster behind his left hip. "Okay," said the thug, "You ready to go in?"

"Sure."

Escorted toward the side of the building, they entered a door which swung open from behind to reveal another hulking brute. This one had his hand deep in his suit jacket pocket, obviously holding a gun.

"Ease up, there," Bane told them. "I was asked to come here by your boss."

"Right. But I've heard wild stories about you for years. The Dire Wolf! Come this way." The two gunmen led him along a short corridor flanked by a bathroom door and a closet holdings mops and buckets, into a large comfortably-furnished room with deep maple panelling and overstuffed easy chairs around a table laden with assorted bottles and shot glasses. The recessed overhead lighting was a subdued amber color. Two ashtrays held a single cigar butt each. Against the far wall, under a long mirror, was a fully stocked bar. From somewhere, old-fashioned big band music was playing at a low level.

Leaning back in one of the chairs was an imposing man with a handsome leonine head of gleaming white hair, brushed straight back from a high forehead. Impeccably dressed in a tailored dark grey suit with thin pinstripes, he raised one broad hand in a welcoming gesture but did not raise.
'Please, seat yourself. I am glad you accepted my invitation."

"We haven't met before," the Dire Wolf said as he settled into a chair facing the infamous mobster. A henchman offered him a glass of whiskey and Bane took it without trying to refuse. It didn't matter if anything had been spiked into the drink or even if he was pressed into taking several drinks. Between his accelerated metabolism and the enhanced healing factor he enjoyed from the Tagra tea diet, alcohol simply passed through him without effect. So he saw no reason to refuse the offer and sniffed it thoughtfully before taking a reasonable swallow. Good Scotch but wasted on him.

"No, our paths have never had a reason to cross and to be honest, I'm content that this was so. My various enterprises mostly involve giving people opportunities to throw their money away." Schnappin had sipped his own glass and now he lowered it to the table in front of him. "You are known for pursuing more... immediate threats to the public."

"That's a good way to put it," Bane agreed. "Naturally, I'm curious why you would want to see me."

"Mr Bane," Schnappin folded his hands in front of him and stared down at him. "So many strange things have been reported to me this past month. I hear unbelievable stories from men I have trusted for decades, men whose families I knew before they were born. There is someone or something in this city who is performing... well, what my men describe as weird miracles."

"I would like to learn more."

"Yes, I hoped you would feel that way. Very well. As my agents go about their duties, taking bets and collecting money, they have lately been harassed in ways that make no sense. One man was standing on the sidewalk when gallons of cheap perfume fell down upon him from nowhere. He had trouble breathing and had to be taken to our headquarters to be scrubbed and given fresh clothes. Another was arguing with a merchant over money owed to us, and in a blink my man's clothing was gone. Vanished. His shoes, his pants, his shirt and everything in them. He was forced to ask to use the phone to call for help."

Even in the dim light, Bane's grey eyes suddenly had a gleam to them. "Oh, now I'm very interested. Go on."

"There have been many more such incidents. A gambling room down in Little Korea near the Empire State Building was suddenly filled with hundreds of mosquitos, for example. Nothing too violent, nothing to cause death or serious injury," Schnappin said. "But these embarassments prevent my men from carrying out their duties. Worse, these events expose my men to be ridicule. A lack of respect is a real drawback in our work."

"It doesn't matter what I think about your operation," the Dire Wolf admitted. "My concern is with serial killers, lone maniacs and worse. But I investigate inexplicable phenomena as well. This does not sound like anything in the natural order. My guess is that a person is out there who has a wild talent. Someone is causing these odd things to happen because he or she wants to give you a hard time."

"That is my thought also. What could this person want? How can I make him stop if I know nothing about him?"

"I don't know yet," Bane said, "But I will warn you that these events could turn ugly. Instead of perfume, a concrete block could drop on one of your men. Instead of mosquitos, a room could suddenly be infested with dozens of rattlesnakes. I think it's urgent to figure this out at once, Mr Shnappin."

The elderly mobster smiled, revealing excellent teeth that had been well tended. "Then you will look into this?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Bane's voice got a slight edge to it. "I have to be honest and tell you that I am mostly concerned with the possible threat to the general public. Protecting your henchmen is not really my priority. But if someone with a gift like this gets mean, no one is safe."

"I understand. Allow me to present you with the one piece of information that might be useful. I have a description of a young man who was seen in the area at three of these incidents. Coincidence is a luxury we cannot afford to believe in, Mr Bane. The person is young, a boy really, no more than twenty. He is short and overweight, described as soft. The hair is light brown and untidy, the face is distinguished mostly by a large protruberant nose. That's all my men report. He made no impression on them at the time, it was only when I questioned them later that they realized he had been in nearby crowds more than once."

Bane felt a deep unease crawl over him. He had wondered what ever happened to Holden Magroin.

( the rest of the story )