Bob's Greatest Mistake_Part Two of The Journals of Bob Drifter Page 11

  “I’m not sure, but if you want, I’ll turn myself in to the man who tried to shoot me. He only wants me, but first, we have to stop someone worse.”

  “There’s someone worse?” she asked, backing away in the direction of the bathroom.

  “He’s a ... ” Bob stopped, thinking Journeyman was a bad word at the moment. “He’s like us, only he’s insane. He’s mad with power, and I’m not sure we can stop him.”

  He took a breath to continue his explanation. She rushed into the bathroom. Bob heard her lock the door. Her Death Trail burned a deep crimson and refused to fade away.

  “I’m sorry,” Drisc said. He tried to put a hand on Bob’s shoulder, but Bob ducked away from his friend.

  “No,” Bob said. “No, it’s Grimm. He’s doing something. I think he wants to kill her.”

  “We can’t kill,” Drisc said, trying to help Bob come to grips. Only Bob was in no mood to come to anything.

  “I think he means to try. That means we can step in, because Grimm is the one who—” Bob felt something stick in his throat. It tried to jump out again, forcing him to bunch over and retch. Nothing but air came out.

  “Maybe,” Drisc said, patting Bob on the back to help him breathe. Bob could tell the comment was only meant to calm him down. “There’s the old cop, too.”

  “What about him?” Bob asked, finding his breath and sitting on the bed. Drisc pulled his chair over to sit down.

  “If ‘e gets involved, ‘e’s in danger, too,” Drisc explained.

  “He involved himself,” Bob said. Drisc only stared at him. Those bright-green eyes burned right through Bob. “God, I didn’t mean it that way,” Bob said. It was half true. “We have to protect him as well.”

  “Well, the good news is, if we wait ‘round here, ‘e’ll come shooting at us, and we can explain why ‘e should stop,” Drisc said, as if bullets were just what he needed right then.

  “I’m going to talk to her again,” Bob said, looking at the door.

  “Fine,” Drisc said. “But aye hate soap operas. I’m leavin’. Aye’ll be back after I’ve looked around some.”

  Drisc left, and Bob locked the door behind him. The hotel room had a coffee machine and microwave on a table across the twin beds. Bob started brewing a pot to give himself time to think. He watched every ounce of water pour through the filter and drain coffee into the pot without coming up with a single idea of how to explain everything to her. He poured her a cup—two sugars, a little milk, and two more sugars, just how she liked it.

  He knocked on the door. “Go away!” she yelled.

  “I have coffee,” he said, which was like telling a drug addict he had a bag and fresh needles. The door unlocked and came open.

  He walked in and handed her the cup. She was sitting on the toilet, which left him to try and balance himself on the side of the puny tub. He watched her sip the coffee. She hadn’t told him to leave again, so he took that as permission to stay.

  “I know this is a lot to put on you,” he said softly.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she barked. “How am I supposed to respond to that?”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you think I’m capable of murder.”

  Her eyes locked onto his for a heartbeat, a second, a third. She turned away. Bob let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

  “Is this even possible?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Did you even think about telling me?”

  “Would you have believed me?”

  “That’s not the point!” She took a breath and let her head roll back to rest on the toilet tank.

  “The answer is yes,” Bob admitted. “I even tried to start explaining once or twice, but I just couldn’t even begin to find a way to explain it.”

  “And that makes it OK?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You lied to me,” she whispered.

  Bob didn’t reply. There wasn’t exactly anything to say. He could see how betrayed she felt, and it only made him feel worse.

  “What’s it like?” she asked. “That’s a stupid question. I mean, how do you be what you are?”

  He explained it as clearly as he could. He told her how souls were Transported and how he gave one part of each soul to whomever it was meant to go to. He explained all his useless powers and how he’d recently tried to help people live out some sort of last wish before it was over.

  “That story about the policeman who died,” she said, somehow emphasizing an unasked question.

  “The man’s partner is the one who tried to shoot me back there.”

  “So you can die?”

  “Sure, if I’m shot or run over. But I don’t age. I’m ever-living, but I’m not immortal.”

  “So how old are you?”

  “I’ve been doing this for 339 years,” he said. “I don’t remember growing up. I woke up on a beach in Ireland and Drisc met me and showed me the ropes. I knew he was telling the truth. We can sense each other, like when someone runs a finger down your spine. I felt it, and I knew what I was because I knew what he was.”

  “You don’t have an accent,” she said. It almost sounded light.

  “I came over in 1785,” Bob said. He smiled when her eyes bulged. “I was a teacher even then, but I’ve been other things: A medic and a librarian.”

  “That must have been your favorite,” she said.

  “I thought it was heaven.” He smiled, and she smiled back, but she didn’t come any closer to him. She stayed just a bit more than an arm’s length away from him. It might as well have been miles away.

  “I’m supposed to die, aren’t I?” she said softly, looking in her empty coffee cup as if the grounds could tell her future. “It’s what you keep looking around me to stare at.”

  “It’s not like the rest,” he told her, meaning it in so many ways.

  “Because you’re afraid that one you told me about, The Grimm, he wants to do it. He wants to kill me.”

  Bob knelt in front of her and rested his arms on her lap. “I’ll help you.”

  “You gonna ask your boss to help your girlfriend out?” she asked. The terror was only millimeters behind her wry humor.

  “No, I mean, yes. I mean, it’s not like it normally is. I might be able to stop it.” He realized he was rambling.

  “I must be the millionth girlfriend you’ve had,” she said, sounding a bit hurt.

  He touched her chin and looked into her eyes. “I’ve lived on this world for more than three centuries, and I’ve never cared for someone the way I care for you.”

  She laughed. It was a bit frail, but it was a good, clean laugh.

  “Is this the part where you tell me, ‘Ve vill live forever and share eternity,’” she said in a terrible Dracula accent.

  They laughed. It was a bitter laugh at a stupid joke. He couldn’t find the strength to tell her he loved her. He didn’t want to put that sort of pressure on her.

  “This is the part where I tell you I will not let you die,” he said. “Not before I do.” Yeah, he thought angrily. That doesn’t put any pressure on her, idiot!

  She smiled at him. For an instant, he thought she might forgive him. He thought she might understand. He felt his pulse race and hoped she might even kiss him and let him hold her. Instead, she turned away, effectively breaking his heart. That was when Drisc burst through the hotel room’s door.

  25

  Unwelcome Company

  Richard Hertly peered down the hallway, holding his pistol in the low, ready position. He’d searched three hotels before finding the two-story building between Liverpool and Clay. He watched it for about ten minutes before seeing Driscoll Navin walk out. Not wanting any surprises, Richard waited for the small man to return before making a move. All his efforts, nearly a year of struggling, led him to this hall, just a few feet from a door where it would all end.

  He flowed down the hall to the door, keeping his weapon
trained on the entrance. He could hear frantic whispers through the wood. Richard kicked the door in with strength that he didn’t know he had. A quick scan of the room showed the woman, Drifter, and Navin. Richard brought his sights up on Drifter.

  “I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve dreamed of this,” Richard said softly. It would be over soon. Drifter would pay, and everything could go back to the way it was.

  “Then ye really need to git out more,” the Irish man scoffed.

  Richard kept his sights on Drifter, but he turned to the woman. “Ma’am, you’re in danger,” he told her. “If you’ll come with me—”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, you lunatic,” the woman said. She had a vice grip on Drifter’s hand. Drifter stood in front of her to shield her. He’s protecting her? From what?

  The lights flickered and burnt out. Richard instinctively brought his weapon down to avoid shooting anyone accidentally. His eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but something didn’t make sense. It felt like the shadows were forming into a single shape. It seemed as if they were alive.

  “Sergeant Hertly,” Drifter said slowly. Richard had never heard the man sound afraid before. “You’re in a lot more danger than I am right now.”

  “He’s flicker’n pretty brightly, Bob,” Drisc said. Richard didn’t know what the comment meant, but the Irishman sounded every bit as nervous as Drifter.

  The shadows slid along the wall, reaching for one another. Richard watched in awe as they joined and became a shape. Richard wanted to tell himself he was seeing things, only he’d seen this figure before. Whatever the monster was, it was the same thing that had scared the life out of Richard when the bus crashed a month ago. The shadows created a silhouette of a figure garbed in a black cloak. Then, impossibly, the shadow became a real figure. Richard was only vaguely aware of Drifter handing the woman over to Drisc. The majority of Richard’s attention was on the long, black scythe that formed in the shadow-monster’s hand. Drifter tackled Richard safely to the ground before the onyx blade could cut his head off. Richard noticed Drisc and the woman run out of the room. Drifter put himself between the door and the monster.

  Richard brought up his weapon and fired round after round into the shadow. Richard wasn’t sure how many shots he fired, but he counted as nine bullets flowed out of the black cloak and onto the ground harmlessly. Richard raised his gun again, but Drifter pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the room. Richard watched Drifter slam the door shut, for as much good as that would do against something that just took nine rounds in the kill zone and didn’t so much as laugh about it.

  Drifter pulled on him. “Let’s go!”

  “Don’t order me around,” Richard shouted back.

  “You want to die, or do you want to kill me?” Drifter asked.

  Richard opened his mouth to shout he wanted Drifter dead, but the words stuck in his throat. “I want to bring you to justice,” he said instead.

  “Fine,” Drifter said, pulling on Richard’s arm. Richard had no choice but to follow. “Come with me now, stay alive, and then we can figure out if you or that thing gets the chance to kill me first.”

  A scythe dropped out of a shadowed corner of the hall. Richard shoved Drifter to safety before he had a chance to realize what he’d done. Why’d I just do that? I want him dead, don’t I? Richard helped him up. Shadows flowed faster than Richard’s eyes could track. Scythes formed and struck out at Drifter and Richard only hair-lengths slower than they could dodge or roll out of the way. The cloaked shadow formed and raised its blade to strike, just as Drifter swung the door to the stairs open. The blade pierced through the door. Richard backed into the stairwell as he watched the shadow flow impossibly through the two-inch slit in the door and reform on the other side.

  The men charged down the stairs. Richard ducked under a strike meant for his head. An instant later, Drifter leapt over a scythe that would have left him a foot shorter. It was as if an army of shadows had decided to come to life just to kill him. He was going to die. He felt panic surge to the surface. Richard and Drifter burst out of the emergency exit at the side of the hotel. Richard wanted to believe it was over, that whatever madness was happening was contained to the hotel. The shadows on the street combined, as if to spite Richard. They joined and grew into the monster like a sapling becomes a tree. Richard’s breath was short. His vision had gone dim.

  Drifter grabbed him by the shoulders. “He’s Manipulating your fear!” the man shouted. “Focus on me!”

  Richard wasn’t sure how, but his fear flowed into rage at Drifter. How dare he order me around! I have a monster trying to kill me, and this asshole thinks he can control this situation? It took an instant for Richard to realize his fear had ebbed away. He didn’t know where the rage came from, but he held onto it because it was the only shield he had.

  “Follow me!” Drifter shouted.

  The monster pointed, and three black shapes slipped into the shadows and flowed directly at Richard and Drifter. Drifter pulled him under a streetlight. The shadows that flowed from the monster launched at them but stopped inches from the light and screamed.

  A car swerved onto the curb, and the doors flew open. Richard dove into the car just after Drifter. The open door struck the light post and slammed shut as the car sped away, but not before the monster could leap onto the car. Drisc spun the wheel left, then right, then left again. The shadow-monster rolled off the roof of the car. Richard wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the creature scream.

  The lack of a monster on the roof didn’t stop Drisc from speeding down the road. The woman threw her arms around Drifter. He kissed the top of her head. Richard finally realized he had absolutely no clue what he’d gotten involved in.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he shouted, trying to control his breathing.

  “Well, Bob will prob’ly fill ye in on the details,” Drisc said. He slowed the car down but didn’t pull over. “But since you didn’t bother listening to me warning, I’ll tell you this much. Ye just found yerself in the middle of a fight between Death and, well, Death. It’s amazing you’re not already a steady auburn.”

  “Steady auburn?” Richard echoed. Death? A war between Death and Death?

  “Sergeant Hertly,” Drifter said. He still had his arms firmly around the woman. “I’m sorry you’ve become involved, but it can’t be avoided anymore. I’m not a killer. None of us are. We are ... ” He paused as if looking for the right words.

  “They’re angels of death,” the woman said to fill the silence.

  Hertly stared at them. They were all fucking insane. Drifter gave the woman a flat stare of his own.

  “Well, you don’t like the other term either,” she snapped. Apparently, she’d had a chance to get more of an explanation.

  “You’re telling me,” Richard stammered, “that the two of you are angels of death?”

  “We prefer the term Journeymen,” Bob said as his Irish friend pulled onto the freeway. Hertly didn’t understand a word of it. All he knew was that whatever he’d gotten himself into, he had no clue how to survive it.

  26

  The Depth of Souls

  “Let me get this straight,” Richard said, sitting in a new hotel room across from Drifter and his friends. “You can’t kill.”

  They’d driven into Syracuse and picked up as much light as they could. They knew that every light would make a new shadow, but Patience seemed to take charge of the lighting. The room was bathed in soft light. There were a few black shadows in the corners, which Drisc watched like a hawk. He had a pistol trained on the edge of the bed.

  “It’s impossible,” Drifter said. “A Journeyman can injure or harm, but no matter what we try, we can’t kill.”

  “That’s just not possible,” Richard said.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Drisc said. He wheeled around, pointed his gun at Richard, and pulled the trigger over and over again. Richard only had time to feebly raise his hands in front of himself. Each tim
e Drisc pulled the trigger, the gun harmlessly clicked.

  “You son of a bitch!” Richard yelled. “You’re lucky that’s not loaded.”

  Drisc pointed the handgun at a light and fired. The silencer-equipped gun worked perfectly, destroying a lamp that desperately needed killing and proving that the so-called Journeyman couldn’t kill.

  Patience went to work with a flashlight to soften the shadows Drisc had just created by blasting the cheap hotel light.

  “What are you thinking, pointing a loaded gun at a man?” Richard asked, launching to his feet.

  “We can’t kill,” Drisc said sharply. “No matter what weapon we use or how we try to do it, we can’t kill. Something always happens to reduce the damage or stop it. Whatever’s in charge of us won’t let us kill.”

  “Only that’s exactly what Grimm wants,” Drifter said softly.

  “It’s not possible,” Drisc argued.

  “He has a knack for doing things we’re not supposed to be able to do,” Drifter replied. “But that scythe was made for killing, and I think it can carve a soul from a person. I don’t think it’s enough for him to just know when a person will die. He wants to be God.”

  Richard sat back down and held his head in his hands. He was tired. He could feel the beard on his face from days without shaving. Each time he closed his eyes, he expected to wake from a dream. He could feel his nerves becoming more frayed.

  “Where do you people even come from?” he asked.

  “We don’t know,” Drifter said. He continued just before Richard could ask what the hell that meant. “We wake up. We know who we are and what we are, but that’s about it.”

  “And that was more than three hundred years ago?” Richard asked.

  “Closer to four hundred,” Drisc said.

  “Which makes you how old?” Bob asked in a friendly, teasing manner.

  “Experienced, me friend, it makes me that much more experienced th’n ye,” Drisc said with a smile.