Walking On Darkness

He was coming back. Even after years of waiting the thought of that still excited him. The things he would to him when arrived in his city, back in his home. The problem was, when? The feeling he had was non-specific about time, just the knowledge that his nemesis was returning from parts unknown. The dark man tried to think of how long it had been since he had needed to face this threat. Years? Decades? It seemed nearly centuries since his foe had last shown his face. The dark man dressed for tonight carefully, but not without some anticipation.
The last thing he put on for his uniform was the gun that slid smoothly into his holster. He was ready. Fully prepared he walked outside of his small house and started whistling. Tonight would be an interesting change of pace. He started his car and pulled out on to the street. After a while the inner city opened up to his small, evil eyes. All of this was his, his dominion. The prostitutes, the pimps, the homeless, the junkies and the dealers, all loathed him and feared for their lives. He shrugged at the thought, it made no difference to him, they would obey or all of them would suffer.
Outside of his car the skyscrapers soared above him blocking out the setting sun. Soon it would be dark and he could resume his nightly fun again in earnest. The dark man drove past a homeless man who, upon seeing the black and white of his car, slinked into an alley. He saw him anyway, and checking the time, he decided it was dark enough to start his fun now. With a grin he pulled into a nearby parking lot, and stopped his car in a handicapped spot.
By the time he got into the alley it was almost fully dark outside. Even if he thought he was safe in his arrogance, he knew these “people” couldn’t be trusted and unsnapped his holster and unlimbered the baton. The alley was even darker now and he eyed the shadows warily, it always paid to be careful. There came a shuffling from deeper in, closer to the side-street separating the rows of buildings. That must be him, he thought to himself. His eyes glittered with the excitement of the chase. He approached quietly and peered low around the corner. On top of a mostly broken ping pong table sat the shabby drug user, injecting himself with a clear liquid from a dirty needle. The dark man drew himself up to his full height; it was time to look stern and threatening. The sun dipped fully below the horizon and, clad in the black of the night, the officer walked out to where the user huddled around his needle. “I have you now.”
The drug user looked up and saw the shadow approaching and whispering. Already out of his mind with the drugs, he heard it as the gibbering of demons. The homeless man screamed and shut his eyes. He didn’t see the club come rushing at his head, but he felt it. His eyes shot open, looked into the eyes of his tormentor and he screamed again. The anger filled eyes were all he could see. The rest of him was shadowed in black. The eyes seemed to grow a little red with each whimper that came out of the homeless man, like he was only egging him on.
The club came down again, hitting the junkie in the ribs and bashing him onto the ground. The junkie looked up again and recognized the aggressor for who, and what, he was. His mouth opened to scream again but before he could, felt the barrel of a gun placed against his mouth. No scream this time, instead a deep voice from the dark came “You are honored by this death. This is a fine end to your meaningless life.”
The sound didn’t have a chance to make it out of his mouth before the gun ended his life. The loud crack echoed down the alley and the dark man stood up, holstered the gun and looked down at the body with a sneer. “May my own death be nearly as honorable”. Without a second glance he walked away, out of the alley and back to his car. He would be late for his shift tonight, but it was completely worth it. If he was lucky, there might even be a second gift tonight on one of his many rounds. Nothing spread the fear of his rule better than the bodies of the forgotten ones in the streets and alleys. Gang wars they would say or a fight over drugs. The blame never came back to him. No one ever cared, too caught up in their own lives to be concerned.
The dark man pulled into the station and clocked his time card in at the back counter. From there, he reported to the Captain for his night’s assignments. As distasteful as dealing with the man was, the captain unknowingly gave him everything he wanted. The downtown foot patrols. The nightly walk of his little kingdom meant more to him than anything. Except perhaps the killing of the homeless one, the one who defied him more than the rest. His would be a kill to relish. He was thinking this as the Captain droned on, incessantly. As usual, he pulled the downtown night’s watch. He pretended to dislike the posting. Better to make the Captain think he was getting punished, while secretly getting exactly what he needed. The dark man started his shift, his master needed more souls.
* * * * * *
The second the sun dipped below the horizon, the train came to a screeching halt. Hidden in the twilight shadows, a ragged figure hopped lightly to the ground from one of the railcars. The moon peeked from behind a cloud, lighting the quick disappearance of our hero’s exit into an alley. He was back. Rags flapping in the slow breeze, his tattered figure danced across the garbage strewn side street. He came to a corner connecting deeper into the city. He looked up and smiled. Nimble as a cat he jumped up and grabbed the edge of a fire escape. Pulling himself up, our hero ghosted up the stairs to the next landing. Soon he was on the roof, climbing the next buildings siding to get even higher. Seven stories up, our hero stopped and with a deep breath, takes a running leap off the side of the building. Clearing the space between, he lands on the balcony of the next apartment block. He rolled to his feet in front of the window and kept going. Winking to the amazed children inside watching T.V., he scrambles up to the next balcony and the one thereafter.
After a while he was on the top to the world, soaring high on one of the tallest apartment buildings in the city. “Home, home, tome, gnome.” The cityscape spread out before him and he inhaled deeply. In his eyes this city really was the best thing in the world. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Even the smells were the same. He wondered briefly about the whereabouts of the dark man in this town. The one always after him. The last time they met, nearly ended in ruin for the whole city. Such hatred, our hero had never seen before. He shrugged it off, the dark man was probably gone by now, terrorizing some other place. Our hero turned slightly to the west where the sun had last been seen. There were giant warehouses in that direction, and the wharves. Best get going, he thought to himself.
Clutching his bag close to his chest, he made a running leap to the next building a story below his height. He rolled on impact and picked himself up. Rummaging through his bag, he brought out his trusty tire iron and walked over to the edge of the roof. Slipping it between the wall and a drain pipe, he looked down into the street below. The street was not very busy, a few city buses, a few cars, nothing special. Just what he needed. Leaping out from the roof while clutching the tire iron by both ends, he slid down the wall. Hangers every few feet jerked his descent in fast intervals, slowing him down enough for the fall not to be fatal. Near the second floor, when the pipe was starting to peel away from the wall from the ongoing stress, he let go of one end of the iron and slammed his feet into the wall!
He popped out from the wall, his vertical motion now sideways, only fifteen feet above the street! The push coincided with the passing of a bus just beneath him, and with a heavy grunt our hero landed on the roof of the still moving bus. It slowed slightly, the driver having felt the impact. With a look out of both of his windows the driver thought better of it and drove on. Clinging to the roof, the old man smiled, the bus was taking him exactly where he wanted to go.
Twenty minutes later, during the full darkness of night, the ragged figure eased off the side of the bus at a lonesome bus stop. The driver turned a blind eye to his antics; he didn’t need to complicate his life right now. There was no one at the bus station to see his retreat into the warehouse district anyway. Most of the buildings were abandoned, its crates and boxes forgotten for the last few years of economic decay. A few closer to the wharves were used for incoming shipments, otherwise the entire district was silent. Exactly what he wanted. Another twenty minutes of searching later brought him to the warehouse he was looking for. The hero of our story rubbed the outside of the giant corrugated structure “Right where I left you-you.”
Always careful, he searched around the building, making sure it was safe to enter. Slowly, he approached the door, keeping as close to the shadowed side of the building as he could. The small side entrance opened with a screech of rusty steel. It took two more pushes to get the door open wide enough for him to squeeze inside. He hoped no had heard the noise but didn’t linger outside. Looking around, he noticed that the warehouse was still near to full. The moonlight filtering through the windows showed the warehouse as a mildew and dust filled, cluttered room. “The things people-people-p leave behind.” He said to himself not thinking about the boxes. Our hero got to work, the tire iron working wondrously as a pry-bar to take the tops off of the crates. Soon he had a small pile of the supplies set aside that he needed for the next day’s activities. He rubbed his hands together and looked at the Chinese lettering on the side of each of the boxes. “Ohhh boy-oy.”
He woke with the light from the top windows of the warehouse blazing straight into his eyes. Our hero rolled to the side, causing the newspapers of his bed to crackle with the motion. The wiry old man peered across the floor a few feet away from him to the small collection of things he would need for the day. “T-T-T-Time to get started.” First things first, the old man clambered to his feet and grabbed his bag from the ground beside him. He secreted most of his possessions inside a nearby box for safe keeping except for his heavy duct tape and tire iron. Once finished with that, he filled the now empty bag with the tools he would need for his prank. With that, he was off, out the door and heading in the direction of the city bus compound.
It took near to two hours to get to the city bus compound on foot. With the heavy bag at his side, the old man was breathing heavily and exhausted by the time he got there. Finding a suitable alley nearby, he crouched behind a dumpster to rest while he caught his breath. An hour later, close to mid-afternoon he woke for the second time that day and warily checked around. With no one around, he grabbed the bag again and snuck down the alleyway to the compound less than a block away. Grumbling to himself, he scaled the fence closest to the alley and farthest away from the street. The old man hopped lightly to the ground and raced to the nearest bus. This was going to be his biggest caper yet.
The parking lot was only about half full with no one in sight. It must not have been a very busy day for the city, which only worked to the old man’s advantage. Quickly our hero climbed onto the roof of the first bus and, with the duct tape, tied the first object out of his bag to the exhaust pipe coming from the top of the bus. Then, as fast as he could, he snaked a fuse down the exhaust pipe to the innards of the bus. Smiling, he hopped to the ground and made a beeline to the next bus to repeat the process. Within the hour, all fifteen of the buses were laden with the gift he was going to give to the city. Still no one had noticed him when he scrambled back over the fence. He slipped quietly into the relative safety of the labyrinthine alleyways of his inner city. Then our hero didn’t stop running all the way back to the warehouse.
* * * * * *
Another shift, another chance to prove his worth to the one directed who directed him. Again the Captain had given him the inner city, exactly what he didn’t ask for. The dark man had parked his car in a safer place next to a department store open twenty four hours, near the entrance for the lights. From there, he started patrolling the streets one at a time, each of his senses on full alert to the environment around him. His foe was here, in his city, he could almost smell it. The search tonight would be thorough, it would have to be. There was no way that this homeless man would escape his wrath again.
The other destitute people on the street fled before him, unwilling to be the unlucky one tonight. The dark man didn’t care or didn’t see them, too fixed on his goal for any other distractions. This was dangerous work. His hand never left the gun on his belt, best to be ready for anything. That reminded him, in Omnia Paratus, as his old friend used to say. That man had made the mistake of trying to capture the old man and paid for it, with his life.
Not this time, this time he was ready. The dark man ducked into a dark side alley, noticed the scrambling of some street urchins hiding or running. Still nothing. He wanted to scream, scream for the old man to come and get him, to come out and fight. It was all this waiting that got to him, he wanted action, for the battle to come. For a few moments he almost thought that this was the old man’s plan. Diabolical, he thought to himself, but completely out of character for someone such as that homeless man. No, his foe was planning something, as he always did. Something light and comical to lift the spirits of the people of this beleaguered city. It was something that the dark man could not let happen.
He jerked to the side, weapon clasped in his sweaty hand. Nothing. The wind rustled through the alley causing some boxes to move slightly. Now he really was close to screaming. The dark man reached the end of the alley and tapped lightly on the brick wall at the end. There was nothing there. “Nothing here!” he screamed and pounded on the wall with the gun in his hand. He turned back to return to the street, time to try a different area. Once back at the store, he got in his car and sat there to figure out his next move. A bus across the street passed by, full of people with a huge sign for an energy drink on the side.
There was something about this bus though, something he couldn’t place. He frowned and started his car. Quickly the dark man pulled onto the street and flicked the lights and siren, giving him complete carte blanche while he chased after the bus. People swerved to get out of his way, some getting extremely close to being in accidents just to stay out of his path. Still not being able to place it, the cop floored the accelerator and pulled up beside it. The energy drink was right beside him and he studied the faces of the people in the window. Maybe it was the fact that his enemy was on this particular bus, he speculated. The bus driver finally saw him and pulled over to a bus stop to pick up more passengers, and to see what the problem was.
Parking in the middle of the street, he got out and walked around the front of the bus fingering his gun. Unsnapping the clasp on the holster, he was about to get on the bus when he heard a sizzling. There was no one on this bus for him, the sound was not from inside. He looked up, it was coming from the roof. “Do not move, there is something on your roof. I am going to check it out.” He yelled to the driver. Without waiting the dark man didn’t pause for the nod of acquiescence before jumping up and grasping the top of the door, hauling himself up. He knew there was no one up there, but it couldn’t hurt to check and so he peered cautiously over the roof. The only decoration was exhaust pipe sticking straight up into the air. An exhaust pipe with a very unusual piece of something on the side. It kind of looked like a….
“Everyone get down!” He roared while leaping from the side. Abruptly the exhaust vent leading down erupted with the crackling fuse leading to the package taped to the side. The bus having just driven far enough to heat up the muffler, which lit the fuse after a short time by itself. It produced the hissing sound he heard earlier and the moment he stuck his head above the roof it reached the package attached to the cord. With a loud hiss the fireworks started cracking off one at a time, painting the downtown city with primary colours of light. Sideways too, the fire came hitting the sides of buildings and going off with loud bangs. The street turned into chaos, as people ran from the fireworks attack. Around the city similar shows started lighting up the night sky and close to the center, on top of a tall building sat a thin old man in rags laughing at the bedlam.
The dark man picked himself up and looked into the light show, seeing it for what it was. He was right; the old man was back in the city. And judging by the light show, he had broken into a large stash of fireworks. Ignoring the fireworks that were starting to die down, he sat on the curb and thought of all the places where they could have come from. After a moment’s indecision he decided there must be a warehouse down by the water front that would probably still have loads from container ships still inside. The dark man pulled out his cell phone and walked back to his car, ignoring the cries from the driver. He got in the car and pulled a U turn to get back to the direction he needed to go. His foe would be waiting for him.
* * * * * *
The old man, having finished with his fun for the night, crept back to street level still smiling. With the busses out of commission, he had to run back to the warehouses, but it made no matter to him. And if that little trick didn’t get the dark man’s attention, nothing would. Arriving back in the warehouse district, our hero paused to think for a moment. Best he could do was at least make sure there was no one else around for the upcoming showdown. There would be no stopping his nemesis’s fury now. He felt in his bag for the reassuring touch of his tire iron. “Should be-be-be an interest-esting night.” He grumbled but the smile never left his face.
The old scruffy man returned to the original part of the district where the firework warehouse stood. There was an aura of danger in the air now. Our hero tightened his grip on the bag hanging at his side. His enemy was here, he could feel it. He slowly drew out the tire iron and dropped the bag to the ground. Standing in front of the first warehouse he could feel the hatred and enmity pulsing from the structure. He smiled, had to be careful here, and he approached with caution. There was still nothing untoward about the building itself but the feeling he got, emanating from the walls.
He walked inside, the darkness permeated everywhere and still he could not place the feeling he had. Taking his iron up, his shabby figure slowly crept forward until he reached the first stack of crates. Reaching inside, he grabbed a firework with his spare hand and slid it into his jacket. It was best to be prepared for anything. He turned a corner and saw with the small amount of moonlight in the center of the room, the dark man waited.
“I have been waiting for this for a long time.” the sepulchral tones echoed hollowly in the room.
“Another-ther time and I would put you in y-y-your place. Have to be going though. Other places to-to-t see.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked ponderously towards the exit. Our hero heard the quick sounds of footsteps coming for him and he smiled. At the last second he crouched low and the dark man bowled over top of him, hitting the ground in front of him, leading the plunge with his face. With a cackle of delight the ragged man darted forward and snatched the pistol from the police officer’s belt. Deftly he ejected the magazine and popped the last bullet from the barrel. Both went sailing over the crates to land harmlessly in the dust.
A low growl announced another attack by the dark man. Infuriated by his adversary tricking him, it had not taken long to fly back into the fight. The dark man threw a fist at the face of the wiry homeless man but our hero skipped out of the way. That was bad, he was overextended now and fought to regain his balance. The raggedly dressed man took that opportunity to come back, wielding the tire iron with ferocity. A chop to each leg and to his right arm put the dark man on the ground. The old man was winning. It would not take much now. The dark man tried to get to his feet on his numbed legs, but they couldn’t hold him up. The enemy slumped to the ground again and drew out his baton. With a yell the dark man swung with his remaining strength at the legs of our hero. With a loud clang, the baton was knocked out of his weak hand by the stronger swing of the ragged arm. With that last swing the enemy’s last strength left him and he did not rise again.
While the dark man, who had tormented him so, lay there he took out his lone firework. Our hero discarded it, grabbed the dark man by the nape of his uniform and started dragging him towards the crates. A pitiful attempt to attack him was met with another harsh blow to his head, which subdued him. Our hero tossed the dark man against the boards of a crate and opened it quickly with the tire iron. Inside lay three hundred assorted fireworks and fuses for each one. He smiled again and took a few dozen out, throwing them on the dark man. From the inner bowel of his rags came the duct tape again and he started haphazardly taping fireworks to the cop with impunity, the dark man too beat to resist him much.
After the first two dozen fireworks he started wrapping the dark man’s torso with fuse until his arms were pinioned to his sides. The cop could do nothing except glare at his captor. “You will pay for this old man.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see. See you tied we will.” With a flourish he finished the knots and helped the officer to his feet. “Now run, run-run-run for help.” A small matchbook appeared out of his layers and he lit one.
The eyes of the dark man went wide with sudden fear. “Please don’t.”
The old man only grinned and touched off the match, lighting one of the pieces of fuse. “I-i-i-f you don’t get out of here-ere, you will certain-ainly burn to death. Out-t-t-t there, where you belong, you might have a chance.”
Panicked the dark man ran as fast as he could for the exit and the old man followed. Once outside and from a distance, our hero watched the fireworks start to go off as the dark man screamed with every launch. With a final snicker he faded back into his alleyways, content to plan his next big show for the public. He knew it would be some time before he would face the dark man again.