Four Way Stop

Late nights could be spooky at the four way stop where Highway 14 intersected Highway 79. An hour could pass without a single pair of headlights breaking the blackness that stretched away from the little island of light the convenience store created.  Maddie knew most of the people who came in at night, local farmers, or people who worked in Westhansen (pop. 846 according to the bullet pocked sign at the edge of town) which was twelve miles up Highway 79. Sometimes though, a stranger would come in, and if it was a man, Maddie always began wondering if Deputy Martinez would be in any time soon. She worried about robbery and worse. She knew this was a world where such things happened, and she hated how the fact that she was completely alone remained so constantly in her thoughts.

Tonight, she was especially nervous. She sat in the back office dividing her attention between the TV and the security cameras. On the eleven o’clock news came the reminder of why she was so worried.

The perky blonde anchorwoman suddenly put on her serious face:

“Authorities in Bravos County are still seeking a man in the shooting death of 31 year old Marlin Hicks. Hicks, a clerk at the Fast Gas convenience store at 1422 Old Cavalry Creek road, was reportedly shot nine times on Tuesday night during a robbery. The shooter is believed to be a bearded white male between the ages of 30 and 40 years old approximately five feet ten inches tall, one hundred and eighty-five pounds. At the time of the robbery the man wore a brown bandanna covering his hair and a gray or white t-shirt. The suspect fled the scene in a 1998 or 99 white Chevy Impala. A reward is being offered for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the perpetrator.”

Maddie knew roughly where that particular Fast Gas was, and it was over forty miles away, but she could not help wishing it were more like four hundred. She glanced through the office door out into the store, shivering a little at the empty stillness of it all. She prayed to whatever forces were out there that someone would find whoever had killed that clerk and stop him.

Midnight and she could lock the door and go. She glanced at the clock. 11:17. She needed to stop looking at that thing. It seemed to know she was watching it and that made it not want to cooperate. 

Then she jumped out of the chair, nearly out of her skin.

Glancing down at the computer monitor on the desk that displayed in its four corners the four store video cameras she saw a strange and unexpected movement. It was one of the two outside cameras, the one that pointed south across the parking lot. The way it was pointing, it looked straight down Highway 79, and at night, you always saw the headlights of any vehicle coming from that direction long before it ever reached the store. But there were no headlights. The camera seemed to be only picking up reflections of light from the store. Shifting patterns were reflecting off of something that was moving slowly and steadily towards the store. She picked up her phone and dialed 911. Resting her thumb on the send key, she walked out of the office. She went around the counter for a clear view out of the windows.

She saw the thing, in the flesh as it were, and for a moment, it was still unclear in the dimness at the very edges of the light, maybe some weird piece of farm equipment, she thought. Then it suddenly passed out of the threshold of darkness and she knew what she was looking at. She understood the basics of what she saw at least. Exactly what the hell it meant was another thing.

A horse and rider approached. Such a thing was not unheard of, but was rare enough, and she did not imagine an approaching midnight had ever seen such an occurrence. That in itself would have been more than enough to weird her out, but the incongruity of what became suddenly bathed in the fluorescents as the horse turned into the parking lot had her checking herself to see if she was dreaming. 

It was a gray horse, and was huge. Far bigger than any she’d ever seen before. It was like something that should be part of a team pulling a Budweiser wagon. Horse and rider alike were armored. Both were draped in coats of silver scales that seemed to shine even brighter than the harsh lighting warranted. The rider wore a silver helm that flared out at the neck, and there was a perfectly molded plate of metal with eye holes strapped to the horse’s enormous head. The long hilt of a sword rose up over one of the rider's shoulders. Like the tip of a tower, she thought, so high up did it seem.

But there was something wrong about the otherwise pristine shine of the armor. Random patches on horse and rider alike were dark and did not merely shine, but in some places it seemed to glisten wetly.

Any man would look small astride such a horse but the rider’s shoulders where so broad and he sat the saddle so naturally, it seemed as if the man too must be a giant, though she sensed the illusion of this. The rider’s head hung low and the shoulders slumped. Long black curls of hair hung down out of the helm. The horse’s head drooped as well as it plodded its way across the parking lot.

Then she caught the red tint in the black smears across the armor and realized what it was. This startled her back to her senses and she decided she better figure out an explanation for what she was seeing, or just hit send. She groped for ideas. She discounted a nearby renaissance festival quickly enough, and then ran out of ideas. She was left pretty much with basic weirdo, or complete psycho.

The rider, now past the pumps, and almost to the front door, looked up. The signal from her brain to her thumb that would consequently signal a 911 dispatcher was suddenly halted.

God Damn, Sir Lancelot himself’s come callin’.

She burst out with a little giggle that startled her enough with its tinge of hysteria to die the death of a strangled hiccup. But gorgeous was an understatement. The dark pools of his eyes stared directly into hers, and were as weary as the world itself. His lips moved as he spoke a few words, and though his gauntleted hands were not even holding the reigns, and he did not otherwise move, the horse halted, its head jerked up, and it too looked at her. She started back a step at the huge eye holes in the steel looking at her, and the man smiled. It was a simple, friendly smile that made utterly human the face that was like something an ancient Athenian would have carved.  She was enchanted, and she knew it, and the rational part of her brain seemed to call from behind a closed door: press the button. She pretended not to hear.

He dismounted then, coming down hard off of the tall horse with a stomp of boots on the pavement clearly discernible from inside the store. Again she was jerked out of her reverie, and a new idea came to her. She looked over at the video camera that monitored the store entrance and knew she would be in the frame as well. It came to her that a prank was as likely an explanation as anything for this, and it seemed possible that Ellis himself, the store owner, might pull something like this.

He’s smeared with blood, you ditz, but she watched the man lay his helmeted head gently against the horse’s face plate for a moment. The horse snorted and stomped one hoof.  The man patted its neck and pulled the helmet off spilling out a mass of raven locks. He hung the helmet on the saddle then stood before the glass doors, studying them. She thought that no man that beautiful and so in touch with that animal could be dangerous.

Earth to dummy. Giant sword. Blood.

But mingled with the fear was an anticipatory excitement at the prospect of being alone with this guy. Maybe he would lose the rest of the armor.

But no, this had to be a prank. She was just going to be calm and courteous and not do anything to make herself look stupid which would make her the popular butt of a million-hit YouTube joke.

At last he reached forward with an oddly dramatic gesture and pulled both door handles. Only one of them actually opened of course, as the other was always kept latched, and he seemed inordinately surprised, but, ducking down to allow the sword clearance, he stepped through into the store to the faint clicking of metal and creaking of leather.

Now he was just a few paces from her without the faintly milky glass in between them. He was tall, but not unusually so, and his broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist where a broad leather belt cinched the mail shirt about him. He looked into her eyes and smiled again. It was a sad smile, and he looked infinitely tired. She thought that if this was a prank someone had pulled out all the stops. If Spielberg saw this guy he would do a remake of King Arthur just to get him in front of a camera. She gave a little shiver at the quantity of blood on him, especially on the steel and leather gauntlets and along the intricate little scales covering his arms. But she could not seem to keep herself out of the pools of his dark brown eyes.

“Elia,” he said, his voice a resonant baritone that she could feel the sonorous quality of inside herself, and not unpleasantly. He bowed his head slightly as he said it, and then continued on. “Merint faulna drest capta un fulistrus orn crallus. Forn doon?”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but the little voice in her head that had been crying “psycho”, had taken up the mantra “prank”, and so she thought for a second and then calmly said, “I’m sorry, I only speak English.”

He tilted his head, listening intently then frowned, nodding his head as if in realization. He straightened, and then undid a tiny buckle that held tight a gauntlet above the wrist. He removed it then did the same with the other, revealing surprisingly long and slender fingers. He tucked the gauntlets behind his belt and reached into a brown leather pouch that hung there. He pulled out a simple gold ring and placed it on the ring finger of his left hand.

I do, she thought, and had to stifle another giggle.

He began to slowly spin the ring on his finger, looked deep into her eyes with an air of concentration and then spoke with careful deliberateness. “Speak English?”

“Yes,” she said patiently, “I can only understand English.”

“Yes,” he mimicked back to her, focusing so hard on her face that she began to feel self conscious, “I unt-understand.”

“Okay,” she said. “Good.”

“Okay,” he said, much more naturally. Then flashing her another of those Oscar winning smiles he said, “Good,” and dropped his hands back to his sides.

Maddie sighed softly to herself. God must have figured that looking like that; he wouldn’t be needing a brain.

“Lady,” he said, with another slight bow, and the way he said it sounded formal, not like "Hey, Lady". “I have come to your shop seeking an item of great importance. I hope I may trouble you to do business at this late hour.”

“Um, well, we’re still open if that’s what you’re asking.”

He tilted his head quizzically and finally said, “Okay. Then if I may trouble you…” He reached back into the pouch and pulled out a brownish yellow tube. Then he unrolled it.

Of course, everyone writes their grocery list on a scroll of parchment.

He studied the scroll for a moment then looked back up at her. “I seek a QuickClick P24 disposable camera.”

Maddie could not help herself that time. She burst out laughing.

He frowned at her slightly, then smiled again, a little embarrassedly it seemed He looked back at the scroll for a moment and said, “Lot number two zero one zero one two one four dash one four six.”

Maddie gave him an amazed look wondering who in the world had thought this shit up. She considered for a moment just calling the prank and refusing to play along any more but for the way he was looking at her, so earnest, almost desperate. And so damn gorgeous. She found that she wanted to play along. Without thinking about it, but with a neglected little voice crying idiot from somewhere in the back of her mind, she hit the cancel button on her phone, then slipped it into her pocket.

“Well,” she said, “we do sell those QuickClicks, but as for lot number…I just don’t know.”

The cameras were hanging on a rotary display between the entrance and the counter along with other miscellaneous items in the travel category and she gestured to them and suggested he have a look.

When he saw her point them out, his face lit up, losing some of the exhaustion and sadness, and he moved quickly towards the display.

Standing close to him, his size within all the dazzling steel was a little intimidating, and there was about him the (fortunately not overpowering) smell of sweat and of horse, but there was also the unmistakable smell of blood and Maddie could not help but step back a little away from him.

He was still holding the scroll open, and she could now see what was on it. At the top was mass of tightly written completely unrecognizable characters. Below that were two images with more gibberish script around them. The images appeared to be hand painted onto the parchment in full color. The first was a perfectly rendered stop sign with the ‘Four Way’ scrawled boldly above the ‘Stop’ just like the store logo. Below that was painted a perfect rendition of the little plastic and cardboard QuickClick P24. At the bottom, in English was written: Lot Number 20101214-146 with a line drawn from that to the bottom left of the image of the camera.

There were six cameras on the display hanging in two rows of three. Almost reverently he reached for the first on the top, stared at the face of it for a moment before turning it and at the bottom. He made a disappointed little sound then absently handed her the camera before taking up the next one. Curiously, Maddie looked at the bottom and found a lot number stamped there. It was identical to the one on the man’s scroll except that the last three numbers were 151. They repeated the process with the next two on the top, she, looking at the numbers, finding a 150 and 148, forgot to be annoyed as she set each on a nearby shelf.

When he looked at the first camera on the bottom he spoke an unmistakably triumphant word that was gobbledygook to her and she had no doubt that the last three numbers were 146. He shoved the rolled up scroll behind his belt and stared with an air of relief at the camera he held. Maddie stared at him staring and again was amazed at the man’s incredible sincerity of manner.

He looked at her then, and his expression became a little pained. “Lady," he said, “I fear I have no coin. The ferryman required all to bring me across the veil, but I will trade you anything I have for this item. It is very important to me.”

“But why?” Maddie asked. “What could you possibly want with that cheap little camera?”

He looked suddenly rueful. “It was Meervic. He was trying to set a trap for…well, you don’t really want to know what he was trying to trap suffice to say that it is a great evil, but it was a portal trap and he miscalculated somehow and ended up in the…” he paused, searching for a word, “…manufactory where these devices are constructed. Circumstances forced him to hide the bait there and flee. I’m afraid I don’t completely understand myself. Meervic’s area of expertise is somewhat beyond me. The bait is hidden inside.” He held up the camera staring at it with something like reverence. “I can feel it,” he whispered.

Maddie could only stare, baffled.

“Please, Lady,” he said, leaning towards her, intense and desperate, “is there not something I might trade for this?”

Playing along, she thought of the ring, but for some reason said, “You mean like your sword?”

He sighed then, his shoulders sagged a little, and he was silent for a moment. Then a smile that was partly wry amusement, partly resigned sadness came onto his face and he said, “Meervic said it might come to this. I think he was sort of hoping it would, and perhaps he is right to wish it so. Very well. You shall have the sword.”

Then, in one smooth graceful movement, he reached to his chest and undid the strap crossing it, then with the same hand reached behind himself and caught the sword by the middle of the wide hard leather sheath before it could slide more than halfway to the floor. He held it out to her and she felt herself taking it.

She had only seen the hilt of the sword so far but the shining silver and gold, real or not, was beautiful enough as a decorative piece as to easily be worth the price of one of the cheap little cameras. The sword was almost as tall as she was. As wide as it seemed the blade must be within the sheath, she thought it would be incredibly heavy but it wasn’t. Except that it was. She could tell that the sword was in fact quite heavy, it was just that she felt suddenly quite strong. It was so strange.

I’m excited. This guy’s got me hotter than Arizona asphalt with those eyes and so I suddenly feel I have super powers. Or at least want to feel some super power.

A giggle slipped out and he frowned slightly.

“Beware, lady, it can be seductive.”

“I’ll bet it can,” she quipped, this time stifling the giggle and managing a smirk instead.

“Okay,” she said then. “I’ll buy this sword from you for 9.95. Plus tax. And you can have the camera. I’ll just scan one of the others and pay for it out of my own pocket.” This last for whatever microphones were picking all this up which Ellis, originator of this prank or not, would eventually no doubt hear.

“Then it is settled,” he said with an air of finality. “And now, though it pains me to leave the presence of your beauty with such haste, I fear that the ferryman will not wait long on this side and I must depart. With apologies.”

He held out his hand to her, and not even noticing how easily she held the massive sword with one hand, she gave him the other. He bowed over it with a flourish, brushing his lips across it and sending a little tingle up the length of her arm. Awarding her one last smile, he let go her hand, turned, and like a man on a mission, rushed from the store.

She watched him hurl himself armor and all into the saddle like a world class acrobat. He did not take up the reigns, but simply spoke. The horse whinnied, turned, and hooves clopping, went out of the parking lot at a canter.

Slowly, she followed him out of the store and stood there on the sidewalk watching horse and rider fade back into the darkness then listened to rhythmic hoof beats on the pavement until they too faded to nothing and she was left with only the sword to ensure her that it had not all been a hallucination.

Lost in her amazement, she turned the sword to let the sheath slide from it then held it up before her, staring at the impossibly bright steel of its apparently razor sharp blade. She felt wonderful, though she thought she should feel sad because she knew somehow that she would never see the man again and she could not help but feel that he had been something special.

The sound of the approaching car and the glow of its headlights registered only in the back of her mind as she lost herself in the polished metal. Then the car zipped into the lot, and screeched to a halt directly in front of her. She looked at it then, still a little absentmindedly, seeing a dirty white Chevy Impala. A bearded, scar faced man wearing a faded brown do-rag jumped out. He had a baffled look on his face. And a gun in his hand.

“Drop that thing, bitch,” he snarled, pointing the gun at her, “and get in the fuckin’ store.”

Her body moved then, and it felt very strange. It was almost as if she had not willed the movement, but she felt herself moving and it seemed that it could not be other than by her own will. She turned so that her body was sideways to him, making herself a smaller target. She still held the sword in a two handed grip, point up but slanted slightly towards the gunman.

“The fuck?” he said, and pulled the trigger.

The pistol he held, she could see, was not a normal one. It looked a little like the one Martinez carried but with a long clip hanging down in front of the trigger. A machine pistol she thought it was called. It began to spit rapid fire at her.

Again she moved, but just barely perceptively. It seemed almost as if she were simply holding the sword aloft, and it was jerking about of its own free will, but she could feel the slight muscle movements in her arms and wrists, so lightning fast as to be one continuous movement, shifting the sword about and catching perfectly each chunk of lead against the flat of the blade. The blade rang with a sound like crystal, the sound so loud as to rival the explosions from the gun. The sword seemed to completely absorb the force of each projectile, but the vibrations in the hilt made her hands tingle.

The firing suddenly stopped with a feeble sounding click, the man gaped, and Maddie moved one last time. She felt her muscles sing with the movement, harmonizing with the sword as she lifted the massive weapon up over her shoulder and, stepping into it, brought it down in a vicious arc.

It went into him and through him not like a hot knife through butter, but like a knife through air, entering at his left shoulder and slicing down diagonally through his body to exit through his right hipbone. Still gaping at her, his body slid apart and thumped to the ground to the wet, splattering accompaniment of suddenly uncontained innards.

She stared at the mess, incredibly calm, amazingly not sickened. She felt centered. She felt strong. She held the sword out before her and looked along the blade. There was no blood smeared there, just a few remaining drops rolled across it like oil on Teflon and fell to the ground, leaving the shining steel pristine.

She was still standing there when Martinez came roaring into the lot, seeming as if he were going to crash into the impala but stopping just in time to only bump it. He came out of the car like a shot, gun in hand. The gun sagged to hang limply beside him as he took in the scene, stunned.

“Mary, Mother of God,” he whispered.

Maddie’s gaze shifted from the shocked deputy to the dark highway where she had watched the beautiful and bloody man ride away and she thought about a person called Meervic, setter of traps. She looked back down to the pile of gore at her feet.

He sets traps for things that are evil.

“Thank you, Meervic,” she whispered softly into the night.