Yes, that's right people, this is the very last chapter. Everything comes to a happy ending . . . or does it? I'm sorry that this took so very long to finish, but, that's the way novels work out. They are very long because they take very long. I thank all of those who were brave enough to read this whole thing, because, truth be told it's very daunting. This is a very long story, about 340 pages if it were printed, yes, that's right, 340 PAGES! But, before you go, I would love it if you were to favorite, comment, pass it around and, please, tell me what you really think! And for the critique, this isn't for the last chapter, this is more for the entire thing! Please don't dwell on things like grammar, spelling, or other things that an editor would most likely fix, I want to know if this was interesting, if the characters seem real, if everything flows, etc, etc, all the things you would think of if you picked it up off a bookstore shelf! Thank you all for reading this, thank you all for following it this far, and I wish you the best of luck and the best of times in every thing you do, no matter what it is!
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Chapter 19: It’s a New Dawn, it’s a New Day, it’s a New Life


Rolling my head back, I let out a loud laugh and stare towards the sky. Putting my hands onto my waist, I laugh long and hard, only stopping when I know I’ve gotten the effect that I wanted. As I lower my muzzle back down, I stare towards the two men, who, despite still looking like the zombies they have become, have an air of confusion about them.
“And you know what I’m tired of, Blackjack; I’m tired of your stupid games!” I announce mockingly. “I’m tired of playing with your toys, Sander Payne; I would rather play with you! I see the puppets, but where, prey tell, is the puppeteer?”
“Blackjack is far from here!” Daniel proclaims.
“I highly doubt that.” I reply quickly. “Oh, come on, you coward, come out and play! Why send women to do a man’s job! Why can’t you show yourself . . . and fight me yourself?”
The two men begin to act strangely. Daniel becomes frustrated, his face curling up angrily, his eyes twisting about. His arms shake and his one foot stamps again and again, trying desperately to dispense the anxious feeling pent up within him. David slowly lowers the pistol, despite his best attempts to keep it level on me. Then he grits his teeth and begins to draw breath after angry breath through the cracks between each tooth.
“He shall not devote any time to you, you weakling!” David cries.
“He’s a coward . . . isn’t he?” I say calmly, staring at my claws, wondering if I should file them. “He knows he couldn’t beat me, so he’d rather pit the pawns against the queen.”
“There is no braver man than he!” Daniel exclaims, his body shaking freakishly.
“Then let him prove it.” I state, merely above a whisper.
Suddenly the two men scream out in rage, their heads turning backwards, rolling at the neck while their jaws hang slack, in a way that shouldn’t even medically be possible. Their arms flail about as if they are dollies being flung around in the wind. The pistol clunks to the ground from David’s clutches as his fingers to go limp.
I watch in horror, shrinking back only slightly, my tail taking cover between my legs, as the two men scream out to the heavens, in way that is not of their own accord. Their eyes melt away into a piercing red and a black smoke begins to seep from around the orbs and through their mouths.
A horrid smoke, rising from the faces of both men, seeps up into the air and begins to combine into one massive cloud just above their heads. As black as oil and nearly as thick, the smog appears to brighten and darken, as if energy flows from every edge inwards. Then, as the cloud grows larger, the color of the two men begins to dissipate from their skin.
Their bodies seem to lose their charge like a five year old car battery. The robustness of their skin, the agelessness of their hair and brightness of their eyes disappears into thin air. Then, as the end of the clouds slip through their mouths and eyes, they fall to the ground like banana-less peels.
Behind them I finally get a good look at Rayne. She stares at the two men with shock, stopping her struggling for only a second. Then she turns her eyes slowly towards me, her head shaking. From within her eyes, I can see her mentally begging me as to what it is I am doing. Then she begins to struggle again and pulls through the cloth holding her mouth closed.
“What are you doing?!” She cries.
“Just trust me!” I scream in return.
“Trust you, Jesus Christ, what are you thinking?” She demands frantically.
“Just trust me.” I say solemnly.
I return my eyes to the formless cloud and then watch as it slams into the ground and begins to dissipate. From the ground up it turns into a light steam, revealing the man we have been fleeing for days. He is as well dressed as John F. Kennedy, but has the demeanor of Josef Mengele.
He wears the same white and black show shoes, shined to a shimmering brightness over his feet. The same purely black tuxedo, save for an unusually white bowtie, white undershirt and card, or possibly handkerchief, sticking from the pocket covers his body. A golden chain holding a watch drapes from one side to another.
At the end of his long arms are the classic arctic white gloves of a stage magician. I could even go so far as to resemble them to Mickey Mouse’s, but Mickey’s could never be so white. His pencil moustache is the only thing that covers that completely untouched face of his. Finally, topping it all off, and I would be disappointed if it were any other way, is a black top hat sitting crowned upon his skull.
He lifts his hands upwards into the air and pulls at the white shirt sticking from the end of the jacket. At first he looks around, but before long he turns those black marbles onto me. With a mocking smirk, he steps forward and stares down at me. Regaining my stature, I stand pencil straight and look towards him.
“I think you would have done better to kill your uncles than dare summon me, you stupid little boy!” He cries to me, dropping his hands to his side.
“Oh, but what fun would that be?” I mockingly ask, having a little too much fun now. “With them it’s like talking with a robot. With you, at least I can gamble.”
Once fuming mad, the mud beneath his shoes turning to glass, Blackjack suddenly begins to cool off. His plucked eyebrows loosen up and his clean forehead straightens out. Staring down at me with lips parted unknowingly, Sander Payne silently ponders what I am talking about, no doubt muttering to him the meaning.
“I mean, I’ve heard you like to bet, don’t you?”
“Well, I do say . . .”
“But I’ve heard nobody has ever beaten you.”
“Then you’ve heard correctly!”
“Then I wouldn’t suppose you would mind to make a little . . . wager?” I ask slyly.
Blackjack calms himself down and puts his hands together before his face. His eyes narrow slightly as I can see the wheels turning within his mind. He must believe that he has discovered a new way to recapture his two prizes without . . . damaging them. But that is exactly what I want. The man leans back on his heels and stares down at me with an ugly genius in his eyes.
“Why would I dare to risk losing my two centerpieces? Why would I waste the energy when I could just as quickly dash you down and throw you in irons? But what is a victory, without a risk? What is a kill, without a chase? Any other time, I would deny such a request, but this time, I’m feeling . . . lucky. Please, proceed.” Blackjack calmly states.
I cross my arms and balance my weight evenly between my two paws, looking towards my adversary. I’m not sure if he knows exactly what is coming, but I’m sure he feels confident. Glancing around Blackjack, I see Rayne sitting between my two uncles, staring at me with unease and confusion. No doubt she doesn’t want to see me hurt, or the two of us back behind bars. But she must trust me, this time above any other.
“You want the two of us to return to your circus more than anything else right now and you’ve proven that with chasing us halfway across this country. I’m offering you a chance to regain that.” I say confidently. “But there is a catch. What I am offering will not be offered again.”
“Boy, do you think I’m stupid enough to pass up an opportunity like this?” Blackjack demands.
I raise a hand impatiently and then proceed.
“I propose a duel. If I win, you let the two of us go free. You shall never again harm us, hunt us or haunt everything we do.” I pause for a very long time, watching Blackjack’s eyes narrow further as his mustache curls with his thin lips. “But if you win, I shall serve with you for the rest of my natural life. Does that seem fair?”
Blackjack lifts his hands up in front of his face and smiles deviously, believing that he shall win and that this fool’s gamble is nothing more than a way to buy time. Slowly, then, he lowers both of his hands down to his sides and lifts his right one upwards, offering the glowing white glove as his word. I let my arms go limp and lift my right one up in return.
“Anything goes. But remember, if you kill me or maim me, you shant get anything. So choose your weapon wisely. We’ll start away from each other and meet in the middle.” I say at the last minute.
“Ten paces and then it will be over? It’s agreed,” Blackjack says.
Upon that word, he reaches out and grabs my hand with an iron grip and lifts both of our arms upwards before shaking it like a mechanical jack. I look across the meeting of the arms at him and wonder exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. He thinks he shall win. I just hope he isn’t right.
As my arm lowers down, separating the two of us, there is a blinding flash and quickly I can see nothing but a white blankness. I feel my hand go free and slowly, but surely, my vision begins to clear up. The dark colors of the ground and some huge formations appear before me and then the jagged edges of smashed stereo sets, discarded dish washers and pile after immense pile of unidentifiable crap forms.
Lifting my arms up, I gasp and throw my head around, looking in every direction. It appears that Blackjack took my word a little too literally and has transported me across the junkyard. Like I said, we’ll start away from each other and meet in the middle. I lower my hands and clench them into fists to ready myself.
“All right, Payne, let’s do this.” I mutter to myself.
As I march forward, my fists clenched and swinging at my sides, I keep my senses alert for any surprises. My eyes as sharp as a dagger in the dark peer forward at every shadowy nook and cranny in the mountains of unwanted trash. The radar ears perched upon my furry head twist and turn, listening for each scratch upon the ground. I would add my nose, but I can’t smell anything above the horrifying putrid stench of man’s leftovers.
Entering a small valley between two rising mountains, I look upwards and see nothing upon the high peaks. Strange things fill this yard, things with color are now faded and those without are now painted unnaturally. Some cans and other light metallic objects tumble down from above and make me spread my legs and turn towards the sound.
I watch a tomato can, empty of its contents, slam into the grassy mud and roll to a stop before me. My heart is beating and I keep running my plan through my skull. All I have to do is get him close to me and put a bullet into him. That gun, the one of two that were given to my uncles, given to them by Blackjack, was made never to miss in a show. They are eternally accurate, precise and deadly. Forged from magic, one will soon kill the one that formed it.
Suddenly I hear a slam and look over my shoulder. Something shiny and aluminum launches itself from the pile behind me and slams into my back. Whipping my body around, I look down to a toaster brought to life, with a long, rubber cord-tail about to wrap around me. A little freaked out, I reel back a paw and punt it into the side of the mountain. The metal side crumbles and the animated appliance dies.
“What the hell was that?” I say loudly, more than I’d like.
The sound of a dozen bounding servants fills my ears and I turn my body around to see a mob of approaching trash-monsters, ready to subdue me. I stumble back a couple of steps, seeing toasters, microwaves, a mannequin and some other slightly freakish things approaching me. Well, Blackjack doesn’t want to break his prize. I growl through my teeth and then look around.
A rusty golf club protrudes from the surface of the trash pile, and taking it with two strong hands, I whip it out and hold it up to protect myself. As I turn my eyes back onto the approaching horde, I tighten my grip and wait. A four-legged television dogs forward, its cord held high like a lasso and rotating to be launched.
As it approaches, it whips the cord forward and then goes up and around my body. Feeling the slick surface wrap around my chest, I look to the wooden frame and whip the golf club forward, smashing the tube and most of the top. The cord goes limp and falls into the mud. This could be only the beginning.
From all around the freakish servants of some monstrous master launch themselves at me. A microwave jumps onto the wall beside me and pounces towards me like a wild cat only to be batted down like a fly against a wall. Plastic and metal tumble around me and cover a charging stereo system on wheels. Cords go everywhere and several snap around my limbs, making me yell, but only getting me to rip them out and smash the creature into shards.
The rusty golf club dives down into plastic, metal and even wood as whatever Blackjack can possess charge at me. A headless mannequin grabs at my legs and is immediately brought down. A couple of flying lamps are turned into dust, forcing me to step back twice. A portable radiator is overturned and buried with garbage when it can’t stop rolling.
As the lines thin out with the smashing of two flying toasters which managed to wrap around me and cut up my jeans, I stand breathing heavily, wondering exactly what just happened. I’ve never such a thing before except inside of a darkened movie theater. Everything to Blackjack is a weapon, even the ground I step on. I’m not sure when he’ll go from using the trash against me to making dirt soldiers or grass panthers.
“What?” I yell out, still gasping for air. “Is that all you got?”
“Hardly, boy,” I hear a whisper from somewhere nearby, “I’ve barely begun. But it seems like you’re almost done.”
I lean on the rusty golf club and search my surroundings for the master of puppets.
“Not until the thing pops, Sander.” I say back.
Before I had even closed my thin black lips, I hear something shake from behind me. Standing up straight, having bent over to huff, I look over my shoulder and see a huge pile of garbage in the back corner of the junkyard begin to shake. Slowly I close my lips and then begin to turn around, my heartbeat rising in my chest. The club is lifted from the muddy around and I hold it tight, hoping I’ve gotten my tetanus shot.
The light garbage on top of the pile shakes off and clatters to the ground in a way that sounds almost musical. I hold onto my only weapon with both hands and begin to step backwards, away from whatever may shoot from there. The heavier stuff like a record player, a broken radio and a smashed table crumble to the ground and break open like piggy banks.
I take even more steps backwards, swallowing hard and clenching my jaw tight. Taking a glance over each shoulder, I scan for a possible trap but see nothing. Blackjack’s dragon is about to step forward and I’ve nothing to protect myself with, nor is the target even in sight. Finally the surface trash is flung away when a white door flies open.
A huge, hulking white steel refrigerator marches out from within, closing the door on the front, a remnant of the far off fifties. The inside is big enough to hold a man twice my size with ease and the door is strong enough to cage a pissed off lion. That’s my prison cell walking from within the wreckage. The muscles in shoulders go limp and my tail does as well, knowing I have to make a decision.
My fingers go limp and the club slips out and clatters to the ground. Then, as the freezer door opens and it projects out the metal divider to open up more space, I turn and bolt away from the monstrous fridge. The claws dig into the loose dirt and launch me forward, projecting me away from slavery.
Not knowing what to do, I dart up the muddy alley and towards the center of the sprawling junkyard. But behind me I can the thud-thudding of the charging refrigerator, knowing it could only move that fast, let alone move at all, because of Blackjack. The sounds are low at first but soon become louder and louder. Taking a glance over my shoulder, I see the beast closing in on me and feel my fear spike.
I fake continuing forward but then spring down an off-shoot of the main path that is barely wide enough to fit me. Continuing forward, I come out onto another wide path and look back to see that I’ve lost my pursuer. But looking forward, my fear falling, the trash ahead of me suddenly collapses over and the appliance appears on the path. I skid to a stop, almost falling over and swing my body around.
Going back the other way, I swing around a huge door-less Buick sitting at a crossroads and begin along another wide path, this one running along the back wall. I can hear the noise encroaching upon me again and looking over my shoulder, I see the thing almost upon me.
The sweat drenches me beneath my heavy coat and as I turn my head around, I know I’m going to have to sully my favorite clothes even more. Almost able to feel the cold metal upon my back, I dive to the right into a muddy concrete pipe piece and crawl forward. Stopping just out of reach, I look over my back and see the thing stomp by.
I lie for a couple of seconds, enough for me to catch my breath, and pat my chest again and again. I never thought I’d be as terrified of a fridge the way I am now. Well, there was that time at my Filipino friend Erick’s house and his parents made all this spicy stuff that smelled like it felt in my stomach. Lying in the darkness, I put the back of my head against the wall and relax.
But my relaxation doesn’t last long when something smashes down onto the top of my bunker, making the concrete crack and rain debris down on top of me, threatening to collapse and kill me. Yelling out in fear, almost making a dog-like yelp, I turn over onto my hands and knees and launch myself through the pipe.
As I near the far end, instead of going outwards, I turn and follow another piece of pipe, this one already broken at the center, through the trash heap. With the passing of each ten seconds, another section of the roof is pounded upon by the fridge, crashing down and threatening just to kill me. Maybe Blackjack’s forgotten that if I die, he loses, or he’s just forcing me out. If it’s the latter, it’s working.
Crawling, my claws and wolf-like frame actually propelling me forward, I work through the narrow piping, going from section to section with relative ease. A construction company must have dumped these pipes years ago, because the system seems to go on forever. But that’s good because it keeps me safe for just a few more seconds.
But through Blackjack’s eyes, the fridge knows exactly where I am and how to get to me, slamming its heavy frame down again and again, squeezing tighter the tubes behind me. As I near a part of the pipe that is entirely broken on the end, near the very end which comes out near to where I entered the junkyard, I slow down and look up through the cracks in the roof.
Teetering precariously over the opening is a huge section of steel girders, rusting from thirty years of disuse. It’s hard to notice, but they’re perched up on two piles of garbage, both supported by the piping I’m in right now. Suddenly I know how I can get rid of the fridge, maybe even force Blackjack’s hand.
I crawl out into the center of the crack and sit. The fridge smashes down onto where I was and I see the piles of garbage shake, some looser stuff going free. Above the trash piles, the girders threaten to fall, clanging out in protest. I take a deep breath and ready myself, knowing I have to spring forward at just the right time.
Moving away from the crack, I see the light coming through disappear and then jump away, towards the open end. The fridge smashes down through the concrete, crumbling the piping around its frame. Cracks spread throughout the entire pipe, forcing me to rush forward like a rat from a sinking ship.
Just as I leave the end of the piping system like a bullet from the end of a rifle, the entire pipe crashes down on itself. The twin garbage peaks begin to collapse, sending refuge and filth everywhere, including the four or five rusting red steel support beams down upon my pursuer.
Riling around in the mud, I lie down on my back and try to relax myself. My lungs burn from the cold air and my heart nearly pounds out of my chest from all the activity. I place a hand onto my chest and look upwards towards the sky, not knowing what Blackjack has in store for me next.
All is silent for a little while and after calming down; I lift my head and body up and look around. A whispering fills my ears and looking across a large clearing in the center of the junkyard. Blackjack’s disturbing cloud appears and without all the theatrics and dramatic presentation, the man steps out of it like the mist which surrounds him is a door to another world.
His fists are clenched at the end of swinging arms, but not clenched harder than the muscles in his face which shows the feelings of pure contempt he has for me. Lifting his arms upwards as he walks, he points two fingers on each hand forward and sends shaking waves of black energy from each hand. The energy grabs pieces of scrap and hurls them towards me as if they were in themselves sentient.
The material crashes around me, making me flinch as Blackjack approaches. With every step, more junk flies towards me only to crash just short of where I lie. I crawl backwards as quickly as I can, but I can hardly avoid all the projectiles coming at me. But harming me wasn’t the point, but with Blackjack, it never seems to be the point.
Soon the vile man is standing before me, looming over me like a angry patron over a bleeding pit dog he’s just lost money on. His face is contorted with such hate that I’ve seen only in a very small amount of people. In all honesty, he looks almost like the black figure which has haunted me for years. Then I look up to him and see that they may be one and the same.
“You’re so weak,” Blackjack cries, “running from even the most infantile of enemies, crawling around in the muck and hiding in every crevice and cranny! You are a coward, nothing more than a six-foot tall driveling child! How can people like you even make it to this age, this stature, this position?”
Blackjack lifts his hands up and then slams two bolts of energy down into the ground, sending mud flying. I kick away from him, but cannot tear my eyes from my attacker. He simply slowly steps forward, his clothes and body never sullied by all the filth around him, his face never touched by age, disease or injury. He towers over me and makes sure that I fear him.
“You and that girl, come crying to those such as me with petty problems you couldn’t fix on your own! It should be up to people like me, people with such power and authority to rule of those weaklings such as you!” Blackjack continues, his voice booming. “The reason you could never defeat me, whether it was through your own uncles, or me directly, is because you lack any backbone! If I were you, I would have gunned down those two pathetic shells of human beings before I even knew they were to harm me! But you couldn’t even do that! No, you can’t even have control of your own psyche!”
Blackjack whips a huge chuck of the wall to my left out and sends it flying up into the air and showering down upon us, but never touching either of us. His hair suddenly pops out from its perfectly combed fashion from beneath his hat and his mustache curls a little unnaturally. Then I see his fingers begin to twitch. He’s losing it.
“No, a little magic, a little control, and I had you jumping off a bridge! But I hardly even touched you, nothing more than a flicker in the dark. You did all of that yourself, I merely watched!” He cries for all to hear. “It’s people like you that make me sick! Its people like that made people like me who we are, made us powerful, made us strong, made us full, whether here, or back home in France!”
Blackjack then reaches over with that black energy and grabs a huge chunk of metal waste and bends it into a round cage without a bottom and then lifts it up into the air. He then floats it towards me, ready to drop it upon me like a mouse cage. But before it even nears me, he turns his black eyes upon me and smiles slightly.
“You could barely escape a walking refrigerator, Jack, how could you even possibly defeat me. Surrender now, and I shall consider being merciful.” He says barely above a whisper.
Slowly I reach into my jacket with my right hand and draw out that pistol, holstered for the entire flight for this one moment. His mind is hardly there, his strength is somewhere else, and his presence is within feet of me, without arms reach. As the nickel finish and ivory handle become exposed to the world, I feel as if everything goes silent.
The hum of the energy becomes nothing more than a slow-flowing river. The sound of crashing and crunching metal falls upon deaf ears. And all the huffing and puffing that Blackjack has done disappears into the rest of the saturated colors of the scene.
As I extend the pistol forward, Blackjack’s eyes connect with it and his body begins to go limp. The hammer on the pistol slowly crawls backwards as my fingers clenches around the trigger. The energy beam traveling away from Blackjack’s being breaks and the metal cage begins to fall.
His arms slowly begin to reach forward as if to intercept the inevitable doom awaiting him, but it’s too late. The hammer on the pistol falls forward and strikes the cap in the shell. The pistol explodes, jerking backwards and I can almost see the bullet fly from the end of the muzzle. It breaks through Blackjack’s exterior shell and hits him right in the left shoulder.
Suddenly the metal cage crashes to the ground and smashes into a thousand pieces, back into each remnant of a decade long gone from which it was formed. Blackjack stumbles backwards, his hard shoes clicking on the stones and hard mud. He reaches up with those untainted gloves and touches the blood streaming from the wound. The coattails behind him swing around.
His entire face becomes contorted with an emotion he hasn’t felt in two hundred years: pure, unadulterated fear. Slowly crunching forward, I put my hand onto the ground and roll over onto my side. Then I gently rise up onto my paws and begin to step forward. The mud and moisture drips from my jeans and runs off of my jacket. My hair hangs around my head in a way that displays profound madness or profound genius, often two sides of the same coin.
Blackjack looks to me and then back at the wound. His chest rises and falls with his terrified breaths, suddenly realizing that all the power in the world can’t save him anymore. I watch as some energy whirls around it, slowly beginning to heal it, but, it moves to slow and takes too much focus for him.
“What are you doing?” He fearfully yells.
“You know what, Sander; I’m not the one that’s weak.” I say in return. “You’re the one that’s weak. Spending more than two hundred years hiding behind you’re unchecked magic, playing with the minds of so many innocent people, moving them around and using them as if they were pawns in maniacal game of chess. You’re the one that’s weak, unable to live a full life with the one you were given, instead opting to live forever and inflict hell upon all those that wronged you or may someday wrong you.”
Blackjack gasps again and slowly I lift up the pistol. Aiming it towards his right leg, I pull the trigger and send another bullet through his untouched silk pants. He screams out in pain and grabs it with another hand, not dropping to the ground, but continuing to limp backwards.
“No, no!”
“You’re the one whose still living the past! I may have come close to killing myself, but at least I came to terms with my anger, with my hate, with my sorrow! You’re the one who would spend eternity hating!”
“No, no, you know not of what you are speaking!”
“I have something to live for, you bastard! I don’t drain the love and joy from others so I may live another day! I am strong enough to find somebody with whom I can give and not just take! You would grow old without a love, without another person, with only your power and your possessions!”
“Stop, stop, enough, I’ll relinquish you both! I can make you great!”
I stop and look at him, his back almost against a big metal sign covered with grime. Pain and fear-filled tears stream down his face, but he still fights to heal his wounds, his face still unsullied, his clothes still next to perfect. He drops to his knees and looks upwards at me with those still writhing black eyes.
“And now, on the eve of your death, you beg, you whimper, you whine, you barter, you do nothing but accept and move on! And while I may not be as corrupted and twisted as you, I know you could never reconcile yourself with this world, no matter how much time or people have passed you by.”
I widen my stance and then lift the pistol upwards, standing no more than five feet from where he has fallen upon the earth. Putting his body down the barrel of the pistol, I know what I must do, but I want to make sure he knows why this must be. He take a deep breath and watch him.
“No, I can make you rich, I can make you powerful, just don’t do this, you fool, you idiot.” He begs.
I feel a pang of pain go through my heart and know that I am this close from taking a life. Sander sees this and no longer begs and whines. But suddenly, in something I wouldn’t expect from somebody this close to death, he stops crying. Sander smiles and begin to chuckle.
“You can’t do it, can you? Even a man who is as monstrous as I, has enslaved more men and women than the Spanish, has traded people and power as currency, you can’t pull that trigger. You’re a coward and weakling, even to the end, Jack Walker. You’re all weak!”
I lower the pistol and bear my teeth, fold my ears back and whip my tail around. Taking a chilling breath through my teeth, I stare into his very soul.
“You hold yourself above everybody else because you can trap those who trust others too much. You call me weak when I am at your mercy, when you stand above me a Goliath about to kill, a mad blackness calling for death, or when I show something more than unrelenting hatred and anger when refusing to kill a dying man! But that isn’t inherent weakness! We are weak only by position, never by nature!”
And without a further thought, I whip the pistol up and pull the trigger before dropping the pistol back to my side. The man’s eyes bobble for a second and then roll backwards as blood pours down from a hole in the center of his forehead, covering the open orbs and perfect nose. His blackened body falls over and crouches on the ground, his mouth having fallen askew and his eyes turned in different directions.
I look down at him and pant and know that I have won. I hold onto the pistol loosely and let my arm swing back and forth as it falls down. Then, before my eyes, I watch as the man’s body begins to burn with blackened flames. Stepping backwards, watching as this mystical fire consumes him and then disappears, and leaving behind only a jack of spades and his white gloves, carefully placed over one another.
As I kneel forward, I feel a gust of air swirl around me and feel the presence of a thousand people whirling around in both gratitude and happiness. A few whispers enter my ears, a couple fleeting thanks and even more joyful cries. It sounds like all of Blackjack’s slaves going free with his death.
I take up the pair of gloves and the playing card and hold them before me, examining them only slightly before tucking them into my jacket pockets. Standing once more, I limp slowly towards the front of the junkyard. My pace even, my body weary, I let my shoulders relax as I march away from a battered battlefield.
“Thank you,” A voice whispers into my right here, “for killing the beast.”
I turn and see a man walking beside me, a ghostly form almost entirely transparent, which looks like a middle-aged man dressed in late Victorian clothes. He walks with a cane and a large top hat. A thick mustache rings his face and heavy shoes cover his feet.
“I am what Dr. Jekyll used to be. My name is Arnold Cunningham; I was a doctor in London. Payne swindled me in a card game in 1904 and I became the horrid sight you knew in your travels.” He says quietly. “I want to thank you, for all those who were trapped by that terrible beast, for who knows how long.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” I say bluntly in return.
The mustache on the man twists upwards and he chuckles.
“Not every soldier fights for his country. Most of them just fight to go back to it.” He says happily. “I wish you a peace I couldn’t find in life although I know you are on the right path.”
The figure then dissipates into thin air, the cane still stepping forward as if to touch the ground before turning to dust. I stop and look to where the apparition once strode and wonder if all the men and women Blackjack trapped spent that much time as slaves. A hundred and seven years, what a long sentence with no chance for parole.
“Jack!” A voice cries.
Turning my head slowly, my muscles tired from all the excitement and my mind too weary to process everything correctly, I see Rayne walking towards me, her clothes battered and dirty from spending the longest time on the ground. With an arm thrown over Rayne’s shoulder, my uncle Daniel walks with her, his eyes more alive and vibrant than the rest of his body, staring towards me.
Daniel and David must have woken from their trance either somewhere in the midst of the epic battle, or more like cowardly dogfight, or sometime afterwards, and freed Rayne from her restraints. The two men, who once looked to be about the age of thirty, seem to have aged nearly twenty years in the span of a few minutes.
Their skin is wrinkled, spotted from age, and their hair has become tinted slightly gray, despite David’s long locks still somehow seemingly young and their bodies have progressed into the weakness of their twilight years. But their eyes and faces project a youth and freedom that they didn’t possess while somebody else possessed them.
Rayne takes Daniel’s arm from around her shoulder and bolts forward. I turn my body towards her and lift my arms only slightly, more because I am mentally exhausted than physically, in anticipation. She throws her own arms up as she nears me and then crashes into my body with a hard, blissful thud.
Her arms wrap around my aching body, making me grunt quietly, and Rayne buries her head, only slightly lower than mine, into my filth and grime-covered white shirt. She sighs and then pulls her head out. Lifting a hand up, I gently flick some dirt from out of her hair and she looks to me. Her brow loosens and slowly I put my free hand behind her head.
Leading her in, she loosens her lips and then meet mine. I feel the real reward of defeating the belligerent bastard rush into my thin lips and over my tongue in long, rolling, tingling waves of satisfaction. The warmth which fills my form lasts seconds which seem like hours before the both of us mutually lower our heads and look to each other.
“He’s dead?” She asks me, her voice barely above a whisper.
“As his soul,” I reply in the same tone. “He fought to the very end, to the very last gripping breath.”
“But we’re still monsters.” She replies.
I lower my eyes and look over her thin muzzle, splotched with gray, black and white and then down at my own body. Dirt and mud has caked onto my paws and up my ankles. My own hand seems a little strange, covered with the claws and fur which reminds me of my servitude. But slowly I meet her eyes again and smile.
I chuckle and then whisper to her, “We weren’t ever monsters. No matter how he changed us, no matter what he took away, no matter how different he made us look or feel, we are still the same people. We weren’t ever monsters because he couldn’t take our humanity.”
Rayne’s brow loosens up and then her jaw gently closes, no doubt accepting what I say as truth, or as close to it as I can make it. She steps backwards and takes my free hand with her own, spinning around on heel to look back in the direction from which she came. My Uncle Daniel walks forward, his now much older legs a bit shaky and unsure of themselves.
Despite most likely feeling more terrible than he has in so many years, the old man walks forward with a confident stride that I see in very few people. His wrinkled face stretches out a wide smile, his moustache, thick and trimmed, moving around with his thick lips. His brother David flanks his right shoulder, walking proudly in those rattlesnake cowboy boots. Daniel holds up his arms as he walks before slowing to a stop just a few feet away from me and then relaxes.
“I’m so glad to see you alive, my son.” He says his voice scratchy. “And I’m sorry for what my brother and I have done to you over the past few days.”
“If we had known what we were doing, no doubt we would have stopped.” David says.
“Of course,” Daniel continues. “But sometimes we know not exactly what we are doing. David and I have spent the last two decades in Blackjack’s grip, though we have been in his company for many years more. We know the power and influence that some men hold, be it in their bodies, or in their voice and personality.”
“Speaking of power, it’s nice that you turned the things Blackjack made back onto him.” David says.
He holds up the other half of the pair of pistols and then presents it to me. He doesn’t seem that he holds much sentimental value in the weapon, despite it bearing his name, most likely because he knows where it came from. The nickel glints in the high noon sun and slowly taking my hand from Rayne’s palm; I reach out and take it.
“Take the thing. I don’t ever want to see it again.” David says.
I bring my arm back and hold the thing with strength, then bring to bear both of the pistols up before me, the one that killed the maker, and the one that nearly killed me. I then lower the twins and shove them deep into my leather jacket pockets. I feel over the gloves and card again and bring the card out to view it.
The smooth surface shines in the light and the black ink seems to swirl around. A power is held deep inside, though I don’t know what it means. The jack on its cover looks like a Russian Czar, with a long black beard, thick eyebrows, high jaw line and strange clothing accompanied by a wicked-looking spear and curved saber.
“Some power never dies.” Daniel comments.
“Some people never die.” David adds.
I turn the card over and then slowly place it back to where I took it from. With the card away, I look to my uncles and sigh. But before I can even say anything, I begin to feel strange warmth pressing against the top of my leg. Reacting immediately, I press my right hand down into my jeans pocket and feel the soft cloth of the handkerchief.
As I pull it out, I hold it up for everybody to see and then see a blue string beginning to sew itself into the surface, creating a sentence in cursive lettering, in the same style as the monogramming. Slowly the wording appears like magic and then, as the sentence ends, the string runs out and ties itself into a tiny knot. The wording reads, ‘Whether you see me or not, I’ll always watch over you.’ The handkerchief then cools off and hangs as if nothing has happened.
“So I suppose defeating one of the most powerful magic-men in the world was not a coincidence, eh?” Daniel says. “Somebody was looking out for you. Where did you get it?”
“Somebody I met alongside the road. He handed it to me and then disappeared before I could return it.” I reply and look to my uncle. “I guess it was a hidden gift.”
“Of course, it’s a protection trinket. That’s powerful magic, but thankfully benevolent magic. Only given to those the person loves, or respects. Speaking of those you love, what do you plan on doing next?” Daniel asks.
“I don’t know.” I reply.
“We could go back to Baltimore, Daniel, back to your mothers place.” Rayne suggests.
I turn to her and look. She smiles up at me and then puts her arm around mine. I smile but then look towards my two uncles. They stand wondering what there is to do next. I then shake my head and look towards the ground.
“No.” I say confidently. “I can’t go back, not now, and definitely like this. I can’t dictate what my mother does . . . she’ll make her own decisions and I have to forge my own life from what material I have. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do next, but I know whatever life holds for me, it isn’t at home.”
“Then maybe we should find out whom that man is that gave you the handkerchief, the one I saw in the alleyway. If he’s powerful enough to protect you from Blackjack’s rage, then maybe he can change us back.” Rayne suggests.
“We could.” I say and look to her. “Maybe go to your mothers, at least for a place to stay.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She says. “She has money, time, whatever we need.”
“Good, good, wonderful!” Daniel says. “I’m glad to hear you’re growing up. But, here, before you leave, take these with you!”
Daniel takes his hat from off the top of his head and then slips his gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses from the breast pocket on his shirt and presents them to me. I take them both and hold them before me, wondering why he has given them to me. He then turns and whispers something to his brother before looking back to me.
“We’ve decided.” David says, taking from where his brother has left off. “We’re going to finally move back home. Hell, this place doesn’t hold anything for us anymore.”
“We’re gonna sell and go back home.” Daniel adds.
“Maybe pay little sister a visit.”
“Maybe even punch the fiancé for you.” Daniel says with a chuckle. “Either way, we’re going back to Maryland, maybe back up to Pennsylvania where we used to live.”
Daniel steps forward and offers his hand. I lift my right hand up and place his white ten gallon Stetson onto Rayne’s unsuspecting head and then shake heartily my uncle’s hand. He steps back and lets David do the same thing, which I match with the same amount of strength.
“We wish you the best.” Daniel says. “Don’t get into any more trouble than you have to.”
Daniel nods his head and then turns in the other direction. Slowly the old man begins to hobble away as quickly as he can. David turns and glances over his shoulder before looking back to the two of us.
“I’m glad you’ve found some peace in the world. It took the two of us much longer to do the same.” David states. “I wish you safety in everything you do. Take care.”
Then slowly he turns around and begins to walk away as well. The two old men, now more worn than a fifty year old jacket and nearly as wrinkled as one too, stride away towards where they’ve left their bikes. They’re strange, old, distant men but they’re family, which is something a lot of people don’t have.
I turn and look down at Rayne who glances up at me from under the hat. I tuck the glasses away and then begin to walk forward. Rayne follows me slowly and sighs loudly. She clings to my arm and I lead her forward gently.
“Come on.” I say to her and begin to quicken my pace. “We’ve got a lot to do before we hit the road. And I don’t think we should keep our next destination waiting.”
Rayne lets go of my arm and I bolt forward, finding a bit of uplifting energy surge from within my heart. She yells out in surprise and I slow and look back in her direction. She quickens her pace as well and soon begins to catch up. As we run, I listen to her laugh, finally as happy I as am beginning to feel.
“Don’t think you’re leading me anywhere, cowboy!”
“Well, Rayne, if you give me the chance, I’ll drag you into every adventure that slaps down into my lap!”
The heat of the afternoon soaks into the ground, the high sun belting every exposed inch with its radiating heat. The cloudless sky is untouched by the destruction and pollution caused by man. Not a sound rises from the solitary road which runs from horizon to horizon on the vast, empty land that covers this heart of America. The corn, wheat, and other grains sway with the breeze. And the only worry which rises from the world is from what the next joy shall come.