This story takes place approximately a year after the War of Nerves started, and
shortly before Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel became a couple.
A “Captain Scarlet & the Mysterons” story
By Chris Bishop
CHAPTER 4
There wasn’t any real hospital as
such in Les Arbrisseaux. The town was just too small and too remote from
civilisation, to afford itself the luxury of having a hospital as big as in New
Orleans – or even something remotely similar to the closest neighbouring city.
There was only a small but very effective clinic, with only three doctors, about
the double that number of nurses, all of them under Doctor William Evers’
authority. Evers himself was at the same time general physician, paediatrician,
dentist and surgeon, and was in charge of the local morgue.
It was to Doctor Evers that Sheriff
Masters took the bodies of Old Joe Benson and the stranger who had apparently
killed him, after he had called for his deputy, Alan MacGibbons, to come with a
police vessel to Benson’s cabin in the middle of the bayou in order to pick them
up.
It was barely
two hours since the two bodies had been handed to Evers, who had received from
the sheriff very specific instructions regarding the stranger. Masters wanted to
know exactly what it was that killed him – he didn’t ask for the same regarding
Joe, as it was pretty obvious that the gunshot to the guts had been more than
sufficient to put an end to his life.
But regarding the stranger, Masters seemed to have some doubt; it looked like
the violent blow he had suffered to the head had been responsible for his death,
and the sheriff just wanted to make sure of that. To that effect, Evers thought
that a simple X-ray examination should clearly indicate if it was the case;
afterwards, when they had received the results, they would go ahead with a
proper autopsy of the body.
It should have
been an easy and clean affair, all things considered, but strangely enough, that
would not be the case. Something very strange happened, and so Evers called for
Sheriff Masters to come straight away to the clinic, the minute he received the
latest results.
Masters found
the doctor in his office, seated on the edge of his table, looking down at some
negatives from a large folder; upon the sheriff’s arrival, Evers raised his eyes
to him and gestured to him to close the door behind him.
“Sure glad you
could come so quickly, Leonard,” Evers said by way of welcome.
“Well, I did
ask you to call me as soon as possible,” Masters said, closing the door.
“I’m still filling in the report on this sordid affair. So maybe you will be able to tell me if
that blow to the head killed that guy or not, so I can wrap this up… and maybe
arrest Jasper Holland and his gang.”
“The way I
understood it, the kids were just defending themselves against this stranger…
Wasn’t that so?” Evers asked with a raised brow.
“Who told you
that?” Masters asked with a frown.
“From Johnny
Monroe, He’s in the waiting room.”
“Yes, I saw him
earlier when I came. What’s he doing here?”
“Apparently,
Johnny hurt his wrist in what happened in the Bayou, and he’s waiting to be
seen. Jamie Lewis came with him, but didn’t stay long… Well, just long enough to
join Johnny in telling their story to anyone wanting to hear about it. I heard
them saying it to one of the nurses. They were bragging about how they helped in
arresting a murderer.”
“Stupid kids.
I’m willing to bet Jasper and the rest of the gang are doing the same in town,”
Masters mumbled. “I’m sure that the news that Old Joe has
been killed is all over town already.
They would make sure everybody knows a stranger killed him. That will certainly
not help in my investigation. I
still have to determine exactly how everything happened.”
He shook his head. “I’ll deal with them later. So you’ve got news for me?
That blow killed the guy?”
“Quite frankly,
I’m not sure… There’s something bizarre going on.”
A puzzled
Masters frowned, as Evers motioned for him to approach; he handed him the folder
he was holding, before rounding his desk to sit down.
Masters started looking at the pictures; his frown deepened. “Not very clear,
are they? These aren’t X-rays, Doc…”
“No, they’re
not,” Evers answered, rubbing his chin pensively. “Those… ah… those are scans
from that new machine we received a month or so ago. That new technology that
replaced scans by X-ray a few years ago? I’m afraid I don’t have the hang of it
– it’s the first time I ever used it.
So the pictures came out a bit… fuzzy, to say the least. It might need some
adjustments.”
“So you finally
got around to using that machine,” Masters said, with a thoughtful nod.
“You’ve always been resistant to this new technology, and kept using that old
X-ray machine of yours.”
“Well, it would
appear my… ‘resistance’ wasn’t for nothing, if that’s the best this machine can
come up with,” Evers replied. “Anyway, there was a reason why I finally used
it.”
“What’s that
thing I see there?” Masters said, without really listening to the physician,
as he raised the film in front of the light, and narrowed his eyes to get a
better view.
“The pale grey
mass? Looks like a hematoma, probably caused by a violent trauma.”
“So the blow
might have killed him?” Masters asked, still looking at the picture.
“No, wait… there’s something else…”
He held the film closer to the light.
“Right in the middle there – that smaller, white spot…
Can’t see very well…”
“Indeed, you
can’t…” Evers commented. “I saw that thing too, but I’m unable to see clearly
what it is either. Looks like some kind of foreign body, as far as I can tell.
The autopsy will tell us exactly what it is. I’m having the body prepared right
now, so I’ll have the answer shortly.”
Masters put the
picture down. “If it’s the best you can do with this machine, why don’t you use
the X-rays then, Doc?”
“I did,” Evers
answered with a frown. “The first time around, actually. And it’s because of the
results of the X-rays that I used the new machine.” He opened the top drawer of
his desk and took a new folder from it. “I told you: something bizarre happened,
but I wanted to know what results the new machine would give me before I called
you.”
“Now you’re
intriguing me,” Masters said, closing the folder and putting it down as Evers
was handing him the other one.
“Wait,” Evers
sighed.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Puzzled,
Masters opened the new folder and took out the first film, to look at it against
the light.
He frowned deeply, before staring at Evers.
“Okay now,
what’s the joke?” he asked.
“These are obviously regular mug shots of the guy who killed Joe.”
“I have a full
set,” Evers deadpanned, pointing to the folder the sheriff was holding.
“Front, right and left… and I even have a back picture to go with it.”
“Where are the
X-ray pics, Doc?”
“These
are the X-ray pictures, Leonard.”
Masters glared
at him incredulously. “You’re kidding me!”
“No.”
Evers shook his head. “This is what
came out of the X-ray scan, I swear.”
“That’s
impossible,” Masters muttered, looking at the pictures again.
“I know, I
could scarcely believe it myself,” Evers commented.
“I can’t figure out how an X-ray scan would give that sort of results – it’s
like the rays were unable to get through the guy’s skin.”
“So you don’t
have an explanation as to how this could have happ –”
Masters’
question was left hanging in midair as suddenly, a scream was heard through the
door that made both men jump to their feet. It barely took them a second to come
out of their surprise, and Masters was the first to get to the door, and open
it, at the same time instinctively reaching for his gun. Evers was right behind
him when they stepped out of the office and the scream was heard again, this
time much clearer. They turned to face the corridor, and saw one of the clinic’s
nurses running up to them at full speed. She collided with Masters who took hold
of her shoulders. Her face was drained of all colours and she was shaking like a
leaf; it was a wonder that she could stay on her feet.
She pointed a
trembling finger down the corridor, towards a door that was left open.
“He… he’s
alive…” she stuttered. “He’s in there… Oh God, it can’t be… I was getting him
ready and… He was dead and now… he’s alive… alive… alive…”
Masters
couldn’t make any sense of what she meant. He could see there were people around
watching with curiosity, wondering what could be happening – another nurse, and
the lady tending the desk at the entrance of the waiting room, and patients
waiting there to see a doctor. He left the nurse where she stood and ran down
the corridor, Evers following him. He went straight to the door she had pointed
to; it was marked ‘Mortuary’. He pushed it fully open.
There were only
two bodies, lying on two tables, side by side, in the very cold room; one of
them was the body of Old Joe Benson, covered from head to toes with a shroud,
waiting for autopsy.
On the other
slab, there was the body of the stranger, only half covered, instruments laid on
a small table right next to him, ready to be worked on.
And as Masters
laid eyes on him, he heard the man groan loudly. The sheriff opened wide,
unbelieving eyes.
“It can’t be!”
he murmured.
He stood there,
rooted in place, and Evers pushed him aside to get through the door; he went
straight to the stranger, whose chest was rising and falling - he was obviously
breathing. Masters took a few steps into the room, almost mechanically, watching
the impossible motion, as Evers made a quick assessment of his ‘patient’, whose
eyes were still closed.
He looked up at
the sheriff. “He is alive, Leonard. But that’s… impossible! He was dead when your deputy brought him
in!”
“And he was
dead in the bayou,” Masters answered, unable to detach his eyes from the
stranger’s body. He noticed the man’s naked shoulder, which seemed to have been
cleaned recently.
There was a small scar on it, very small… nothing like the kind of scar that would
have been left by a bullet wound, inflicted only a couple of hours ago.
It’s impossible,
he told
himself.
I shot this
man. He could not have healed that quickly!
Somehow, this
reminded him of something, and he found himself searching his mind for what it
could be, as Evers was checking the body further.
“This can’t
be,” the doctor was repeating. “Not only he is alive… but he’s getting better.”
He looked up at the sheriff once more; there was something like fear in his
eyes. “This is nothing short of a
miracle, Leonard!”
“A miracle,
eh?” Masters repeated, chewing on his lower lip. “I suppose you don’t have a
better explanation than that, do you, Doc?”
“No – and it’s
scaring the daylights out of me.” Evers took a few steps from the stranger and
came to stand next to the sheriff. Quickly, he shut the door leading into the
corridor. “He’s still unconscious… but I don’t know for how long. It looks like
he could wake up any time now. Leonard, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know,
Doc. The memory Masters was looking for had returned to him, and with it a whole
new set of worries he never thought he would ever have to face. He turned to
Evers. “Bill… remember that communiqué you and I received from Spectrum, a few
months ago?” Evers’ brow furrowed as he tried to recall, still staring at his
strange patient. “It listed the same phenomena that we are witnessing today,”
the sheriff reminded him. “And it said that if we should ever encounter
anyone displaying one of those –”
“ – To contact
Spectrum without any delay,” Evers suddenly remembered. He turned to Masters.
“And to consider the said person hostile.”
The sheriff
grunted and looked at the still unconscious stranger.
“Right. I’ll call Mac at the station and we’ll get this man out of here and into
a jail cell. Quietly.”
“Leonard, I
must protest…
Not a few minutes ago, this man was – apparently – dead –”
“But you just
said that he was getting better,” Masters interrupted quickly. “And quite
frankly, Bill… after the way he seemed to have… ‘revived’ in front of your
nurse, do you really think that he needs to stay in this hospital?”
Evers hesitated at the question, and sighed heavily, as he finally shook his
head. Masters put his hat on. “Keep this
quiet,” he said to the doctor.
“Remember that the Spectrum communiqué asked for the utmost discretion if these
situations should occur. You think you can have your nurse keep quiet as well?”
“I’ll try. How
about Jasper and his gang? And I’ll remind you that Johnny is in this clinic as
well.
I don’t think they will keep their mouths shut.”
“I know.”
Masters sighed. “I should have followed my first instinct, and kept the whole
lot of them in prison until the end of the investigation.
There isn’t much I can do about that right now, I’m afraid.
Mac and I will transfer this guy into a cell discreetly. We’ll use your back
door.”
“Doesn’t Mac
have to go to Baton Rouge today?” Evers asked his friend.
“Yeah, for a
few days. His uncle died recently. He has to go and help his aunt with the
whole funeral business.” Masters
frowned deeply. “Which means I’ll be
left alone to deal with this whole crazy affair.
I really need the help, but I can’t very well ask Mac not to go. His aunt’s his only relative now, and
she’ll need him.”
“If you need
any help, Leonard…”
“Thanks, Bill,
but this is my business. Anyway, I should be able to cope, once
this guy’s in a cell.” Masters shook
his head. “Before he leaves, I’ll
have Mac call Jasper to come see me, and tell him to keep quiet or I’ll have him
behind bars for interfering with the investigation.”
“Hope that’ll
be sufficient for him to shut his mouth,” Evers muttered.
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all this, Leonard. I don’t know what
the hell it could be… and I sure don’t like it.”
“I don’t like
it either, Bill,” the sheriff answered sombrely. “I don’t like any of
this… and like you, it’s scaring the hell
out of me.”
* * *
Accompanied by
his friend Jamie Lewis, Johnny Munroe had gone to the clinic straight after his
return to Les Arbrisseaux. When the tall stranger had fought back, there at Old
Joe’s cabin, Johnny had been thrown to the ground and had hurt his left wrist in
his fall. His wrist was now a disturbingly bluish colour, and fearing that he
might have broken something, he wanted to see a doctor as soon as possible.
Unfortunately for him, as he was briefly checked over upon his arrival, his
condition was not deemed that pressing, and he was made to wait, until such
moment as someone would have time to see him.
Grumbling and
showing plainly that he wasn’t very happy about the situation, Johnny sat down
in the waiting room, his hand simply wrapped in an icepack, Jamie sitting by his
side. The latter had very little to do, and so, even though no-one asked, he was
only too happy to explain how Johnny had been injured. Of course, he told his
own version of the story – how they heroically helped Sheriff Masters get his
hands on a stranger who had killed that crazy Old Joe Benson, who lived in the
middle of Devil’s Bayou.
The boys were
still in the waiting room when they saw the sheriff and his deputy arrive with
the bodies of both Old Joe and the stranger, and they watched with interest as
the two lawmen entered by a back door and were taken to a room at the end of the
only corridor they could see from where they were sitting.
The sheriff gave the boys a hard look that sent a shiver down Johnny’s spine.
He wondered if
Masters didn’t suspect the truth regarding Joe’s death. It didn’t seem possible,
however: the stranger made a perfect – and unexpectedly welcome – patsy. Of
course, Jasper and Scarecrow trying to kill him with the sheriff there might not
have been the best of ideas – but quite frankly, what else could they do
exactly? The stranger knew too much and could have denounced them all.
Cautiously,
Johnny didn’t share his worries with Jamie, in fear that someone would hear
them. In any case, that poor, stupid, devil-may-care Jamie would have dismissed
his fears with a wave of the hand: Jamie’s only thoughts were to have fun and
please himself, never thinking about the consequences.
In that respect, he was very much like Jasper.
It was with
some nervousness that Johnny kept waiting for a treatment that failed to come as
soon as he would have hoped. At this point, Jamie, bored out of his wits, had
left him, to go join the others at Sam’s Diner, and tell them about the arrival
of the two bodies at the clinic. The pain in Johnny’s wrist slowly subsided, and
he started to doze, almost despite himself; it had been a long and tiring day.
It had already
been nearly two hours, and Johnny was now deciding if he should ask again to see
the doctor, or if he should simply leave, considering his wrist wasn’t hurting
him that much anymore, when he heard a sudden commotion down the corridor.
He shot to his
feet, and went to the waiting room door to see; a nurse was running from the
door behind which he had seen the two bodies disappear earlier. She collided
with Sheriff Masters and Doctor Evers, who just had left the latter’s office.
She was repeating the same words, again and again, stammering as she spoke:
“He’s alive…
He’s in there… Oh God, it can’t be…”
Johnny frowned
in perplexity, wondering exactly what could be happening; he watched as Masters
and Evers left the nurse where they had met her, to run down the corridor to the
door, and went inside the room behind.
The nurse was
near to tears and the woman keeping the reception desk came to her and took her
into an empty room, trying to comfort her at the same time. Johnny bit his lower
lip, watching the door behind which Evers and Masters had disappeared. Only at
that moment did he see the word ‘Mortuary’ written on the door.
The young man
took a look around; the two women had disappeared from view and he could only
hear nervous sobs coming from the nearby room. His curiosity got the better of
him; quickly but quietly, he approached the Mortuary door.
He felt for
sure that Jasper would want to know what was happening…
* * *
“That’s
definitely the spot
where he landed.”
Sergeant Palmer stood from his
crouched position on the ground in front of a big tree, which he had been
perusing with attention for the last few minutes. He looked up at the sky; the branches
above his head were either broken or stripped of their foliage. He reached for one of the lower damaged
twigs, pulled a piece of torn dark cloth from it and examined it. It was covered with blood. He grunted.
“The branches must have broken his
fall considerably,” he said to his companions who were standing a short distance
behind him. “It wasn’t a soft landing, that’s for sure, but it wasn’t as hard as
it should have been, considering the height he fell from.” He threw the piece of
cloth to the ground. “He might have survived the fall,” he added coolly.
“Why am I not surprised?” Major
Montgomery didn’t sound or look very happy. Ever since they had discovered, a
few minutes ago, that Scarlet was not where he was supposed to be, he had been
displaying a frown of frustration and barely contained anger upon his face.
Palmer simply nodded, thoughtfully
stroking his chin. He was the most experienced tracker amongst the group, and
was patiently examining the surrounding ground with his expert eye, trying to
get a clear picture of what had happened. “If the fall didn’t kill him,” he said,
“he was probably seriously wounded.”
“I’ll say,” Williams groused
darkly. “The major put a bullet in
his skull.”
“Maybe it just grazed him,” Baxter
suggested.
Palmer crouched again, to further
examine the spot where Scarlet’s body had so roughly landed. “The ground is
soaked with blood. He was bleeding heavily.”
“But if he had been dead, or
seriously wounded, he would still be here,” Montgomery said sharply. “His
recuperative time depends largely on the seriousness of his injuries. He fell
from the chopper about three hours ago. If he wasn’t as seriously wounded as you
suggested, could it be possible for him to have already healed – and then simply
left?”
“No, sir,” Palmer replied, turning
to look at his commander. “I don’t know if he was dead or not, but he certainly
didn’t walk from this spot by himself.”
“And how can you be so sure?” The
frown on Montgomery’s face deepened.
Palmer pointed to the ground and
slowly followed a trail with his finger. “See these tracks? Scarlet was wearing
combat boots similar to ours. Those
weren’t left by combat boots.”
“So someone else came,” Williams
realised.
Palmer nodded again. “Whether
Scarlet was alive or dead, that person dragged him away in that
direction.” He pointed to the ground, in an easterly direction. “Look at these
other marks. They were left by his
feet dragging on the ground.” He stood up, and started to follow the trail he
had found, his companions walking closely behind. They could see the traces in
question, mixed with deep footprints – the same kind of footprints he had found
which were not made by combat boots – imprinted in the muddy ground.
Obviously, whoever it was who had taken Scarlet, that person had difficulty
carrying the body with him – the weight was probably hindering his progress.
There were traces of blood all the way, smeared on the ground and surrounding
foliage.
The men walked in silence, guns at
the ready, looking all around, almost expecting to see someone appear from
behind the trees. They soon arrived at a river of dark and gloomy water and they
stopped.
Imprinted in the thick mud of the
bank, they could see the deep marks of a small boat that had obviously been
launched from there very recently.
The trail they had followed ended
there.
Montgomery did nothing to hide his
irritation, as he looked up and down the stream, hoping to see something; the
surface of the water was empty of any boat, as far as the eye could see. There
were only a few dead trees floating down the stream, which churned up a
sickening yellow froth on the surface of the muddy water.
He cursed. “Damn it all! That’s all
we needed. Where could they have gone to now?”
“Downriver,” Petroski suggested.
“By the looks of it, they left very recently from this spot.
We didn’t hear an engine, so they might be using a rowboat? And since they’re
already out of view, I’d say they went with the current.
Not against it.”
“They’re on a small craft,” Baxter
concurred, examining the marks on the bank. “Very light, by the looks of it.
Yes, I would also say they’ve gone downriver.”
“There’s a small town downstream,”
Montgomery concurred with a thoughtful nod. “Les
Arbrisseaux. Whoever found Scarlet might be taking him there for
treatment – since our man is wounded.” His brow furrowed anew. “So we’ll follow the river then. And we will look for any trace of this
damned boat. Maybe it has gone to Les
Arbrisseaux, but it could stop anywhere between here and there.
Whatever, I want it to be found.”
“It could have gone across to the
other side,” Williams remarked.
“Thank you for volunteering,
Williams. You and Baxter will cross the river and follow it down from the other
bank.”
Baxter seemed bewildered by the
order. He looked towards the river, with hesitation.
“But... how are we going to get across?”
“I don’t care!” Montgomery snapped,
turning to his men. “Find a way, that’s all.
We have a mission to perform, and I won’t let anything or anyone stand in our
way.”
He glared at his men. “I want
that microchip Scarlet is carrying,” he said between his teeth. “And I want Scarlet dead. And I mean
permanently.” He spun on his heel, turning his back on
the others. “Now get a move on. We
have work to do!”
He started walking, and Petroski
and Palmer followed, in silence. Left behind, Baxter and Williams watched them
go morosely, before Williams finally turned to his grim-looking companion.
“You’re not afraid of crossing that
river, are you?” he asked with curiosity.
“Of course not,” Baxter replied,
scoffing and shaking his head. “I have no concern about that. The Mysterons’ orders will be carried
out.”
“But there’s still something
bothering you.”
Baxter scowled. Being a now
Mysteronised agent meant that he possessed all of his human counterpart’s
expertise – but also, some of his natural concerns and uncertainties. “I still
hate alligators,” he muttered under his breath. He then turned cold eyes towards the
river. “Come on. Let’s find a way to cross safely.”
The two men started walking up the
river, in the opposite direction from their companions.
* * *
Not that far from there, crouched
behind thick bushes which concealed her perfectly from her enemies, Rhapsody
Angel watched attentively as the WAAF commandos separated into two groups to
follow the river.
Delayed in her trek by a terrain
that presented many more obstacles than she had counted on – she nearly fell
into quicksand and had to make a detour to find a passage across a
dangerous-looking patch of quicksand – she had arrived barely minutes after the
soldiers had discovered the spot where Captain Scarlet had landed. She had
stayed hidden, and spied on them as they made their discoveries and followed the
trail of the vanished Spectrum officer, hearing and witnessing everything.
Now that they were gone, she rose
from her hiding place and retraced her steps to the spot where Scarlet’s body
had hit the ground. She didn’t expect to find anything more than what the
soldiers had already found; in any case, their footprints were now all over the
place and if there was any other clue left to find, that was enough to erase it.
She stood over the disturbed
ground where she could still see the body’s imprint on the crushed twigs and
flattened grass; there were traces of blood all around. Her eyes scanned the
ground for a moment longer, before rising to the sky above; she could see the
many branches and twigs through which Scarlet had fallen some hours before.
Such a long fall, she told herself, trying hard not to shiver at the thought
of it.
And it looks like it was a
rough one…
Her eyes narrowed as she saw
something caught on a branch, which was flapping in the wind.
At first, she thought it was a leaf, but then, she noticed it was dark, and had
an odd, square shape; something colourful was printed on it.
Frowning, she stood on tiptoe; it
was dangling on a twig just within reach and she snatched it, almost losing it
as her fingers closed around it. It was hard and had a leathery feel to
the touch.
It was only when she brought it
back to eye level that she realised that it was the remains of a badly damaged
cardholder.
The half-torn cover was printed with what was left of a Spectrum emblem.
Although she already knew which one
it was, Rhapsody’s heart missed a beat when she opened the cardholder to find
the dirty and blood-smeared I.D. card of Captain Scarlet still inside it.
Probably, Rhapsody realised, it was
torn from his uniform pocket in his fall.
She crouched down and sighed
heavily as she examined the ground again. She had to grimly concur with Palmer’s
deduction that Scarlet had been badly wounded. She also had to agree with the fact that
he hadn’t left by himself and that someone else found him – and took him. She had followed the same trail the
commandos did – so her conclusion was not in any way different.
But who found you, Paul? she
asked herself with concern.
And where did that person take you?
Friend or foe, it didn’t make any
difference.
If Scarlet was wounded – and he was – he would heal eventually, and that
meant someone would witness his incredibly fast recuperative powers. What would be that person’s reaction to
this miraculous feat was anyone’s guess, but Rhapsody was apprehensive it could
mean some kind of trouble for her colleague. At the very least, it would arouse
questions, to which he would not be able to provide any answer. Not without
imperilling Spectrum’s security, anyway – and perhaps even shedding some light
on the real nature of the organisation’s fight against the Mysterons.
Right. You’re getting much too far
ahead of yourself, Dianne.
No sense in worrying about such abstract notions for now. The important thing is to find Paul –
quickly. And before those murderous
bastards do.
But where to look was another
question. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she rose to her feet. Should she
follow the same trail as the commandos? It seemed to her that, that way, she
would always be a step behind them, and that they would certainly find Scarlet
before her. And certainly, she
couldn’t fight them all – she was all alone and completely unarmed.
Okay – time for a change of
strategy then.
Until a few minutes ago, Rhapsody’s
priority was to beat the WAAF commandos to finding Scarlet. That was still the
case, but as her opponents had a good head start on her, she now had to do this
a different way.
She needed help. If someone had
found Scarlet after his fall, that meant that there were people living around
there somewhere; and some of these people, she reckoned, would probably have a
means of communication – a phone, at the very least. Her new option would then
be to try to warn Spectrum – or contact the proper authority, if there was any
nearby – and ask for help to locate her missing colleague before the
Mysteronised commandos.
At the moment, it seemed to be her
best alternative.
She looked around, getting her
bearings and deciding which direction to take; from what she recalled of the
area’s map, the nearest settlement of any importance was downriver, on the
western shore, towards the south. Les Arbrisseaux, she had heard
Montgomery say. She remembered the name. The commandos were heading in that
direction, but as the river followed a serpentine course, probably filled with
obstacles along the way, they would take a very long time before reaching it.
She, on the other hand, would be there much faster if she were to cut through
the woods and head directly towards the town.
Still, she realised, it would be
hours of walking…
But do I have any choice? she
asked herself.
She wiped her sweat-drenched brow
with her forearm. She felt hot, and she wondered if it was because of the warmth
and dampness surrounding her, or if it wasn’t some fever due to the
not-so-well-tended injury to her arm. She shrugged, trying to dismiss it.
She still had things to do, and she couldn’t let this get in the way of her
work.
She didn’t hesitate much longer in
taking her decision, and started to jog… hoping that this time, the terrain
would be more favourable that it had been up until now. And maybe, she would
find someone along the way, who would be willing to help her.
The race against time had started
again.
* * *
Scarlet woke up
with a start and sat up abruptly, breathing rapidly. He felt like he had
awakened from a very bad dream that he couldn’t remember, his heart beating
fast, his brain pounding against his skull. He felt hot all over, and was famished
and thirsty, his tongue thick inside his mouth. He looked around with haggard
eyes, dazed and disoriented, trying to clear his mind and concentrate on where
he could be.
He was lying on
a bunk, made of a thin mattress, in a dark, very small room, barely lit by a dim
fluorescent light recessed into a grey concrete ceiling, its
plastic cover filthy with dirt and dead bugs. The floor and three of the walls
surrounding him were made of the same, obviously solid concrete.
The remaining
wall, that he was facing, was made out of sturdy steel bars.
I’m in a cell,
he
realised in confusion. A
prison cell… How…?
The memory of
what had happened in the bayou, outside of Joe’s cabin, suddenly came back to
him. He closed his eyes in sadness at the thought of the old man’s death, and
felt a wave of anger for those who had killed him – and also tried to kill the
only witness of that heinous crime.
Instinctively,
he reached for his shoulder, remembering the bullet that had hit him. It was
healed, under the new grey shirt he was now wearing; there wasn’t even a single
scar apparent. He looked down at himself; the shirt replaced the one that had
been covered with his own blood, when he had been shot, and he was wearing it
over a grey tee-shirt. He was still wearing the trousers that
Joe had given him, but he had no boots on; obviously someone had removed them
before putting him in this cell.
He heard the
sound of a lock being turned and raised his head to look beyond
the iron bars, where a door was open and a tall, black man, wearing a uniform,
was approaching. Scarlet didn’t move as the man came up to
the bars of his cell, stopped and simply looked at him.
Scarlet
recognised the man as the one who had shot him in the bayou.
The sheriff…
Masters, Joe had called him.
For a few
seconds, the man stood, immobile and silent, as he stared at Scarlet with
something that looked like curiosity; it was becoming uncomfortable, and
Scarlet, almost despite himself, found that he couldn’t stay still. He wiped his
sweat-covered forehead in a nervous gesture. The sheriff tilted his head to one side.
“You’re awake
already,” he said matter-of-factly. “Seems like we moved you to this cell not a
moment too soon, then.”
Scarlet
swallowed hard and slowly got to his feet. “Sheriff Masters?” he asked, his voice
sounding hoarse. He cleared
his throat, and noticed the frown on the black man’s brow.
“How the hell
do you know my name?”
Scarlet felt
ill-at-ease under the sheriff’s very intense stare. “Joe told me,” he answered.
“He told me he had called you, after he found me.”
“So you had
time to talk to him before you killed him?”
Scarlet frowned
at the accusation. “I didn’t kill him.”
Masters
scoffed.
“Right. You would say that. I
found you with the murder weapon in your hands.
Your fingerprints are all over it.”
Scarlet took a
step forward. Masters raised a warning hand. “Stay where you are, mister.” The Englishman stopped instantly, and the
sheriff sighed. “You have the right
to remain silent…” he started, and Scarlet nearly rolled his eyes upon hearing
him. It sounded way too much like a badly written line from a cop and gangster
movie. He wondered how he could even remember that; he didn’t even remember
any movie that clearly.
“Look, I know
all the evidence is against me,” he said, interrupting Masters in the middle of
his homily. “But I can assure you – I didn’t kill Joe. Why would I have killed
him?”
Masters
shrugged. “I don’t know – maybe because you didn’t want to go to prison for
poaching and he was stopping you from escaping before I arrived?”
“I am not
a poacher,” Scarlet shot back.
“Who and what
are you, then?”
“I…” Scarlet
stopped himself, realising that even at this moment, he wasn’t even close to
knowing who he was and what exactly he was doing in the bayou.
Again, he searched his mind, frowning, trying desperately to remember. A twinge
of pain hit him and he grunted, stopping instantly, knowing far too well that
further effort would bring further pain.
As he returned his attention to the sheriff, he noted that the latter’s
eyes were still riveted on him.
“I’m waiting,
Mister.” Apparently, Masters didn’t seem to have noticed his momentary malaise.
“I… don’t
know,” Scarlet finally admitted. “I… don’t remember.”
Masters raised
a brow. “You don’t remember,” he repeated doubtfully, sounding exactly like Joe.
“How convenient.”
“I know it
seems ridiculous but –”
“Ridiculous,
all right.” Masters half-turned to take a step in the direction of the door,
plainly showing this way that he was about to leave. Scarlet shot to the bars,
grabbing them, and called him back.
“Wait!
You have to hear me out!”
Masters
returned his attention to him, his eyes glaring. “I won’t listen to you until
you tell me who you are.”
“I… I can’t
tell you that.
I can’t…” Scarlet felt
desperately frustrated. If there was
a moment when he would need to remember something as simple as his name, it was
surely now, but it kept eluding him, as hard as he tried. His head started
pounding anew.
Again, Masters
seemed ready to leave, and suddenly, on an impulse, Scarlet shouted after him:
“O’Hara!”
That stopped
the sheriff right in his tracks and he turned back. “O’Hara?” he repeated.
“That’s your name?”
Scarlet nodded,
a little hesitantly. Where the hell did that name come from? he wondered.
He had no idea. His left hand reached imperceptibly for
the dog tags which he knew should be hanging from his neck, where he had seen
the name ‘Scarlet’ earlier.
He couldn’t
find them.
“Is this what
you’re looking for?”
Scarlet watched
as Masters reached for his shirt pocket, and extracted something from it; he saw
the man’s fingers holding the thin chain, with the dog tags dangling from it.
The sheriff raised the dog tags and narrowed his eyes at them.
“There’s
something like a serial number on them,” he said. “And a word… A name perhaps?
Scarlet?” Something like a sardonic smirk appeared on his lips. “Scarlet O’Hara?
Are you saying that’s your name, Mister?”
Scarlet
hesitated. Somehow, he felt that it wouldn’t be safe to answer, so he kept
silent, and wondered why Masters seemed to find this name so unlikely. He
watched as the sheriff approached to stand in front of the bars, keeping at a
safe distance.
“Mister
O’Hara,” Masters continued, scoffing, and putting the dog tags back into his
pocket, “if that is your name – if you are not a poacher, like Joe thought you
were – what was your business in Devil’s Bayou?”
Scarlet opened
his mouth to answer that he didn’t know, but he stopped himself right away; he
hesitated, not knowing how to respond to that question, realising that he had to
find a credible answer to give.
Masters grunted
with impatience. “If you didn’t kill Old Joe Benson – who
did, then?” he snapped.
“The boys who
came to see him,” Scarlet answered without hesitation. “One of them… Tall,
blond… he used Joe’s gun against him.”
“Jasper
Holland?” the sheriff suggested. “Why would he have killed him?”
Scarlet shook
his head.
“I don’t know… Joe said they wanted something from him… I don’t know what.”
“So Joe had
time to confide in you? A stranger whom nobody knows and who he
found poaching in the bayou? That
makes perfect sense.”
“You don’t
believe me,” Scarlet realised, noting the sarcasm in the sheriff’s voice.
“I’ve got
plenty of reasons not to believe you,” Masters harshly replied. “Mainly, I don’t
see why I would take the word of a stranger who refuses to tell me what his
business in this area is over that of a local resident – whose father is a very
influential businessman, I might add.”
“I wish I could
tell you, Sheriff…” Scarlet murmured.
“You said you
can’t.
Why is that?”
“I… I don’t
remember.”
“You said that
already.
You know how preposterous that sounds?”
Scarlet
swallowed hard.
He was very aware that it all seemed absurd. Or at the very least, not very credible. His shoulders sagged. “Nevertheless, it’s the truth. I don’t remember a thing. Not a single thing. Why I was in this
area, who I am…”
Masters raised
a sceptical brow. “You don’t remember who you are? And that name you just gave
me? That… ridiculous name?”
Scarlet
shrugged.
“It just popped into my mind.
I thought it might be my name?” He frowned. “Why is it so ridiculous to you?”
“You’re
pretending not to know… Yeah, right,” the sheriff muttered.
“And you don’t remember because… you suffered a shock or something?”
“I hurt my
head.”
“You mean, when
Jasper clubbed you with that gun? That’s what caused you to forget?” The
sheriff still sounded doubtful.
“No, no,”
Scarlet protested desperately. “Joe said I fell from a helicopter. I can barely
remember even that. I know it must be true, but…”
Masters nodded.
“He told me the same when he called me about you.”
“So you see I’m
telling the truth! All I know is that I was lying in the
woods, in pain – and Joe found me. After that, I must have lost consciousness,
because then I woke up in his cabin. I had been hurt, and he looked after me. My
leg –” Scarlet stopped in the middle
of his sentence. How could he tell Masters that he had broken his leg, when
obviously there wasn’t anything wrong with it now? Already, the sheriff
didn’t believe most of what he was telling him.
Seeing that his
prisoner now seemed reluctant to continue, Masters deeply sighed with
impatience. “So you hurt your head and you forgot everything about yourself,” he
said. “And you expect me to believe that.”
“I swear that’s
the truth,” Scarlet answered bleakly. “I know I don’t have any apparent injury
–”
“That’s another
thing, Mister O’Hara,” Masters swiftly interrupted him. “You don’t have any
apparent injury. But then, you just told me you fell from
a helicopter – a fact that was confirmed by Joe Benson himself. And also...” He
took a step forward, narrowing his eyes at his prisoner. “I shot you earlier.
Put a bullet in your shoulder.
Here.” The sheriff passed his left hand between the bars and poked at
Scarlet’s shoulder at approximately the place where he knew the man had been
injured. Scarlet didn’t move; the sheriff had his right hand resting on the butt
of his gun, as an obvious warning for him to stay still.
“Now explain to
me,” the black man continued in a low voice, “how is it that you don’t have any
injury from that now?”
“I…”
Scarlet shook his head, unable to answer. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have
a mark on your face from Jasper’s clubbing either,” Masters pursued.
“And I know
both of these injuries existed.
I saw
them. But now they’re gone. Can you explain that?”
“Sheriff, I
wish I could…”
“Can you also
explain to me what’s the deal with the X-ray pictures?”
“What X-ray
pictures?” Scarlet asked with a frown, genuinely confused by this new question.
“I don’t understand…”
“You wouldn’t
now, would you? Well, I have yet another strange question for you, then: how did
you manage to appear dead and then seemingly come back to life soon after?”
Now Scarlet’s
brows rose skywards in obvious surprise. “What!?” he exclaimed, almost scoffing
at the apparent accusation. “I don’t understand what you –” He stopped and
looked awkwardly at the sheriff. He swallowed hard. “That’s impossible,” he
said.
“That would
seem to be obvious, wouldn’t it?” Masters’ cold remark sent a shiver down
Scarlet’s spine, and yet again, he found himself unable to reply. The sheriff
took a step back. “Well, Mister
O’Hara, it would seem you can’t give me any answers to my questions. It’s quite a shame, I must admit. I was rather curious to learn a little
more about all these strange… phenomena.”
“Sheriff, I
genuinely don’t understand. Will you explain to me… What about those X-ray
pictures? Did you find something
wrong with me?” Scarlet was concerned now. He dejectedly shook his head. “Maybe
that might explain… why I can’t remember anything? Please, tell me –”
“I’m sorry,
mister.
But I probably already said more than I should have. I guess that I’d
better follow the directives I received regarding a case such as yours.”
Masters turned
on his heel and started walking towards the door; it was obvious he intended to
leave, but Scarlet found his last words far too ominous for his taste and he
couldn’t help but call for the sheriff’s attention again:
“What do you mean by ‘a case such as mine’?
What directives are you talking about?”
Masters had
opened the door; he stopped in his tracks, at the sound of his prisoner’s call,
and turned one last time to face him. “Why, I’ll be calling Spectrum, of
course,” he quietly answered. Scarlet could see by his intense stare that he was
hoping to see a reaction from him; he was sadly disappointed. The prisoner could
only stare back at him with a clueless expression. The sheriff shook his head.
“You know what Spectrum is, do you?”
Scarlet
frowned, trying to remember; he felt his headache increasing, and he shook his
head. “No…
I can’t say I do.”
“Well, if you
don’t, maybe you’re on the level and you don’t know what it’s all about, then.
It would appear your case is way out of my jurisdiction. Even considering you
might have killed Old Joe. Which would be under my jurisdiction.”
“I did not kill
him,” Scarlet repeated insistently.
“Whatever.
Considering the circumstances, however, it’s all out of my hands now. We’ll see
what Spectrum thinks of all this. And maybe, they will be able to help you
remember… assuming you’re not faking this amnesia of yours.” The sheriff stepped
outside. “Don’t get too comfortable. You won’t be staying here very long.” And
with that, he closed the door behind him and locked it, leaving his prisoner
alone to ponder his situation.
Scarlet made
another attempt to call him. “Sheriff! Wait, you have to tell me… I want to know… What does it all mean? What the devil is this Spectrum
you’re talking about?”
If the sheriff
heard him, he didn’t return. Scarlet suddenly felt his mounting headache
seemingly explode inside of his head, sending a wave of pain that made his knees
buckle underneath him. He moaned in pain, reaching for his head,
and barely able to stand on his feet, went down into a crouching position. He
clasped his hands to his head; that’s when he felt something wet dripping from
his nose, and running into his mouth with a salty taste. He wiped it with his hand and looked at
his fingers.
They were
covered with blood.
His
own blood.
“Good Lord,” he
muttered under his breath, opening eyes wide with perplexity and fear.
“What the hell is happening to me?”
It was with
great difficulty that he stumbled and almost crawled, to his bunk; the pain in
his head was almost impossible to fight, and his body was shaking, barely
responding to him.
He fell onto
the mattress, and felt darkness, mercifully, engulf his burning mind and body.
* *
*
When Leonard
Masters turned around after locking the door, he found himself facing young
Jasper Holland; the boy seemed to have appeared behind him out of nowhere. Not
expecting to see anyone there, the sheriff nearly jumped in surprise, and just
managed to stop himself from reacting too violently.
“How come he’s
alive?” the youth asked, his face a mask of coldness.
“What the
hell are you doing here?” Masters snapped back, frowning.
“You asked for
me,” Jasper answered.
That was true,
Masters
reflected. He had asked his deputy Mac to get Jasper, before he left for Baton
Rouge. The sheriff however didn’t comment and passed the young man, grabbing his
arm and taking him along with him. “I mean, you shouldn’t be here, next
to the cells,” he said, grumbling. “You are not allowed to come near the
prisoners.”
“What ‘prisoners’?
You only have one!”
“Don’t play smart with
me, boy,
or I will have more than one in a minute! You know what I mean!”
“You said he
was dead,” Jasper remarked. “Back there, at Joe’s place.”
They had
reached Masters’ office, and the latter threw his key onto his desk, before
taking his seat, in front of a cup of coffee that he had poured himself earlier.
He looked up at the young man who was glaring at him, and shrugged. “Obviously,
I made a mistake.”
“Bullshit,”
Jasper spat.
“Be polite with
me, boy,” Masters quickly warned before Jasper could say another word.
“I’m really this close to throwing you in
there too, you hear? You are
fortunate that this guy isn’t dead.
Or I would have arrested you for murder.”
“I was only
defending myself,” Jasper protested. “We told you already… and you saw it too!
That guy is dangerous! He killed Old Joe.”
“So you keep
telling me,” Masters said, leaning back on his seat and putting his feet up onto
the corner of his desk. He nodded towards the open door, in the
general direction of the cells. “He
said you’re the one who killed Joe.”
Jasper scoffed
derisively.
“Don’t tell me you believe him!”
“Should I
believe him?”
Masters asked with a raised brow.
“Look, Sheriff,
I don’t like that kind of accusation! And I don’t have to accept it!
I’m no killer, not like that stinking poacher!”
Masters
examined the young man closely; there was no indication in his general
disposition that would tell him that he could be guilty of any crime.
But then, the sheriff didn’t count on him being easy to find out if by any
chance he was
guilty.
“He says he ain’t a poacher,” Masters pursued evenly. He picked up his
cup of coffee, and grimaced as he tasted it; the beverage had grown cold, some
time ago.
“Well,
obviously he’s lying,” Jasper noted. “What else could he have been doing in the
bayou? Joe said he was a poacher, didn’t he? So maybe Joe saw it all… and that
would be the reason why that guy killed him. That makes sense! And… didn’t that
guy say he didn’t remember a thing? So how could he remember he ain’t a
poacher?”
“That’s
assuming he’s telling the truth about his amnesia,” Masters replied.
He put his feet down and straightened up in his seat, glaring up at the young
man facing him. “Say, how come you know that?” he asked suspiciously. “Exactly how long were you standing in front of that
door? What else did you hear?”
“More than
enough to know this guy ain’t clean, Sheriff. That whole business about him… It
smells rotten. I mean, really rotten.” Jasper narrowed his eyes at the sheriff.
“What does Spectrum have to do with him, anyway?”
“That’s not for
you to know,” Masters replied harshly, as much as for the youth’s benefit as to
hide the fact that he himself had not a clue about that specific question.
“Oh, then,
maybe I’ll be able to help you out here, Sheriff,” Jasper said with a faint
smile.
“You,
helping me out?”
“Of course.
Y’see, I know a thing or two about Spectrum…”
Masters rolled
his eyes.
“I wonder what you could possibly know, boy.”
“Well, for
starters, I know this: Spectrum fights terrorists, right?”
“It’s part of
their jurisdiction,” Masters said, and then cursed himself, as he realised he
should probably not even have commented on that subject… and shouldn’t even
listen to whatever the boy might have to say.
“You know these
new guys they’ve been fighting… with that weird name… the Mysterons – you heard
of ‘em, right?”
“Yeah… I heard
the name.”
“You know,
there’s crazy rumours about them… It’s all over Worldnet, I read about it.
The World Government, they’re trying to hide the whole thing, but when you know
where to look, you can learn the truth.
These Mysterons, y’see, they’re not even from this Earth. They would be
from Mars, and… you know, it’s said they’re able to wake up the dead…”
At the first
mention of ‘Mars’, Masters, who was starting to take another gulp of his coffee,
nearly choked himself with it and put his cup down onto his desk, roughly. “Now,
stop talking nonsense!” he snapped angrily, looking up at Jasper again. “What
are you driving at, exactly? That guy in there would be a zombie, or an alien
from another planet? He ain’t got antennas or green skin, you
know!”
“But that would
explain everything, Sheriff!
He was dead in the bayou, don’t deny it. He was dead and he came back…
Johnny saw it all at the clinic.”
Masters jumped
to his feet. “Now I should be worried! Johnny ain’t nothing but a tattletale
liar! He doesn’t know what he saw, he wasn’t
there!”
“Yes, he was,”
Jasper shot back. “He was in the waiting room for his arm,
and he saw you running to the mortuary when –”
“So that makes
him a first line witness, then? Listen, boy – there’s a logical explanation
about all this.
And it doesn’t involve Martians, I can assure you that.”
“Then tell me
what this explanation is, Sheriff.”
“I don’t see
why I would have to, even if I had the expertise. I’m not a doctor.”
“Then maybe Doc
Evers could –”
“That’s
enough!” Masters pointed a warning finger at Jasper. “Now you hear me, Jasper
Holland: you will stop this crazy talking about Mysterons and aliens. You will
keep quiet about all this, and about this stranger in my cell coming back from
the dead.
If I hear that you, or any of your stupid friends say anything
about this to anyone in this town, I’ll have you all arrested for
disturbing the peace!”
“You ain’t
gonna hide the truth forever, Sheriff,” Jasper challenged. “If any of this was
as crazy as you say, why would Spectrum come for him? You see it all makes
sense.”
“Whatever
business Spectrum might have with this guy concerns only Spectrum,” the sheriff
replied harshly.
“Will they take
that freak away from here?”
“He’s not a
freak,” Masters warned. “And how the hell should I know if
they’ll take him away? If they do, they’ll have good reason, and I’ll have
nothing to say, even if this man’s suspected of murdering Joe Benson. Spectrum
business takes all precedence over any police business. Even a murder in a small
locality like ours. I might not like it, but I have no choice but to accept that
fact – and co-operate.”
“Yeah, Spectrum
deals with worldwide security,” Jasper reasoned. “They would have the power to
do whatever they want, without anyone asking questions.
So you see the alien theory ain’t that crazy…
The Government wouldn’t want us to know. Spectrum would make sure of that.”
“Of course…”
Masters said, rolling his eyes anew. “That old conspiracy theory again. Have you
considered this guy might be a down to earth terrorist, boy? After all,
Spectrum’s an anti-terrorism organisation. But I don’t want to assume – I might
be as wrong as you are.”
“And what if
I’m not wrong, Sheriff?” Jasper replied.
Masters glared
at him. “As I said, whatever the reasons Spectrum might have to interrogate this
man, it’s their
business, and I won’t get my nose in it. And you should do the same.” He
leaned over his desk and looked directly at the young man. “And I’m warning you
for the last time, Jasper: you keep
quiet about all this, and you don’t go spreading crazy rumours around… Or else!”
His eyes flashed. “I’m serious, you’re this close to
getting yourself arrested. I don’t care who your old man is, you’d better keep
your nose clean. I’m keeping my eyes on you, kid… and on your little gang of
punks.”
“All right,
Sheriff.
We’ll keep quiet… Don’t want
no trouble with the law.”
Masters
scoffed, as he reached for his phone. “Well, that would be a first. Now get the
hell out of here, right away. I’ve got an important phone call to
make.”
“Sure, Sheriff,
whatever you say.” Jasper sighed as he moved towards the
exit.
“And I don’t
want to see your face around here, if I don’t call for you!” Masters called
after him.
He watched the
young man shrug his shoulders as he disappeared from his view, and heard his
footsteps decreasing in the distance. A few seconds later, he heard the main
door being open and closed.
Masters grunted
with irritation, and pensively put the phone down; he was wondering, very
seriously, if the stranger in the cell had not told him the truth about what had
happened in the bayou. Thinking about it, it was quite probable that Jasper had
killed Old Joe. Masters knew there had been some trouble between the two of
them, but he couldn’t really figure out exactly what it could be, and had no
idea if it would have been sufficient to lead to murder.
Still, the
stranger was the most likely suspect. For starters, he seemed to have a motive,
unlike Jasper; and all the evidence pointed to him as Joe’s murderer. Moreover,
the murder weapon was in his hands when he was found, and he was threatening
Jasper and his gang – who had gladly testified against him. Of course, if Jasper
was the real killer, and if his buddies were witnesses, or even accomplices, it
was possible that they would do their very best to exonerate their friend – even
if it meant ganging up on an innocent man.
But exactly how
innocent is that stranger?
Masters wondered. Joe said he was a poacher, but
he could have been wrong. Obviously there was more to this man than met the eye.
The way he had
seemingly come back from the dead was staggering; of course, the sheriff had
heard of so-called ‘Yoga masters’, or other such meditation practices, who had
so much control over their own body that they were able to slow down their
metabolism to a point where they would seemingly
stop breathing and that their heart would appear to have stopped beating.
Masters would have readily accepted that the stranger could have been an adept
of this strange technique – if he had not been witness of those other strange
happenings – like the surprisingly rapid way he had healed from his wounds and
the X-ray phenomenon.
No, there was
obviously something else; something that made this man O’Hara – if it was his
name, and Masters doubted that very much – someone of interest to Spectrum.
Someone who was to be considered so dangerous that he was not to be approached,
and Spectrum had to be contacted right away, for them to deal with him
personally.
But there it
was:
the man was in Masters’ cell, and didn’t seem at all that dangerous. If
anything, he looked confused by his situation; which made the sheriff even more
uncomfortable. He didn’t want to believe Jasper’s ‘speculations’ – it all
sounded way too absurd to consider. But even without taking this into account,
Masters had to admit that this was all very unusual; and he didn’t like it.
I’ll be losing a murder
suspect,
he thought grimly. Or, at the very least, a
witness to a murder. He didn’t
expect Spectrum to leave the man to him until the investigation of Joe’s death
was through. Unfortunately, like he had said to Jasper, Spectrum’s business took
priority, and a little business like a simple murder in a small town wouldn’t
convince them to let the local Law follow its own course.
Oh well…
Maybe they’ll be helpful in discovering what happened, then,
Masters reflected, as he picked up the phone once again.
I can always ask them if they
need what little expertise I could offer them.
Yeah…
I wish!
* * *
“So, Jasper,
what’s the news?”
Jasper Holland
found his friends – all those who had been with him when he had visited and
killed Joe Benson – waiting for him at Sam’s Diner, where they had agreed to
meet after Johnny came back from the clinic with his stunning news.
As Jasper had been asked by the deputy sheriff to come see Sheriff Masters, they
all were a little nervous to learn what it was all about.
The diner was
almost empty, except for Sam himself at the counter and a lone couple near the
door. The gang was reunited at the far end of the diner, and they were watching
Jasper approach, expectantly. Curiously, their leader didn’t look worried when
he joined them at their table. He took the Coke bottle resting in Scarecrow’s
hand and before the latter could even protest, took a swig from it before
addressing a nod to Johnny.
“You were right
– the guy’s alive.”
Scarecrow
gasped. “How could that be? He was dead when the sheriff took him!
We all saw it!”
“I know,”
Jasper grumbled.
“I don’t know how he did it. Guy must be a freak…”
“Sure must be!”
Jamie concurred. “Nobody can come back from the dead like that!”
“You should
have been there at the clinic,” Johnny added. “Everybody was freaking out! I
nearly did myself… I had to come and tell you all…”
“Keep it down,”
Jasper hissed between his teeth. “The sheriff just told me not to talk about any
of this and not to spread any kind of crazy rumours around.
Or we’ll all be thrown in the jail.”
“Is that why
the sheriff asked for you?” Dallas Fenmore, the last member of the gang, asked.
Jasper nodded
again, grimly. “Yeah. He wanted to warn me. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m
not that eager to go to jail. Even for one night. So we have to keep it
quiet.” He looked around, making sure no-one was paying any attention to them.
It wasn’t the case.
“Do you think
Masters suspects… something?” Johnny asked him. That was the question that was
in all their minds and was making them nervous.
Jasper shook his head.
“He might
suspect things are not as clear as we told him,” he said.
“The stranger’s been telling him that he didn’t kill Joe and that it was me
who did it.”
“Oh no…”
“Calm down,
Jamie – obviously, Masters didn’t believe him:
he hasn’t arrested me, as you can see. He must still think the stranger’s the
killer – or the most likely suspect, anyway.” He chuckled. “Maybe he’s afraid of
what my dad would do, if ever he was wrong about his suspicions too… Elections
are near, and he wouldn’t want to lose ‘em.”
“How long
before he changes his mind?” Johnny asked in grim concern. “Ya know, if the
stranger starts to get convincing –”
“I don’t know
about that,” Jasper said. “And I ain’t sure if I want to take that chance. Even
if the sheriff doesn’t get any proof, if he gets suspicious, it might get
complicated for us.”
“We wouldn’t be
able to return to Joe’s place, you think?” Jamie asked.
“Not if the
sheriff keeps his eyes on us,” Jasper said.
“And he told me he would… just to make sure we’ll keep quiet.”
“Damned,”
Dallas muttered. “Now that the old fool ain’t there anymore, we would have been
free to do whatever we please.
This had to happen.”
“We were
lucky,” Scarecrow retorted. “If that stranger had not been there to take the
fall, we could have been in deep trouble.”
“The sheriff
wouldn’t have gone to Joe’s place today if not for the stranger to begin with,”
Jasper retorted. “It’s all his fault we have to wait now. But I can guarantee you, boys, we ain’t
waiting for long. We’ll get our business done soon. For the moment, we have to do something
about the stranger.”
“What can
we do?”
“I don’t know
yet, Dallas…
But this I know: if we do something, we have to do it fast. Y’see,
Spectrum is coming over to see that guy.”
Jamie, who was
drinking from his bottle of Coke, nearly choked on hearing this, and put it down
noisily. “Spectrum?!” he gasped in complete surprise.
“What did they have to do with anything?!
“Who’s that
guy, anyway?” Dallas asked in turn.
“That’s another
thing,” Jasper said. “I overheard him talking to Masters.
He says he doesn’t remember a thing about who he was – and what he was doing in
the bayou. He’s supposed to have amnesia, after
falling from a helicopter…”
Jamie raised a
doubtful brow. “You believe that crap is true?”
“How the hell
should I know?” Jasper grumbled. “Masters doesn’t seem to believe it, mind you.
So that doesn’t make the stranger’s credible. That gives us some time.”
“Not long, I
think,” Scarecrow said grimly.
“The more I
think about this guy,” Johnny said, “the more it gives me the creeps.
He’s a freak all right. Nobody could revive the way he did.”
“Ain’t that the
truth,” Jasper concurred. “Y’see, I’m thinking about that stuff I read on
Worldnet… about these Mysteron aliens…”
“You’re
serious?” Scarecrow asked with a doubting frown. “You believe all that stuff
they say? There ain’t no proof, you know!”
“I’m liable to
believe it, when I think ‘bout what Johnny witnessed,” Jasper replied, scowling.
“And what about what we all saw? There can’t be no other explanation.
This guy was dead, pure and simple. No way a normal human being can return from
death, you know that as well as I do. And now Spectrum is coming… He’s gotta be
an alien terrorist.”
“I’ll buy
that,” Johnny said with an approving nod. The others kept themselves from
rolling their eyes.
Johnny would approve of anything Jasper would say, just to stay in his
good graces. “I always thought the Government was hiding the truth from everyone
about those Mysteron guys. Guess that’s right, then…”
“Yeah, okay,”
Scarecrow sighed. “So let’s say you’re right. Freak or not, what will we do if someone
starts believing what this guy says? We’ll be in trouble, big time.”
“Maybe Spectrum
will take this freak away?” Johnny suggested. “Then all our problems will be
over.”
“Ya wanna think
before talking, Johnny?” Jasper grumbled.
“I would prefer if they don’t do that, y’know. They take that freak away, they
interrogate him… and they might learn the truth about what happened. They
believe him, and then they make a call to Masters… and then we’re all in deep
trouble, and it’ll be too late to do anything about it.”
“You already
have something in mind?” Dallas asked in turn.
Jasper
shrugged. “Not yet. But we’ll think
of something. In the meantime, let’s keep an eye on the sheriff’s office. We
gotta grab any chance we’ll get. And not hesitate to do whatever’s necessary to
keep the freak from babbling too much.” He took another gulp from his bottle, and
then his eyes became very cold. “And if anyone gets in the way, whoever he might
be, even the sheriff or those Spectrum guys, they gotta get the same. There ain’t nobody gonna get in our way
now… You have my word on that, boys…”
* *
*
Ever so slowly,
Max Laborteaux put the call he had just received on hold, a thoughtful
expression on his face.
The phone call
was from a little town called Les Arbrisseaux, set inside the limits of Devil’s
Bayou. The sheriff of the place, Leonard Masters, the only authority in the
area, had contacted him about a man found in the swamp, possibly a poacher, and
the prime suspect in a murder case. The man had apparently revived from death in
the local clinic – and X-ray scans of his body had shown a positive
image. Faced with these strange occurrences, the sheriff had followed standard
procedures and had reported them to the nearest Spectrum office.
In this case,
the New Orleans office.
A faint smile
spread on Laborteaux’s thin lips, as he recalled the sheriff’s report:
the man seemed to suffer from amnesia, not even recalling his own name, and had
only given the name ‘O’Hara’ when he had been arrested. However, he was wearing dog tags with a
serial number and a different name engraved on them.
Scarlet.
And, to boot,
an amnesiac Scarlet.
“O’Hara
indeed,” Laborteaux muttered, chuckling.
There was some
humour in this situation, he reflected; their quarry was in a prison cell, in
Les Arbrisseaux, and only he, an agent of the Mysterons working inside a
Spectrum office, knew about this.
Sheriff Masters
had assured him of his full co-operation, and that he would keep the prisoner in
custody, until Spectrum came for him.
This is far too
easy…
But an opportunity like this will not repeat itself.
Laborteaux
chuckled anew, just before he took the call back, and regained his serious
demeanour. “Sheriff Masters,” he said to his caller, in a very official voice,
“I just informed base, and received their instructions. Yes, do keep hold of
your Mister O’Hara for us.” His smile widened into an evil, satisfied
grin. “I’ll be contacting a Spectrum
unit currently in your area right away. You will hand your prisoner over to
them.” He nodded slowly, and his
thoughts flew to the Mysteronised WAAF soldiers, under the command of Major
Montgomery. “I’ll call you back in a
short while with further instructions of how they will take delivery of him.
Please, be careful… This man is to be considered very
dangerous. And again, Sheriff… Thank you so much for your help. It is much appreciated.”
He hung up the
phone, very slowly, his smile broadening even more as he sat back onto his
chair.
“The Mysterons
certainly appreciate it,” he added to himself with dry humour.
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