Author’s note: I'm possibly being paranoid, but domestic abuse, rape, child rape are all very briefly mentioned at the beginning of this fic and I really don't want anyone tripping over them and taking a nasty turn.
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Captain Black, Conrad Lefkon, found himself free of the Mysteron influence. A Mysteron ‘treat’ for Halloween. Not that he could truly enjoy it. He could not reach out to the people he truly wanted to see; they would never believe him, and with good reason.
Besides the Mysterons had dumped him in the middle of nowhere: a lonely rural road with nothing in sight but a lot of woods. Conrad was a city boy, Brooklyn born and raised for all that he had worked hide his origins. He had only ever found joy in the great outdoors when he was with Destiny, and that was just too painful to dwell on.
“Lovely,” he said sourly, and began to trudge down the road as the full moon rose. He would have thought the entire situation akin the beginning of a horror movie, except, of course, he knew himself to the scariest thing in the woods that night.
Well, Conrad hoped he was.
A mile or so down the road he saw the looming shape of a building. As he got closer it resolved itself in a seedy-looking honky-tonk that surprisingly appeared to be closed for the night. The back end of a pick-up truck was just visible behind it, and old dark sedan was parked in front. There was one dim stationary light visible inside. The door appeared to be ajar, perhaps even a little off its hinges.
Conrad had played enough horror survival games in his youth and been aware of his father’s business that he knew he should just keep on walking. Just keep walking and ignore the creepy building. Keep walking and shove his natural curiosity down as far as he could. Nothing to see there. Never anything good to see there.
‘Hell’ he thought, and swerved off the road to walk towards the structure, ‘ I’ll just take a quick look inside; I won’t even go through the door.’
He went through the door.
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There was a body lying on the floor in a puddle of blood and brains next to a shot gun and a man dressed darkly sitting at the bar with a large bottle and a shot glass. The man poured out a shot, tossed it back, and just barely turned his head to look over his shoulder, his face lost in the shadows.
“He beat his wife and raped his twelve-year-old step-daughter regularly, as well as coercing his wait-staff to have sex with him,” the man’s voice was soft and harsh and broken, “He was planning insurance fraud. He was going burn this place down, and blame Halloween revelers. It will burn down, with him in it, and his wife will be getting the three million payout to start a new life with.”
There was enough moonlight coming in for Conrad to see a terrified look on the corpse’s face, and to see three bullet holes. Two clustered over its heart, and one in the middle of the forehead. A professional job.
“And how much that three million will end up in your pocket?” Conrad asked with a faint sneer, and then regretted it. The answering bark of laughter raised the hair on the back of his neck.
“None, I was just looking for a place to drink. He objected,” he lifted the bottle, “want one?”
“Why not?” Conrad stepped over the body, and sat down at the bar, a chair between him and the killer. A soft amused snort let him know the distance was not unnoticed. The sole lit fixture not quite throwing enough light to let Conrad see his drinking companion clearly.
A shot was poured into a second glass, and Conrad downed it; a surprisingly passable whisky.
Another shot was poured.
And then another.
And then another.
It was pity he couldn’t really get drunk.
“Careful, that last shot almost missed your mouth.”
Perhaps he could get a little drunk.
“How did you know all that stuff about..?” Conrad tossed his head back in a little gesture at the corpse.
The killer set his glass down and considered.
“His mind was an open sewer,” he shrugged eventually, “most people’s minds are open books to me,” he turned his head just slightly again to look at Conrad, still not enough for Conrad to get a good look at him, and the scrutiny made the hair on the back of Conrad’s neck rise again, “Interesting,” there was another shrug and the man turned away, “your mind is closed to me. I wonder what you are.”
Conrad suddenly felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. His glass thumped and bounced from his hand as he unsuccessfully tried to set it down on the bar. The smashing of the glass against floor unnaturally loud. He swallowed trying regain his unexpectedly lost composure.
“I think I’ll take my leave now,” Conrad was proud of how even his voice was, and found a hand clamped on his wrist.
“You’re going to help me torch this place,” the voice was still soft, harsh, and broken, and filled with iron purpose.
There was nothing to do but nod as they both got up from their seats. The killer slid one of two gas cans over to Conrad with his foot.
“You know what you must do,” there was a bitter irony in the man’s voice that Conrad was almost certain he wasn’t aware of.
Conrad did know what to do. He certainly didn’t like it, but he had learned it from his father, in theory at least, never in practice thank god. He went about doing it. He startled when he heard the meaty thump of bottles breaking against flesh, but didn’t turn to look. He didn’t want to know.
The back of his jacket was snagged and pulled, and Conrad let out an embarrassingly awkward squawk as he was hauled outside the honky-tonk and stumbled, landing on the ground.
A gruff “Sorry” was all he got, as the man, who still didn’t have the decency to let Conrad see him clearly in the moonlight, stuffed a rag into a bottle of cheap vodka and lit it.
He had an excellent throwing arm.
A fire was soon merrily consuming the run-down structure.
Conrad pulled himself to his feet using the dark sedan’s side, and yanked the man around to face him. He gazed upon the gaunt and haunted features of a once handsome man who had terribly sad eyes, and felt an unexpected and unwelcomed familiarity.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The killer and co-arsonist slowly shook him off. He gave Conrad a bitter smile.
“I had a name once,” he murmured cryptically, “but Captain Black is all that remains.”
Conrad stepped back, trying parse out what the man had said.
Captain Black rounded the car, got in, and started it. He leaned over to roll down the window closest to Conrad Lefkon.
“I suggest you leave. As isolated as this place is, that,” he looked pointedly at the blazing structure, “will attract attention.”
Then he backed the sedan out and drove away.
Conrad stared after the retreating tail-lights until they disappeared at a bend in the road, before turning and walking back the way he originally came, numb, until he felt the rush of Mysteron energy sweeping him away.