Jack and the Denizen

By Erik Bidinger-Boggess

The ancient nightmare race known as Denizen rules the universe. A young man named Jack, caught in their fiendish designs, will have his heart shattered and fight to discover the truth of his past. Travel from the dark alleys of Edge City to the wild frontiers of the planet Laer, and explore the cosmos in the adventure of a lifetime with "Jack and the Denizen."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erik Bidinger-Boggess
• Release date: Mar 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9780578383149

Book preview

JACK

AND THE

DENIZEN

By

Erik Boggess

Cover art by: Chongchen Saelee (aka Eastfist)

Copyright 2021 Erik Sean Bidinger-Boggess

ISBN: 978-0-578-38313-2 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-578-38314-9 (Digital online)

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the author.

● FORWARD ●

This work began approximately fourteen years ago. It started as a flowery poetic short piece of writing about a young couple at dinner, and evolved.

I want to thank my family and friends for all their support, and listening to me talk, and work on this book for so long. Without their encouragement I’m not sure I would have ever finished.

● CONTENTS ●

Book I: The Mad Guardian

● ACT I ●

● ACT II ●

● ACT III ●

Book II: The Denizen Horde

● ACT IV ●

● ACT V ●

● ACT VI ●

Book III: The Lazarus Engine

● ACT VII ●

● ACT VIII ●

● ACT IX ●

Book I:

The Mad Guardian

● ACT I ●

The Guardians

As the days grow shorter, fallen leaves dance about in the wind.

While Jack walks, he thinks of home: the fading yellow house paint, the stench of secondhand smoke, and his guardians. He shudders, fighting to avoid getting lost in thoughts of what waits for him.

Are you okay? You just shivered. Lily asks.

Yeah I’m fine, just cold. When will you hear back about the application? He avoids her question with practiced ease. Deep down, he is afraid she may not look at him the same way if she knew the depths of the abuse.

Letting fear wash away, he focuses on Lily’s hopes for one of the scholarships she sent in.

Best friends since they first met, she is always there for him to talk to, smiles when he jokes around and makes him feel safe. It has taken the better part of their high school years to understand all the feelings he has for her. Jack knows after graduation he will get a job, and someday ask her to marry him.

As Lily finishes speaking, they walk in comfortable silence down the street.

When the young couple round the next corner, they see three teenagers riding skateboards on the sidewalk. The trio is using the bus stop bench as an impromptu ramp. One of the young men falls hard as the couple walk closer. Jack does not mind them taking up so much of the sidewalk, so he moves off to one side to make room.

The largest of the three takes notice, Hey, where do you think you’re going!

He goes to Jack and Lily’s school, and his name is Kevin. The other two youths stop skating, waiting to see what their leader will do next.

The shout startles Lily.

Jack turns to her. Are you okay?

Let’s go, she says quickly, still watching the bully with a mix of anger and trepidation.

I’m talking to you pussy! Kevin shouts, closing the distance. He reaches out to shove Jack, who grabs him by the wrist and twists until Kevin turns entirely around.

Ow! he yells as Jack pushes him bodily away. Stumbling, he falls hard on the asphalt.

Jack grabs Lily’s hand, and they both start walking away.

Kevin jumps back to his feet and rushes towards Lily. Jack feels a mountain of rage spark into existence at the sudden threat. Moving quickly between them, he snaps off a strong punch. Kevin falls to the ground clutching a bleeding nose. Jack is on him in an instant, punches flying freely.

His heart is pounding as a voice from behind shouts, Hey kid, stop!

Spinning around, he sees an Edge City police cruiser stopping at the curb. The driver’s side door snaps open, and a young policewoman with jet-black hair steps out. The look on her face tells Jack he may be in some trouble. Anger vanishing in an instant, he suddenly feels shame at striking Kevin.

What the hell is going on here? the officer demands. Gale Speedwell is a year out of the police academy, and from what she can see, the tall skinny kid has royally stomped the other teenager.

I’m sorry, officer, it’s my fault, Jack admits.

Speedwell’s face softens. She did not expect a truthful answer.

Yeah! He started it, one of Kevin’s two friends standing idly nearby comments.

Did you do any of the fighting? Speedwell asks, throwing the teenager a hard glare.

He squirms, shaking his head and pointing at Jack. No, but he started it.

If you’re not involved, you both need to be somewhere else now.

The two young men look at Kevin, sitting on the sidewalk, trying to stop his nose from bleeding. They make a natural choice, leave him behind, and walk quickly away.

Jack, that’s not right. He started it, and you were just defending yourself, Lily says.

Is that true? Speedwell asks.

He thinks for a moment before answering, He started it, and I let him get to me. That was my fault.

Speedwell nods, thinking about what to do next. Have a seat on the curb right there while I go find out his side of the story.

Jack sits down without saying a word. Lily joins him while Speedwell spends several minutes questioning Kevin. Once finished, the bloody-nosed bully gets to his feet and walks away in the direction his friends have gone.

Head down, he moves past Jack, Sorry, man, he says, not making eye contact.

Speedwell watches him go, then looks to Jack and Lily. Okay, you guys, you can stand up now. They get to their feet, and wait for her to speak again. Kevin admitted he started the fight. You need to understand you can’t just kick the hell out of someone, even if they have it coming.

Jack looks her in the eyes, feeling conflicted. I understand. It won’t happen again, officer, he says with sincerity, undercut with a survivors’ anguish.

Speedwell hears the edge in his voice, Are you sure you’re all right? she asks, with genuine concern.

It takes a lot for him to hold back what he wants to say. All the terrible things he has endured, and how no one has ever helped him, make the emotions hard to handle. He feels his eyes start to water. Embarrassed, he looks down at the ground, Yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking.

Where are you two going now? the officer asks, voice softening.

We’re walking home, Lily answers.

And where’s home?

6738 Danyon Street, Lily says quickly. She hopes the officer will not ask Jack where he lives. She knows he does not like to talk about it with anyone. Speedwell’s portable radio squawks before she gets the chance.

26 Bravo, please respond to a silent alarm at 5217 South Broadway, multiple priors at this address, 28 Bravo to cover. The dispatcher’s voice sounds nasally and bored.

Speedwell lets out a sigh, reaching up to her microphone to respond, 26 Bravo copy, 28 Bravo you can cancel, I’ll advise. Dispatch, show me in route.

"Dispatch copies, 26 Bravo to handle and advise."

Speedwell turns her attention back to Jack and Lily. All right, you two, get home.

They both nod, muttering their thanks before walking home in silence.

A short time later, at Lily’s house, they stop in the driveway to say goodbye.

You want to come inside for a while? she asks, voice holding a hint of sadness, Looks like Mom’s home, and I know she’d like to see you.

Lily’s mother has the same comforting disposition as her, and a strength that makes Jack glad he is not on her bad side. She is precisely the type of mom the young man wishes he had.

No, they’ll get mad if I’m not home on time. Thanks, though.

She looks down for a second and then tilts her head slightly, smiling at him. They stare at each other for a few seconds. Well, okay. Will I see you tomorrow?

Yeah, you will.

Okay, promise?

The way she says it makes him smile, Yeah, I promise.

Lily steps forward, and he opens his arms to meet her. She leans in, hugging him, and kissing him softly on the cheek. Her lips come away, and she holds him for what feels like forever. They stay there for a while, neither one of them wanting to let the other go. Lily moves her face slightly, and whispers, Thanks for walking me home.

They move away from each other reluctantly, and then Lily is walking up the driveway. Jack watches her go, feeling a tidal wave of emotions. At the front door, she looks back, and her smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He stands there, smiling to himself for a few more seconds, and then starts walking home. Head in the clouds, he does not hear Speedwell’s squad car coming up behind him. Canceled in route, she had turned the cruiser around, and gone back to patrolling. She saw Jack walking along the street in a bad neighborhood, and decided to offer him a lift.

Can I give you a ride? She asks through the cruiser’s open window.

Jack turns, startled to see the Edge City police officer driving slowly beside him, Please let this go. I’ve got to get home.

I don’t think that’s a good idea, he explains. Trying to act nonchalant, he continues walking away.

Seeing the young man is nervous, Speedwell smiles in an attempt to put him at ease, It’s okay. You’re not in any trouble.

Jack hesitates for a moment. He believes her, but if his guardians see a police car with him getting out of it, there will be hell to pay. Not that they will care if he has been in a fight. They will be mad he has drawn attention to the house. Eyes wide, his body goes rigid, posture betraying his fear.

Speedwell can see his knuckles turning white clinging to the backpack straps. Where do you live, Jack? she asks, using her cop voice without meaning to.

I… he stammers slightly, and then forces himself to say it. I live in the yellow house near the end of Danyon Street. He answers rapidly, eyes averting to the ground as mixed emotions fill him.

Every cop who has ever worked Speedwell’s beat knows about Jack’s house. The Edge City Dispatch notes state: if an officer receives a call to that house, at least three units must respond.

Oh, Speedwell says, looking the young man up and down. Her instincts tell her Jack is a good kid dealt a bad hand at having to live there.

Well, how about I drop you off at the street before Danyon ends? she offers.

Realizing how late it is, he consents, That would be great, thanks.

Speedwell leaves him alone with his thoughts as they travel in silence the whole way. She cannot help but think about how hard it must have been for him growing up. Every other occupant in that house has been in and out of prison at least a few times. She had heard rumors someone influential on the Northside of town is related to the people living there, and that is why the blight remained in the neighborhood.

Doing as she promised, she drops him off at the small apartment complex a block before. The sun has already set. The evening wanes to full dark, and streetlights click on overhead as he exits the police cruiser.

Thanks for the ride, Officer Speedwell, Jack says, turning and walking quickly away.

Bye, Jack, she whispers to no one in particular. Watching him go, she feels helpless, unable to do anything for the young man.

The radio crackles to life.26 Bravo, please respond to assist 28 Edward, shots fired at the corner of Lincoln Street and Franklin boulevard. Speedwell tries to let the young man slip from her mind. 26 Bravo copy, en route.

As Jack rounds the corner onto the next street, he picks up the pace and jogs the rest of the way home, thankful to be out of the squad car. The police always make him feel conflicted. Cops are supposed to help people, but he has never had anyone but Lily to help him. Hospitalized several times growing up, every time a cop came to ask his guardians about it, they had eventually left, and he went back home. Jack knows the police serve a purpose to protect people; he wonders why they never helped him. Letting the self-pity slip away, he knows things can always get worse.

His home is ugly and run down, its paint fading and cracking. The yellow house’s yard is dark, and the windows of the first floor glow eerily with the light of a television. He goes around the back, stopping at the kitchen entrance that opens into the yard. Pulling back the screen door carefully, he hopes to make it inside and downstairs to his room before anyone notices. On any given day, his guardians do not care where Jack is. But if he draws attention to himself, they will get mad. When they get angry, they hurt him, then blame it on alcohol, or stress, or drugs. Growing taller and more muscular gave him a slight reprieve, but even with the strength of youth, he can barely defend himself. They scare him, and he hates himself for fearing them.

Stepping silently into the kitchen, he moves quickly towards the small white door next to the pantry that leads to the basement. As he crosses the cracked green linoleum floor, Jericho steps through the entranceway from the living room. A half-empty whiskey bottle is held loosely in his left hand. He is six feet five inches tall and two hundred and fifty pounds of ugly muscle wearing a form-fitting black t-shirt and blue jeans. Tattoos decorate the man’s arms and exposed neck. A religious zealot, a silver cross swings freely from his neck, shining dully in the light of the kitchen.

Where you been? he asks, speech slurring and eyes twitching back and forth involuntarily.

Jack knows no matter what he says, the other man will twist his words. I was walking a friend home, he says in a soft voice, keeping eyes pinned to the floor.

The big drunk smirks, bringing the whiskey to his mouth, taking a long swig. You’re lying again, boy! he yells and throws the bottle.

Jack ducks out of the way, bumping into the kitchen counter. The bottle smashes against the cabinets, glass exploding in all directions. Opening his eyes, he focuses on the door to the basement.

Jericho moves quickly to slug the younger man in the stomach. The blow knocks the wind out of Jack, and he slumps forward. The larger man keeps him from falling to the kitchen floor.

Jack hates everything about the drunken bastard. Finally gulping down a breath, he brings up his hands, shoving the guardian backward. Jericho falls to the kitchen floor, and with any luck, will not remember how he got there. Jack makes for the basement door as fast as he can.

What the fuck are you doing?! a woman’s voice screams just as Jack grips the door’s handle. Turning, he sees his other guardian, Jericho’s sister Mary. She moves quickly towards him. Mary has something in her hand as she lands a punch to his temple. He brings his arms up in defense, but Mary is tougher than her brother. She strikes again at Jack’s head. The cordless telephone she is hitting him with breaks apart. Plastic pieces rain down onto the floor. An unfortunate strike, a white flash, and the sensation of falling into ice-cold water come over Jack as he blinks out of consciousness. When he wakes, he feels something warm trickling down his throbbing face. Loud voices assail him, as his vision swims back into focus. Jericho and Mary are pushing each other and yelling about what a piece of shit the young man is.

I didn’t raise no sissy! Jericho yells in a drunken stupor. Drooling and spitting, he uses the kitchen counter to keep from falling.

Mary’s matted, grey greasy hair hangs over the neckline of a faded pink nightgown. Large like her brother, she is five feet two inches tall and weighs in at a wondrous three hundred and twenty-five pounds. She brings a lit cigarette to her mouth and regards Jericho with a look of disgust painted on her haggard face. Walking across the kitchen, a small trail of smoke wraps around her fat face as she stares down at the young man. Jack wonders if she may leave him alone. He feels some hope she might forget he pushed Jericho to the ground.

As if Mary can read his thoughts, all hope fades, and she kicks him hard in the stomach, You’re the son of a dead whore! she screams, the sound piercing Jack’s very heart. All he knows of his mother is that she died during childbirth. The identity and whereabouts of his father are a mystery.

You think just because you’re almost eighteen years old that we don’t still own you! Punctuating her point, she kicks him again—the well-placed blow causing more pain than it does permanent injury. Jack steels himself against the anguish and then gets slowly to his feet.

Mary grabs him by the back of the head, jerking him the rest of the way to standing. His stomach screams in pain from the sudden movement. Holding him by the hair, looking into his eyes, she says, Now, think before you go lying to me. Yanking his head back, she brings him closer to her face. Jack can almost taste the foul breath coming from her open mouth, a mix of burnt cigarettes and gin, What did I tell you about walking that little bitch Lily home?

Rage boils inside of him at the mention of Lily’s name, You don’t... he starts to protest, but she cuts him off by putting out the cigarette on his neck.

I don’t ‘what’ Jack? she asks, smiling as he squirms. He does not cry out. She takes the cigarette away from his skin, leaving him staring into her sunken dark eyes.

I don’t mention that little bitch’s name, or what? What can you do? Mary studies him carefully. She is one of only a few people that knows something of his true nature.

I was late walking home, there’s nothing else, Jack explains, rage still bubbling just beneath the surface. The fire of his soul pours into his eyes without him knowing it.

Mary smiles, watching him struggling to stay in control, Get your chores done, and get down to your room, she hisses, throwing him away from her. He catches himself awkwardly as he falls. The pain in his head turns to nausea from the sudden movement.

Mary turns her attention back to Jericho, who is busy finding another bottle in a cupboard, And you!

The large man’s bloodshot watery eyes retrain and focus on his sister.

Leave him alone until he’s done with his chores, she smiles, looking at the young man. Then you two boys can play.

Jericho grins at her choice of words, then staggers out of the kitchen towards the living room.

Jack’s heart pounds loudly inside his head. The faint noise of the television in the living room fills the background. Leaving his backpack on the floor, he decides to start with the house laundry first and heads downstairs.

Even though it is a cold fall night outside, the basement is, as usual, sweltering. Jack pauses as the washer and dryer start their cycles, before walking to the portion of the basement where he sleeps. There is a small wooden stool, and a makeshift desk made of cinder blocks and an old broken door. On the workspace is a cup with a few pencils and pens. A lamp scavenged from the massed amounts of junk and clutter that occupy the dreary underground space casts a warm glow. His favorite pictures from old National Geographic magazines decorate the wall above the desk. To the right of the desk are a well-worn twin mattress and box spring. Threadbare sheets, a pillow made of old clothing sewn together, and a worn green sleeping bag serve as bedding. Stacks of cardboard boxes and junk form the impromptu walls of the sleeping area.

Tucked out of sight between the mattress and the wall is a bundle of papers. Jack sits down on the bed, pulling the papers out reverently. He makes sure not to rip or crumple the precious letters and poems Lily has written for him. At the center of the collection, the treasure of his possessions, a wallet-size photo. It is a print of Lily posing for her senior portrait taken earlier in the year. She is wearing a yellow summer dress with her hair down, sitting on a grassy field smiling for the camera and framed by dark foreboding woods in the background. Her yellow dress and smile glow radiantly in the bright sun.

The sound of someone moving around upstairs brings him back to the dismal surroundings. Two more months and he will be eighteen. He will be out of the house and away from his guardians for good. Sitting there, holding her picture, he thinks of their kiss earlier, and how having her in his life gives him hope.

The old washer and dryer drown out the sound of the basement door opening. The stairwell creaks and the noise draws Jack’s attention. He quickly hides the letters and photographs. Getting to his feet, he goes to investigate. Coming around a stack of boxes, he sees Jericho leaning against the basement wall. The larger man looks as though he is about to collapse. He slumps against the wall, clutching his stomach with one hand. The other hand holds a large butcher knife. Icy fear grips Jack as he realizes this is different from other nights.

It’s time, Jack, Jericho mutters as he winces in pain. The big man looks as though he is going to be sick.

Hoping to escape, Jack steps slowly closer to the stairwell, making sure to keep a safe distance.

Jericho suddenly groans and falls to the ground. Something dark and glistening pools on the floor around his stomach. The large man is bleeding out. The smell of copper fills the air, quickly overpowering the dank mustiness of the basement. Jericho takes his last breath, body shuddering for several seconds as the life leaves him. The fear inside of the young man makes his legs wobbly, and vision starts to tunnel.

Rallying, Jack moves quickly around the dead man and up the staircase, clearing two at a time. The handle of the door at the top of the stairs starts to turn. He halts, heartbeat hammering like thunder in his ears. The white door opens slowly. There is a slight creak from rusty hinges as a fiery light from the kitchen floods down. The house overhead is ablaze, and standing above Jack in the doorway, wreathed in flames, is the Man in Black.

The man wears a three-piece suit cut from cloth made of the night sky. His face looks like a carved piece of weathered granite. Startling slightly at seeing the young man standing on the basement stairwell, the Man in Black is momentarily wrong-footed. Jack leaps at the opportunity, vaulting up the stairs quickly. The Man in Black recovers his composure and raises the gun in his right hand. Jack trips, falling to his knees and stopping short. Only the last three steps of the stairwell are between the barrel of the gun and his head.

The man’s weathered face parts in an awful smile. It's time, Jack.

Jericho said the same thing, the young man thinks, before pushing the thought away. What are you talking about?

I’m taking you home, and if you hesitate, countless lives will be lost. As the Man in Black speaks, his eyes bleed to completely black. A sick grin, with too many teeth, forms on the man’s face as those twin glistening ebony orbs stare down the stairwell.

Burning energy starts taking form within Jack, I’m not going anywhere with you! he screams defiantly. The burning power begins to crescendo, and time begins to slow. Particles of ash, gray snowflakes in the air, stop falling. The roar of the flames dulls to faint background noise. Swirling smoke slows to a crawl as Jack begins to move up the last few stairs. He does not understand what is happening to him and thinks only of Lily.

The monstrous Man in Black begins to squeeze the trigger, and a gunshot rings out.

The Man in Black

I hate this job, Officer Speedwell thinks as she watches the young man walk away. At first, she believed she could make a difference. Then she watched as her training officer took bribes, beat suspects, and stole evidence. With time, she saw the same corruption in almost every other officer in the department. It was there in the way they joked, and in the way everyone ignored unspeakable acts of depravity. At times Speedwell felt her sanity starting to slip away, continually struggling to maintain a sense of right and wrong as the weight of corruption bore down.

Tired, she lets her forehead rest for a moment on the steering wheel. The chilly fall air pours through the open car window, hitting the nape of her neck. She breathes deeply, allowing herself a moment’s respite. Recognizing her thoughts are teetering over the oblivion of hopelessness, she forces herself to sit upright. For several minutes, she breathes and lets the worries fall away: the job, the corruption, the sickness lurking at the heart of Edge City.

The car radio comes to life, 26 Bravo, what’s your status?

Speedwell does not miss the annoyance in the dispatch operator’s voice. It is Friday night, and it would be Helen Worsen working at the dispatcher station for her beat. Helen is having an affair with one of the officers working tonight. Speedwell knows the officer is corrupt and on the take. Married with two children, he will never go to jail for the way he abuses them. She usually gets angry with Helen when she comes over the radio with attitude. However, not this time. Sitting up straighter, she lets out a sigh.

Speedwell’s skin starts to tingle with warmth, reminding her of a camping trip last summer. A thunderstorm came out of nowhere and kept her in the tent for most of an afternoon. When the rain stopped, the sun quickly broke through the clouds. Leaving the shelter, she felt the embrace of sunlight tingling across her whole body. For whatever reason, this memory makes her think of Jack. She reaches out and puts the cruiser into drive. After a short time, she is turning left onto Danyon Street. Slowing down, she notices a shadowy figure getting out of a parked cream-colored sedan. Pulling over, she turns off the headlights, and parks discreetly.

The person glides across the road, and no matter where the figure is, the streetlamps are unable to illuminate them. It is a tall, solidly built man who looks like a piece of the night cut into the shape of a person and given a will of its own. Her stomach tightens, seeing a red gasoline can in one of his hands.

The man reaches the other side of the street and walks onto the lawn of Jack’s home. Speedwell quietly exits the vehicle and approaches the parked cream-colored sedan. Using her flashlight sparingly, with a gun at the ready, she peers through the rear windows. After she is sure the vehicle is clear of threats, she radios her position to dispatch. Dispatch 26 Bravo, show me out at the 1400 block of Danyon Street.

"26 Bravo say again? You’re attached to 28 Edward’s call, and I show you in route," the dispatchers' voice holds an annoying edge.

Speedwell curses under her breath, anger flashing, Dispatch 26 Bravo negative. Show me out on the 1400 block of Danyon Street on a welfare check, start me a cover unit. She demands in a harsh whisper.

Having a keen sense of self-preservation, Speedwell knows when to ask for help. There is a long pause in the response from dispatch. Impatiently she waits, watching as the man reaches the front door of Jack’s home. The porch light has burned out, and his back is turned to her. He reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The hand comes out, but she cannot see what is in it.

What the hell are you doing? Speedwell whispers to herself.

The figure on the porch looks down at his hands. Speedwell hears a familiar sound, the slide action of a semi-automatic handgun. The man kicks in the front door, the faint light from a television silhouetting him in unnatural light. She watches, heartbeat racing, as the gun moves blindingly fast. The sound of two shots fired in short succession booms in the air.

Speedwell’s sergeant comes over her earpiece, "26 Bravo, this is S-20, confirm you’re en route to the shots fired call?"

Negative S-20. I am at the 1400 block of Danyon Street. Shots fired, roll me a cover unit now dammit!

Speedwell almost yells the last as she leaves the cover of the sedan, running across the street towards the house. She was too loud because the man on the porch spins around firing from the hip. The shot catches her square on, dropping her hard to the ground. The bulletproof vest saves her life. The force of the impact is like being hit by a car. The sidearm falls from her grasp as she lands hard on the cold pavement. She lays there for a few seconds in agony, the wind knocked out of her. Struggling, Speedwell rolls into the prone position, forcing breath into aching lungs.

Forgetting the radio traffic in her ear, she looks frantically around for the missing weapon. She sees the outline of the sidearm precariously perched on a storm drain a few feet away. Keeping low, crawling as quickly as possible, she scrambles towards the curb. The man on the porch watches with a detached interest as she claws her way towards the gun. Speedwell’s fingers close around the grip of the firearm. From the prone position, she begins to aim. However, before she can fire, two more rounds impact on the sidewalk within a hairsbreadth of her head. Stinging bits of concrete bite into Speedwell’s face; her eyes close reactively. After a moment, her eyes open, seeing the man on the porch pointing a gun at her. He wears an all-black business suit, face holding a smile etched across hard features.

This doesn’t concern you. Put the gun down or die. The Man in Black’s voice projects across the yard with an unnerving calmness. The officer and the man on the porch stay perfectly still for a few moments until Speedwell lowers her sidearm, putting it to rest on the curb.

Eject the magazine and throw your gun in the storm drain next to you. Again, he speaks with strange calmness, as if he is passing on the street and asking the time.

She thumbs the magazine release. It falls from the gun clattering onto the sidewalk, and then she tosses the sidearm down into the storm drain. The resonating clank of the firearm tumbling down into the sewer fills the quiet street. For a moment, she thinks she is going to die.

She pushes through the fear and looks at the man on the porch. The dim light from the living room casts a sickly green shadow across his features. The Man in Black smiles down at her, Good girl. Stay there until I’m through, head down. he says, like she is five years old and poses absolutely no threat.

Speedwell rages with anger. Gritting her teeth, she stays as still as possible. She hears the man moving around on the porch and wants to reach for the spare gun kept tucked into the lining of her bulletproof vest. Waiting patiently, she listens for the man to go inside the house. The sound of pouring liquid fills the nighttime silence. A match strikes, the sound of air displaced, and a bright warm glow tells her the house is now on fire.

Speedwell moves slowly and pushes the transmit button on her radio. This is 26 Bravo, officer down, send medics and fire to 1400 Danyon Street, she whispers as loudly as she dares. The calm she felt earlier in her squad car returns. Looking up from the ground she sees the front of the house ablaze and the Man in Black moving around inside. Speedwell pulls her uniform shirt open and retrieves her secondary weapon with trained ease. Getting to her feet, saying a silent prayer of thanks to the persons who invented bulletproof vests, she moves quickly across the yard towards the burning house.

With renewed vigor, she bursts into a run, charging through the licking flames on the porch and into the house. She is reckless, but a sense of heroic purpose fills her as she stalks through the living room. The conflagration drowns out the sound of her steps as she moves passed an overweight woman sitting on a filthy couch in the living room. The woman wears a pink nightgown and has a large smoldering bullet hole in her face. Not lingering on the dead woman and seeing a trail of blood leading into the kitchen, Speedwell slows her pace. After a few more steps, she recognizes the heavy smell of gasoline in the air just before the living room bursts into flames.

Shit! she yells. Darting into the kitchen, she dives the last few feet, as the pool of gas she was standing in ignites. The bloody trail from the living room finishes at the rear of the kitchen, where the Man in Black stands before an open doorway. Kitchen ablaze around him, he stares down into the basement. His mouth is moving, but she cannot register what he is saying.

Speedwell’s body hits the ground. The pain in her chest flares as she sights down the barrel of the gun and squeezes the trigger.

With a loud bang, the Man in Black’s head snaps to the right. A spray of black blood and brain matter explodes from the side of his face staggering him to the side. Gun still in hand, he tries awkwardly to turn, but Speedwell fires again, squeezing the trigger repeatedly until the gun clicks empty. Two rounds impact the man’s face, one blowing out his left eye. Several more shots hit center mass. Staring at Speedwell for a moment, he finally collapses onto the green linoleum floor. A dark pool of liquid pours from the wounds like an oil spill.

Laying on the kitchen floor, the trauma from being shot takes over Speedwell’s body. Flames from the burning house blaze around her. Smoke fills her lungs. She panics and begins to choke. Finding a reserve of strength, she struggles to her feet.

Got to get out, thoughts scream, but her body cannot respond. Crashing back down to the floor, she no longer has the strength to rise—a feeling of calm envelopes her. As the red glow of the flames seeps through her eyelids, she falls into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

Landed

Back up arrives fifteen minutes later. Fire and medical personnel are first on the scene when a young man, his clothes still smoking, comes staggering out from behind the burning yellow house carrying an unconscious Edge City police officer. Other officers from Speedwell’s precinct evacuate neighbors as the firefighters put out the blaze and the medics tend to the two survivors.

What the fuck! Officer Kraveetz yells at no one in particular. The fifty-four-year-old man is five foot eleven with a lean and powerful build. He is not a subtle man. When he heard Speedwell on the radio requesting aid, he started driving to the 1400 block of Danyon Street, knowing it would take thirty minutes to get there. The backup should have been at the scene within five minutes of her request for aid.

Kraveetz stands shaking his head a short distance from the medics as they work on Speedwell. A twenty-year veteran, he has been a godfather and mentor since her father passed away. He knows she has a hard time being an honest cop in a dirty precinct full of idiots. He is as tough as coffin nails, but Speedwell touches a soft spot. He followed her training, encouraging her to maintain her integrity. So many of the recruits end up dead, in jail, missing, or any number of horrors that befall someone when they sell their soul.

Kraveetz was a Sergeant just a few short months ago. A drug bust, which turned into a lot of dead bodies and a missing suspect, earned him a demotion.

I don’t give a shit about medical clearance; I want to talk to her now!

Kraveetz hears the all too familiar voice of his old academy mate yelling at nearby medical personnel. Turning around, he sees the other man several yards away. Coming from behind, Kraveetz grabs him by the arm and drags him behind a fire engine, I ever hear you stalling when a cop is calling for help, I swear to God I don’t care who’s paying you off, I’m going to take you out back of the precinct and beat you to death! his gravelly voice promises.

Sergeant Hodgkins was promoted despite the seven internal affairs investigations in his first three years on the job. After every one, Hodgkins came away free and clear. He is untouchable, and after lucky number seven, they no longer bothered investigating him when complaints came about. Kraveetz hates the fact that sycophantic pieces of shit like Hodgkins are allowed to live while so many of his friends died in the line of duty. Hodgkins is not a bad cop; he is the worst kind of cop. Kraveetz knows Hodgkins has sold out fellow officers to the darker powers at work in Edge City. The same men and women that had once been friends with Kraveetz were now either missing, corrupt, or dead.

Hodgkins grins, straightens his uniform, and walks away. You know Kraveetz you should watch your mouth. You never know when you might wind up on the back of a milk carton. He keeps walking, not bothering to look at the veteran officer. Suddenly pulled around by the shoulder, a fist slams into his face.

Hodgkins falls to the pavement from the punch Kraveetz delivers. The older man stands over the fatter man, looking anything but intimidated by threats. Fuck you and FUCK your milk carton! You want to threaten me you stupid son of a bitch, then let’s go!

You’re dead... Hodgkins starts to say.

WHAP! Another quick punch snaps into Hodgkins pudgy face.

Shut – Your – Mouth. Kraveetz emphasizes each word by jabbing the other man in the chest with a finger. Hodgkins is a slow learner, but he does manage to keep his mouth shut for several seconds while Kraveetz spells it out for him. Don’t you ever stall for time like that again.

Leaving Hodgkins to pick himself up off the ground, Kraveetz starts to walk back towards the medics to check on Speedwell. After getting to his feet, the humiliated Sergeant simmers with rage. Nose bleeding, he spits at Kraveetz, a dark blob of phlegm hitting the veteran officer on his exposed left arm. You’re a dead man Kraveetz, dead! He hisses through swollen, bloodied lips.

Kraveetz spins on his heel, lunges, and plants yet another perfect punch straight into the other man’s pudgy face. Hodgkins’ eyes roll back into his head as he collapses to the ground, the strike knocking him out. A young city firefighter checking the lines on the fire engine saw Hodgkins spit on Kraveetz. The young man, face dirty with sweat and black soot, walks up to Kraveetz nodding in the direction of the man lying unconscious on the pavement, Everything all right sir? he asks, unintentionally standing in the older officer’s path. Eyes move between Kravetz’s gaze and the sergeant who is lying on the pavement. Kraveetz catches a hint of nervousness in the firefighter’s voice that bespeaks volumes of his desire to do the right thing.

Kraveetz allows himself a smile and nods in Hodgkins’ direction, If he’s in your way, move him. If not, then leave him be.

The firefighter is about to say more, but Kraveetz ends the conversation by walking away towards the nearest ambulance.

The older officer comes around the back of the emergency vehicle and sees Speedwell being attended to by one of the paramedics. Face wincing in pain, her eyes are bloodshot and watery. Her uniform is ripped and torn open, and bandaging covers her chest.

How are you doing kid? he asks gently.

The paramedic is putting an oxygen mask over her face when Speedwell hears his voice. Smiling, she turns her head slowly to look at him. Been better Sarge, how about you? Her voice carries the tiredness of shock. However, her smile brightens when she lays eyes on him. Speedwell never stopped calling Kraveetz ‘Sarge’. To her, he will always be a sergeant no matter what some administrative idiots say.

If you look like this, the other guy better be dead, Kraveetz tells her matter-of-factly. Smile faltering, she closes her eyes at the mention of the man she killed. With just over a year out of the academy, she shot and killed a man tonight. Some cops go their whole career without firing their gun in the line of duty. On some level, it bothers Speedwell greatly she has taken the life of another human being. Tears start falling down her cheeks as the fatigue of the night finally comes crashing down. Kraveetz, taken aback by her tears, tries hard to remember what he is supposed to do when girls cry.

She’s stable now, but we should get her to the hospital for a full workup, the paramedic comments.

Why don’t you take a break for a minute? Kraveetzs’ tone brooks no argument. The paramedic exits the ambulance and the veteran officer gets in, sitting on the bench next to Speedwell’s gurney.

You’re going to be okay, he says softly.

Opening her eyes, she reaches out to hold his hand. I had no choice, Sarge, I had no choice. Gripping the hand hard, more tears start pouring down her cheeks.

Hey! Kraveetz says a little more loudly than he intends. She stares at him intently, the look reminding him of his daughters when they used to cry, and just needed to hear that ‘it would be all right.’ He lowers his voice. Is the fucker that shot you dead?

Taking a moment to process the question, she nods. Yeah, Sarge,

A smile of fatherly pride appears on Kraveetz’s lips, and he nods. He’s dead, and you’re alive. That’s a good day and a good job.

Speedwell tells him about having a shitty night with dispatch, and how she found her way over to Danyon Street. She tells him about the Man in Black and finishes the story with her lying on the kitchen floor as the whole house burned down around her. The last thing she remembers, just before passing out, is the Man in Black lying on the green linoleum, deathly still.

Sounds like a clean shoot kid. Nothing to worry about. Kraveetz nods in the affirmative at his assessment then lights another cigarette.

Speedwell has gotten to know him well over the years. Even though his outward demeanor seems callous, he sticks to a firm set of rational moral principles. She knows because of this, he hardly ever worries about the outcomes of his actions. Only when something worries him does Kraveetz start smoking like a chimney.

I’m okay, thanks for asking, she says in a gentle, teasing voice. Kraveetz moves the cigarette out of sight, awkwardly smiling and blowing the smoke away from her.

Yeah, you got shot, and until you’ve been checked out at the hospital you’re going to take it real easy. He had seen enough gunshot wounds to know it can take hours for something that has been shaken loose or broken to end a person’s life. He reaches out and squeezes Speedwell’s shoulder affectionately.

Thanks. she whispers, reaching up to touch his hand gently. I’m going to be fine; just do me a favor, make sure the kid is okay, and he gets someplace safe.

A look of curiosity crosses Kraveetz’s face. What kid?

The paramedic returns, and overhearing the question offers an answer. Fire said a young man carried Officer Speedwell out from behind the house as it was going up. He’s in the other wagon, he explains, nodding in the direction of the other ambulance.

Kraveetz exits and the paramedic gets back in, checking the intravenous line in Speedwell’s left arm.

Hearing Speedwell was hurt so badly she had to be carried clear of the burning building, Kraveetz’s worry increases, Hey, Speedwell, the sound of her mentor’s gruff voice catching her attention, she looks away from the medic, …you look like shit.

She laughs and then winces as the pain in her chest reminds her to lay still. You always know what to say to a girl.

Kraveetz laughs softly at her ability to stay witty, knowing from firsthand experience how badly being shot hurts. His cigarette bobs up and down as he chuckles at himself.

I’m a charmer, he says, looking down at raw knuckles. His lips part into a satisfied grin as he thinks about Hodgkins. Speedwell watches him cradling the hand and knows someone has been on the receiving end of those knuckles.

What’s so funny?

Like a kid caught doing something he was not supposed to be, Kraveetz drops his hand to his side and stops smiling. Speedwell regularly tells him he needs to watch his ass or the powers-that-be will find a way to fire him. She is the only person who can tell him he is wrong without the possibility of getting punched in the face.

Nothing, just talking with Hodgkins before I came to see you. Kraveetz lets the end of his sentence hang in the air as a way of saying he wants to change the subject. He takes out a fresh pack of smokes from his uniform breast pocket. The orange glow of the flame as he lights a cigarette is a stark reminder to Speedwell of the last thing she remembers before waking up on the lawn of the house.

After seeing Speedwell off, Kraveetz tracks down the young man who pulled her out of the burning building. As he nears the rear of the second ambulance, he can hear the medic talking.

Okay, we’re going to get you checked out at the hospital. As soon as the fire guys are out of the way, we can get out of here. The older medic says, smiling at Jack. The younger man looks rough; covered with bruises, small cuts, singeing, and a black eye.

The Man in Black never had the chance to finish pulling the trigger. Just before the hammer fell the right side of his face opened. The follow-up shots accompanied by the sharp reports of a handgun let Jack know there was another person somewhere in the kitchen doing the shooting. He waited only a few seconds after the Man in Black slumped face forward onto the ground until he flew up the last few stairs into the fiery kitchen. Averting his gaze from the growing pool of blood, Jack saw a police officer laying passed out on the green linoleum. Running to the officer’s side, he picked her up in his arms. Even though it was not the easiest way to carry a person, he managed to get them both out the back door. He came around the front of the house as medics and fire vehicles had come screaming up to the house.

Kraveetz walks around the rear of the ambulance, catching Jack’s gaze. So tell me about the Man in Black.

The young man freezes. He does not know who this police officer is, or what he should say next. As if reading his mind, Kraveetz says, Don’t think about it, just answer and no bullshit.

"I… He had a gun, and he was going to shoot