Spoiler
PREVIOUSLY: Dwight's in a cellar, about to get his throat slit by a punk kid named Alexander. Never mind that Alexander's dead body lays slumped right beside them; dead or alive, Alexander's good and angry enough to carve Dwight a new orifice.
III
“Damn. School’s changed since I was a kid.”
The voice, unfamiliar yet wholly welcome, echoed across the cellar. Alexander spun his head around (the knife still pressed against its victim’s throat) and Dwight followed his gaze. Standing a few steps above the landing was a tall, skinny man with wild brown hair and even wilder eyes. He wore an all-black suit-and-tie with red sneakers that stuck out like two sore thumbs; he looked like a guy was late for his own wedding and decided to jog to the chapel because, dammit, cabs cost too much these days. His hands rested in his pockets. He looked incredibly relaxed, perhaps even comfortable.
“I mean, we’d give the nerds a good swirly now and again to keep up appearances, but really? Throat-slitting? That’s hardcore.” The man shrugged. “Guess you gotta keep up with the times. Rap, video games, and all that fun, violent stuff. Me? I blame pop stars. Bad example for the kids.”
Jasper and McCaulley turned to Alexander as if for direction. Alexander’s hand wavered a little bit before he pressed the knife back against Dwight’s throat. Dwight said nothing, could say nothing.
“Who the hell are you?” said Alexander.
“That’s rude,” said the man in the suit. “Kids these days. No respect.”
He took a step down, and McCaulley took a step back. Jasper stayed where he was, shooting his cohort a look of disappointment mingled with fear.
“Take another step and I rip out his Adam’s apple,” said Alexander. “Don’t test me, I’ll do it.” He shook the knife as if to show that yes, he really would do it.
“I believe you,” said the man. “You have no soul, of course you’d gut the poor kid. I assume that’s your body” He gestured to the lifeless corpse that lay slumped beside Dwight. “Really should get that thing buried. Or cremated. I know a guy who’ll do it for ya, no charge. He loves making things go all burny-burn. Guess that’s why he owns a crematorium. Never really asked him. What’s your name?”
“Why should I tell you?” said Alexander. “Back off, old man, I swear to God I’ll -”
“Wasn’t talking to you, asswipe” said the man. “Oh, don’t worry; I’ll get to you in a minute. Right now, I’m talking to the dude you’ve got pinned up against the wall. What’s your name, kid?”
Dwight said nothing. The knife was so close to breaking his skin, he didn’t dare any movement. He was barely even breathing as it is.
“Frog in your throat,” said the man. “Gotchya. I’ll be taking care of that. Whatever your name is, be it Bob, Rob, or Betty Lou, I just want you to know one thing: it’s going to be all right.” And then the man did something none of them expected. He smiled, truly and fully. “Now…”
The man took another step down, and it seemed like everyone in the room had a stuck suddenly shoved up their rears. Jasper and McCaulley both took steps back, and Alexander let out a noise that sounded almost like a growl.
“Stand down!” yelled Alexander, his voice raised and distorted. Like McCaulley’s before it, the noise coming out of Alexander’s mouth was not and never would be human.
He turned to Dwight, his eyes now a fiery red; his skin looked paler now, almost bluish, and Dwight could see small two small pointed protrusions (horns man, freaking horns!) sticking out his skull. He assumed that the other two had made similar transformations, but he was too busy worrying about his current captor to care. What was this? A ghost? An echo? Some sort of shape shifter? If Alexander was dead, then what the hell was this thing? And who was the guy in the suit? Dwight wasn’t sure; all he knew was that, for one stupid reason or another, he actually trusted him.
“I’ll cut him up!” said Alexander. “I’ll cut him up and then me and my boys are gonna cut you up! I swear to God we will! I SWEAR TO GOD!”
“Don’t swear,” said the man, just as casually as ever. “It’s not nice. Now let the kid go. This is your last chance.”
Jasper and McCaulley looked at their leader, clueless and apparently dumbfounded. Alexander just smiled.
“Christ,” said Alexander, a mad grin spreading from ear to ear. “You sound just like a teacher. All they ever talk about is rules and proper introductions and crap like that. Screw your rules. I think I’ll just carve him up right now. Hell, even if you kill me, least I’ll get one more good cut in.” Then he giggled, like a schoolgirl given the best present ever. “I love the cutting…”
“You wanna talk proper introductions?” said the man. All good humor had gone out of his voice. He looked stern, and angry, and – to Dwight – more intimidating that someone like Alexander could ever be. “Hello, my name is Rufus Blatty, class is in session, and the lesson of the day is never piss off Rufus Blatty.”
And in a second that was not a second, but a single molecule of a moment, the man called Rufus reached into his pocket and drew out a gun. No way, thought Dwight, even as time seemed to slow and the world ceased to turn. He can’t be that fast. Nobody’s that fast.
But he was that fast, and before Dwight could even contemplate what was about to happen, thunder exploded out of the gun’s barrel and Alexander’s head opened up. What spilled out wasn’t blood or mucus or brains, but ash and fire and soot. Alexander’s grin disappeared in a haze of smoke, and his whole body was ashy nothing before it hit the ground. All this happened in less than a second.
The knife clattered to the floor, its edge stained with blood. Dwight instinctively reached for his neck, and felt a small sting when his hand made contact. He had been cut, but not bad. Like all wounds, it would heal. Same couldn’t be said for the thing that had called itself Alexander. Whatever it was (monster, myth, gremlin) was as dead as Moses.
Rufus blew off the smoke from the barrel of his gun. It made him look like a gunslinger from an old western.
“Love doing that,” said Rufus, a genuine hint of glee in his voice. “Makes me feel like a gunslinger from an old western.”
Jasper screamed like a child.
“You kilt him!” he wailed. “You kilt Alexander! You kilt our leader! You kilt our Alexander!”
“Your buddy’s been dead for a long time,” said Rufus. “And so have you. This is your fork in the road, boys. You can take today’s lesson to heart and rock, or you piss me off and I turn you into used firewood. Which way do you go mister? For without repentance, I cannot save thee from the rope.” He held out his gun again. “And by rope I mean this. And by ‘save thee’ I mean, ‘promise not to blow you to bloody hell in the immediate future.’ Choice is yours.”
Rufus descended to the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the banister. He made a welcoming gesture as if inviting the boys to the stairway. McCaulley went immediately, not saying a word but whimpering under his breath as he went. Jasper turned around, looked at the scattered ashes that was once Alexander, and –with a pained grimace – followed McCaulley up the stairs.
Rufus watched them go, and when they were gone he turned to Dwight.
“You okay?” he asked. “Got a little nip on your neck.”
“Yeah,” said Dwight, automatically moving his hand away from his throat. But he wasn’t okay. A part of him felt like he’d never be okay again. Never in his life had he come so close to death; it was definitely an eye-opening experience. “It’s fine, though. Thank you, Mr. Exorcist, uh, sir. That was a good shot.”
“No thanks necessary,” said Rufus. “Just my job. And yes, it was a good shot. You’re not too shabby yourself. Those two demons had some bruises on em. I can only assume they got those from you.”
Dwight nodded.
“They took a tumble down the stairs,” he said, a hint of pride swelling in his voice. “I helped.”
Rufus laughed, and looked down at the Alexanders: one a smoldering pile of ash, and the other the cheesy-skinned body of a dead boy.
“They’re not human,” said Dwight, not sure if he had asked a question or made a statement. “Alexander, McCaulley, Jasper. None of them. They’re something else, aren’t they?”
Rufus hesitated. He looked at Dwight, and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Nobody had touched him that way, not since his father had passed.
“Everything was human once,” said Rufus, a sad smile painting across his face. “Him included. Sucks I had to blow up his head.”
He took his hand away, held up the pistol and blew across its muzzle a second time. It was the first time Dwight had seen it up close. It didn’t look like any gun Dwight had ever seen. At first glance, it looked like a colt from the old westerns, only its barrel was longer and its grip larger. Black designs were drawn across its sandalwood frame. It looked like something out of a steam-punk film. Rufus put the gun back in its holster, which was hidden by the black jacket he wore.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Dwight.
“The gun or the good looks?”
“Is that a joke?”
“What’s life without a good laugh? Sure, you could’ve died just now, but think of it this way: there are billions of ways to die. Getting your throat gashed open by a demonic teenager just happens to be one of them.”
In spite of himself, Dwight actually chuckled.
“Both,” he said.
“Well, let’s see,” said Rufus. “The looks from my mom’s side. Dad had a bit of a beer gut, though I suppose that’s what happens when you imbibe ridiculous quantities of alcohol on a daily basis. As for the incredibly cool firearm, I’m afraid it’s classified.”
“So you can’t tell me?”
“Oh, I’ll tell ya, just don’t tell anyone that I told ya.” He winked. “C’mon, let’s walk and talk. I’m ready to get out of this place. Gives me the creeps, what with the dead teenager and all.”
Rufus began towards the door, and Dwight followed. Before he began up the stairs, he turned around for one last glanced at the body of Alexander. Looking at the corpse, so sad and pathetic in death, he knew without a doubt that the thing that had chased him, held a knife to his throat, tried to kill him even, was not the same being that had once made that body walk and talk, live and breathe. He felt sorry for Alexander, if that was really his real name. He turned off the light and followed Rufus into the daylight.
Then, me as her friend and Faithful-Fan is left hanging! and then she never continues them!
