Hell's Hero Page 7

  “Yeah? So what?”

  “If everyone knows who you are, you aren’t safe anywhere. Every crook, gangster, and thug in this city will be coming out of the woodwork to take you on.”

  “How do you know that?”

  It’s just human nature. Okay, look, the eyes of the city are on you now, and if I know my villains, someone out there will want to knock you off your throne.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Easy. Look at Batman and the Joker. Superman and Lex Luthor…”

  “Oh, hell, Fate, get off it…”

  “Dante, listen to me. That’s why Superman disguised himself as Clark Kent.”

  “He didn’t wear a mask.”

  “He didn’t have to. He just fixed himself up differently. He was a nerdy newspaper reporter until trouble started, then he quickly changed to Superman. A real cool dude.”

  “I still think…”

  Suddenly, they heard a knock at the door, and the two men looked at each other, expecting the worst.

  “Get in the other room,” Fate whispered. “In the closet, or something.”

  When Dante slipped into the other room and listened at the door, he learned that it was a neighbor giving Fate some mail that had been put in his box. Breathing a little easier, he walked out of the room.

  “False alarm,” Fate said as he changed into his jogging suit.

  “Where you going?”

  “I’m going for the run I was going to take earlier before you got involved with that man who’s still digging himself out of the dumpster you threw him into.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “No, it’s okay. I won’t be long.”

  Dante looked out the window at the setting sun. “I don’t think you should be out alone when it’s dark, Fate.”

  “What the hell, am I a kid? So it’s getting dark. Hell, Dante, I’m a big boy, and I don’t need a friggin’ babysitter.”

  “I’m just concerned, Fate. Those parks are a mugger’s dream, and the streets are full of crime, especially at night. I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I know that, and thanks, but I’m more worried about you. So, if you don’t mind, just stay out of sight, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, Fate, but listen to me. If you get into trouble, say my name over and over.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “I don’t know. It’s some kind of radar, or something. The lady today was putting out vibes. Whether she realized it or not, she was scared. That’s why I was summoned.”

  “Summoned. Oh, my God, Dante. That sounds like there’s someone out there who knows your every movement, and is guiding you.”

  “I don’t know, all I know is, I receive signals. So, I’m just saying, send me a signal by saying my name over and over. It’ll work. I know it will.”

  “Okay. If it’ll shut you up, I’ll do it, but I’m telling you, you’re worried about nothing.”

  “Let’s just hope so.”

  * * * *

  He loved the feeling of a pulse under his palms, slowing, fluttering—dying.

  Listening to the music of wordless gasps for air. Watching the light in their eyes flicker, then fade into death. Just thinking about it made his own heart rate quicken in anticipation, his breath become labored in expectation.

  Now as he stood in the shadows his breath came quickly, his nerves jumping.

  Waiting for the right moment.

  Waiting for the right—victim.

  He chose them well. Their skin was perfect. Not a flaw, a scar, or even a stupid pimple. They were handsome, all of them. Their smiles stretched across white, unspoiled teeth, and some faraway light glittered in their eyes, enhancing the color that made a man lose his breath. Beauty was for the simple minded, the weak. Those with beauty had nothing else. They lived for their beauty, treasured it, and once it was taken away they had nothing—like him.

  Nothing but a name—Digger. After this happened to him he was suited for nothing else—only to dig graves in a cemetery.

  It was a train wreck that ruined his face. It happened many years ago. Afterward he lay among twisted metal, half of his face cut away. He bled, he cried, he wanted to die, but even death wouldn’t take him. He remembered the stupid doctors, the nurses, and even the medical emergency dimwits that patted themselves on the back for saving him when all he wanted was to die. Perhaps if he’d come back as beautiful as he’d been before, the taste of bitterness wouldn’t have twisted him, but as fate would have it, he was made into a monster. A monster that lay on the hospital bed with his face being held together by thread that felt as thick as cable. Ugly wire that had been sewn in and out of his face to hold it together. The doctors did as much as they could to make him look human, but they weren’t God, and by the time they got through, their best was a deformed face that made him sink back into the shadows to hide. That train wreck might have taken his face, and maybe even his mind, but it had turned a light on inside his brain, and he saw clearly for the first time. That’s when he’d learned what being beautiful had done to him. It had made him weak. It had become his crutch, his cane, his walking stick, but now that he was free, he could rid the world of those stricken with the same affliction he’d had. He wanted to spare them from the disease few knew about.

  Too much beauty.

  He came out of that hospital knowing what he had to do. He had acquired a thirst for knowledge, and over time he studied, learned much, and today he knew everything about medicine for the body, and medicine for the mind, and even how to create a false face. In addition to all the mind-bending learning, by the time it was all over he’d become a master of disguise. Sadly, since he hadn’t learned these skills in school, many would say he knew just enough to be dangerous—or mad.

  But his studies didn’t end with the finer points of medicines, mathematic equations, hypnotism, and makeup artistry, he went further than that. He even learned that the key to a successful abduction was to pick the right spot. Preferably something near a group of parked cars. It provided obstacles, and stumbling blocks large enough to hide behind. This victim was ideal. He had studied him a long time, and knew he was a loner. A man like that, in all the hustle and bustle of this city—it might be days, even weeks, before he was missed.

  Now, as his quarry drew closer he could hear his footsteps as they echoed off of the walls of the canyons created by the skyscrapers that graced this evil city. He stood quiet, unmoving, but watched from the opposite side of the dumpster as his victim slowly came into view. As the clueless jogger came nearer, he noticed he had changed his steps into a livelier jogging pace and looked over his shoulder, not to the side.

  The attacker had chosen his spot very carefully. Close enough to the end of the block so his prey would feel safe, and yet still be secluded. As the victim came closer, he noticed that his steps became somewhat leisurely, and he saw the relief on his face as he relaxed his step to a walk.

  The moment had come. It was now or never. With fluid movements he stepped up behind him, clasped his hands around his mouth and hit him. He could feel the man’s perfect body fall against him, and gazed at his perfect face as he wilted down to the ground.

  He was overcome at first at his beauty, but quickly came to himself and began dragging him. He was heavy. At this rate it would take him hours to get him on his table. But still he worked and sweated, and dragged him slowly. The night might have hid his gaunt, dark figure as he struggled along, but the deep breaths of air that he sucked into his mouth and then breathed out, resembled a ghostly gray as it mingled with the humid night air.

  Chapter 5

  DANTE was restless.

  Why hadn’t he insisted he go with Fate? Now, as he paced and looked out the window, he somehow knew that Fate was in danger. He’d talked Fate into drawing the routes he usually took so he would always know how to get to Fate if he needed him, but he’d forgotten to ask whic
h one he was using. Damn, this part of town was lousy with them. He quickly began rummaging through drawers until he found a map with his running route on it, but it didn’t help. He knew it could be any one. The only thing he could do was wait, and if he did get in trouble maybe his radar would point the way.

  He needed something to pass the time, so he took the book down and began reading it again. He’d seen some profound things in it, and sometimes when he was feeling conflicted or full of tension, the book seemed to soothe him.

  But now, it didn’t seem to work.

  He simply couldn’t keep his mind off Fate and what danger he might be facing. As much as he tried to become immersed in the book, he found himself reading the same passage over and over again until suddenly the book was ripped out of his hand, and flew across the room. When he went over to pick it up, Dante could feel some kind of power or pressure pushing his hands away from it. He didn’t understand until he heard the wind begin rustling in the trees, and a low mournful moan whispering his name.

  Dante! Dante! Dante! Dante…

  When he heard it whirling around in his head, he sprang into action. He ran out of the apartment as fast as he could, down the steps and out onto the street. Almost immediately his radar began working, and he quickly went into action. First, he looked around and saw an alleyway, and hurried into it. Almost immediately he began whirling around like a tornado and burrowing down into the ground. From there he delved through steel, asphalt, cable wire, and cement blocks until he turned and rose upward, still whirling madly until he burst out onto a dark, vacant street. The first thing he saw was a house that was almost hidden beneath the gathering shadows.

  He looked around at the macabre scene.

  Someone had made an effort to dress up the house for Halloween. On the small lawn, dried cornstalks were stacked around a lamppost. A pumpkin grinned from the top of the steps. Opposite the pumpkin was a little barrel of chrysanthemums, and beside the front door, barely visible in the shadow, a scarecrow dummy with a painted on smile sat slumped in a chair. Just then his gaze settled on a dark form that was dressed in a clown costume. Dante might have thought by his strange appearance that he was another Halloween decoration, but he seemed ill at ease with whatever it was he was holding. As Dante’s eyes dug beneath the bright colors on his face, a face he’d seen many times as he walked along the cold city street the way anybody would, shoulders drawn together against the damp autumn air.

  He seemed sort of average. Not tall and not short, not heavy and not thin, and he always wore dark gloves. He never picked up his feet, they just sort of slid along. His eyes, when you saw them from behind the collar of his coat, were full of darkness, secrets, and when he was out on the street, he did only what he had to do, and the next thing you knew, he was gone. He seemed to quickly disappear around some corner, or into some dark shadow like a mist. He remembered only one time that he heard someone call him “Digger.” When Dante inquired about the strange name, the man said that he dug graves at the local funeral home. Dante remembered thinking that the man seemed to fit the job. Even his name was appropriate.

  He narrowed his eyes in the dark, seeing a pair of familiar blue eyes he knew must be Fate’s. “Fate! Is that you?”

  Before Fate could answer, the man said, “The trick-or-treaters have moved to the next street.”

  “I’m not here for candy,” Dante said as he carefully approached them. And then suddenly he hesitated when he saw the gleam of a knife.

  “Dante! Thank God you’re here!” Fate said, struggling.

  “Fate, are you all right? What’s going on?”

  “He’s got a knife to my throat.”

  Digger looked down at his captive, his voice a scolding whisper. “Be quiet, you fuckin’ bastard, or I’ll cut your heart out!”

  “What do you want with this man?” Dante asked.

  “None of your fuckin’ business,” Digger said as he struggled with his victim. “Just be on your way.”

  “I don’t think I want to do that. It looks like you’re forcing that man inside.”

  “Look, if you don’t want me to finish the job here, you’d better leave.”

  “What job? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going to do something for this man that will save him many years of torment. I’m going to take his beauty away from him.”

  “You mean you’re going to mutilate his face? My God, why?”

  “To save him from having to go through what I did.”

  “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  “Think what you want to. He’ll thank me when it’s over.”

  “Will he…Digger?”

  “You know me?” Digger said, fear in his voice. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Let me introduce myself. Unless you unhand that man, I’ll be your worst nightmare.”

  “Very funny. Apparently you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “Let me see…a coward, a bully…no, I’m sorry. I think I may be wrong about that. No, I’d say you are malicious, immoral, and a downright revolting animal who is threatening my friend there. Am I right?”

  “Me, threaten your friend? I should say not. I’m just inviting him in for a spot of tea.”

  “With a touch of Rohypnol, or chloroform included, right?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “No? Tell me, Digger, do you often have to pull a knife on someone to get them to join you in a cup of tea?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

  “How about I make it my business?”

  “Let me put it this way. Unless you leave now, my knife might slip, and instead of his face being cut, it’ll be his throat. Understand what I’m saying?”

  As Dante’s anger began to grow, the trees began to rustle, and the wind began to kick up and let out a mournful shriek.

  Digger looked around. “What the hell is that?”

  “I’ll tell you what it is. It’s the stirring of anger…my anger. Just a warning, Digger, that’s something you don’t want to stir up.”

  “You don’t seem to understand who has the upper hand here. Look a little closer, creep, I’m the one holding the knife.”

  “A mere technicality.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean…the nightmare has begun.”

  As Dante had matured, he had slowly learned much about himself. He knew that he was capable of many things, such as the ability to clone people or things, freeze time, shrink or expand, speak any language, shout loud enough to shatter glass, and bounce on the ground when jumping down from a tall building. He could even shoot laser beams from his eyeballs, dig tunnels with his bare hands, and even melt cheese sandwiches at a single glance—and so much more.

  But now he needed none of those gifts—but one.

  He needed his gift of metamorphosis.

  Now as Dante stared at Digger, his form began to slowly metamorphose into a hulking phantom, at least eight feet in height. As he grew, his clothes ripped from his body, and it was difficult to tell whether he was human or animal. While he was changing the smell that came from him was that of sulfur, and the tattoos on his skin were covered with coal dust, and a hellish smoke drifted up from the flames that circled him.

  Finally, when the metamorphosis was complete, the flames subsided, and he stood in a body of muscled hardness. He was dark, like the night, and he had claws like that of a wolf. His eyes were pale and cold, like the moonlight. The expression on his face was one of diabolical madness, and when he spoke his words were deep, and guttural, and seemed to echo upward from the bowels of the earth. And even in the dark, his impressive size cast a shadow over the whole front yard, and all the Halloween paraphernalia.

  “I won’t tell you again…let him go.”

  Slowly the man, wide-eyed and frightened, dropped the knife and pulled away. “My God,” he whispered. “What the hell are you?”<
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  “Does your worst nightmare sound familiar?”

  “I never had a nightmare like this.”

  Suddenly Dante lifted his arms as if he were going to lunge, and let go of a wild “Groooooowwwwwl!” that sounded like a hundred monsters on the loose.

  Digger quickly turned and stumbled as he slammed into the house banging doors and windows while yelling in fear.

  When the danger was over, Fate mumbled, “Oh, God!” just before he went limp in Dante’s arms.

  Dante looked down into Fate’s face and knew he had to get him home, and quickly. He couldn’t burrow down into the ground, and walking, even running along the jogging paths, the neighborhood walks, and through alleyways would take too long, so with his clothes literally hanging off his back, he lifted Fate into his arms, looked up into the dark sky, and suddenly he could feel his very pores forcing air out of his body as he slowly began to rise. Higher and higher he rose, his body pushing him upward and wrapping him in a cocoon of air to travel in. His only concern being Fate, he looked down from up above the city, and watched as the people, the cars, and even the barking dogs looked upward and watched him skimming through the sky at a rapid speed. When he finally saw their apartment, he landed on the roof, ran down the stairwell, and rushed inside.

  He didn’t realize that somewhere among all the people who were watching, there was a man with a mini-cam.

  * * * *

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s happened again. An unidentified object was caught on camera flying over the city last night about midnight. Again, everyone is asking the same thing…who is this mystery man that seems to have superhuman strength, is a protector of the powerless, the weak, and can defy even the elements? Whoever he is we know one thing about him. He likes to work in the dark. Out of the sight of curious onlookers. Now, only one question is on everyone’s lips. Is he the man the whole city has come to know as…Dante?”

  With the soft drone of the TV in the other room, Fate woke up to Dante hovering over him, a look of concern on his face. Fate said nothing as his gaze crept over Dante, noticing that his hair was speckled with midnight dew, making it resemble the shimmer of ocean waves, highlighted by the full moon. Maybe he was losing his mind, or maybe he was simply in love, but as he looked at it, he envisioned a stallion’s mane flying in the wind as he galloped across the landscape. Strong muscle, lean body, fluid grace. His hair lay neatly down the nape of his neck looking all sexy, and the look in his eyes told Fate that there was an element of wildness just below the surface that fought at the bridle of control. Fate yearned to keep him from becoming too civilized. He loved his wildness, and wanted him to remain a little untamed until he was brought to purr beneath the touch of his lover’s hand.