Shadow of a Broken Man
1
Gull City was a vast sprawling metropolis with something for everyone. It was a hunt for whatever you sought, and that item would never be far off if you knew where to go. Sometimes that led to a scene in an alley with the police asking what happened to you.
Of course while you were looking for what you wanted, something was looking for you.
The body had been discovered by a delivery guy dropping off packages to a little store's back area. He spotted a hand sticking out of the dumpster and looked, wondering what had happened. He puked when he saw the rest.
It would stay with him until he hanged himself two years later.
The police scoured the scene, looking for witnesses, a weapon, any clue as to what happened. It was a nasty murder by a fiend who liked to use his teeth to rend living flesh. The coroner's report had been kept from the press to avoid a panic.
The chief of detectives Maury Cragan was not going to tell the citizens a werewolf was eating people. He would rather shoot himself than be fired from his job overseeing hundreds of investigators in five branches of the department.
The second body made his position even more untenable.
There were no clues, no method, no motive beyond savagery. It hadn't been a full moon. The killer didn't leave a taunting message, or call the press. He had his agenda and didn't want it tampered with by the police.
Cragan decided to call in an outside expert to find this mook and put him away. He knew that his detectives asked a private investigator named Donovan to help them solve mysterious cases. He had vouchers to verify that. Maybe this private eye could turn something up.
Cragan had one problem. The number on his card went to an answering machine, and there was no telling when the detective would call back if he ever decided to do that.
Cragan instituted a paper chase, finding the small closet Donovan rented and a house on the outskirts of the city. He checked at both with his driver, but the man wasn't at home, or at his office.
Cragan returned to his office and put out a notice. He needed to talk to this expert before anyone else did.
2
His name was Donovan, and he was waiting to talk to a man about hassling old ladies and others who couldn't defend themselves.
It seemed a simple situation to resolve for the investigator.
The night started as most did for Donovan. He shook off his deep sleep, had a small breakfast, then checked phone messages. Vera Armitage's message appealed to him more than the rest, so he cleaned up, donned a black T-shirt, jodhpurs, and boots, grabbed his keys and wallet, and drove over to the tenement where Mrs. Armitage lived.
Mrs. Armitage was a 70-year-old white woman, living in a rent controlled building, and the look on her face told him that she was surprised by his gray appearance and the metal globe of a lamp shackled to his arm.
"I'm Donovan," he said in his monotone voice.
"Thank you for coming by," Mrs. Armitage said, gesturing for him to come inside her apartment. "I don't know whom else I could call for help. Lionel Jeffries said you would help me."
"I don't know," said Donovan, stepping across the threshold. He stood just inside the closed door. "You said you were having problems with some harassment."
"This man wrecks things in the building," Mrs. Armitage explained. "Door knobs, doors, paneling, a window one day. I have called the police, but no one else will stand up to him. If the police wait here for him, he just stops until they have to go somewhere else. I talked to Mr. Jeffries and he suggested you."
"When does this man come around?," asked Donovan.
"He only comes around at night," said Mrs. Armitage. "I have spoken with him. He's a low man."
Donovan felt his curse start to burn inside of him. He had to be careful about what kind of job he took on. He would never be able to rest if he couldn't bring this to a conclusion. Still if the man decided to arrive while he was watching the place, if might be an easy case closing for him.
"I can give your problem a week," said Donovan. "If I can't resolve it, I will hand it over to an expert who can keep a better eye on things than I can."
"What if he doesn't come back in a week," asked Mrs. Armitage.
"That is the one thing we can't control in this situation," said Donovan. "Who owns this building?"
"I believe the new owner is something called Sunrise Developments," said Mrs. Armitage. "I called them when this first started, but they gave me the runaround. It's the police force's job to make the building safe, not theirs."
"I'll look into your problem," said Donovan, committing himself to stopping whatever was really going on. "I won't be able to be here in the daytime, but I will talk to someone to watch out until I can be here. Don't talk to this man again if you see him. I'll do the talking for you."
"Mr. Jeffries didn't lie about you," said Mrs. Armitage. "I already feel like this nightmare will end."
"I'll do what I can," Donovan said, what I have to do. "We'll see what happens by the end of this week. I might have to let someone who can work full time have your case if I can't make something happen."
I will make something happen, the gray man thought, turning to the door. Or I'll hunt this guy down and talk to him at his place.
Donovan was on his sixth day of stakeout when the man he wanted to talk to finally arrived. He would have smiled if his face allowed it. He decided that he should talk to the man's boss too while he was at it. What's the point of hurting a tool when the hand just picked up another to do the dirty work?
Donovan heard the hassler quarreling with the maintenance man who lived on the first floor as he descended the stairs. He walked over to the door, lantern swinging from his hand as he moved. The flames leaping from the triangular openings that resembled eyes mirrored his own thoughts of violence.
"I want you to cut the heat off and leave it," the hassler told Juan Ruiz, the janitor. "I want these old people frozen, and looking for somewhere else to live."
"I can't allow that," said Donovan, standing behind the man. The troublemaker turned with lightning reflexes at the sound of his voice. "I have to ask you to stop harassing the people in this building."
"What makes you say that?," said the home wrecker, blood shot eyes glaring at the gray man accosting him. His breath made Donovan step back. "Why don't you mind your own business?"
"I am being paid to mind this building," said the cursed, holding up his lamp to let the light fall on the other man. "That means that I want to talk to your employer."
"You're crazy," said the thinner man, flesh a white fish pallor under the dim hall light. A fist drew back and swung with the same lightning move. It missed the gray man in front of him. There was a clang as the metal lantern caught him on the head before he could draw back from the swing.
"Don't cross me," said Donovan, grabbing the man's shirt front and slamming him against a wall. "Let's talk to your boss so I can explain the new situation to him."
The man's face changed, canines growing longer, blood filling out the whites of his eyes. He grabbed the gray arm, with the intent of pulling the gray hand holding him from his neck. A vampire was stronger than any human, even crazy humans. The lamp knocked a fang out with no effort.
"I would have let you find somewhere else to work as long as you don't bother the people who hired me," Donovan said. His monotone voice covered any hint of an effort pinning the vampire. "Instead I will have to do this the hard way."
"You don't mess with the Scarpettis and live," said the vampire.
"That won't matter to you," said Donovan, bringing the lamp down hard.
3
Vincent Scarpetti owned houses, commercial buildings, apartments, almost any type of building you could name. His favorite property was the mansion he lived in outside of Gull City proper. The large white decorative block hid behind trees, gardens, a pond, and a white block wall.
Guards patrolled day and night to make sure Mr. Scarpetti, and his extended family, only dealt with those they wanted to deal with.
The brown van pulling into the driveway a little after eight p.m. caused some concern. Guests arrived in limos, or sports cars, usually driven by chauffeurs. Service people knew to go around to the back of the grounds and use the gravel road there. No one just drove up to the gate expecting to get in to see the Scarpetti.
"I would like to talk to Vincent Scarpetti," the gray driver said to the guard manning the gate. "I have been asked to deal with him."
"Invite only," said the guard. "Leave your name and number, and maybe the chief will call you back when he wants to."
"This can be settled in a reasonable fashion now," said Donovan. "Or I will settle things in a way Mr. Scarpetti won't like in the next three days. I'm willing to wait for his answer. Once I leave, he'll never have this chance again."
"Who do you think you are?," said the guard, reaching under his coat. "Get out of here before I drag you out of that piece of crap, and give you the beating you need."
Donovan held his lantern up, flames spitting from the holes in the face of it. The orange light fell on the guard's face, driving him back from the gate. The lamp seemed to laugh as it hung from his fingers. The guard's hair and clothes smoked slightly as he tried to regain his composure.
"Tell Mr. Scarpetti that Donovan the Cursed is here to see him," said the gray man. "Then find a job somewhere else doing something else."
The guard scrambled to the phone inside the gate. He stood outside the light from the lantern glaring at him balefully. He patted at the smoke coming from his hair as he waited for someone to pick up the phone at the other end.
"There's this guy who wants to talk to Mr. Scarpetti," the guard said when someone finally agreed to talk to him. "He says his name is Donovan. I don't know. He has this freaky lamp chained to his forearm."
The guard placed the phone back on the hook.
"The house said for you to go up," he said, pulling the gate out of the way.
"Don't forget what I said," Donovan said, before pulling through the opening. "Find a job somewhere else."
The brown van was as much out of place as its owner amidst the luxurious white of Scarpetti's estate. Parked beside a small fountain, it resembled an undertaker's wagon waiting for the next dead body to be plunked in the back.
Two guards stood on the white steps leading to the disguised steel front door. They had their hands under their jackets. No one should be able to force his way pass their watchfulness. Donovan held up his lamp, the light clearing a path for him to go where he wanted.
The guard on the left fumbled for the door, trying to stay clear of the burning light the lantern spewed like righteous indignation.
"Mr. Scarpetti said for you to go right in," said the guard, finally pushing the door open. "He's waiting for you in his office."
Donovan followed his lantern over the threshold. He thought he heard sighs of relief when he stepped aside and the door started to close behind him. He had nothing against vampires, but he also didn't mind smashing their heads in when he had to.
Vampires were one step below werewolves in his opinion.
And neither were as cursed as he was.
A butler stood in front of Donovan, hands folded behind his back. Sweat marred the placidity that he displayed waiting.
"This way please," the butler said, lisping slightly, heading for a room to the right of the entrance area.
"By all means," said Donovan, following. Deep shadows marked the short hallway until he passed. The light from his lamp cast everything in sharp relief.
The butler knocked on the wooden door at the end of the hall, paused, then opened the door. He stuck his head in to announce the visitor, then stepped aside. Beneath his professional calm, he seemed relieved to hand off the gray man to someone with authority to deal with him.
Donovan stepped inside the office. He looked around, glad that he wouldn't have to use violence first.
Vincent Scarpetti was a handsome ghoul dressed in shirt sleeves, tie loosened around his neck. Papers decorated the top of his desk, fountain pen hanging from a thumb and index finger.
He was the very picture of a hard-working businessman.
"What do I owe the pleasure of this uninvited visit?," Scarpetti asked, voice still carrying some trace of the old country, whichever country that was.
"You have been harassing tenants in a rent controlled building you own," said Donovan. "I have been hired to make that harassment stop, one way or the other. I hope that a simple talk with you will handle this in an adult fashion."
Scarpetti placed his papers on his crowded desk, easing back in his chair. He couldn't remember the last person to address him so bluntly. He was sure he had did something unpleasant to the person who had been so forward.
"What if I say no?," said Scarpetti, regarding his visitor calmly.
"Then I'll have to resort to violence on you and yours," said Donovan. His monotone conveyed the impression he was reading off a grocery, or a to do, list. "I would rather avoid that. All I want is for you to leave the people in this one building alone for the rest of their lives. Most of them are old, and they won't hang on forever."
"I have a counter proposal," said Scarpetti. "I need something done for me, something my men aren't capable of handling. I'm willing to accept your request if you handle this business for me."
"You'll leave them alone?," said Donovan. "No tricky looking accidents, no fake suicides?"
"Yes," said Scarpetti. "I'm a man of my word."
"Then you understand what will happen if you break this truce," said Donovan. His lantern blazed with malice on the end of its silver chain. "And I will know if you break it."
"Is that a threat?," asked Scarpetti.
"No," said Donovan. "I'm making sure you understand the deal that you have committed to, and the consequences. This won't be something you can weasel out of when you think it will be convenient."
Scarpetti nodded, accepting the words for the unvarnished truth they were. Others would have seen them as insulting, even derogatory. He knew that he just accepted a deal with a devil that would collect if their understanding was violated. Excuses would not be taken by the gray man.
"I enter freely of my own will into this arrangement," said Scarpetti. "I could have papers drawn up for you tomorrow."
"Your compliance will be enough," said Donovan. "What is this task you need done? I'm not a hit man, so murder is out."
"There have been some murders," said Scarpetti. "The police can't seem to solve it. My contacts tell me that the Chief of Detectives is already looking for you to ask for your help. I want you to stop whatever is doing these killings. It's bad for business, and it's bringing too much attention to my enterprises."
"I'll do what I can," said Donovan, turning toward the door. "I'll let you know of my progress. This is the place I want you to leave alone in return."
He gave the businessman the address of the tenement before he left. Both men had an understanding. And both knew war would be declared if they broke their commitment. Scarpetti couldn't afford anything that would lead to exposure to the authorities. Donovan had nothing to lose if he did try to bring down the vampire's kingdom.
And once started, Donovan's curse would push him on until the job was done, and anything related to Scarpetti was exterminated, or he was dead himself.
Donovan checked his watch as the butler led him back to the front door. He still had a few hours to get started on this next job. He would also have to call the tenement and make sure no one had tried anything while he was talking to Scarpetti.
Sometimes the left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing.
Donovan played the light of his lamp over the van as he got in. Then he followed the circular driveway around and back to the gate. He decided the best thing was call Mrs. Armitage, then the police station.
He would need to look at their files before he looked at the crime scenes for himself.
He wondered what sort of thing worried a vampire enough to hire a cursed man to look into the problem.
Donovan drove out on the street, heading for the highway to reach police headquarters downtown.
4
Donovan threaded his way through the night time traffic with the same control he tried to use when his curse urged him to greater speed. He used an exit to get off the highway at the edge of the city's center. Three turns took him to the glass monolith that was central police headquarters. He parked in a nearby garage, and walked over.
The desk sergeant looked up when Donovan appeared in front of him silently. One glance told the uniform to grab a nearby phone and call upstairs. Every cop in the city was looking for a gray man in black, with a lamp chained to his arm. Who would have thought he would stroll right into headquarters like that?
"Donovan? ," the sergeant asked to confirm the identification from the description.
"I was told you were looking for me," said Donovan.
"That's right," said the sergeant, reaching for the phone. "The chief of detectives would like to ask for your psychic advice."
"I'm not a psychic," said the cursed man. "Where is the chief?"
"I'm calling his office right now," said the desk jockey. "He'll probably want you to wait for him here so he can have someone pick you up."
"I thought the department had its own experts," said Donovan.
The gray man had dealt with individual detectives and officers. Strange things abounded in Gull City, and normal people weren't equipped to deal with them. That's how his name wound up with people who needed a court of last resort. A policeman gave it out in the hopes that something could be done to help those who were beyond their help.
"This is something else," said the veteran cop. "Something awful."
It would have to be to make the chief want to talk to someone like Donovan. He dreaded the extent of it if it scared a vampire like Scarpetti into giving up a scheme as collateral.
The sergeant reported into the phone, listened for a minute or two, nodding like a marionette.
"The chief is sending a car," the sergeant said to Donovan. "He wants you to wait for it here."
"Do you know what this is about?," Donovan asked.
"Only that it is bad," said the officer.
Precious minutes ticked by as Donovan waited for the car to arrive. He was thinking that he should have driven himself when a tired looking man walked in, shield pinned to his coat. He noticed the lamp, and that was enough of an identification that he didn't need to ask the cursed man's name.
"I'm Brooks," he said. "I'm supposed to take you to the latest scene. There's been another one found a couple of minutes ago."
"Take me there," said Donovan. "Tell them not to move the body until I can see it."
"Already arranged," said Brooks. "My car is out front. The body was found under the Wake Bridge."
Donovan followed the detective to a plain brown car with too many antennae sticking out of it. He got in the passenger side, tucking the lantern on his lap as he slammed the door shut. He waited silently for Brooks to get behind the wheel and start driving with lights flashing.
"Why the lantern?," Brooks asked, gesturing with his chin. "Why chain it to your wrist?"
"I lost the key," said Donovan. "How bad is the scene?"
Brooks listed the details in a monotone as he concentrated on driving faster than anyone else on the road with them. His matter of factness painted a lurid picture for the gray man listening. Some animal had ripped a college girl apart and dragged her back to a den under the narrow confines of the bridge. It was a big animal, or a group of them, to inflict the amount of damage the detective had observed.
It was pure luck that the body had been found at all. A couple looking for a place to make out had decided to use the bridge as the spot because there was easy access, no one could see you from the road above or the river below, and parking for an apartment complex was nearby.
The smell and the dripping blood alerted them that something was wrong. Luckily the animal was gone from its den. Otherwise, they might have joined the first victim in being dismembered.
Donovan considered this information as he rode along. Gull City produced monsters that hid in the shadows. That was their nature. Most didn't attract this much attention, or leave their victims laying around to be found by anyone who happened to pick the wrong place to make out. The body vanished along with whatever took that person's life.
Some of Donovan's missing persons cases led back to those skulkers. He had dealt with them to complete his task so his curse would allow him to move onto some other task. His burden insisted on that much whether he liked it or not.
This job had the earmarks of hunting something made of smoke. He would only know he succeeded if no more corpses turned up after he thought he was done.
5
Donovan and Brooks stared at the scene of the crime. The policeman's face showed he held his gorge back with an effort. The gray man's wooden face was unreadable as he shined the light of his lamp on the abattoir.
"What do you think?," Brooks asked.
"If you are going with me, you might need to get a bigger gun," said Donovan.
The cursed man followed the trail of blood illuminated by the light spilling from the eyes of his lantern. The fire made the dry blood glisten again as it pointed the direction the monster took. He followed the new trail revealed to him.
"A bigger gun?," asked Brooks, stepping into Donovan's wake. "How much bigger?"
"Something along the lines of an elephant gun," said Donovan. "That might keep it too busy to rip your face off."
"Do you know what this thing is?," said Brooks, looking more worried each step he took.
"Nope," said Donovan. "I'm just positive that a service pistol won't stop it."
The two men followed the dimly glowing trail to a service ladder, then up to the street. Donovan led the way, checking the time on his watch as he went. He felt the hours close in on him as he walked. The sun would rise and that would put a stop to their search until they found the next victim that the gray man could backtrack.
"That's interesting," said Donovan. "It descended into the sewers. It must have a lair under the city somewhere."
The two men stood a few blocks away from the bridge. The glowing trail burned the air over the metal lid. Donovan pulled the lid aside with his empty hand with a simple move of his wrist. He started down, letting the lamp hang from its silver chain as both hands gripped the ladder rungs. He ignored the water soaking into his boots just like he ignored anything that didn't pertain to what he was doing.
Donovan followed the trail, noting the fact that Brooks had followed him into the darkness. At least he had warned the man about how deadly this thing could be. Following it into its own turf was a bad idea even for a man who did what he said he would do because he had no choice.
He hoped the detective had at least drawn his pistol, no matter how useless it might be. At least the man had not pulled out a flashlight and lit the tunnel up. The flames from the lamp did enough of that. It put the gray man as the best target since he was the one holding the flaming head in front of him.
No wonder Scarpetti was willing to trade a place full of tenants he could outlive for a monster that caused a panic every time he attacked. The increased patrols must hurt his more covert activities as much as if the police had decided to concentrate on him.
Donovan paused, paying no attention to the water around his knees. He was more concerned about the snuffling coming from up ahead. It sounded like a large dog sniffing the air. He held the lantern chained to his wrist up higher to cast better light on the tunnel.
"What is that?," Brooks whispered.
Donovan held up a hand to indicate silence. He moved forward, trying to be silent in the flowing water. Every splash of water told him he was doing a bad job of it. The flames of his lamp cast an orange glow on the tunnel as he walked closer to the snuffling. His wooden features didn't portray the worry he felt when he discovered a lair built in the tunnel wall high off the floor. A femur warned him to stay away.
Donovan pulled himself up to stand hunched in the opening carved in the wall. A touch told him claws had pulled at the concrete with unnatural strength. He knew rats were known for chewing through anything. This was a rat as big as a man to hole the wall like that.
Flames lit up the narrow space as his hand moved. The furry thing squatting on ape like legs at the back of the hole didn't like that. It roared a challenge as it leaped at the cursed man. Claws like daggers latched onto his shoulders as they fell into the water, and on the narrow concrete shelves on either side of the trench. Pain shot through Donovan like lightning as blood flew from the horrible wounds on his upper body.
Brooks smiled as he leveled his pistol. Scarpetti wanted both of these things dead. Now they were wrapped up, he could shoot them both and return with proof to show they were dead. Then he could retire to some faraway place with his money.
The pistol roared in the tight confines of the sewer. It locked back after the last bullet had been fired at the two struggling figures cloaked in shifting light from the swinging lamp at the end of Donovan's arm. Brooks dumped the empty magazine in his hand and dropped it in his coat pocket. He reloaded carefully. He pulled out his small mag-lite, and thumbed it on.
The light revealed an angry wolfish maw leaping at the crooked detective, semi human hands outstretched. Brooks didn't have a chance to fire before he fell under the stinking weight of it. Then sharp pain led to darkness.
Donovan pushed himself to his feet, trying to take stock of the damage. His shoulders and upper arms had been opened by the thing. Two bullets had dug into him. The concrete had probably broken a rib, and his legs hurt from where he had fell.
He was doing better than Brooks from the sound of it.
Donovan held his lamp up for light. He found that the effort almost made him pass out. The policeman stared at him from an eaten face, wendigo crouching beside him with a mouth full of body parts. It growled at the cursed man as the light fell on it.
Donovan grimaced at the scene, feeling his lantern fill with hateful energy. He forced himself to limp forward. This thing had to be taken so Scarpetti would leave his client alone. No ape with a shark's teeth was stopping him from doing that.
The beast leaped at the gray man, claws extended. It had dined well this night. One more kill and it wouldn't have to eat for months. It could make itself a new lair, perhaps a place where it wouldn't have to hunt so hard.
Hard metal snapped against its face, fire reaching for its fur. One semi-human hand snapped out against this prey that was suddenly hurting it instead of the other way around. It felt an impact that sent its secondary meal sliding down the wet tunnel.
Donovan rolled when he hit the ground again. Flames from his lantern spilled on his arm as he pushed himself up in time to tackle the bigger thing with one arm and shoulder, while swinging the lamp against its back with the other. Its weight pushed him back on slick boot soles.
Donovan went for a knee as claws raked his back again. His lamp clanged against the other's leg, flame spilling on the fur. The beast jumped back, stamping its leg and swatting the fire there. It growled at the gray man in displeasure.
Donovan's watch began to beep. He swung again at the thing, trying to put a stop to the battle before his time ran out. He had spent too much time tracking it down. The sun would keep him from finishing the job if he didn't hurry.
Donovan pressed against the wendigo, driving it back with swings from his lantern. It leaped back, limping slightly on the leg he had bashed. At least he had hurt it. Maybe that would put a stop to feeding until it healed.
Unless it sped up its healing by feeding.
He tried to put that thought aside as he flung himself at the ape. A second chance for him meant someone had to die so he could pick up the trail as soon as the sun went down.
The wendigo fled down the tunnel. Its hands doubled as feet, swinging its whole body with a crank of its powerful shoulders. It roared its outrage at being driven from its home as it bounded away.
Donovan stumbled after it, ripped cloth and blood covering his upper body as he let his lamp lead him. A ray shone down through a manhole cover. He looked up into daylight, and vanished.
6
The sun set behind a veil of clouds. Gull City's face changed as the night deepened. It revealed more of the hidden things underneath the glossy surface. As the red eye settled below the horizon, shadow became a man with skin like ash, metal ball chained to his wrist. Donovan the Lamp rubbed his face with his unburdened hand as he collected his wits for the night's troubles.
Donovan checked himself over before leaving his office, locking it behind him. His sojourn to that other realm healed him as if time passed at a faster rate than Earth's. It left him fit to return to his case, but the interruption also meant he would have to start over tracking down the cannibal.
Donovan decided the best thing he could do was return to where Brooks had been killed. Maybe the wendigo had returned to its lair. If it wasn't there, he could start tracking it from there to wherever it had fled. Those were the only two options he came up with as he hailed a taxi to take him where he needed to go.
He hoped for option one, but knew that he and Brooks had wounded it on its home turf. It was more likely to stay away. At least it should still be full, and no one had to feed it after the meal it had last night.
Donovan paid the cab driver off at the intersection where he last remembered seeing his quarry before he had faded with the daylight. It was time for him to descend into the underworld and hunt by the light of his lantern.
The murky water splashed as he dropped down from the manhole opening. Flaming light from his lantern's eyes played over the tunnel. Answering sparks and shifting shadows pointed the way he had to travel. The lamp seemed to laugh as he followed its nonexistent nose.
Donovan's guide led him along a twisting path. Signs on the walls of the tunnel told him where he was as he walked. His watch told him he was running out of time. If he couldn't track it down tonight and stop it for good, someone else would die tomorrow.
A ladder appeared out of the darkness. The trail led up and out into the city. Maybe he had been wrong about its feeding habits. He grabbed the metal rungs, letting the lantern hang from its silver chain manacled to his wrist, and climbed. Once he was back on the street the investigator played the lamp around to pick up the scent again.
Donovan checked his watch, and jogged after the wendigo. The sparkling air pointed to an abandoned building that dominated its neighbors. Broken windows and a cracked facade lent an air of decrepitude to the place. A smashed door drew the cursed man's attention. The beast's fairy trail went right to that broken portal.
Donovan frowned at the obvious entrance. His lamp had never been wrong before. He knew it wasn't wrong now. The monster had gone in there, and he had to go in after it if he wanted to stop it for certain.
He just didn't look forward to trying to do that.
Donovan pressed into the abandoned looking building. He had no doubt his quarry had decided to use this as a lair. Its decrepit nature would only attract squatters who would not be missed when they were turned into dinners. And take out was an easy lope away.
Donovan wondered if he was dealing with just one of these things. The one he had encountered was voracious, fast, and stronger than a normal man. A pack of them would be almost impossible to deal with on his own. And Brooks shooting him did not help his confidence in the police department.
He waved his lamp around the entrance, glad that nothing came to light before he stepped inside. The fiery light lit up the entrance foyer and a slightly crushed receptionist desk. A sign on the wall behind the desk had been ripped apart by something sharp. The trail led to a set of doors on his left.
Donovan moved forward as quietly as he could, trying to avoid the rubble on the floor. He pushed the door open with his free hand as he projected light from the lantern in his other hand. The hall beyond was created by rows of cubicles, some of which had been knocked over and broken. The trail of sparks led through this wasteland to the back of the giant room.
Donovan saw the door to the stairs leading to the upper floors. It had been ripped off its hinges and dropped to the ground. He walked over to the stairwell cautiously. He debated adding a big pistol to his equipment for situations like this. He started up the stairs, avoiding broken ceiling tiles where possible.
Donovan climbed, following the lines of afterimage he brought to life. On the third floor, he heard crying. He paused, unsure of what was going on. He hadn't expected someone to be sobbing in a wrecked business.
That couldn't be good.
Donovan stepped on the third floor, sobbing and lantern light leading him. He moved down to the last room, a corner office with a view of Gull City. That seemed to be where the crying was coming from. He paused at the door, ready for anything.
A man sat behind the desk dominating the room. His back was to the broken windows, head down on the dirty wooden surface. Donovan played his lantern light on the stranger, realizing the man was not wearing a shirt.
"Who are you?," said Donovan, cutting through the crying with his monotone demand. "Why are you hiding in here? This place is condemned."
"You have to get out of here," said the man, standing up. Fear radiated from him, but not fear of the cursed man and his flaming lantern, but for him. "It's not safe for you to be here. You can't be this close to me."
"How long have you been eating people?," asked Donovan, quiet face hiding whatever expectations he had. "How long do you think you can go on before you're stopped?"
"I can't be stopped," said the wild man, coming around the desk. "There's a cure here. I can't stop until I find it."
"You're wrong," said Donovan, shaking his head. "Once you eat someone, you can never go back. It's a curse, and you can't break a curse."
"How do you know?," screamed the naked man, rage causing orangish hair to race up his arms in luxuriant growths. "What makes you think you know anything?"
"I know about curses," said Donovan, bracing for the storm ahead.
The wendigo leaped the desk, claws on rough hands at the end of the long arms reached for the gray man. Fury warped the ugly face of the thing as it moved. The lamp bearer had goaded its anger, and must pay with flesh and blood.
Donovan moved, arm swinging his lantern like a maul. The ape man was stronger and faster than the cursed investigator. His only hope was to keep his distance, keep moving, maybe land a few good hits before he was ripped apart. Flame surrounded his hand as it moved through the air.
The lamp landed on the monster's shoulder, fire igniting its fur as the metal ball rebounded on its chain. The wendigo's claws sliced Donovan across the chest, adding four rows of blood and new scars if the gray man lived. Both cursed men fell to the floor. The heavier beast tried to use its weight to hold its prey down so it could slash and chew at will. A flaming skull at the end of a silver chain said no with a clang of metal and sizzling of fur and flesh.
Donovan pushed away, a boot shoving the hairy thing away as he rolled to relative safety. He got to his feet as the wendigo leaped after him, bearing him against the wall of the office. Teeth clamped on his shoulder, slicing the skin savagely. It worried at the gray man, trying to separate the arm from the body at the joint.
Donovan gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate. He spotted a broken window a few feet away and decided to do something desperate. The gray man grabbed the beast by the neck with both hands, wincing at the burning fur. One twist caused a roll along the wall, then another. The frame jabbed at him with its broken glass teeth.
Donovan turned, hurling himself and his enemy through the window. He tried to keep the wendigo under him so it would hit the ground first. His frail body wouldn't take a fall from this height, but maybe the furry thing wouldn't either. It wasn't exactly a perfect plan, but it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances.
Impact drove Donovan's senses out of his head. He knew from experience that bones had broken from the landing, but he couldn't feel it. It wasn't the first time he had been hurt so badly that he couldn't move, couldn't think of the next thing he needed to do. The only consolation was that the wendigo was similarly hurt. Its fetid breath came in gasps like a runner out of breath.
Donovan raised his lamp and feebly brought it down. It seemed like overkill, but he had to make sure. He had to finish the job, had to fulfil the conditions of his existence. To keep his original clients safe from Scarpetti, this monster had to die.
Donovan brought his lamp down again and again until he couldn't move his arm. He collapsed, hoping that he had done enough damage to the wendigo that it was in as bad a shape as he was. The gray man's eyes closed despite his best efforts to remain awake and on the job.
The next thing he felt was a paramedic checking his eyes with a flashlight.
"This guy's still alive," said the paramedic, flicking his light away. "I don't know for how long."
"The other one's dead," said the paramedic's partner. "Head looks crushed in."
"Fall must have done it," said the first man. "We'll have to ship this one to St. Gideon's as fast as possible. The morgue can take the dead one."
"Let's load him on a board," said the second. It sounded like a woman to Donovan's ears. "Then we can put him in the bus."
"Let me put in a tube," said the man. "All right, let's get it done."
Donovan felt a wave of pain mixed with vertigo rush through his body. Then a moment of blackness. Small pains joined the bigger ones as needles rushed drugs into his system. He could hardly believe he was awake enough to feel anything.
"Don't worry," said the female paramedic. "You'll live until we reach the hospital. We haven't lost one on the way in months. You're lucky someone called 911. Otherwise you would have bled out before we even got there."
Donovan blinked, filing the information for when he could comprehend it.
"The ER will have to get that thing chained to your arm off," said the woman. "That can wait until the rest of your injuries are patched. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."
epilogue
Donovan stood where he had fallen the night before. Blood still marked the spot. He raised his lantern in his hand, willing the fire to come. He had felt the tinge of release the night before sometime, but he wanted to make sure.
He had succeeded in his task. Now he had to make sure of payment.
He trusted Scarpetti as far as he could throw the vampire.
Donovan got into his van. He had retrieved it as soon as he had been put back together. He drove across Gull City to the small estate Scarpetti maintained away from prying eyes. Security and secrecy went hand and hand with the undead lifestyle.
The guard at the gate waved Donovan through with only a casual glance. Guards met the van at the circular driveway in front of the house. They maintained a deadpan look as they made sure he didn't have any particular weapon on his person. One tried to take the manacle off the gray man's wrist. He snatched his hands back from scorching heat.
"That's what Hell feels like," Donovan said, monotone hiding a small satisfaction. "Can I see Scarpetti now?"
The guard led Donovan to the back of the mansion. A party seemed to be going on with a number of men with trophy wives. The gray man wondered how many would make it home in one piece. He decided to stick to what he had come to do. Killing vampires and their hanger ons was not his problem until someone hired him to thin the herd.
Some remarked on his casual wear, others on his lantern as it flamed alive, but none stood between Donovan and the master of ceremonies as he cut through the crowd.
"It's nice to see you again," said Scarpetti, smiling as he led the way to a spot where his guests couldn't overhear. "I take it the job's done."
"The wendigo is dead," said Donovan, the normal expression of his voice still carrying but softly. "Are you going to honor our bargain?"
"A deal is a deal," said Scarpetti. "Unless the deal maker is dead."
Scarpetti's lackey grabbed Donovan's arms from behind as the vampire opened his mouth to extend his fangs from his gums. The gray man didn't struggle. He only shook his head, having expected a double cross. The mobster would have been acting against his nature not to try.
Donovan's lamp opened its eyes wide. Twin fires reached from it like wavy hands clutching Scarpetti's Armani suit. The jacket went up like dry kindling. The guard stumbled back from the heat of the instant bonfire. He went for his pistol, reflexes taking over. The cursed man swung his arm to let the lamp stare him in the face with flame still drifting from its eyes.
"Don't do something you'll regret even when you're dead," Donovan said.
The guard stumbled away, unable to face the cold gray eyes of the man, and the burning hot hellfire in the eyes of the black steel pumpkin floating on his arm. His pistol fell as he ran into the night.
Scarpetti's guests screamed at the sight of the vampire dancing under the influence of the punishing flames. He made his way to the pool, and jumped in, as the party goers made for the front of the house and escape. One tried to call 911 at least. The chlorinated water boiled as the flames ate the vampire apart until ash floated to the top of the pool.
"A deal is a deal," said Donovan.