Tremaine's Decapitation
1
His followers had deserted him. His quarters had been destroyed. He had faced a second death. All because of a meddling spirit. The floor had collapsed under him. The ceiling had caved in on top of him. He lay in a hole, actually a crater, in his basement floor where the sun couldn't touch him.
Blue energy put out the flames as it tried to rejuvenate his scarred carcass. He knew it would be some time before his treatments allowed any mobility. That was all he had left, time and a thirst for revenge on that Haunter.
Finally, years later, the lich who was formerly Tremaine was at last ready to move away from its resting place to seek new pastures.
The lich crawled from the wreckage at the fall of night. He had to move away from the house before the sun trapped him again. He couldn't spend his time trying not to fry.
Tremaine found a van left over from his disciples. He jimmied the lock with unusual care. He needed the vehicle to be intact. The tinted glass had to give him protection from the sun. His idea had to work, or he would cook like an egg.
He would not suffer another death. He was alive by his will, and he would stay that way. Nothing would get in his way as he rebuilt and planned again to get a new body. He could not live as he was for much longer.
The blue energy that revitalized him was also destroying him. He would crumple into a pile of grave dirt if he did nothing.
Tremaine drove the van north from the camp he had set up. If only Randall had brought the boy. If only that ghost had not interfered.
"Bah," he said out loud in the silence.
"If onlys" were for living. He had to deal with what is. That meant getting a new body to live in. He didn't have a lot of time to do it. Already the remaining parts of his corpse crumbled slightly every time he moved the wrong way.
Tremaine reached Church Hill two days later. He had to rob a series of gas stations for fuel. He took the cash and killed the attendants out of habit. Additionally, he felt better to vent his spleen on some nobody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He found an underground garage to park the van in while he planned his next move. He had to find some place to operate from where he could hide from the sun. His next exposure could be his last the way things were going.
Tremaine needed a secure base. He knew there were certain places under the city where he could operate without problems.
An attendant passed through the garage. A flashlight shone on the windows for a brief second as he walked along. He never saw the danger behind him. There was an instant of blue light, then nothing. The lich grabbed the attendant under his arms and dragged him into the van. He made sure to shut the door.
"Tastes like chicken," he told himself as he proceeded with his meal.
Tremaine smiled to himself. Things were looking up.
Tremaine left the remains in the back of the van. He felt better and, actually, looked better than he had in the past few days. A good meal always did that for him. Shame it would only last for a few days. He would have to keep feeding and feeding. Sooner or later, someone would catch on.
What he needed was a new body. A young body that could control the blue flame. Not this decrepit thing that creaked every time he moved a joint the wrong way.
A piece of new skin flaked away much to his irritation. A small flame burned in the perforation for several seconds.
Yes, a new body was needed.
2
Jack Buckler liked being on the street. He had moved from one place to the other, but had finally settled in Church Hill. He did not know how long that would last. He was determined to enjoy it.
His remote unit pulled up outside a seige situation with the police being kept at bay by a group of madmen with a bomb and plenty of firearms. His crew got everything ready expertly. All he had to do was tell the city what was going on.
A cop in some body armor ran over. "Get out of here, you stupid scumbag," he said, with a wave of his arms.
"Are you trying to restrict the press?" asked Buckler. He held the microphone to the officer's face.
The cop noticed the equipment was lit up and being used. "Shut it off, Buckler," said the cop. "The bad guys can see everything we do thanks to you."
"They won't see much, will they?" said Buckler as he waved his crew to shut it down for the moment.
"I'm going to get some coffee," Buckler said. "If Church Hill's finest decide to go in shooting, record it for me and I'll do a voice over later."
"Sure thing," said Wallace Peters, the cameraman.
Buckler headed for a nearby restaurant. He slipped out of sight as soon as he could. He said the words that brought his alter ego to life, covering his body in the strange red, white, and blue suit and half mask.
Johnny Shield leaped to the top of the restaurant. He crossed the power lines until he reached the building under siege. He leaped onto the roof and went down the access stairs.
"Crap," said the officer in charge. "Johnny Shield is on the scene."
Johnny Shield bounded down the staircase. He knew the hostages were on the top floor somewhere. All he had to do was find them and get them out of the hands of the real fruitcake.
He paused when he came to the first open door. A small group of dead people lay in a pile. He stepped into the room quietly. A surviving hostage saw him. He raised an index finger to his lips. The survivor nodded.
A footstep sounded in the next room. A dragging sound came down the hall. Johnny Shield leaped to the door, concealing himself behind it.
A man appeared in the doorway, dragging a body behind him. He dropped the fresh corpse on the pile. He reached for the lone survivor with blue flame dripping from his hands. A stray sound turned him around. Blue flame leaped from his hands at the hurling, flag draped form. It was a clean miss as Johnny Shield smashed both feet into the assailant's chest. Impact sent the man hurling across the room.
"More interference," hissed the partially reconstructed lips. "You will pay for this."
"Here's the first installment, Chuckles," said the flamboyant hero as he leaped across the room, between sizzling blasts of flame, and shouldered the monster through the window.
"Have a nice trip," said Johnny Shield, leaning out the window. "See you in the fall."
"Thank you," said the lone survivor. "He was going on about wanting our blood."
Johnny Shield glanced over at the plump woman with a lecherous grin. "I can see why," he said.
The blood-sucker hit the ground with an audible thump. He got to his feet slowly. He cursed himself for losing control as blue flame scorched his new flesh and skin.
Blasted meddlers everywhere.
"Got to go, Sweet-Cheeks," Johnny Shield said as he leaped from the window. "Keep it warm for me."
"Not likely," the woman said.
The hero laughed as he bounced down the side of the building. Hopefully none of the cops would shoot at him when he hit the ground.
Blue flames leaped in fury from the blood-sucker as he blasted at the cops and Johnny Shield. He was making his way to a manhole cover. The cops enfiladed the hostage taker in self defense, but the bullets just punched holes through the guy as he jogged forward, forcing Johnny Shield to take cover.
At least the sun isn't up yet, thought Tremaine as he ripped the heavy cover up and dropped into the sewer.
Tremaine ran through the sewer. He had to get away before he crumbled into a pile of dust. That stupid creep. Where did he get off interfering like that?
He heard splashing behind him and knew he was not done with that meddler. He turned and unleashed several of his blue flame bolts down the sewer. At least he would rid himself of this pest once and for all.
"Missed me," said the bright voice of Johnny Shield. "Now you got to kiss me."
"I will kill you," vowed Tremaine, hands on fire.
"Everyone says that. Can't you come up with something original?"
Tremaine snarled in fury. He grabbed the nearest pipe with his flaming hands. He threw it at his mocker blindly. He did not even care that exposed electrical wiring fell into the mucky water he stood in.
Agony raced through his body. His blue flame exploded outward, turning the water into steam. Laughter followed him into darkness.
"What a ma-rrooon," Johnny Shield said from a perch at the top of the sewer tunnel.
He climbed over the floating, burning corpse and gently lifted the cable from the water to stop the current.
"Too bad the idiot let the exposed ends hit the water," said the vigilante. "At least he saved the state a trial."
Johnny Shield dragged the corpse out of the sewer by the scruff of his neck. He tossed the body down in front of the approaching policemen. Then he swung himself to the roof tops using a lightpole and a mighty leap. He vanished before the police could put up a net to capture him.
Jack Buckler sauntered back to his news van with coffee in hand moments later.
"What happened?" he asked, eyeing the activity. At least the camera and sound was recording everything.
"Johnny Shield busted in and caught the guy," said the sound man. "Then he got away."
"Let's film that spot," said Buckler, straightening his tie, and putting his coffee down at his feet.
3
Tremaine awoke in the ambulance taking him to the morgue. The EMT was too shocked to shout or move as flaming blue hands leaped at his face. His skull showed through his burning flesh after the lich was done. The lich crawled to the front of the vehicle. One bony hand clamped on the driver's shoulder. He looked up, fear on his face.
"You will drive to the television station that was at the scene of my loss," he said in his echoing voice. "I will let you live. Disobey and I will have you for dinner. Am I understood?"
The paramedic nodded rapidly.
"Good," said Tremaine as he sat down beside the EMT in the passenger seat.
The ambulance rolled to a stop behind the TV station. The driver tried to get out and escape his captor. Tremaine grabbed the back of his skull and loosed a blast of flame through flesh and bone. The lich pulled the body into the back of the vehicle. He ripped them to shreds as he consumed them.
Next would be the news crew. Then he would find somewhere to hide from the sun. This station would be the perfect hunting ground for him.
He would return again and again to restore himself, and no meddler was going to stop him before he drained the station staff dry.
4
The white Church Hill News Van pulled into the parking lot of the station. Jack Buckler's brow furrowed when he saw the empty looking ambulance. It stood out like a sore thumb among the other vehicles. His curiousity began to demand an explanation.
"You guys go ahead," Buckler told Wallace as the van pulled to a stop. "I want to sit and think for a moment."
"Sure thing," said the cameraman. He led the way into the station.
As soon as his crew was out of sight, Buckler said the words to call forth his alter ego to find out what was going on.
Johnny Shield bounded from the news van. He leaped over to the ambulance, and then onto its roof. He peered through a window in the back door. A crisped, grinning skull returned his searching gaze.
The vehicle appeared to be empty of anything but its deceased drivers. The hero pulled the door open quietly. The smell of burnt flesh wafted into the night.
Johnny Shield bounded to the news station. He did not wear his usual smile as he burst through the doors into the building. A scream alerted him as he paused to look around.
The scream had come from an editing room beyond the reception area. The receptionist was missing, noted the hero, as he passed the desk. He threw the door to the editing room open with a hand.
That thing he had fried in the sewer was here eating his producer.
Johnny Shield was not one to pause to think about what he was going to do. He leaped across the room, devoid of wisecracks for once as he swung a left at the animated corpse. The burning skeleton flew against the far wall, dropping the morsel he was chewing to the floor.
Tremaine pulled himself from the wall, skull showing through the melted skin on his face. "So you are here to interfere with me again," he said in a whisper.
"Eating people is not allowed," said Johnny Shield. "Time for you to report to your casket."
"Enough, you poltroon," Tremaine roared as he unleashed jets of blue flame at his foe.
The walls of the editing room caught fire as Johnny Shield leaped out of the way. The yellow crusader bounced off a wall of screens and landed a kick against the lich's diseased-looking face. Tremaine stumbled but regained his footing instantly. He swept a burning hand through the air, trying to grasp his enemy to him.
Johnny Shield rebounded away, avoiding the hand. He wondered what he could really do against this monster. He dodged two more of the flame bolts. This side of the building was dangerously close to collapsing due to the eruptions from the ghoul.
Time to get serious, thought Johnny Shield as he did a classic rebound triple flip. He wound up behind the flaming ghoul. Tremaine tried to turn, but his decayed body was no match for his enemy's superhuman reflexes. A series of hard punches sent him into the wall. As he looked up, a red boot sent him flying through the wall. He crashed to the floor beyond. Debris fell around the lich as he slowly got to his feet.
Johnny Shield launched himself at his foe. He had to keep hammering the guy. He couldn't let up for a moment. This guy couldn't get another chance to kill.
Tremaine saw his foe hurtling at him and raised a hand. Blue flame licked out, sending Johnny Shield into the floor. The lich staggered for a moment. The fight had taken more than he had thought. He had to get away to rest and try again to renew himself. At least the meddler was dead, cooked to a crisp.
A crunching of debris made Tremaine stop, and start to turn. A gloved hand grabbed the remains of his face. Another grabbed the back of his exposed skull. He raised a hand to blast this insect away and felt a crunch as his neck began to separate from the rest of his body.
Tremaine looked up into the horribly burned face of Johnny Shield. H e could not speak or move. He realized dimly that the madman had pulled his head from his body.
"Look, ma, I got a new football," Johnny Shield said. "Punt!"
Everything went black for Tremaine as a blue boot kicked him into the ceiling.
Epilogue
Jack Buckler surveyed the carnage with his one good eye. He knew he was dying from that one blast he had taken. It had caught him in the unprotected portion of his face and the eye hole on the left side.
Jack collapsed to the ground, he tried to say the words to release the armor. He didn't want to be found like this. He had done some good things but his creation should be put to rest, and he should only be known as a reporter.
Jack's one eye closed, and everything faded to black.