CHAPTER XI

SHADES OF THE PAST

BY BARRY REESE

The Rook was standing in a field of blinding white, snow whirling all about him. For a moment he could see nothing further than the hand in front of his face and the howling of the wind made it impossible to hear even the screaming of his own voice.

He staggered forward, sensing warmth up ahead. Through the maelstrom he made out a small temple of some kind, hidden in the massive mountains he could now make out all around him.

And his father - Warren Davies - stood before the temple, watching him with a mixture of exasperation and obvious pride. Max's father had never been an emotional man and had always held himself at arm's length, both figuratively and physically. But there had been a bond between the two that had always remained firm in Max's memory.

The Rook came to a stop before this man who could not exist and whispered through cracked lips, "This isn't real. The bullet was drugged... wasn't it?"

"Considering all that you've seen... is it really so hard to believe that you might actually be speaking to me?"

"I'm sure as hell not in... wherever this is. I'm in Atlanta."

"You're in a dreamscape, Max. A mental projection. You've always been gifted... even when you were a little boy. That's the reason I was able to guide you over the years. Make myself heard. But with the walls between the living and the dead becoming so weak these days..." Max's father opened his arms. "Well, you can see that I'm capable of a lot more now."

"You're telling me that the voice in my head... the source of my visions and the headaches... is my own dead father?" Max's voice was dripping with disbelief. "This is a trick."

"No. It's not."

Max paused, letting the implications sink in. "Why would you do this to me? Make me a vigilante?"

"I didn't make you do anything. I merely offered certain paths to you and you chose to take them."

"Or else suffer those headaches of yours! Not a fair choice, from where I'm standing!"

"You sound like a little boy, Max. Stop. Listen."

Max seethed inside, still finding it hard to fathom. Could it be true? Could his father have been haunting him all these years? And if so... did that mean that someday Max would be free of his compulsions? Would his father leave him alone?

"Pay attention!" his father snapped.

"What do you want to say?"

"What's happening to the world is not just the work of Trench and his manservant. They are chess pieces, being maneuvered about by the source of all evil in this world. They seek to unleash the father of demons from his cage." Warren Davies moved towards his son, locking gazes with him. "The forces of sin know their day is coming closer and they've begun weakening the barriers between worlds. That's why you're able to see me now... that and your own telepathic powers are becoming stronger."

"Now I'm a telepath, too?"

"You've always been good at sensing deceit in others... but it's a gift you may not have the luxury of mastering. You have to stop Trench or the entire world will suffer."

"Why have you haunted me? Why did you make me into... what I am?"

"The costuming bit was your own creation, Max. A bit too theatrical for my tastes. I was killed because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time... a victim of senseless violence. There are too many people in this world who escape the clutches of man's law... my anger, my sense of vengeance, kept me on this plane... and I knew you could become my weapon against the kinds of men who killed me!"

"You used me... just like this demon is using Trench."

Warren shook his head. "I gave you a purpose. Do you know how many men would give anything to have a real purpose? But you're growing careless... and soft. Don't wait for the visions to force you into action. You know what needs doing."

"I'm not a murderer."

"You've killed dozens of men, Max."

The Rook turned away from his father, confusion making his thoughts difficult. He honestly wasn't sure how he should feel at this moment. "You brought me here for what? To tell me that Trench is dangerous? I know that."

"You need someone you can trust. With Leopold and your friends so far away, you'll need an aide. Someone who knows your secrets... and to whom you can confide all your troubles."

"I don't need a sidekick."

Warren Davies smiled sadly. "I knew you would say that... so I took the liberty of taking a few precautions."

Max whirled on his father, anger making his face splotchy and red. Despite the cold air all around him, he felt like he was burning up. "Damn you! I loved you. I've tried to honor you. And this is what you do to me? Treat me a damned puppet?! Go back to Hell!"

The snow began to blow harder than ever, blotting out all visions of his father. Max felt himself falling backwards, tumbling head over foot... and he wondered again: was this real? Or just some awful nightmare?

He hoped for the latter.

Lucifer's Cage stories & The Rook © Barry Reese. HTML © Tim Hartin.

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