Jabberwock Jack (26 page)

"So very weird thing. I got a call from Carly. I didn't even know she had my number! So yeah, really strange. She was all concerned about you and was appealing to me to stop you from doing whatever you're about to do. Are you two having, like, a mega fight? I didn't even know you guys were back together. I thought you were still underground. Is this going to screw up plans for Szandor's birthday?"

I gritted my teeth. "Szandor is in the hospital."

As I came to a stop at a light, I looked to the form of hula girl Lola Mandragora on the dash board to help me stay somewhat calm. Something familiar to help me hold it together.

"What? I mean.... what?" said Lem.

I gave him the super brief rundown of what happened.

"Holy shit!" he said after it was all done. "Are you there at the hospital?"

"I have... something I need to take care of."

Something in my tone must have conveyed the revenge trip I was on, because after a pause, Lem simply accepted it. "Okay. Where's Szandor at?"

"South Avalon General," I said. "Dickie doesn't know either. You should call him."

"Fuck, now it's my job to tell everyone?" said Lem. I said nothing, so he eventually agreed. "Fine, fine. I'll head over there... assuming they let me visit this late at night. And Mikkel? Be careful."

"I'll do what I can," I said noncommittally and then hung up.

I parked in Asher and walked to the warehouse, ignoring any of the sketchy individuals in the neighborhood that late at night. I didn't look like someone they wanted to pick a fight with, not with my scowl and quick walk.

I banged on the metal rollup doors. "Let me in, Jericho!" I shouted. He was there. I knew he would be there. The only other place that made sense for the man was down underground. But he wasn't that desperate yet. Not so much that he'd be down there alone. He still needed help.

I waited nearly a minute, but the gate finally started raising. It was only half up when I ducked under it, impatient to get inside. The main room was lit by a single light. Jericho sat backward in a chair. He tossed the door opener onto the nearby desk and then went back to resting his head on the back of the chair, brooding.

"Hello," he said, but the words seemed like an afterthought, uttered from the side of his mouth but without any real target. He didn't make eye contact.

I didn't give any response. There was none he deserved. Not with my voice. My fists were another matter. Without pausing I walked up to him and punched him in the face. He toppled from the chair down onto the floor. My blood pulsing, adrenaline coursing through my veins, I had my fists up, ready for him to stand up and give me an ass kicking. I could try to keep up and win, but I would probably lose, something I knew before I threw the punch. It was still worth it.

But Jericho didn't jump up for battle. On the floor he simple pulled himself to a sitting position and touched his lip, which was bleeding. As I looked at him there, he wasn't the badass I had first known him as. He looked like the old man that he really was. He was an old man that he pretended not to be and that none of us had noticed. A sad old man.

"I guess that I deserved that," said Jericho.

"You deserve a lot more than that!" I spat. "My brother is in the hospital because of you! Diego is dead... and Fala... Fala..." I didn't know exactly what to say about Fala. Was her death a tragedy or a dodged bullet? What would have happened if Jack hadn't eaten her?

Jericho reacted differently to her name. For him that was still a new pain, his own grievous mistake. His eyes looked mournful. "I didn't know about Fala... I didn't know that she would..."

"Betray us?"

Jericho nodded, his eyes closing for a moment in the action. "She came to me with knowledge of the beast. What the Appaquagh called him, what he was like, where he might be. She whispered tales of heroism, of Appaquagh warriors who stood against the beast. She made me think I could beat him if I got close enough."

"She took advantage of your obsession," I said.

He nodded again. "I just wanted to kill him. To get revenge. To stop people from dying."

"Stop people from dying? You got more people killed trying to kill him!"

Jericho grimaced, as if unsure to give way to sadness or anger. "People die when Jack is around. If we do nothing, he will still eat people. Did you see the room? He has been killing. Someone would have died no matter what. I tried to bring those who could stop him -"

"So it was better that Diego and Szandor died instead?"

"We are hunters," he bellowed, pulling himself to his feet. "This is what we do! We risk our lives so that others won't die!"

"We risk our lives
carefully!
" I shot back. "We don't go off on a poorly planned mission with a traitor to serve someone's obsession!"

"The risks were worth it," said Jericho. "Jack has destroyed many families, including my own. He must be killed."

"Your own is all that matters! What about my family? My brother's in a coma which he may never wake up from."

Jericho frowned. "I'm sorry. Of course I didn't want any of us to die. But the risk... the risk was always there."

"The risk wasn't well explained."

Jericho shook his head. "We made the risk clear. That you and your brother chose not to believe it, thinking this was all fun and games, that is not on me. If you discounted the gravity of it all, that is not my fault. Meat said you were ready, that you were adults. That is your responsibility."

"You know what, fuck you," I said. Szandor is the one who most hates being lectured on his age, but it's a sore spot for me too sometimes. "I'm done. You can fight your own damn war alone." I turned away and began walking from the warehouse.

"Do you think it's as easy as walking away?" Jericho called after me.

"Are you going to stop me?" I said, turning.

He shook his head. "You are free to go. The decision is yours. So is your regret."

"Regret? What are you talking about? My only regret is that we ever went after Jack with you."

"I've spent over thirty years searching for the beast after he killed my family. Do you think that I've spent all that time trying to kill him? If I could find him so easily, do you think it would have taken thirty years? If Jack disappears now, it may be years before we hear of him again. Do you understand how the years make it all fester?"

"So what? I guess you'll have to take up a hobby in the meantime," I said. "Maybe find a therapist."

"I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about
you
," Jericho said.

"Me?"

"You're brother's what, dead?" said Jericho. I almost began angry, but I did allude to my brother's death.

"No, just a coma," I said.

"Do they know when he's coming out of it?"

I shook my head, ignoring the pain in my heart. "So what?"

"You and I are not so different," said Jericho.

"No, stop right there, none of this bullshit."

"We are men of pain," continued Jericho, his face intense. "We are men of action, of principles. Of vengeance and justice if we need be. Maybe you don't feel it today, but someday, sometime, you will feel wronged. You will need that wrong made right. You won't want to sit back and let it go. You won't be able to let it go."

"Maybe, maybe not, what's your point?"

"Jack will disappear and be gone for years.
Years!
Are you willing to wait years for a chance, just a chance to make things right? To get revenge? Can you truly say you can let it go? That a loved one needs no revenge?"

And that's when it hit me. Jericho probably didn't know about my past. Even if he did, he was talking from his own experience. He didn't intend it, but everything he said echoed back in my experience. To our Mom.

Mom died when we were teens. She was killed by a Revenant, a vampire-like creature. We had seen it, we knew what it looked like. We became hunters to kill the creature and help others. But it was years after it killed her before we saw it again and had a chance to kill. Long years. During that time, our hatred and sense of justice did indeed fester. Szandor and I came up with so many horrible revenge scenarios for the creature - over the years they got so extreme they bordered on torture. When we found it and it came time for revenge... well, we just killed it. We didn't have the stomach for anything else, despite how we had talked all the years. But we still killed it because Mom needed to be avenged. Did we become better people from that? No. Was it satisfying or pleasurable? No. But it needed to be done and we're glad we killed the Revenant. I'll admit we're not super well-adjusted, but we're not crazy. We're not obsessed, not like Jericho. But... if it had taken over thirty years to avenge Mom... What would we have become?

I knew at that moment I could just walk away. Maybe Szandor would wake up, maybe he wouldn't. Let's consider he didn't. In an ideal world, I'd grieve for him and then let Jack go. I'd say it was just a hazard. I'd say Jack was just an animal, a creature that knew not what it did. I could let it go and go on.

But what if I couldn't? There'd be pain. Lingering, festering, toxic pain. Revenge, justice, and hatred that had no outlet, no cure. My darkness would beat against the wall without anything to do. I'd end up contacting Jericho to find out about Jack. And then I could be waiting thirty years for another chance, carrying all that pain with me.

I understood what Jericho was implying. We knew where Jack was resting. We had found his lair. Maybe he'd leave at some point, but for now, Jack was almost definitely still in that crevice licking his wounds. If we could kill him now, it'd all be over. No festering emotional wounds, justice would be served. It would be extremely dangerous and we didn't have a plan. But I'd be fucking damned if I didn't suddenly see it down the tunnel of Jericho's logic now: if we don't kill Jack now, I could be regretting it for years. I could
become
Jericho. And that was something I didn't want to happen.

I cursed that I finally understood Jericho's viewpoint. It made things so much more difficult. It was beginning to sound like doing exactly what got Szandor in a coma was a good idea. I couldn't even do the "honor his wishes" thing and think what Szandor would do, because he would totally do this. He would want to get vengeance for me, and he'd leap out of a damn helicopter into enemy territory with just a machine gun and a combat knife if he thought it'd avenge me. And then he'd bitch about it later.

"Fuck..." I said, my rage deflating and my arms falling slack at my sides. With a sad and painful realization, I knew I was doing this. We had to kill Jack.

"Now you know how I have lived the past three decades," said Jericho sadly.

"We need a plan," I said, the weariness evident in my voice. I was resigned to this course of action. "Without a plan, we're just dead."

I tried to think of ideas. I thought of what resources we had. I thought of the other hunters, but didn't think they would be willing to help us. I had to assume it would just be Jericho and me. I started thinking about the Undersystem again.

"Yes," said Jericho. "I've been sitting here all day thinking of something."

"Anything?" I asked hopefully.

"Nothing of worth," said Jericho sadly. "The beast must fall, that is the only thing that's certain."

And then it hit me. I had one of those stupid flashes of inspiration that only make sense when it happens to you. You hear about them, but they always seem unbelievable. As much as I love movies, it seems ridiculous that someone could say one word, just one solitary word, which makes everything fall into place. And this was not even a rambling schizophrenic word association like in Jurassic Park. One word caused my mind to jump into a frenzied state of creativity and spit out a plan that was strangely workable.
Fall.

Words spilled from my mouth clumsily as I explained my idea to Jericho. There were details to hammer out, but he ended up nodding.

"That will work." He didn't bother to disguise the surprise in his voice.

"We just need to call the others," I said, knowing that they might help. I leaned over a table where I started writing down some things I thought we needed. "We at least need their experience to setup things so both of us can carry it all down there. If they don't want to come underground and hunt, they can at least make sure it works. I think just the two of us can do it with the right gear."

Jericho nodded. "Then it's the right time for this."

I turned to ask, "What?" but all I saw was a fist coming toward my face and then a painful unconsciousness.

I know what you're thinking. Jericho knocked me out and then valiantly (stupidly) took off to enact my plan on his own to kill Jack and keep me from dying.

Nope.

I awoke in a bed. No one had seduced me. I think Jericho knew I dearly needed sleep and this was his messed up way of making sure I got it. I really wish he would have just given me a spiked drink like in the movies. My jaw hurt.

I was under the sheets, my boots on the floor. It was a small loft-like room, and I recognized the warehouse walls. This must be Jericho's bed. Any doubt I had of that was removed when I saw the picture on the nightstand.

A happy family. A much younger Jericho stood with his family. He almost didn't look like the Jericho I knew. This was a smiling, sweater-vested college professor, not a vengeance-crazed old man. His arms around his wife and two young daughters, beaming with pride. I'd call this picture an illustration of happiness if I didn't know how it ended. If I didn't know the tragedy which would strike sometime after it. I realized that Jericho went to sleep and woke up looking at this picture. Waking and sleeping with his worst pain. I could only imagine my own experience if we failed to get Jack. Would I have my birthday present, the framed FAMILY picture, on my own bedside table as I was consumed with pain and hate over the years?

I understood Jericho a little better. And even more than earlier, I realized the most important thing in understanding him:
I don't want to become that.