___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ **** ** ** ** ** The **** THERWORLD CHAPTER 14 (> A Study In Combinations <) Copyright 1992 by Bryce Koike All Rights Reserved ___________________________________ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Any comments, criticisms, opinions, etc, are welcome. I can be reached on Internet as: bkoike@sdcc13.ucsd.edu -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- "Nature has some new plague to run in our streets history some new wrinkle we are doomed to repeat fugitives at the bedroom door lovers pause to find an open store rain is burning on the forest floor and the red tide kisses the shore..." ("Red Tide" -- RUSH) -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- AuThOr'S nOtE The Otherworld came to me one day out of the blue and blossomed into a rough description of a game world. Since then it's taken a life of its own somewhat. The ideas for the game still come, but there are other ideas which, I'm afraid, are just too high-reaching for a gaming group. These stories are a synthesis of the two. The coming chapters take place a handful of days after the ending of Chapter 12 on the front line of a different war against an enemy who, in another world, in a another time, threatens to destroy mankind completely. Those who worried that the Otherworld is dead shouldn't have to. It'll continue so long as I have something to write about. I haven't written off the characters from the first "series" (I'm too damned fond of them) but there's other ideas that I really have to work through first before I can make my way to them. Thanks go out to my gaming group who gave me inspiration through their playing to invent new additions to Otherworld, to my friends who have fed me information, and to a night long ago where I first encountered the Otherworld and didn't know it until now. "Bother," said Pooh. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: December 21, 1992 Location: Southern California Otherworld Time: 9:03 pm The sound of Bates' gun cocking was as loud as thunder in the warehouse. "Come out, bastard!" he croaked. "Come on out and die!" The only other sound in that quiet night was the cackle of a madman. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Date: September 26, 1992 Location: Los Angeles Earth Time: 8:00 pm The night was blissfully cold, a wonderful break in the strange heat spell that had hit the city for the past two days. Twin bootheels rested in a muddy puddle. They were joined to a man in an beaten leather jacket leaning against the wall of a trendy uptown nightclub. He was decidedly out of place in the area. A wrinkled cigarette protruded from his mouth and his face was hidden by an aging wide-brimmed black hat fit for a cowboy movie. His chin was unshaven, though not yet enough to be called a beard. The man paid no attention to the passersby and was ignored in turn. The sound of Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" blew out from the nightclub, riding its hot wind. The man was waiting, patiently. His breath smelled because he had left his things back in Minnesota. His clothes hadn't been changed for the past week now because he could only think about one thing. That was the pale look about a person, a manner of attitude, and an attachment to darkness. To Bates, that mean only one thing: vampire. Ten days and not a dream, not even a feeling. Nothing since that boy, Matt, had died. Angela looked out the window of her room and felt lonely. In the end she decided that he had been a bad man with good intentions. In many ways they could be the worst. A man with bad intentions would be easily seen for what he was, but a man who had the best of intentions was often given the shadow of a doubt and another chance to hurt a person. She had become increasingly rebellious in the following days. How could teachers understand? Math just wasn't important when there was an evil army growing and killing people, trying to take over every world in every galaxy! Failing English hadn't made her parents very happy either. Shakespeare's Hamlet? What did he know about tragedy? Angela hugged her knees. "Otherworld," she whispered. Outside a storm brewed. "Otherworld." The soft patter of rain coaxed no expression from Bates as he stood by the nightclub. He cursed inside, knowing that rain would ruin their appetites and curb their lust, forcing them to take their prey to their home, or to find a place more . . . comfortable to feed. No deaths in alleyways this time. No one could know that under his jacket he carried two silver blades, three slim stakes, and a gun. But then again, no one knew that he was a hunter too. "And another disappearance yesterday, this time of Megan Westcott of River Oaks, mother of three. Her children have disappeared as well. Some feel that this is somehow connected to the disappearance of five college students in the Los Alamitos area, but police say..." Angela quietly shut her door, shut out the droning of the television. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a sketchpad. Inside were a series of sketches. They weren't professional by any means, but they were enough to convey emotion and a message. The first was a Japanese boy, perhaps twenty years old at the most, with a cynical look on his face. The next one was of two people, a couple, but they had been quickly crossed out with heavy marks of a pencil. The third was of a gawky boy sporting a goofball grin. Next came one of a girl, a quietly determined look on her face. The last page was black. Completely black. Angela took that page in both hands and ripped it out, tearing it to pieces. She tried to fling them across the room, but instead they fluttered in the air and floated to the floor like black rain. Grimacing, Angela pounced on them and thrusted handfuls of paper into the wastebasket by her desk. "This isn't fun anymore," she said to herself. The last page of her sketches was that of a man. It was a vague picture, full of erasures. It was a man that Angela had never seen before. Not in real life and not in her dreams. The man had a tired, hunted look on his face, and a scan along his neck like a cat or something had scratched him there. Angela didn't even have a name for him. Then again, maybe he wasn't real. She flipped to the next page, a blank one, and stared. Unbidden a face came to her and Angela pulled our her pencil and began to draw. The first strokes sketched out what nearly looked like tubes. They quickly joined to a tired, pained face. Not tubes; they were scars. A network of scars rode down the man's forehead, about his neck, and curved over his cheeks. Without even thinking, Angela knew that they were a brilliant pink like a baby's skin and that they pulsed in time to the man's heartbeat. She knew that he was a good man and she spoke his name. "Scarred man," she whispered. "Scarred man." Thunder roared in the distance. Looking out her window, Angela saw that the lightning was green. Bates took the final, choking pull from the cigarette and then crushed to death beneath his feet. A dark coldness had come over him, full of despair and anger. His prey had escaped and that was unforgivable. Looking up, he matched eyes with a woman across the street. It wasn't a glance that happened by mistake; a bond seemed to bridge that deep city street and drive itself deep into his own heart. Bates knew that he needed to talk to that woman. When she finally broke that stare and turned to leave, Bates nearly cried out. Instead he shoved his hands deeper into his trenchcoat and crossed the street. The woman was walking leisurely and gave ample opportunity for Bates to catch up to her. A thin European cigarette hung from her lips. "You have a light?" she asked in a voice huskier than Bates would have expected. He pulled out his lighter and they paused on the sidewalk long enough for her to light her cigarette. The flame from his lighter revealed a frighteningly beautiful face. She took a couple puffs. "Thanks," she said, and then continued down the street. Bates made an effort to keep up with her. "You were staring at me," he said, almost accusingly. She gave a throaty laugh. "Was I?" "Who are you?" The woman shrugged. "Maybe I'm a prostitute." "Or?" "Or maybe I'm not." She lifted her head toward the sky and picked up the pace. Bates felt as if he was running to keep up with her. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the arm. "Look, woman, I know you have something to tell me, so say it already!" Bates noticed that she was barely taller than him and yet seemed to tower over him as she turned and scowled. Without saying a word she clamped her own hands over his and carelessly tossed his hand away. "Touch me again, hunter, and I'll kill you," she whispered, her grey eyes boring into his head. "You'll follow me now and ask no more questions. You'll follow me to where I lead you, or you'll be a dead man. Dead not by my hand, but dead anyway. Do you understand?" Bates nodded and said nothing. The years he had spent hunting vampires had taught him that things which people considered fantasy were often pitifully real. They said nothing as they walked through the city at the woman's rapid pace. She almost seemed to be fleeing from something, but Bates did not notice anyone following them. She turned a corner and produced a key from somewhere inside her jacket and unlocked the door. She led him into a fortune teller's room, the words "Madame Evoka" emblazoned in neon letters in the front window. She quickly pulled him behind two curtains and into a small room. A crystal ball laid on a small circular table atop a flowing green tapestry. "Sit, hunter, and wait SILENTLY," she said and raised her hands. For several minutes the woman muttered words that Bates couldn't quite hear and finally she sat opposite him at the table. Her nimble fingers swept the crystal ball off the table and onto the floor. "My name is Reina Marqin and I am a fortune teller," she said. "I have come to tell you your fortune." Bates coughed. "Scoff at me if you want, hunter, but realize this: I know you for what you are. Now look upon me as I truly am." Marqin stood and for a moment Bates recognized nothing. Then she opened her mouth and her fangs gleamed white in the candle light. "SIT!" she commanded with a sweep of her hand as Bates tried to rise, his hand wrapped around his cross. Without wanting to, Bates was forced back into the chair. "So long as you exist within MY protection, no harm of any sort can come to you! Now you will listen to me and hear what I have to say. You will LISTEN TO ME and ask no questions until I am done. Do you understand, hunter?" Bates glared. "I understand, vampire." She gave a derisive snort and settled back into her chair. "Then I will begin." Angela threw open her window and looked out. What in the world? The lightning in the distance had not flashed and faded but continued to crackle in one spot, writing in electrical fury, throwing green bursts in all directions. The wind was picking up, throwing rain into her face, soaking her clothes. "Angela, is your window open?" called her mother from downstairs. "Angela, it's raining outside!" As she watched the lightning bolt, she noticed that it was moving and that it was moving toward her house. "Omigod," she gasped. "My name, as I have said, is Reina Marqin. I have been a vampire now for three centuries. I know that you are a hunter of vampires for I have watched you for the past four months as you stalked my kind and slaughtered them in the streets under the protection of that cross." She gestured at it with amusement. "Pull it out, hunter, and use it on me." Bates did so. The woman merely smiled and wrested it from his grasp. "The cross when in the hands of a believer is a truly powerful item and not just against vampires," she murmured, "but in the hands of one like you, only the inherent power of the cross itself can be harnessed. You do not believe in God, and yet you insist on using one of His totems. Blasphemer." Marqin snapped the cross in two. "As such, the power of your cross is only useful against the newest and weakest of vampires. You are certainly lucky that you did not cross one such as Marcos who would have eagerly crushed you and sucked you dry. I digress. Being alive for three centuries, I am a powerful vampire. Very powerful. I have little fear for the gun you possess and the silver bullets you have within it, although I am curious to find how you came across the knowledge of the special silver required to produce the appropriate ammunition. I have not come here to drink your blood, to intimidate you, or to kill you. No, Bates, I have come here for one reason only: to enlist you." Bates snorted. She sighed. "Yes, I thought you'd feel that way." As the lightning travelled across the city it tore a path of violence. Houses were ripped apart and caught ablaze. The ground where the lightning touched exploded outward and flung dirt in all directions. "Angela!" shrieked her mother. Angela braced herself as the lightning slammed against her house and licked her body. The fire filled her very essence and she opened her mouth to scream, but found herself burning from the inside out. Everything quickly went black save for a green dot at the corner of her vision. And then that too was gone. "As a vampire, especially as an old vampire," continued Marqin, "I am especially attuned to the natural magics of this world. Through mere luck alone I've come in contact with something which frightens me." She frowned then, as if thinking about what she had come across. "As a vampire, I must drink blood if I am to survive. To feed I need not kill my victim and, in fact, it is better if I do not, for it is difficult to find new vessels. My existence as a vampire does not turn me into a creature of evil despite what you may think. I refuse to discuss any rationalization or excuse because I'm well aware of your prejudices toward my kind. Regardless, I have come across a source of something that I can only call true evil. I want you to aid me in fighting it." Bates gave her a sad stare. "You think that I'm going to believe you, bitch? You think that I'm stupid enough to go along with any stupid plan that you come up with? I know what you want." "Stupid man, I could kill you now with ease. Observe." Marqin merely closed her fist and Bates' eyes bulged. He could feel pressure on his heart, pressure that was forcing it to stop pumping. His vision was already beginning blur- She released her fist and Bates nearly collapsed against the table. "Do you understand now, hunter? You will now do what I ask of you regardless of whether or not you want to. Quite simply, you have no choice. I have been gathering my energies for months now awaiting a man that I can choose as a hero. You, I'm afraid, are the only candidate that I've come across who could possibly stand up to this test and that means that you are the one that I choose." "I have no choice," muttered Bates as he stared darkly at the table. "No, you have none at all." Marqin cocked her head. "The lightning is coming," she said, "to my call. Excellent. We will go outside." "And then what?" "Then we will wait." With her vampiric strength, Marqin thrust Bates through the door and into the night's chill. There was a rumbling in the background that was growing closer and for a moment Bates could not place it. He could feel his hair rising, though, and the skin crawling on his back. Bates turned. He turned and watched the maelstrom pull toward him. "Dear jesus," he whispered. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- When Angela awoke, she found herself lying in a shallow pool of her own vomit. Nearly cloaked by the acrid smell of her digestive fluids, she nearly missed the smell of wood -- old lacquered wood. Glancing down toward the ground, Angela saw a wooden floor beneath her. Candle light flickered along the walls. The house looked antique to her, like something out of a museum. A dusty bedcover was folded in one corner with spider webs draped from it to the wall. She sat and realized that she did not feel ill. Angela carefully examined herself and found no injuries. In fact, she felt as if she had been resting peacefully for hours. "Smells," she muttered. When the knock came at the door she whirled in fear. "Who is it?" Angela cried. A man cleared his throat on the other side. "Miss Angela Davies?" Angela scrambled to her feet and threw open the door. On the other side stood a tall man in his early seventies. In one hand he held a candelabra and in the other he held a lightly steaming towel. He held the latter to her and Angela gratefully took it, wiping the vomit from her face and as much as she could from her clothes. The old man -- a butler, she was certain -- bowed. "Welcome, Miss Davies, to Otherworld." -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Bates was rooted to the spot, fear tightening his muscles in disbelief. A single lightning bolt the color of jade writhed from a broiling sea of clouds and was slowly moving toward him. Marqin placed her cold hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Worry not, it cannot harm you for you are still under my protection. The lightning will open the doorway and the doorway will lead to the other world." "What?" Bates turned but she was gone. "She's mad," he said. Taking a last look back at the lightning storm, he turned and began to run. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the lightning was still moving toward him, faster now. In horror he watched the bolt destroy everything in its path, ripping apart houses and buildings, churning up the ground where it passed. His legs were crying out in pain as he fled. Bates' hair was standing on end and he could feel the static building in the air as the lightning bolt came ever closer. He turned to look again and was struck in awe by its size. The bolt was only a hundred yards behind him and looked like a sheet of brilliant green. Small forks tore out from its sides and licked everything it passed. Then the ground lifted behind him and threw him wildly. Bates was unconscious before he hit the ground and never noticed the lightning engulfing him.