Having entered the grand city hall in search of his prey the stoic detective stopped within the wide expanse of the glass and metal foyer to listen for the tale-tell sign of a frightened criminal scurrying for safety. That there was no sound at all did not deter the hero. His prey was no fool, nor was he, the Red Raven. The time for games had long passed, there would be no quarter given this night for either of them. Stiff back and aching joints forgotten the detective fearlessly, perhaps too much so, strode into the darkened halls of the tomb-like government building. He had been here often and it had always bustled with life, but not tonight. The Commissioner had made sure of that. It was now the Raven’s solemn duty to bring this criminal scum down before any more people could die a worthless death as Ryan had suffered. Ryan. With an aching heart the aging hero moved silently through the deserted halls more impetuously than he would have on a normal mission, the secret knowledge that he should have prevented the young agent’s death burning mercilessly at his heart and soul. Had he been more attentive his protégé’ would still be alive and at his side this very moment. The lad’s death was the final nail in the Commissioner’s coffin. Tonight the man would pay dearly for his sins. Pushing his aging body the Raven took the four flights of stairs in a rush while his stout legs protested the strenuous activity vigorously. He was already bruised and battered from whittling down the Commissioner’s wicked empire not to mention the lingering effects of the motorcycle accident hours earlier as he had chased his prey down rain slickened streets. Rest was not an option he chastised himself as he topped the stairs winded yet determined to force his body onward by sheer willpower alone if need be. Ryan’s memory rattled his resolve. Practically a son the youth had been the possible future for the mantle of the Red Raven. Now he was gone, as was the Raven’s actual son, both lost in the never ending fight with crime. It was this same fight that had withered the old man beyond his years. Even he realized that this would be the last crusade for the Raven. While he could do many, many things stopping time was not one of them. In a flash of rage the Raven cast out the self-pity that had nearly consumed him. He was here for a purpose, to catch a despicable killer not to mope and cry over a lost loved one. There would be time to honor Ryan’s memory later. Still strong in his mid-sixties he slammed open the double doors that barred his approach and glared down the bisecting halls ahead. Metal on metal rang loudly down the long stretches of hallway, losing itself in the black depths. That was where he would find his prey. Down that snake pit of a tunnel. Down the cobra’s throat. Evil always migrated to the darkest depths while seeking asylum from the forces of good. His still damp boots squeaked noisily on the marble floor as he faced the unknown as determinedly as he had forty seven years ago when he had first taken on the mantle of the Raven. During those long years of struggle he had lost loved ones and given up much for the effort to rid the city of terror but the loss of young Ryan hit him hard, distracting him even now when concentration was vital. The senselessness of this final death rattled him to his core. Why was the civilization so intent on following the darkest path? In retrospect it should have been obvious. Similar concerns in those long lost days for an ever darkening world had brought about the creation of the criminal’s worst nightmare: the master detective Red Raven. Tonight the fires of righteousness burned uncommonly hot within his heart. The evil network constructed by the Commissioner lie in ruins, dissected link by link by a man so impassioned by the injustices of the world around him, by the cruel twists of fate that had taken two vibrant young warriors in their prime yet leaving him, a world weary and aged man forever fighting an unwinnable war. He wore the mantle for the common people; he was the people’s champion, yet... Pushing his body onward the detective strode proudly down that hall toward the confrontation that would close the book on this last sad chapter of evil allowed to run rampant in his fair city. It would also mark the final act in a long, glorious career as well. After tonight he would have blood on his hands, and thus have to answer for his sins. The Raven would be no more. As a hero he was saddened by the prospect of entering the twilight of his life as anything other than the people’s champion while as a mere man he was glad to finally see the light at the end of a very long, exhausting tunnel. Full of bitterness and anger the Red Raven’s body fairly hummed with desire to destroy this man. Why? Because the Commissioner had in one fell swoop not only killed his ‘son’ and destroyed his dream, but had corrupted the Raven’s legacy as well: heroes do not kill. “I’m coming for you, Duvall.” He didn’t care if the man heard him coming, in fact the Raven assumed that the halls were bugged and that Duvall could hear each and every step as he approached. It did not matter one iota. The man was going to pay. Retribution was at hand and a life would be taken in payment for a life. Twenty one doors down the glistening hallway and the Raven could feel his quarry quivering in his foxhole, could almost smell the fear, but until he saw the light flicker out in those damned eyes there would be no closure. He sensed that now; closure, finally, and increased his pace. In time he arrived at his destiny; the Commissioner’s office, with its double mahogany doors, each two inches thick and armed with formidable locks. Mere locks would not stay the Raven’s hand this night. As he made quick work of the barrier the Raven considered the man he had chased high and low. A veritable eel Duvall had escaped his clutches time and again while inflicting damage in his wake. A true adversary, a nemesis in the most classic fashion. And yet the man had allowed himself to be cornered here in his stately offices where his own, albeit evil, legacy began. The lapse was almost epic in its grandeur. So self-assured, so narcissistic, was the man that he would retreat here to the epicenter of law and order - to City Hall proper - as if his lofty title would exempt him from the iron hand of the righteous? Not on the Raven’s watch. The locks breached easily, too easily, the Raven wondering if he were entirely mistaken about the worthiness of the Commissioner as a nemesis, as an equal. Was he not made of sterner stuff than this? To fight so relentlessly, so doggedly, only to turn belly up now? A younger man, one more attentive and less distracted by anger and need for vengeance, would perhaps have realized the signs. But however heroic a soul might be once smitten by the flames of vengeance all else is meaningless. The trip was delicate, and almost noiseless, yet not so invisible that the Raven did not sense it, albeit too late. The doors swung open upon the dark empty office. Duvall was long gone. He had been duped. Flushed with futility and regret, the twin towers of profound heartache, the Raven faltered back a step. He couldn’t believe it, he had lost. There would be no justice for Ryan’s death, no revenge. In his arrogance the Raven had disobeyed a lifetime of training, ignored his better instincts, and lost connection with the spirit – the soul – of the hero. His rage would die impotent while his body would simply die. The blast was blinding, earth shattering, and mercifully, all encompassing. In an instant the hero died, the world never to known his inner angst or his heart wrenching need for revenge. Forever he would simply be the Hero. As the eight stories of the City Hall Complex shuddered and crumbled beneath an onslaught of explosions the entire structure collapsed around the Raven creating a tomb of steel and concrete and glass for the man, the legend, the fallen hero…. The television blinked off, a black canvas of nothing filling the screen and chasing the shrinking dot of light to the center before finally smothering it to oblivion. Preston Sturgis tossed the remote onto a glass end table nearby where it bounced with a plastic clatter. Bloody damn, why did he persist in wrestling with the demons of the past? That was why it was known as the past. It was done, over with. On shaky knees the old man stumbled out of the easy chair with a bitter, angry look on his wrinkled face. At one time he had been a fine looking man, a true specimen of pure Hollywood, but that had been ages ago. Now ‘withered old prune’ suited him more, much to his disdain. Taking up the walking cane, while he still clung tenuously to the image of his days of glory he had long ago forsaken walking without aid, Preston tried to remember the last time he had ventured out of this house and into the city. He realized that it had been weeks but his memory was slowly leaving him just as his health had deserted him. Why bother going out into the ‘wild’ when most anything was readily available by phone? Fussing under his breath the old man walked haltingly out of the parlor, with its cool colors and dark wood, through the archway and into the narrow hall. With a defiant glance Preston skirted the imposing staircase that filled the foyer area. He would have to climb that beast soon enough for bed and his medicine but not yet, not yet. With his left foot dragging a bit - he couldn’t feel it much of the time now and wondered if it would simply rot off one night while he slept - the old serial star shuffled into the kitchen.
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 22:23:09 +0000
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