Blitzverse Tales: Paved With Good Intentions

I’ve been behind schedule again, but here’s another “Blitzverse Tales” for your interest. After this, I’ll likely get started in posting the main Blitz series. We’ll see where the schedule takes me after this, but for now I’ll try to see if I can regularly get story posts going.

“Paved With Good Intentions” is an experimental story that I wrote last year. Mostly, I was playing with visual imagery and Lovecraftian horror. I’ll go into more detail in a writer’s commentary post later.

So here’s “Paved With Good Intentions”. Enjoy.

*

Paved With Good Intentions

A cold wind flowed across the alleyway the night that he died. A miasmic cloud of white mist fluttered over the body, as if covering it in a burial shroud. The broad concrete walls seemed to close in around him, as if threatening to drown him in a layer of harsh gray brick. Perhaps this was what it wanted, the alleyway.

Around a corner, a window appeared to scowl, its glassy eyes thick with the beige of death and dust. A doorway made of impassive brown oak creaked along its hinges, singing a mournful hymn to the departed in the brown pebbled street.

Even the rats seemed to tiptoe cautiously across the street, avoiding the corpse as it drank from a pool of its own blood. One scurried away, flicking its small tail in fear and excitement as it whimpered away from the ghastly scene.

The ladder from the fire escape creaked in glee, lowering itself down to the pavement. Nothing moved or stirred in the darkness; the white mist obscured even a glint of the moonlight over the body of the slain.

Only the streetlamps gave any hint of light at all. A dull red flickered from dying bulbs as they hung from the streetlamps as if from gallows. The bulbs crackled on and off in rhythmic fashion, and in looking upon the scene, one might almost wonder if they would soon die, leaving the alleyway in utter darkness.

The great alley growled as the pavement inhaled the body of the dead man. No one knew who he was, and no one would wonder why. Tendrils of pipes sprang from below, tethering the corpse and dragging it into the maw of the alleyway.

The manhole shut with a horrific gurgle. The pavement shuddered in the next instant.

Only a pair of horn-rimmed glasses rested on the manhole cover to note the dead man’s passing. The rim was made of amber plastic, almost like the kind to hold a butterfly within its gaping maw. A small fly fell upon the bridge of the glasses, rubbing its front legs together in the silent glee of victory.

For a young woman now crossed into the alleyway, screaming the name of a dead man. Her golden hair fluttered madly in the storm-tossed winds. Her voice pierced the silence of the dead and the damned as moist tears washed down her face. She was young enough to be pleasing, and her voice was raw enough with pain to please the beast.

Her time would come soon enough.

*

Eddie Hill had thought he had seen it all when he found the two skeletons lying under the streetlamp. They grinned and looked longingly at each other with gaping eyeless sockets and wide toothy smiles they never had when they were alive. The pair was locked in a loving embrace, identifiable only by the tattered remnants of clothing they’d worn in life.

“Perimeter’s secure?” Eddie asked the officer at the scene.

He didn’t wait for the officer to nod his head. Eddie knew it couldn’t be secure. Anyone could have seen or touched these bodies in the hours since the murders took place. He grunted inwardly. How cold and callous it would have been to call these murders, he realized. This was an evisceration of life.

“God damn it,” he muttered as he pored over the scene from every angle. “Give me a locked-door mystery over this crap. Anybody could have iced these two.”

Eddie reviewed the case file one more time. Marcus Holliday and Kristen Clark. Two young undergrads from Centennial State. No prior convictions aside from Holliday’s DUI and Clark’s minor drug possession charges. No known enemies, not known to normally hang around this part of town. A friend reported that Holliday and Clark had gone missing after a wild party; they’d decided to walk into Desolation Alley on a dare. Their skeletal remains were found four hours later by an old man walking his dog.

The lack of clues mystified him. No witnesses to the crime. No determinable cause of death, and there wouldn’t be one until Dr. Sina thoroughly examined the remains. No discernable leads other than basic identifying elements, like Holliday’s horn-rimmed glasses. Because the bodies were out in the open, in a public place, virtually anyone could have been involved. Even if there were any witnesses, most people in the alley were too scared to talk to a detective anyway. It was as though the streets were laughing at Eddie right then.

He rolled his fist into a ball in irritation and pulled out a smoke. It was so damned useless and senseless that these kids had to die here. They were dumb kids, but they deserved better than this. Even being left in a ditch would have been more respectful than this.

“I’m too old for this crap,” he groused as he approached the abandoned tenement near the lamppost. He turned back to the officer. “Reckon I got probable cause to check out these buildings. Maybe there’s a clue nearby. Keep everybody out of this crime scene `til I’m back.”

Eddie didn’t wait for the affirmative from the officer. He crept up the rickety steps of the aging tenement and knocked. From all signs, this place was abandoned for some years now. He’d heard the rumors about Desolation Alley, but he never allowed himself to believe them. He wanted this to be his very last case.

He didn’t notice his shadow linger as he stormed his way inside.

*

A chill wind blew the door shut behind Eddie as he wandered through the building. He barely even noticed the cold and the dark at the back of him. He dwelled more on the emptiness staring him in the face.

He found it reasonable that the killer could have escaped this way. The windows were completely boarded up from the inside, which meant that no one could have seen the killer go in or out. Even anyone lurking in the old tenement wouldn’t have gotten a good glimpse of the killer’s face with the dim lights flickering inside. Eddie noticed a burning spark in an old light bulb, swinging to and fro in patient anticipation.

Then there were the stories of Desolation Alley. Holliday and Clark weren’t the first to die in this alleyway. That would have been Boston Finch, back in 1909. Everyone knew that one; a watchmaker was shoved off of the ledge of his apartment window and then plummeted to an early death. The circumstances had been much the same then too: no witnesses, no leads, no known enemies. The killer hadn’t even had the courtesy to run off with Finch’s sizable wallet.

Other stories of mysterious deaths in the alley followed. Charlene Moran, the mother of two that was found slashed to death in a dumpster in 1934. Victor Reyes, the prize-winning chemist that had escaped a life on the streets until his body was found stuffed down a chimney in 1968. Herb Ryan, the friendly electrician, who fell down an elevator shaft and got his spine crushed for his trouble in 1976. Five landlords, murdered by persons unknown. The building bled the life out of everyone who lived here.

No doubt about it, Eddie knew as he breathed in the fumes from his cigarette. These streets reeked with death.

“You’re next, Eddie,” a singsong voice floated in the air. “We’re waiting…”

“Who’s there?” he growled angrily, swiftly drawing his pistol.

Eddie charged up the stairs, following the sound of the voice. Only silence and the gloom of dust awaited him. The cracked bricks and torn lime-green wallpaper waited as they always did, decayed by time and fallen aspirations. He felt the aging floorboards groan with every step he took.

As his foot slammed down against the ground, the floorboard gave way. Eddie’s leg sank deeply beneath the floorboard, trapping his leg with the tenacity of a boar. He struggled against the floorboard, but wriggled less when he felt the building shudder under his weight.

“Stuck your foot in it, haven’t you?” The voice sounded like the pounding of gravel.

“Shut your hole!” Eddie kept his hand firmly on his pistol, hoping the shifting weight wouldn’t completely topple him over.

A black shape emerged from Eddie’s shadow, though he couldn’t make it out clearly in the half-light. If it had a face, it was hidden under a veil of shadow and smoke. He thought that the figure was wearing something like a black fedora, but if so it was so obscured that it might have been a trick of the light.

“Don’t let the voices taunt you, Detective,” the Wraith said. “They can only destroy you if you allow it.”

The Wraith. They said he was a ghost, an urban legend. The bogeyman that parents told their children so they wouldn’t grow up to be criminals. Where he walked, dead killers fell in his wake. Eddie never totally believed the stories, but there were old hands in the department that believed in him enough to kill for him. At least, not until that moment.

“Destroy, hell,” Eddie said, training his weapon at him. “Not `less I do it to you first.”

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Eddie’s finger caressed the trigger. “You damn lucky I don’t shoot your ass right here. You got a hell lotta nerve showing your face around here. Wouldn’t be stunned if you killed those folks outside.”

The shadowy outline blurred in irritation, but did not move. The Wraith seemed almost unconcerned about the weapon in Eddie’s hand, as if it didn’t exist. However, his eyes flashed red in silent warning as the Wraith offered an outstretched hand.

“I only claim the guilty,” the Wraith said between gnashed teeth. “Holliday and Clark’s only crime was foolishly entering this place. You’re halfway close to joining them, Detective. I couldn’t save them, but I can save you. Come with me.”

“Maybe I can make it just fine without you,” Eddie said, narrowing his eyes.

“Then shoot. But if you do, you’ll be helping the real killer.”

Could he be right? Eddie couldn’t tell, not without reading his face. The face of the Wraith was distant, unknowable. But there was conviction in his voice, a conviction that came from absolute belief in his own righteousness. As the wind grew colder, Eddie’s resolve faltered.

Eddie lowered and holstered his weapon, accepted the Wraith’s free hand. With a burst of almost inhuman strength, the Wraith pulled Eddie out of the floorboards and pushed him back into the stairwell. With a swift motion, the Wraith drew his own silver-polished pistols and stared angrily into the dark corridor beyond.

“Back outside,” the Wraith ordered, his gaze pointing downstairs. “Now!”

“Not without no answers, I don’t!” Eddie said, but he felt his foothold slipping beneath his feet. “You got a lot to answer for.”

“There’s no time!” The wind howled down the corridor. “The beast has awakened again, and it won’t stop until it’s feasted on your blood and entrails. This alley hungers, Detective. I can stall the beast for a time, but only just. Now go!”

Eddie snorted, threw aside the smoke, and trampled down the staircase. However, he stumbled against a jagged nail in one of the steps. Eddie tumbled downwards in a slump, crashing aimlessly against the hardwood floor of the lower level. He cursed away the pain, trying to will himself up to his feet.

The wind howled ominously again, this time from above. The rickety staircase twisted into a violent smirk. The voice in the wind shifted into laughter as Eddie struggled ever so slowly to his feet. He hobbled slowly back to the door, only to find it locked and unable to turn.

Eddie leaned against a coatrack, pounding his gloved fists against the door. The laughter in the wind grew louder and more raucous as he futilely struggled to make the lock turn. He felt the hot breath of the beast against the back of his neck as he smashed his fists against the boarded windows, but these refused to open the way.

“Ain’t takin’ me without a fight,” Eddie snarled, drawing his pistol. He trained the weapon at the locked door and fired.

The door surged open as the bullet hit its mark. The bullet tore through metal and wood, splintering the door just enough to swing open. Eddie rushed outside the door, feeling the wind grow colder as he emerged from the tenement.

However, his heart sank as he enjoyed his new freedom. The patrolman that Eddie had assigned to the scene collapsed to the ground, slumping in a pool of blood right alongside the skeletal lovers. As Eddie rushed to the patrolman’s side, he wished that he could remember his name. Time blurred to a crawl as he made the frantic call for help that wouldn’t arrive in time.

Disgusted with life, Eddie threw his badge into the pool and waited for Dr. Sina to arrive.

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