Praise for A.P. Fuchs’s Axiom-man™
“Axiom-man is that unique breed of superhero that seems almost lost amid today’s gaggle of the dark and tormented. He’s nice, he cares, and his strength comes not from his fantastic powers, but from his soul. A.P. Fuchs has written a defining superhero novel.”
- Frank Dirscherl, author/creator of The Wraith
“Reading Axiom-man is refreshing, like reading about the early days of Peter Parker, but with a cooler villain as well.”
- Jon Klement, author/creator of Rush and the Grey Fox
“Axiom-man was well worth reading and recommending. The broad appeal is amazing—from youth to adult, guys and girls. Superheroes might just become my thing.”
- Susan Kirkland, reviewer, Calhoun Times
“Fuchs brings to life a wonderfully imaginative hero we can all relate to . . . . If you’re looking for something different, something truly creative, yet filled with action, look no further. Axiom-man is the end of your search.”
- David Brollier, author of The 3rd Covenant
“I found myself picking the book up at various points in the day, just to read a little more.”
- Darryl Sloan, author of Ulterior and Chion
“Plenty of surprising twists and turns in this highly enjoyable story. It’ll leave you wanting more. Axiom-man is a delightfully human superhero with true depth and spirituality.”
- Grace Bridges, author of Faith Awakened
“If you’re an action fan with moral sensibilities you’ll not just enjoy Axiom-man, you’ll wish you were he.”
- Frank Creed, author of Flashpoint
“If you dig superhero tales that are loaded with action and fun, look no further.”
- Nick Cato, Horror Fiction Review
“A must read that I cannot recommend enough.”
- Joe Kroeger, Horror World
* * * *
Also by A.P. Fuchs
Undead World Trilogy
Blood of the Dead
The Axiom-man™ Saga
(listed in reading order)
Axiom-man
Episode No. 0: First Night Out
Doorway of Darkness
Episode No. 1: The Dead Land
City of Ruin
Of Magic and Men (comic book)
OTHER Fiction
A Stranger Dead
A Red Dark Night
April (writing as Peter Fox)
Magic Man (deluxe chapbook)
The Way of the Fog (The Ark of Light Vol. 1)
Devil’s Playground (written with Keith Gouveia)
On Hell’s Wings (written with Keith Gouveia)
Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead
ANTHOLOGIES (as editor)
Dead Science
Elements of the Fantastic
Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head
Non-fiction
Book Marketing for the
Financially-challenged Author
Poetry
The Hand I’ve Been Dealt
Haunted Melodies and Other Dark Poems
Still About A Girl
* * * *
AXIOM-MAN: DOORWAY OF DARKNESS
by
A.P. FUCHS
Published by Coscom Entertainment at Smashwords.com
This book is also available as a paperback at your favorite online retailer like Amazon.com
or through your local bookstore.
* * * *
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-897217-70-2
Axiom-man and all other related characters are Trademark ™ and Copyright © 2007 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved.
Axiom-man: Doorway of Darkness is Copyright © 2007 by Adam P. Fuchs. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.
Published by Coscom Entertainment
www.coscomentertainment.com
Text set in Garamond
eBook Edition
Cover pencils and inks by Justin Shauf
Cover colors by Kyle Zajac
Edited by Ryan C. Thomas
* * * *
For my younger bother, Jordie, who, growing up, always played my sidekick.
Today, my friend, I’m yours.
Special thanks to my wife, Roxanne, for her support during the writing of this project and for putting up with me staying up till 3:00, sometimes 4:00, in the morning as I worked on it. Likewise, thank you, dear, for driving me around the city as I researched the various locations portrayed in this book.
Thank you to my oldest friend, Ian Sunderland, M.D., for always being available to answer the slew of medical questions I have.
And thank you to Sergeant Kelly Dennison for providing insight into the workings of the Winnipeg Police Department.
* * * *
AXIOM-MAN: DOORWAY OF DARKNESS
* * * *
Prologue
Axiom-man couldn’t believe it.
He stood in the front landing of his apartment, holding the letter that had been waiting for him on the rug where, as Gabriel Garrison, he left his shoes. At first he thought it might have been a note from his caretaker, informing him he was late on rent again, but when he reminded himself that his payment wasn’t due yet, he had no idea what he might find within the envelope.
He read the letter again, making sure he had read it correctly the first time. He couldn’t have, could he? How could—
Shifting inside, he powered down, sending his abilities deep within himself. The crackle of blue power that was always present while he was Axiom-man left him and for the first time since ever donning the suit, he no longer felt strong beneath the blue tights. It was as if he was nine years old again and realized that pretending to be a superhero and wearing a towel around your neck was stupid.
Gabriel peeled down his mask, thinking that maybe the rims of the eyeholes were somehow obstructing his vision and he wasn’t really seeing all that was on the page. But when he read the letter again, his stomach went hollow when he realized his eyes weren’t fooling him.
The typed letter read:
Dear Mr. Garrison:
Please forgive me for writing you. For the longest time, four months now, I wasn’t sure if I should. But now, it seems, I don’t have a choice.
I know who you are, Gabriel. Who you really are. And, no, this isn’t a prank. Let’s just say that, like you, this knowledge has left me feeling . . . blue.
Please don’t fret, as for the time being, your secret is safe with me. But only if you help me. If you don’t . . .
If you thought Redsaw’s reputation was sullied due to what happened at the Forks, his murdering someone, then think again.
I’ll be in touch.
The letter wasn’t signed. It wasn’t dated but was obviously written within the past day or two given the reference to Redsaw’s revealing of his true self when he killed Gene Nemek by throwing a car into him.
Gabriel sank to his knees and, as another first, wanted to get out of his costume and tuck it away as if whoever wrote this letter was watching him right now.
* * * *
“You must build it,” the voice said.
It was Sunday night; Oscar Owen was on his knees and he wasn’t talking to God. Nor was it God talking back to him.
“It is the only way for you to know the truth.” The voice’s tone was low, careful and smooth.
Hands on his knees, Oscar flashed to a week ago when his life hadn’t been like this. No power, no costume . . . no murder.
It had been a Monday when the black cloud came to him. Lying in bed, unable to sleep, watching the shadows from the trees lining his window outside dance along his bedroom wall—he’d never forget the jolt that shot through him when the room suddenly went black and something blocked the moon. He’d never forget the rain of glass as a smoky cloud burst through his bedroom window, the black wisps of cotton-like fingers searching him out. The cloud had hovered above him that night, coating the room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, allowing only enough room around him so he could see it in all its enormity, all its monstrousness. He lay there, stiff, wanting to move but unable to budge. He glanced to his right, where his open bedroom door should be. Nothing but billowy black cloud coated the entrance. There was no entrance. There wasn’t anything. It was as if the cloud had snuffed out all that was tangible. Just pure . . . blackness.
The cloud looked at him. At least, it seemed to. Though it was featureless, perhaps it was the way its puffy contours moved about in a wind that could not be felt, but for an instant, it seemed as if it had eyes. Then it gathered itself into a long, smoking funnel and drilled itself into his chest like a spike. The second it pierced his skin, his body locked as the cloud found its way through his body, filling out his torso, neck and head; arms, hands, fingers; hips, legs, feet. And even when his body was full, it still poured in to him, expanded within him till he felt he was going to burst. Yet even then, the cloud pressed itself into him. Unable to move, only able to receive, Oscar let the thing take him. What choice did he have? He didn’t know what this thing was never mind what it was doing to him. The cloudy funnel spun counterclockwise to a wind that only it could sense. Gathering up speed, it drilled into him and filled him completely until he could no longer move beneath the weight this thing placed within him.
Drilling.
Spinning.
Filling.
Swwaahhm!
A door slammed, its sound thunderous and all-encompassing. Instinctively, Oscar glanced toward his bedroom door. It was still open.
He shuddered to think of what was locked inside him.
Now, nearly a week later, he knew what that thing was. What happened. The cloud gave him great power and for a short time, the city of Winnipeg loved him when he became its greatest champion.
Then the darkness took him, opened itself up. Revealed itself to him. It began to speak to him, first as a light buzzing in his ears and mind. Now, tonight, as a voice.
Murder.
Anger.
Death.
Axiom-man.
Rage.
Despair.
Murder.
Axiom-man.
Blood.
Destruction.
Murder.
Axiom—
“You must build it,” the voice said. “It is the only way for you to know the truth. It is the only way to receive the power you deserve. You must build it. It cannot be done from here. It must be done from there. You must build it.”
“I understand,” Oscar said.
“Good. Get it done.”
“As you wish.”
* * * *
“Let me just lock up, Trav,” Mark Headley said. He slid his key into the backdoor at Citytv News and locked it. It was one in the morning. He and Travis Hagen had finally finished for the day after doing a follow up on what had been dubbed around the studio—and the city—as “Black Saturday,” the day Axiom-man and Redsaw had gone head-to-head tearing up Portage and Main. They were the best camera team Citytv had. The reporter, Gavin James, had already gone home.
Mark jogged back to his car, a ’03 Civic, where Travis sat in the passenger seat, hitching a ride home.
Climbing in behind the wheel, Mark started the car and said, “Got everything?”
Travis checked his thin and wiry self over. “Yeah. Well, left my hat in my camera bag but I can always pick that up tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. Thanks.”
Setting the car in drive, Mark drove past the studio, turned right then left and headed toward Main Street.
Yawning, Travis said, “Thanks for the lift.”
“Don’t mention it. And stop thanking me. You’ve thanked me eight times since we left the mess downtown.”
“Seven, but who’s counting.” He offered Mark a toothy grin.
The two rode in silence for a few minutes, both too tired after such a long day to really talk about anything.
Cra-lunk. Something hit the rear driver’s side door. At first Mark thought it was a stone the back tire threw up, but when something knocked against the door again, he glanced over his shoulder to see what it was. Nothing. He checked the rearview mirror to see if he had gone over anything lying on the road that he hadn’t noticed. The pavement was clear.
Fwamm! The car rocked to the right and a quick image of the car hopping up on its right side wheels then slamming back down again flashed before his eyes.
“What was that?” Travis asked, looking around.
“Don’t know.” He sped up then slowed down as he turned onto Main Street. Hardly any cars were out at this hour and the ones that were, were far away, mere headlights on vacant city streets. Mark supposed that after what happened Saturday between Axiom-man and Redsaw, not too many folks wanted to be outdoors if it could be helped. At least, not until things calmed down and the lingering tension in the air from that day subsided.
A dark . . . something . . . flickered in the rearview mirror. Before Mark could check what it was, it was gone.
Ka-fraam! The car went at an almost forty-five-degree angle, riding on its right front and back wheels. Travis swore as he hung on to the dashboard. Thinking it’d help bring the car back down, Mark turned the wheel to the left. The tires swiveled and the vehicle turned sharply . . . and rolled. The world went upside down, then right side up again three times before the Civic skidded to a stop, sitting perpendicular on the road.
Dazed, Mark glanced out his window. Red and black streaked toward him and a battering ram made of pure steel slammed into the side of the car, sending it flipping over onto its roof. Travis shouted just as Mark’s head slammed into his; a dull smack echoed throughout Mark’s skull. The car spun on its roof; his stomach twisted in nausea.
Something dug into his leg. Checking, he saw that whatever had smashed into the car door had forced the inside handle into his thigh. Muscles aching, he tried to wriggle his leg so it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
“Trav, you okay?” he asked.
Travis just groaned.
The pressure from the handle suddenly lifted as something tore the door off its hinges. The pavement ran parallel to the roof of the car, the street lights—from the angle he was at—casting a sallow glow on the rough cement. Black upside down boots with red saw-like blades running up the sides appeared before him, then red and black material whirled about the boots like a curtain in the wind before gloved hands reach in and grabbed him, ripping him from the seatbelt and throwing him out onto the street.
The pavement and clouded-over night sky changed places a couple of times before Mark stopped his rolling and skid across the ground.
“Mark!” Travis called after him.
Head throbbing, Mark lay on his back. He tried to look around but the dull banging against the back of his head kept him looking straight up. Footsteps. Someone was behind him. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. The black cape that had whirled in his face before he was removed from the car told him everything.
Redsaw.
“Pl-please don’t . . .” he said, bringing his hands to his face, palms outward like a shield.
Black-gloved hands reached past his and grabbed him by the collar. Quickly, his body was in the air and was turned around as Redsaw adjusted his grip on him.
“I didn’t do anything!” Mark said.
“What’s going on out there? I’m stuck. Help me!” Travis said.
Beneath the mask, Redsaw’s fiery eyes were tensed around the edges as if he harbored a secret hatred for him. Mark tried to examine Redsaw’s face, see who was behind the black mask that covered the man’s head, eyes and nose but not his mouth. He didn’t recognize him.
Two powerful sets of knuckles plowed into Mark’s collar bone and he flew backwards. He slammed into the overturned car, his back letting go a sharp crack when his spine hit the wheel well. Falling to his knees, he stopped his face from hitting the pavement with his hands.
“Mark, get out of here! Run!” Travis shouted from behind.
Mark glanced up to where Redsaw had been standing. The man in the black cape was gone.
Glass shattered behind him and Travis screamed.
Back aching, thinking something might be broken or at least out of place, Mark forced himself to his feet. Slowly, he turned around. Redsaw held Travis aloft by the neck with one hand, his other glowing red.
Legs shaking, adrenaline taking over, Mark rounded the front of the vehicle and came at Redsaw from behind. Before he connected, Redsaw let loose a blast of red energy into Travis’s face, incinerating the man’s head. Redsaw dropped Travis’s limp form to the ground. Spinning around, the masked man stopped Mark’s advance with an open palm to the forehead. Thwump! The blow sent him to the ground. Head swimming, Mark thought he might be on his knees again and tried getting to his feet. That’s when he realized he was lying flat on his back.
The last thing he saw was the black sole of Redsaw’s boot coming for his face.
* * * *
Chapter One
On Monday morning, Gabriel had the TV on while preparing for work. As he stood in front of his bathroom mirror knotting his tie, he thought it might be best not to go in today despite his supervisor, Rod Hunter’s, stern warnings about never coming in again late or being absent without a valid reason. Already, he knew, he was probably kissing his job at Dolla-card goodbye after leaving work Friday without notice so he could take care of the Forks situation that led to Redsaw’s murder of Gene Nemek.
Gene, Gabriel thought. He had barely known the guy. Only a few days. Gene had been kind, silly and a huge nerd. But Gabriel understood the guy when, it seemed, no one else had. Gene had been naturally clumsy, a bad dresser, snorted when he laughed—things Gabriel made a conscious effort to do while at the office to help safeguard his Axiom-man identity. And for a short time he had thought Gene was Redsaw. The geeky guy with the nerdy glasses was never around when Redsaw was and always seemed to vanish just before Redsaw popped up on the scene. Though Gabriel had never felt Redsaw’s presence when around the kid—that sick swimming feeling in his stomach, the nerve-wracking sense of dread and darkness that poured off Redsaw like smoke from a bush fire—perhaps, he had thought, Redsaw was able to turn his powers on and off like him. There was no real way to know other than banking on the fact they were very similar, the only discrepancies being Redsaw’s energy blasts—red instead of blue—came from his hands instead of his eyes and that he was stronger and faster. It was a serious possibility. Perhaps one day he’d find out. Hopefully the messenger, the strange powerful being made of blue light that gave Gabriel his abilities, would let him know. After all, it was the messenger who told him Redsaw was created to counter Axiom-man’s presence on the planet.
Placing his hands on the edge of the sink, Gabriel took a deep breath. Sleeping last night had been difficult, his mind racing about who had sent that letter, with what he was going to say to Rod as an excuse for Friday and what he’d say to others when they asked where his glasses were. He cursed himself for not having a spare pair. Should he take the day off and get a new set?
“If I did Rod would can me,” Gabriel whispered. He grabbed his cardigan off the edge of the counter and put it on. Between the yellow-and-black-checkered tie, white shirt and black cardigan, he thought he looked like a bumble bee.
What else is new? he thought. Folks think I’m a goof anyway.
Brushing a few stray spots of lint from his black dress pants, he went to the living room to turn off the TV.
Did he just see something about Redsaw on the morning news? The screen had switched to the next story so fast he couldn’t be sure. Standing there, remote in hand, he told himself he should get going but the grimness on the newscaster’s face said he should watch a few more moments. That’s when the aerial shot of a downtown bank filled the screen.
Someone had taken the bank hostage.
* * * *
Oscar Owen ran the faucet in the bathroom off the master bedroom. Cupping his hands under the cold water, he let it pool in his palms for a few moments before bringing it to his face. He had tried washing with warm water seconds before but after last night . . . it was as if his skin was on fire. The shock of the icy water hitting his skin brought refreshment and for a brief instant, washed away the memory of last night.
Those men . . .
It had to be done. Not only had the two young fellows videotaped the aftermath of Black Saturday, they also would, no doubt, ensure that Gavin James branded Redsaw a menace on the morning news. Oscar had seen Gavin’s reports before and more than once had Gavin thanked his cameramen on air for reminding him of what really happened during a particular event, reminding him of the information gleaned from interviewing bystanders who saw whatever event occurred.
“Everyone already hates you,” Oscar said, removing his hands from his face. He placed them under the water again, its coolness stimulating yet calming to his skin.
But removing those two guys’ opinions from the news was only one of the reasons for killing them.
He had to build it—the doorway. His master wished it. The master said that if the doorway was built, Oscar would find out who he was and what his recently-acquired power meant.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Oscar thought, reaching for the towel. He kept the water running in case he felt the need to cool down again. Bringing the towel to his face, shutting out the light of the bathroom, he was reminded of the flash of darkness he saw right after hurling that car into the young man Friday at the Forks. The darkness appeared for only a split second, a blotch of pitch nothingness against a blue sky. It looked just like the cloud that had invaded him a few days before. Then the buzzing filled his ears, the same buzzing that gave way to the master’s voice.
The power that surged through him after ending that young man’s life, the same power that filled him doubly so last night—the power needed to build the doorway. It was the power that healed his burnt face after fighting Axiom-man Saturday. The power that woke him before Axiom-man could remove his mask.
Last night, after the killings, the master said that the barrier that separated him from Oscar was too dense to be breached by any means created by man. Only power from the cosmos could breach its seal and the only way to acquire that power was to make the deposit that was already within him greater than what it was. The power grew after that first death on Friday. And it was growing now. Soon, Oscar felt, he’d have enough to open the doorway, but when that would be, he didn’t know and his heart sank at the uncertainty.
“How many innocent lives?” he asked. “How many? I can’t do this forever.”
The master’s voice returned. “You must be willing to do so for an eternity if you wish to learn the truth. If you don’t, you’ll be left to wallow in self-pity and darkness until you leave this earth. And that would be soon, for things are changing in my realm and I’ve received news that Axiom-man is on the verge of a great discovery. Should that discovery take place, he will overcome you. Nay, he will kill you.”
Furrowing his brow, Oscar felt his skin heat up. He set the towel down, rinsed his hands then brought the water to his face. “Get out of my head,” he said. “How do I know you’re not just me going crazy? I killed three people! I’m not a fool. I know this is me talking to myself.”
“Don’t insult me!” The volume of the voice reverberated all around him, forcing Oscar to take a quick step back from the sink. “Do you honestly believe that the black cloud, the source of your power, is something that was merely conjured up in your imagination? And if so, that the powers manifested from the encounter are all in your mind?”
“I wasn’t talking about the cloud, I was talking about—”
“Silence! The cloud was a conduit to me. I chose you, Oscar. Do not make me regret it.”
Oscar stepped back to the sink, yearning to touch the cold water again. “Why me?”
But the master was silent. He’d either left or was choosing not to respond.
“Answer me!” Oscar slammed his fist down on the countertop. Before his fist made contact, he felt his power switch on. His fist smashed through the pressboard to the right of the sink and into the hollow of the cabinet below. He scraped his hand along the wood’s jagged edges as he pulled it out, drawing blood. “Tell me! Why me?”
No answer.
Just then his cat, Rolly, entered. He looked up at Oscar with his deep green eyes. Rolly’s smooth gray fur reflected the bathroom’s yellow light. His dark pupils . . . . The black cloud!
Oscar snatched Rolly up by the scruff of the neck and slammed him down to the left of the sink. Rolly squealed. Oscar silenced him with a quick twist to the neck.
The clear water quickly ran red.
* * * *
Great! I’m going to be late and there’s nothing I can do about it, Axiom-man thought as he flew quickly downtown. He was there in under five minutes and made certain to stay in the air over five hundred feet from the scene so that those who looked up would think him only a black spot against the clear morning sky. A bird, perhaps. From up here, he could see everything. Far below, a host of squad cars surrounded the bank. Traffic was backed up far down Main Street and anyone part of the morning rush hour would surely be late for work. Like him. Perhaps he could use traffic as his excuse when he made it into the office. If he made it in today at all. He only caught a bit of the details of what was going on at home while he tore off his work clothes and stuffed them into the backpack he wore beneath his cape. The silent alarm had been triggered, presumably by one of the bank’s workers. Only one robber was speaking with the police but most likely he wasn’t working alone. If any of the workers were still alive, it was unknown.
Emerging out of the cluster of traffic below was a big vehicle, most likely the E.R.U., Winnipeg’s Emergency Response Unit for special circumstances. It was too difficult to tell from this high up but at least he now had an idea of how things looked from the outside.
If those guys try anything too soon . . . He had seen enough cop and robber movies to know that whoever held up a bank and had hostages were usually intelligent enough to keep an upper hand over the police.
Axiom-man dove downward, cutting through the air, watching the ground get closer. He veered to the right and headed toward a pack of cars about twenty-five feet from the scene, out of view from the bank’s windows. He didn’t want the robbers within to see him.
Touching down, he received stares from those both in and out of their vehicles. One guy, who was half-in-half-out of his car said, “You gonna clear this thing up or what? What the heck is going on in there anyway? I gotta get to work.”
Raising a hand, Axiom-man said, “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”
Bending at the waist, he made sure his head and body were below roof-level of the cars, anything to hide himself from the robbers inside the bank who might be looking out the window. He kept as far away from the direct line-of-sight to the bank as possible and, ignoring questions from pedestrians, made his way to the nearest squad car. A cop stood beside the vehicle, one foot on the inner running board, one arm resting on the top of the open door. With his other hand he held a radio to his lips.
“Haven’t heard anything from inside for about ten minutes. Things should be all right but you never know. The last time this happened . . . yeah, well, you heard about it. So did half the city.”
Axiom-man couldn’t recall the last time a bank had been seized. Then again, he hadn’t ever really paid serious attention to the news until recently.
“Excuse me, Officer?” he said, coming up behind him but remaining crouched by the rear side door of the vehicle.
The cop glanced over his shoulder then looked down. “Geez, you scared me.” Then into his radio, “I’ll keep you posted. Over.” He looked down at Axiom-man. “You shouldn’t be here. You’ll bungle this up if you try anything. Besides, you’ve caused enough problems already.”
“I’m here to help,” he replied, ensuring an edge of confidence to his tone. Can I really help? How would I be able to get inside? Wait till it comes to that.
“Last time you tried to help, you and Redsaw destroyed Portage and Main. In case you haven’t heard, there are civilians inside and—”
He was sure to maintain eye contact. “How many?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“What, you come in here and try and tell me how to do my job?”
“No, I asked a question. How many are inside and who’s leading you guys on the ground floor?”
The cop turned away from him, removed his hat and ran his fingers through his short, dirty blond hair. He set the cap back on his head then returned his gaze to Axiom-man. “Sergeant Jack Gunn,” he said hesitantly.
Finally, they were getting somewhere.
“Jack Gunn,” Axiom-man said.
“Yeah, I know, the most ‘cop name’ you’ve ever heard.” He eyed Axiom-man steadily. “Look, I’ll get him over here if you want but only if you stay put. You screw this up—”
“I’ll stay right here. There are innocent people inside. If I can help in any way to get them out, you bet I’ll follow procedure.”
“Procedure hardly ever works for situations like this. ’Least from what I heard. I’ll get Gunn for you.” He spoke into his radio and summoned his superior.
Gunn came through the radio’s speaker. “What? I’m busy here, Franklin. You’re supposed to be controlling traffic not yapping to your girlfriend in dispatch.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You think I can’t tune in?”
“Sorry. Listen, I have—”
“Watch your tone, Franklin, or you’ll be wearing the Idiot Apron and bringing me coffee for a month.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Axiom-man is here and he wants to—”
“I’ll be right there. Over.”
Franklin huffed. “He’ll be right here.”
Axiom-man let a small amount of blue energy coat his eyes. “I heard him.”
Grimacing, Franklin turned and stared at the bank.
Axiom-man smiled beneath his mask. Serves him right.
* * * *
Valerie Vaughan started when the ear-piercing tone of her alarm clock jarred her out of sleep. She glanced at the clock. It was 7:30.
Why do I always set this thing for so early? she thought, pushing her long, dark brown hair from over her eyes. She turned it off and rolled over onto her side. If today were any other day, she would have reset the alarm till nine.
But that wasn’t the plan.
* * * *
“All right, where is he?” Jack Gunn said as he rounded the front of Franklin’s squad car and stopped on the other side of the open door.
Franklin nodded toward the ground where Axiom-man sat on his haunches, his cape wrapped around him.
Sergeant Gunn moved from behind the door and stood before him. Stocky and solid, Gunn looked to weigh in at around two-fifty or two-sixty, carrying most of his weight in his upper body. He crouched down and pushed the length of his brown leather overcoat out to the sides, revealing a gaudy white-with-pink-striped shirt beneath. He didn’t wear a tie but wore his badge on his belt. The fabric of his black dress pants strained against his large knees, the black somehow bringing out the gray streaks in his brown hair. Touching his short-trimmed beard once, he then put his palms on his knees and scrutinized Axiom-man up and down, as if sizing him up.
“What can I do for you?” he said with a hint of fine-I’ll-talk-to-you-for-a-moment in his voice.
“From the looks of things, you’re at a standstill.”
“You could say that. Listen, before we go any further, know that I don’t like you. I appreciate what you do but you have no formal training and just because you run around helping people, it doesn’t make you an officer of the law or even a hero. Got it?” It wasn’t even a question.
“Got it.” And with a small grin beneath his mask, he added, “But you also realize I can do things you cannot do and it is because of those things I’ve been able to assist you where others have fallen short.”
The muscles around Gunn’s brown eyes tightened. He rolled his lips inward, as if biting his tongue.
Axiom-man waited for the official tell-off. Did he just screw up his chances of helping out? If he did and someone inside the bank died because he couldn’t do anything to help them . . . he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He already didn’t forgive himself for what happened to Gene. To add more deaths to the mix . . . . Axiom-man couldn’t bear the thought and was about to apologize but Gunn spoke first.
“Glad we understand each other,” he said.
A wave of relief came over him. “What’s happening inside?”
Gunn waddled closer, his large knees nearly pressing into Axiom-man’s. “Workers came in this morning. Twelve of them when another branch faxed us the staff count. The branches keep tabs on who shows up and who doesn’t in case someone’s a man short. Anyway, they come in only to find the perps inside—six, from what is known—the safe open, bags stuffed. Seems the job wasn’t finished due to misinformation regarding when the morning shift started. One of the tellers managed to hit the silent alarm, tipping us off. Next thing I know, I personally get a phone call from a guy dubbing himself ‘Mr. Safe.’ He’s got them all at gunpoint. A shot was fired when I was on the horn with him. Sounded like someone bought it but there’s no way to know for sure.”
“Any demands?” Axiom-man found it strange “Mr. Safe” was talking to Gunn, a police sergeant, instead of a hostage negotiator. He could only assume Mr. Safe had asked for Gunn specifically. He just didn’t know why.
“Just like on TV. They want safe passage out of here. Thing is, they haven’t said how they want to get out of here. When I told him I was willing to comply, he disconnected, obviously letting me know he’s the one who wants to be in charge.”
“Is he?”
Gunn bent his head back and gazed skyward for a moment. When he lowered his head, his face was solemn. “As of now, yeah.”
* * * *
Chapter Two
“Hello, Mr. Gunn,” came a voice through the radio on Jack’s belt. The police sergeant snatched it up.
“Hello, Mr. Safe,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”
How did Mr. Safe patch in to the police’s radio band? Axiom-man wondered.
“Now, now, don’t rush me,” Mr. Safe said. “You wouldn’t want me ending up standing on a mound of bodies, now, would you?”
Jack sighed. “No, I guess not.”
“Guess not?”
“No.”
Axiom-man wondered why Jack was being so easy-going and could only assume that Mr. Safe had somehow gotten the upper hand before he flew onto the scene.
“Good,” Mr. Safe said. “Listen, I’m just ‘calling’ to let you know it’s growing awfully cramped in here. I suddenly feel like there’s no room to do anything. Can’t move around without bumping into someone. I’m thinking I’m going to have to clear some room.”
“I appreciate the position you’re in. It must be tight in there, but wouldn’t that be a good thing? If room suddenly freed up, you’d then be leaving room for me to come in there so we could talk.”
Mr. Safe chuckled softly on the other end. “Maybe. But I also may not want to talk, which leaves you at a disadvantage.”
The police sergeant turned his back on Axiom-man. Now standing by the hood of the car, Franklin put his hands on his hips as he listened in on the conversation. Axiom-man remained low despite how much he wanted to stand next to Gunn. Despite how much he wanted to rip the radio from Gunn’s hand and try and talk some sense into Mr. Safe.
“Then why don’t we keep things level? You tell me what it is you want and I’ll try and accommodate,” Jack said.
“Try?” Mr. Safe was obviously toying with him and the confidence in the robber’s voice made Axiom-man cringe inside.
“Will.”
“That’s better. As I said, I’m not sure just yet what else I want from you, but what I do want in here is some space.” Gun blasts echoed through the radio followed by the panicked screams from the people within.
“Safe!”
“Toodle-oo.” The radio went dead.
“Get me Sergeant Hedgewick,” Jack told Franklin.
Franklin just stood there.
Grumbling, Jack stormed past him.
Those people . . . Axiom-man thought. Jack’s being played and who knows how many innocent people inside have already died. I know this is a delicate situation, but there’s gotta be something I can do.
Axiom-man stood, raised his arms shoulder level and kicked off from the ground.
* * * *
“That useless, good-for-nothing . . .” Jack turned on his heels with the intent of coolly eyeing Franklin. When this was over, the officer would spend a month bringing him coffee.
Jack smiled when he saw Axiom-man fly up to the side of the bank.
Finally, they were getting somewhere.
* * * *
Axiom-man flew up to the bank’s side wall, staying out of view of the front windows. About three stories below, he heard the squawk of a bullhorn that was quickly cut off by Gunn saying something like, “Stop. You’ll tip them off.”
Hovering against the wall, Axiom-man kept to the left of the window beside him. Then he realized that if he did manage to get inside, he had no idea how he was going to get the hostages—never mind Mr. Safe and his crew—out.
But if I fly back down and regroup with the police, I’ll look like an amateur who doesn’t know what he’s doing. Which was also true. Bank robberies, hostages—this was why Winnipeg had a specially trained department for such things. Have to better plan ahead next time, he thought. Hopefully there won’t be a next time. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A part of him did want to fly back down; another wanted to fly away and pretend like he hadn’t arrived on the scene at all. Despite four months of crime fighting experience, he still was, admittedly, a novice. Too bad the messenger couldn’t have also bestowed upon me the gift of wisdom and insight. It would have made everything, especially the last week, much easier. He sighed. No sense adding to my worry now. Better get on with it and just hope everything works out.
Cautiously, he peered into the window next to him while also making an effort not to glance below to the police officers who were no doubt watching his every move. On the other side of the glass was an office suite, presumably one for a personal banker, complete with a mahogany desk, computer, plush leather chairs for the clients and some poorly-done nature watercolors that the bank no doubt rented by the month. No one was inside.
I hate going into those, he thought absentmindedly. They always turn me down for a loan. Okay, stop it! Focus.
He touched the glass, as if to sense where the robbers were inside. Most likely downstairs by the vault, if I remember the interior correctly. But where were the hostages? Were they still alive? Did Mr. Safe and his crew kill them while the radio was turned off?
Better get in.
He considered just pummeling through the wall but as was his policy, he didn’t want to destroy any property if he could help it. Yet in a situation like this . . .
Noting that the office door was closed, he floated over in front of the window, ready to duck out of sight should anybody suddenly come in.
“Wait,” he said. Never mind. If the alarm was already triggered once, I doubt it’ll be triggered again.
He drew himself about three feet from the glass and let the brilliant blue of crackling energy fill his eyes, the source of his power. Careful to maintain visual with the glass through the bluey haze, he squinted his eyes and focused a beam of energy into the glass, cutting out a hole large enough for him to fit through.
The loose piece of glass fell inward, shattering on the burnt sienna-carpeted floor just behind the desk. Axiom-man froze, expecting to hear the shrill sound of an alarm, or worse, the sight of two large men with Uzis barreling in to see what the ruckus was about. He quickly retreated alongside the wall and waited to see if anyone would come. A full minute passed and he didn’t hear anything from inside. They mustn’t have heard.
Giving a friendly nod to Sergeant Gunn below, he straightened his body and flew through the hole, and touched down once inside.
Slowly, he made his way over to the door and gripped the door handle. Gently, he turned the knob and opened the door just a crack to see what was on the other side.
A large balcony with brass railings bordered the main service floor in a huge square. Offices ran off the balcony about twelve feet apart. At first Axiom-man thought the coast was clear but when he opened the door a bit more, he saw each of the four corners of the balcony was guarded by a man in a pale blue jumpsuit, a black balaclava, gardeners mitts and a long, dark rifle.
Okay, think. Four guys. One me. I can do this. He only wished the confidence in his heart matched that of his brain. There had to be a way to . . . Move. Quickly!
Axiom-man dove out from behind the door and tackled the nearest gunman at the waist, taking him over the edge of the balcony. The man’s arms immediately went up, one hand hanging onto his rifle. A shot rang out, bringing down a spray of plaster from the ceiling. Axiom-man flew him straight for the ground and slowed their decent at the last second before delivering a swift punch to the base of the guy’s neck, rendering him unconscious. His three cohorts already had their guns aimed; the main floor to the bank was empty.
Where’s . . . Before Axiom-man could finish the thought, bullets whizzed past him. He dropped the gunman’s unconscious form to the floor and flew up toward the ceiling, twisting his body left and right, making it difficult for the other three to lock a shot on him. Flying up in a large arc, he came down hard on the second gunman, bringing him down. The guy was still conscious so, planting his feet firmly, he lifted the guy up then smashed his head into the balcony’s brass railing, sending the gunman to nighty-nightland.
Bang! Bang! One bullet punctured a hole in the wall across from him, the second grazed his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his costume. Great. I just fixed this, he thought. Should he switch to bulletproof armor? Then there’d be no way to wear his outfit under his clothes unless he wanted to look like an Arnold Schwarzenegger-wannabe.
Flying back up, he torqued his body to the left, swooping down along the main floor then arcing back up along the opposite wall and flew belly-up against the ceiling. He almost flew too close to it, but before he could dwell on what an embarrassment that would have been, he bent to the right and landed on the balcony in behind the third gunman. The man spun around and aimed the rifle at his chest. Axiom-man tore it from the man’s hands and used it as a baseball bat to the side of the man’s head. The gunman dropped to his knees then toppled face first to the floor.
“Huge trouble up here!” the fourth screamed into his walkie-talkie.
Axiom-man dropped the rifle and hopped up onto the railing, then pushed off it, soaring through the air. Boom! A bullet whistled past his ear. Hands forward, he dove into the fourth man and pressed the rifle up against the gunman’s stocky body. The guy fell backward, the rear of his skull smacking against the balcony floor. With a quick fist to the face, Axiom-man ensured the man wouldn’t be any more trouble.
He turned and was stopped short when he saw another gunman clad in the same pale blue jumpsuit and black balaclava at the edge of a hallway below. Axiom-man flew down after him. The guy did an about face and ran off down the hall, heading for the stairwell.
Touching down, Axiom-man ran after him, somewhat amazed at how effortlessly the gunman took the stairs two at a time. The gunman reached the bottom and tore off. When Axiom-man reached the bottom floor, the man was gone. Surveying the narrow hallway lined with office doors, he wondered if he was too late, if the ruckus above provoked Mr. Safe or whoever else to murder the hostages.
“Please, no,” Axiom-man whispered.
Cautiously, he walked down the hall, stopping before each door, straining to hear movement or voices from anyone who might be on the other side. Each door greeted him with silence. At the last door on the right, he thought he heard someone whimpering within. About to grab the door handle, Axiom-man stopped when cold gun metal was suddenly pressed up against the back of his head.
“Welcome.” The voice belonged to Mr. Safe. “Come with me.”
* * * *
The Past . . .
1504 A.D.
Jeremiah Garir glanced up at the clear night sky, the stars bright pin pricks against a matte of black, and took a deep breath. His wife, Rebekah, had complained of the sharp pains again. It was to be expected, he supposed. She had just begun her ninth month of pregnancy of their first child. The Peraton Village doctor said that she could be due any day now. Rebekah had been thirsty and so had woke him in the middle of the night to go and draw water from the well. He didn’t mind getting up. He was thirsty, too. Wearing only his nightclothes—loose-fitting light gray pants and matching top—he slipped on his shoes, grabbed the pottered urn by the door and went outside.
Now, out here in the cool night air, he felt invigorated and wondered if he’d be able to return to sleep easily once he was back indoors. Placing a palm to the edge of the well, Jeremiah took yet another deep breath and wondered why he was suddenly so restless. He had had nine months, after all, to prepare for the arrival of what he hoped would be a son. He had had all this time to go over in his head how he and Rebekah would parent the child, and if they would do well by him or her. Hopefully they would be everything this child could ask for in a set of parents and more. Hopefully. They were young and still somewhat inexperienced at life. He was twenty-eight, she twenty-three. But now, reflecting on it, it wasn’t the unease of questioning their potential parenting skills that set his stomach swirling with butterflies.
It was the type of world they would be bringing the child into.
Peraton Village wasn’t a terrible place at first glance. Normally, it was actually quite beautiful during the day, with small scattered patches of flowers and shrubs lining the streets, a small forest at its center with an area cleared out for children to run and play. But that’s where its idealness ended. Peraton was wasting away. The majority of the families barely earned enough from their trades or farming to keep a roof over their heads. Many of the children had been wearing the same set of clothes for the better part of the year. And many, adult and child alike, were forced to eat only every other day as a result of the severe drought this past summer, ruining most of the crops. Both Jeremiah’s and Rebekah’s once filled-out bodies were now mere cloaks of skin over skeletal frames. What was once a simple town with struggling settlers was quickly becoming a breeding ground for the starved and poor. Several of Jeremiah’s friends had to sell their small homes and move into makeshift shacks so they could afford to eat. He and Rebekah had contemplated doing the same just after the drought hit; only a small corner of his farm and a tiny vegetable garden Rebekah kept just out back of their tiny home remained. Even if next year brought good weather, Jeremiah doubted he would have enough money to get the farm started again.
To bring a child into a world where it couldn’t eat once breastfeeding was over made Jeremiah shudder with guilt. Who was he to force an innocent babe to live a life of poverty and starvation? He and Rebekah were adults; they would be able to take care of themselves. But a baby? Who was he kidding?
“I’m sorry, dear,” he said, looking toward his small home.
Under the light of the moon, his heart sank when he saw the left side of the roof was caving in. He had never noticed it before and now he couldn’t afford the supplies to fix it himself. He could do a patch job with some lumber he had kicking around the property, but that was about it.
He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, the top so long he reminded himself he needed a trim.
Jeremiah took hold of the bucket on the well’s outer rim with one hand and the well’s rope with the other. Hopefully the water down below was still okay. He had heard rumors in town that morning that some of the folks were having problems with the drinking water and a few of them were getting sick because of it.
I pray to the God of Heaven things will work out, whether for me or for those to come after me. Namely the child my dear wife and I are about to bring into the world, he thought.
As he slowly lowered the bucket down into the well, the roll of thunder off in the distance made him straighten.
He looked up. “There’s not a single cloud. How—”
The thunder rolled again, this time finishing with a resounding BOOM!
The pitch black sky brightened, the stars suddenly muted as startling bright blue clouds formed in the distance. They grew and grew and began tumbling forward from the four corners of the earth. The thunder rolled and grew louder with each advance of the clouds until the entire sky was a gorgeous mixture of light and dark blues. When the clouds finished coming in from all sides and reached the center, the thunder roared as if God Himself had shouted at the earth. Then there, at the center of the sky, a bright blue light appeared and grew larger and larger until it bloomed into a kind of flower that covered the skies from north to south and east to west.
The sky flashed white, followed by another thunder clap.
Then the lightning poured forth and spikes of raw power shot forth from thousands of places in the heavens. Shrieks and screams came from the village not far from Jeremiah’s land.
A spire of light zapped from above and, as if it were alive, snaked its way into the window of his home.
“Rebekah!” he shouted, letting go of the rope.
As he darted for the house, a beam of light struck him, too.
* * * *
Chapter Three
Mr. Safe slammed the butt of the rifle between Axiom-man’s shoulder blades and pushed him into the office, then reset the barrel to the back of his head. A metal-framed desk with a fake wood-paneling top was up against the far right wall. Filing cabinets lined the wall to the left. Bodies covered the floor like a carpet. Axiom-man counted fifteen; more than what was reported. Four men in the same pale blue jumpsuits and black masks stood guard over the prisoners, rifles aimed at the people’s heads and backs.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Safe said, “I give you your savior.”
A few of the folks raised their heads off the floor.
“Did we tell you to move?” one of the gunmen shouted. With a quick thwack from the rifle, he firmly set a young man back to kissing the floor.
The gun barrel still pressed up against the back of his skull, Axiom-man wondered what his next move should be. Mr. Safe solved the dilemma for him and dragged the barrel around the side of his head so it was set squarely between his eyes. Backing away a couple of steps, rifle still trained on him, Mr. Safe said, “Welcome to our little abode.”
“You don’t need to do this,” Axiom-man said. “We can work this out.”
“Oh please,” he replied. “Don’t come in here all nice and pretend like you want to talk. I’ve seen the movies, too. Cop comes in arms open, promises the world, says the robber doesn’t need to execute a host of people to prove his point. The robber gets distracted and, taking the opportunity, the cop arrests him. Disney ending. La la la.” He raised the gun and his cold eyes stared down the barrel. “Let’s give this a new ending. I cap ya right here and me and my mates finish our dealings with Mr. Gunn. Or” —he snapped his fingers and one of the gunmen cocked a rifle— “we off everyone here save one for insurance and you’re left with the blood of fourteen individuals on your hands. What’s it gonna be, hero?”
Axiom-man surveyed the bodies. From what he could tell, no one was hurt. Another door was in the far corner. Was anybody dead behind there?
“Is this everyone?” Axiom-man asked.
“Sorry. My secret,” Mr. Safe said.
Fine, he thought. “So—”
“So what do we do from here? Man, Dad really knows how to pick ’em.” Mr. Safe cut himself short as if he just said something he wasn’t supposed to.
“Your dad?”
The rifle lowered slightly. “The cat’s outta the bag now, isn’t it? Yeah, my dad. The brave Sergeant Gunn of the Winnipeg Police.”
Axiom-man wanted to tell him that since he had revealed his identity, it would only be a matter of time before he would be caught if he and his cronies got away. But he didn’t. Let him talk. Who knows what else he might tell you?
Mr. Safe changed the subject. “Tell you what: I’ll make you a deal. I removed my mask, now you do the same. If you don’t—” He snapped his fingers again and the gunman shot one of the people in the leg. The room erupted in screams.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” the gunman screamed and cocked the rifle again.
The older woman with the bullet wound to her calf brought her hands to her face and forced herself to grunt and moan without raising her head.
Axiom-man threw out his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Stop. No more. Just . . . stop.”
“That’s more like it.”
So it’s come to this, Axiom-man thought. All that work maintaining a secret identity, all the sacrifices I’ve made trying to hide who I am and I’m taken out by some low-blow punk who’s mad at his dad for some reason.
Mr. Safe must’ve expected him to remove his mask right away because he said, “Today or tomorrow, Sweetheart? I’m hoping for today unless you want to force me to stain the rug red.”
A gunman came up beside Axiom-man and reached for the mask.
“Let me do it,” Axiom-man said. “There’s only one way to take it off.” Which wasn’t true at all but hopefully it would buy him a few more seconds to think of a way out of this. How can I be so selfish? These people will die if I don’t obey. Then as a thought that didn’t quite seem his own: Well, it was fun while it lasted. Besides, someone else already sent you a note saying they know who you are. But they also said my secret was safe. For now. Yet if he did take off his mask, odds were no one would recognize him anyway. With his powers still shifted on, his hair held a blue sheen and the whites of his eyes along with his normally-brown irises were glazed over with bright blue energy. That in and of itself was a disguise. The mask was almost a failsafe.
The people whimpered and moaned, their tones clearly indicating they needed help.
By any means necessary even if that meant exposing himself.
Slowly, he reached up to the top of the mask and curled his fingers around the fabric’s edges.