Mr. Grey

The flickering light above the warehouse door made the small shafts of rain appear as falling white needles in the torrid San Francisco night. It was that kind of hot summer rain that fell at nearly body temperature as it hit you, feeling more like sweat than something that came from the sky, the kind of rain that far from refreshing just made you feel sticky, damp and heavy. Most people were smart enough to stay out of this particular breed of precipitation, most people can find better things to do at midnight that skulk outdoors in a part of the docks known more for body count than commerce. Then again, most people are not Mr. Grey, Psychic Investigator.

Pulling out a fresh cigarette from his trench coat and lighting it off of the dying butt of the previous one in a smooth practiced action euphemistically know as chain smoking Mr. Grey tossed the spent cancer stick into the rain soaked gutter and took in a deep lungful of smoke. Something had been off lately, not bad, just off. Somewhere he could feel a thin shift in the ethereal currents, this usually meant something big and bad was coming but he couldn’t be sure exactly what it was, yet.

An old blue-gray Toyota pulled up with its lights shut off and moving without a sound, as if the engine had been shut off long before reaching its stopping point yet somehow still propelled from some unknown source. The first man to step out was of an average frame and build, largely unremarkable other than his lipid blue eyes that seemed to draw one in. The kind of deep spiritual eyes that calm skittish deer and can scare the bejeezus out of nearly everyone else. Out of the passenger side came a man who could almost be the previous mans evil twin. Dark and dramatic, he appeared sharp and perfectly manicured with a small dark goatee and combed back hair. He wore an immaculately cut suit sans jacket, a well fit vest showing off his lithe figure.

“So Grey,” the first one smiled, “why’d you ask us out here?”

“It can’t be good.” The second one offered, stepping out of the rain and under the warehouses overhang. “When Mr. Grey asks you to meet him somewhere it means someone’s going to get something bad done to them, you know that Kyle.” He brightened a bit. “I’m betting demons this time, last time it was MiBs and before that Skinwalkers, so this time my money’s on demons.”

Kyle stayed in the rain, finding it pleasant and refreshing to body and soul. “Cultists, Derek. It’s been a while since Mr. Grey here got his dander up about cultists. So Grey, have any wisdom about the link between cultists and warehouses? I was fond of your correlation of evil to well manicured lawns.”

Mr. Grey looked them both over. Kyle Higgle, spiritualist, anointed one, councilor and ritual magician. As Derek was his dark mirror physically, so was Mr. Grey psychically. Derek Flux, famous, wealthy, philanthropist, fortunate heir and maverick stage magician blending true magic and deception so perfectly sometimes even he couldn’t tell the difference. Why were they always together? What bond held them? They had faced death together many times and always come out (mostly) on top, and despite inner turmoil and differences they kept coming back together. It never really seemed important until now. Something was there, some deeper meaning under the façade, it kept slipping out of Grey’s mind leaving him cold, like trying to grab your fifth jell-o shot with your eyes closed.

The detective shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. “Demon cultists.” Was all he said.

Kyle laughed quietly. “Is that cultists who worship demons or cultists that are demons?”

“Worship a demon. They’re almost ready to go big time. Usual end of the world crap but they have a twist, they’re trying to bring the spirit world and the physical world into synch, trying to make them one.” Grey puffed on his cigarette giving his face a rose glow in the night.

“A demon?” Derek repeated, emphasis on the A.

“Not good.” Kyle crossed his arms and came out of the rain at last. “That would give the ethereal realm Nephandi ex Mortis the chance to destroy every living creature in our reality before anyone knew what happened. And where would the souls of the destroyed go? Back to be destroyed again. Like some sort of twisted reincarnation. Unincarnation. Blasted back away from dharma with each successive agonizing, brutal death.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Gods.” He finished.

“A demon.” Derek repeated softly to himself.

“Yes, damn it, a demon Derek.” Mr. Grey seemed a bit annoyed.

“It must be Sivilant, of the thousand whispers.” Derek said finally.

Mr. Grey’s eyes went wide, he almost lost his cigarette. “How the hell did you know that? It took me months to even get a hint of his name! I had to drag it out of the minds of servitors of a greater demon, nearly at the cost of my own life, and you just know who it is from a vague motive synopsis?”

“I have a library. I read. He’s detailed in a book called ‘Greater Demons of the Ether’, written by Thomas Jefferson of all people. If you would just ask for help once in a while before the part where you’re up against an entire gang of crazed cultists maybe you wouldn’t be the bitter old man you are today.” Derek collected his thoughts. “Not that I’m saying you’re old, or bitter, or anything.”

“Thomas Jefferson? Third president of the United States? The guy on the twenty dollar bill wrote a book about demons?” Kyle was a bit incredulous.

Derek Flux shrugged in that peculiar noncommittal way he had, “The same one, according to the notes written inside the cover. Apparently he was a major demon hunter who got into politics as a way of moving about the world with a job that let him get to whatever it was he needed without having to tell anyone the real reasons. There’s actually a story about how Jefferson kicked in the doors to the Hellfire Club and went guns blazing against Benjamin Franklin and that’s why Franklin actually went back to Pennsylvania instead of hanging around Washington DC where Jefferson was.”

“That’s just great.” Grey smiled, it sent a small chill down Derek’s back. “We’re gunna do this just like sixty bucks, I’ll kick in the door and we go in guns blazing.”

“Sixty bucks? What the hell does that mean?” Derek whispered to Kyle.

“Three Thomas Jeffersons.” Kyle whispered back. “Now look Grey, I’m always here to help you, not just with this sort if thing but with any other issues you may have. But I’ve told you before, no more killing. I don’t care if they’re trying to summon a demon, they can still be rehabilitated.”

Dirk looked at Kyle coldly. “You feel the same way Derek?”

“I just don’t want to get shot, really. Whatever answer causes that, I’m happy with.” He looked back and forth between the other two a bit nervously.

“Fair enough.” Mister Grey shrugged. “But do me a favor first, Kyle. Scan this warehouse for living occupants.”

Using his soul perception, Kyle looked through the walls of the warehouse. “Other than base animals, rats and such, nothing.”

“That’s not what I see using my gift of energy.” Derek piped in. “I get heat signatures for at least 12 people, and a large central heat source, a water boiler maybe?”

The import of this dawned swiftly on the spiritualist. “I get you Grey. They already sold their souls and are beyond saving.”

“Yep.” Was all Mister Grey offered.

“You could have just said that from the start.”

“Yep, but then I might lose my rep as a bitter old man.” He smiled and chuckled a bit. “But as for a real plan, here goes. I’ll kick in the door and shoot anyone stupid enough to get in our way. Derek, run interference and keep them from seeing Kyle. Kyle, when the ritual gets stopped it may go wild.”

“And we don’t need that kind of ethereal chaos.” Kyle finished. “I’ll hold it together, but if it’s above a level seven evocation matrix it’ll be rough.”

“I got faith in you. Both of ya.” Grey lit another cigarette, Derek smiled.

“I didn’t know you had faith in anything.” Kyle whispered to himself in bemused tones.

Mr. Grey pulled out two large nickel plated revolvers from under his trench coat, the words Rhyme and Reason could be seen stamped on the barrels, Kyle intoned a quick prayer of protection and Derek tugged on the bottom of his vest, straightening his figure. At a silent nod the trio burst into action. Calling forth power from the part of himself he hated Mr. Grey’s eyes shone briefly red as he kicked the steel reinforced door off the hinges and all three burst into the warehouse.

Multiple interlocking arcane diagrams littered and lined the floor like a demented Spirograph of evil. At its locus was a series of camp stoves on which a comically large pot bubbled some noxious brew. A central figure with multiple gold chains embossed with demonic characters stood on a rickety ladder over the witches brew with hands over his head, incanting some dark ritual while two other cultists acted as assistants standing next to him and handing up ingredients as required.

The other nine cultists all stood at key positions in the diabolist scrawl, the hoods of their blood red robes whipping around to see what caused the disturbance. At a well practiced arcane command from Derek, the entire warehouse grew extremely dark, except close around the small propane burners and the candled staff each cultist held. It was an ominous yet expectant dark that made you feel great things were about to happen. In all truth, it was the exact darkness casting that Derek Flux used before his live illusion shows. Two men could be seen silhouetted in the doorway, one slim and sharp, one long coated, smoking and wearing a fedora. The two men paused, as if waiting for a response. Unseen, Kyle slipped into the shadows and began weaving an intricate arcane counter-matrix.

“Who dares?!” Commanded the head cultist in a voice familiar with obedience.

Two gunshots rang out nearly simultaneously, and the two assistant cultists fell into bleeding heaps.

“Why is it that the first thing idiot cultists always say is ‘who dares’? I would think ‘kill them’ or ‘stop them’ would be more useful.” The detective chided loudly and grinned dangerously down the smoking barrels of his Rugers.

“I don’t know Grey,” Derek replied, “maybe it’s in the evil cultist handbook or something.”

“Next it’s time for ‘you fools’ and then something about the ritual.” Grey said quietly to Derek. “I just hope we’re buying Kyle enough time to lock down this section of ethereal space.”

“You Fools!” The head cultist laughed, setting his cheap ladder rocking dangerously. “There is no way to stop our ritual! It is nearly complete! At this time I am near immortal and taking the lives of my flock just gives me more power, but soon, SOON! Sivilant will come, making his world ours and our world his and then, at this great junction-” BANG.

Bored with the soliloquy, Mr. Grey aimed a shot at the gesticulating cultists head and fired a shot that could turn concrete bricks into powder. When the shot deflected harmlessly off of the cultists head, he was nonplussed.

The blood robed warlock laughed with mixed ecstasy and insanity.

“Fools!” He rocked with glee. “Now you see how your infantile weapons mean nothing to me! I, the high priest of Sivilant! Ah ha ha hahaha-”

Silence suddenly filled the massive space as the mocking cultist slipped off of his garage sale ladder and into the boiling cauldron.

For a moment or two, no one moved.

The pregnant pause stretched on.

Someone cleared their throat softly. Someone else scuffed his robe softly on the floor.

“Well.” Derek finally broke the wordless silence. “That was unexpected.”

One of the cultists looked to the others. “So, uh, whata we do now?”

“Man, I can’t believe I sold my soul for this crap.” Another complained.

The cultists started peeling off their robes and walking dejectedly out of the warehouse walking past the two assailants who let them pass unmolested. Derek looked to Mr. Grey.

“Just doesn’t seem right to shoot ‘em like this.” The detective shrugged and holstered his weapons. “They’re mostly harmless followers anyways. And what with the mental blocks I’m currently placing in their psyches, they won’t be hurting anyone.” Derek nodded approvingly.

After a few moments of silence, a crack appeared in mid air, like the world was a windshield used to deflecting bugs that’s suddenly struck by a deer. The sound that accompanied it was far more like the hemorrhaging deer than the breaking glass.

“We got problems!” Kyle yelled as Derek released his spell and the lights came back up. “Everything was fine until genius fell into the vat, after that, the demonic runes he was wearing disrupted the spell and ethereal/real space is shattering!”

Derek froze. Grey Stomped out his cigarette and cursed. “Alright, I got a plan, but I don’t like it, anyone else got something?”

“I can’t believe this,” Derek gasped, “how come every evening with you ends with the world nearly getting destroyed?”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Grey muttered as he lit a new cigarette.

Kyle was more helpful. “The only idiot who knew enough about this ritual to stop it is now cultist stew.” He pointed over to the still bubbling cauldron.

“That’s what I figured.” Grey frowned.

The cracks grey larger, sharper, more distinct. Separations began to appear as reality started to bleed scintillating black blood is gaseous pools.

“Damn it!” Grey cursed again for good measure. “Alright, everyone we’ll link up mentally. Our only chance is to work together at the speed of thought!”

Grey used his psychic mastery to fuse their wills nearly as one. Pulling the fabric of the spirit world through the cracks in prime space the trio worked at a feverish pace. Reality kept unraveling, it seemed that by pulling the fabric of one world through another it caused other worlds, unknown and unseen, to unravel and slip. Mending, sweating, working at a pace achievable only by slipping the bonds of matter and nearly breaking under the strain the three passed out of known realities, and into oblivion.

. . . . .

Light came from candles placed at equidistant points along gray stone walls of perfectly cut stone. Statues of great heroes lined next to the candles while long niches held intricate sarcophagi with bold faced busts adorning them. A new light joined these ancient tapers, a cigarette being lit.

“Creepy.” Derek flux intoned looking through hall after hall of tombs.

“Peaceful is more like it.” Kyle smiled, stretching out his arms a bit. “It’s not cold here, it’s warm, inviting even.”

“Hmph.” Mr. Grey managed. “Look at these graves. Some seem to be ancient, knights and whatnot, but this next hall is beyond our own time, spacemen, aliens.”

“Are they really graves at all?” Kyle mused. Grey’s brows raised, taking in the thought.

“A most astute observation, Seeker.” A warm voice came from behind them. Turning, the three saw an older, white bearded but healthy man in ornate blue and gold robes, a pendant emblazoned with a red taloned hand hung ceremoniously from his neck. “But you are here far too early it seems to me. Never before has a Seeker returned before his time, not ever, I should say. Quite remarkable, unusual yes, but remarkable.” His kind eyes sparkled.

“Where the hell are we?” Mr. Grey asked flatly. Kyle’s face showed his exasperation at his friends outburst.

“Questions, questions yes. It makes sense you wouldn’t know. Do you care to walk and talk? It’s done wonders for me, keeps the conversation moving!” The old man chuckled at his own wit as he turned and began walking back presumably from whence he came.

Out of curiosity, and frankly having nowhere else to go, they followed.

“This is the Mausoleum of Souls.” He continued without a backward glance to check that they were following. “Not really any place for the truly dead, mind you, but a place for remembering heroes! In our civilizations past we conquered every imaginable hardship, disease, and turmoil. Our technology granted us the power once thought only attainable by gods! We rescued maidens, lands, even worlds! But then one day it happened.”

“It?” Derek prompted at the lull in the old sages monologue.

“We had done it all, you see. The universe became a vast and terribly dull place. When you have it all, there’s nothing left to strive for, to live for even. The boredom is, or rather was interminable. You see, we, or rather a man name Garrilous Clintock, figured out that we could enter other universes and seek our adventures there! After doing such, we could return home and finally have something to talk about. Or perhaps his goals were rather more lofty, but that’s how it seems to shake out.” He took an unexpected left and nearly lost the three who were mulling this over.

“And the people sent to other worlds are Seekers then.” Mr. Grey stated calmly. “And since you referred to us as Seekers, then we are part of your world, but we came back the wrong way.”

“Yes, well deducted my friend.” The old man nodded. “You see, the souls are sent out, and then born in the normal ways of that world and grow as normal denizens of it. They have no memory of this existence till after their souls leave that surrogate realm in the natural way.”

“You mean by dieing?” Kyle half asked, half stated knowing there was more to it.

“Not always, but yes. When the essence, spark, soul, whatever you like to call it, returns it brings with it the memories of its past existences.” He began springing up some steps that they would have missed if not for their well practiced guide.

“Wait a damn minute, are you saying I purposely chose this life!” Grey was incredulous. “You would not believe half the crap I go through! It seems every day I’m fighting demons, cultists, ghosts, werewolves and god know what else, just trying to keep people safe to live their lives.”

“Ah, how invigorating it sounds!” A shiver practically ran up the caretakers spine. “I’m not saying you exactly chose this course, but you did choose to be where it could happen. If it’s that fraught with peril, you must have been very excited about it before you went! I’m sure all of you were.”

“All of us? We’re all from here? Were we sent down together like a landing party?” Derek fired off his questions in rapid succession.

“Yes, yes, and no.” The elder laughed a bit. “Why, this is the most excitement I’ve had in quite some time. You went separately, but each of us from here instinctively finds and bonds with others from our native universe, like water finding its own level. We’re not sure why this happens, but it’s very fortunate as our essences are usually tougher than those of native inhabitants and able stand the rigors of the exciting lives we find.”

“That’s it!” Grey stopped dead in his tracks. “It’s been bugging me for months, why do we stay together, what brought us together, chance is too random for the three of us plus our other friends Mel, Hanson, and the rest to all just happen to meet up or bump into each other, there is an underlying cause! It makes sense, we feel like a brotherhood because that’s exactly what we are.”

“Indeed.” The caretaker smiled and led them through a doorway and into a room where a delightful tea service had been set out.

“You always are looking for conspiracies, aren’t you Grey?” Kyle half smiled.

“Only because they always seem to be there, Kyle.” He smiled back.

“Can’t you just accept this for how amazing it is? There is just so much to this…” Kyle’s eyes were wide with insight.

“Now,” The old man said sitting in a comfortable chair, “do tell me how you got here.”

. . . . .

Mr. Grey woke up and blinked a few times. Something was wrong, something big. He caught it nearly instantly, his cigarette was missing. Fumbling about for a bit he picked himself up off of the cold concrete floor and reached into his pocket, checking that he still had three in the pack, he lit one with his silver Zippo and inhaled deeply, sighing a bit as he exhaled.

“What is that smell?” Derek groaned as he picked himself up, dusted off his clothes and worked at his stiff neck.

“It’s the cauldron.” Kyle offered, sitting up Indian style. “It boiled down quite a bit while we were out it seems, really nasty stuff.”

Getting themselves back together they walked out into the sunlight, a new day was already well underway in San Francisco. Dirty and disheveled from the Herculean task they had completed keeping reality together, Mr. Grey smiled in spite of himself.

“Something funny there, Mr. Grey?” Kyle asked.

“You remember anything after we stitched this place back together?” Grey looked at him with a sidelong glance.

“No, just dreams I guess.” He looked quizzically at Grey.

“Same here.” Derek interjected.

After a pause Mr. Grey ventured, “You ever wonder, why we stick together?” He asked in a philosophical tone.

Birds chirped in the trees and in the distance ships were doing their daily work though the harbor.

“It just, seems right.” Derek smiled offhandedly.

“I think we were meant to be a team, responding to a higher calling.” Kyle was solemn and thoughtful.

Derek and Kyle stepped into the old blue Toyota, ready to head out. “And we do kick some serious butt.” Derek laughed.

“Damn right.” Mr. Grey thought as he puffed on his smoke.

“Just like Thomas Jefferson.”