Hated Hauntings

The cool ocean breeze swept through the streets of Angel’s Landing, dissipating the heat that seemed to bull through the town from the badlands to the northwest. Though for many the cool was not a signal for well deserved rest, but rather an invitation into temptation and debauchery. And despite the law’s iron fist being on the keg’s tap at the behest of North Mar Government, there were many hole-in-the-walls and speakeasies that prided themselves on procurement of such once prominent potent punch, for a price. And so, In spite of the protesting of desperate wives and concerned citizens, many were still out on the town. Drinking the night away. 

Trudging through the cold of the night was an individual having found his fill of such festivities. He was a lithe man of shorter stature, his gnomish blood doing him no favors, with greasy blonde hair that grayed at the temples and a long face. He looked like a rat in human skin, his jacket in criminal condition and the shirt beneath not much better. The man’s steps weren’t entirely steady. His boots shuffled against the ground, and his gait was short. But eventually he seemed to find what he was looking for. 

It was squat for a 3 story building, with fading paint and exposed brickwork. It was a shit hole, but the familiarity with which the gnome acted spoke to it being home. He stumbled through the old double doors, ignoring the now empty front desk to step into the elevator. The gate creaked loudly as he pulled it shut and punched the button for the top floor. The lights flickered, threatening to simply blink out as the metal cage shuddered to life.

One. Two. Three. With another loud shuddering creak the man exited the lift and, leaning heavily on the wall, made his way down the hallway. The quiet sounds of a couple arguing could be heard from a nearby door. From another came the sound of guitar strings being plucked, a tune to be found in the noise but as of yet unheard. In the darkness of the hallway the man pulled a box from his jacket and removed a cigarette. The click of his lighter was the only other sound in the corridor, besides the jangle of his keys, as he trudged down the hall to the final door on the floor. With the thunk of a deadbolt, the click of a lock, and the creaking of a door, he was home. Safe and sound.

The room was dark as the night outside, the only light was from a street lamp across the way filtering in through the curtains and the dim embers of his cigarette. The man’s hand reached out for a light switch, groping at the wall lazily.

Click! 

A lamp across the room came to life, dimly casting its light across the furniture. And beside it, leaning back in a chair too small for him, sat another man. A wide brimmed hat sat atop his head, and a brown bandanna was wrapped around his neck. He sat with his chin against his chest, causing the hat to hide his face from view. A well taken care of but worn heavy brown duster concealed most of his body. Though it did little to hide the bandolier of bullets for the rifle that laid across his lap. His legs were crossed, his heavy boots were as worn as his coat and caked with sand.

“W-who in the hell..?”

As the gnome took a step back, dropping his lighter as he pressed himself against the door, the human looked up. Across his face was a number of scars, some of them burns and others cuts. His tann skin was rough, weathered, and almost gaunt. His time in the sun wearing away at what youth remained. But what stood out the most was his eyes. They were almost black in the light, only the faintest hint of brown catching even a glint. His gaze were as steady and focused as a marksman, never wavering from his mark. And in those dark pits burned hatred. A hate so hot that the room began to feel warm, like the fires of Hell were licking at the window. And as the man looked up, noticing the flash of recognition in the gnome’s eyes, he tilted the revolver in his hand towards the host. Each chamber was loaded, the hammer cocked and the barrel trained between the drunk’s eyes.

“Hiyya Vinnie. Long time no see.” 

The man’s accent gave his northern rearing away, his voice as even and cold as the sights of his gun. And if words could kill, this man would be a rattlesnake. Vinnie’s mind was scrambling, looking for a kind word or a quick jab as his eyes darted around the room. A book, an excuse. Anything to get him distracted. To give himself a chance of escape. 

“H-Hal! It’s…. It’s good to see you! Y-y-you survived! It’s a miracle! Why, when I heard what happened it… it nearly-“ 

“Cut the bullshit, Vin. We both know whatcha did.” Hal’s words cut like a knife, and Vinnie could see the gun come up from the armrest a little. The drunk shuffled against the wall, the buzz draining from his body faster than the blood from his face. 

“Y-your right. You’re right. A-a-an‘ there’s nothin’... there’s no changin’ that now. W-what’s done is done, right? Water under tha bridge. A-a-an’ it’s not like I wanted to rat you out to the Angel, pal. I-it’s just… T-T-they threatened m-me an’ my brother a-and…”

“Relax. I get it.” 

“Y-You do?” Vinnie asked, some color returning to his cheeks. He was hunched over, wringing his hands nervously as his eyes continued to dart around the room. Was there anyone else? How did he get in? His eyes settled on the telephone for a moment, before meeting Hal’s gaze. 

“Of course I do.” The gunman said nonchalantly, rising to his feet. He began to circle the room as Vinnie glanced at the phone again. Hal was like a wolf stalking a rabbit, ready to strike in a moment. “You were forced to make an impossible choice. Rat out your friend, or let family suffer. I get it. How is your brother by the way? Doing well?” 

“O-Oh yeah, he’s doin’ g-great.” The Rat said, stepping away from his guest towards the phone. Maybe he could knock it off the hook, make the police come. It wasn’t a good idea, but he had nothing better. Nothing could be worse than this. “Got out of the life, ya know? Managed to open up a little bar over in Clearwater. Last I heard he-“ 

The hand moved faster than a bullet as it twisted the hem of Vinnie’s shirt. The gnome was swung into the wall with a heavy thud, the gunman’s eyes burned with anger. The pistol returned to the holster at his side as he drew a long knife from his hip.

“Funny. Last I heard, your brother died about 4 years ago. Couple of months before I got into town.” Hal hissed the words as he raised the drunk off his feet, the hate in his voice creeping in more and more. Vinnie grabbed his assailant's arm and began to struggle. “So tell me the truth, Vincent, or else there’s gonna be consequences. What are her plans? Shipments, movements, anything! Start talking, and talk fast. And remember I do not like being lied to.”

“I-I don’t know nothin’! E-ever since the incident, I don’ know much no more. They don’t trust me with info like that.”

“I can’t imagine why. Talk, or the next time I won’t be so nice.” 

“Next time-?“ Before the drunk had time to process the statement, Hal brought the knife up and cut into the gnome’s arm. Blood poured freely, and Vinnie began to scream and cry out in pain. He kicked and struggled even more, clutching his arm even as he was held aloft.

“Talk, Vincent.” Hal growled, his eyes burning with an otherworldly light. His voice sounded strange, empty and brittle like coals in a roaring fire. Smoke began to billow from beneath the collar of Hal’s duster. His face grew even more gaunt, nearly corpselike.

“Alright! Alright!” Vinnie surrendered between sobs, his blood staining his hands as he desperately held the wound closed. “They’re gettin’ a shipment of wine in tomorrow night at the docks. I-it should be at either 9 or 11. B-But she don’t oversee them like she used to! Just one of her brutes who does her heavy lifting. A guy named Vark. Please, that’s… that’s all I know. I swear. I swear.” 

There was a long moment, tears running down Vinnie’s cheeks as Hal’s burning eyes seemed to pierce his soul. And then the fire went out as he let go of the drunk. The smoke disappeared as Hal fished out a cigarette box from his coat, some of the life returning to his face. Vinnie hit the ground with a thump, sobbing and cradling his arm like a child as Hal pulled a cigarette free. He strode over to the door, picking up Vinnie's lighter and using to to ignite his cigarette. Through the walls there was the sound of movement. Concerned voices mentioning things like the police and such as Hal took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Thanks Vinnie. I think, for old times sake, I’m gonna let you go get that looked at. Maybe even leave you alone. Consider us even,” Hal sighed, dark smoke streaming from his mouth and nostrils. He cast his gaze down to look at the gnomish man, the anger dimming to cold pity as he pocketed the lighter. But as the human stepped into the center of the room, Vinnie’s sobs broke for a moment.

“What… what are you? What happened…?”

Hal just smirked bitterly as he tapped the center of his crown. A new scar was there, one that Vinnie hadn’t seen but knew with a certainty of the origins “No thanks to you, I ended up in the care of an undertaker. But I made a promise, so no coffin's gonna hold me. Stay out of my way, and you won’t be caught in the flames.” 

“What the hell’s that supposed ta-“ but as he raised his gaze, Hal was gone. Vinnie was alone in the room, with nothing but a draft through the open window.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before exhausted laugher racked Vinnie’s body. Then, once he’d collected himself, the now very sober drunk made his way towards the phone and began to dial. 

It rung once. Twice. It was late, he might not be awake, Vinnie thought. And then there was a click and a low, gruff voice spoke. 

“Aye?”

“Vark, it’s Vinnie. He’s back. The Far Strider. He’s… he’s some sortta spirit or revenant or somthin’, but whatever he is he’s dangerous and out there.” The chuckled of skeptical amusement on the other side of the line.

“Haley McAlister? The man the boss lady killed, yes? You certain you weren’t drinking too much? Seeing ghosts?”

“Damn it, listen to me! He- he cut my damn arm open. He knows about the shipment tomorrow. Tell the boss and-“

Bam!

The last thing heard on the other side of the line was the thud of Vinnie’s body hitting the table. The rat, for all his fear, failed to see the shadow in the window of a lone gunman trained carefully on his mark. 

As Hal leaned on the fire escape, he pulled out a thick worn  journal. Opening it up, he flipped to a page that read ‘Vincent “Vinnie” McGillue.’ Inside there were notes and observations and plans of attack. Leverage to use and information to be gained. There was handwriting on the page he knew he recognized, but didn’t know how. They were like a voice on the radio, but out of tune and underwater. 

Grabbing the page, he ripped it from the spine of the book without ceremony or care. And as he clutched it in his hand, the paper began to smolder and burn. 

Hal stared at it for a long time as it began to crumble to ash between his fingers. On the edges of his darkened memory there was sorrow. A wish that things were different. That in another life…

And yet here they were. Hal’s other life. And it was just as shitty as the first, at least from what he could remember. Rage and sadness burned in his chest as his grip tightened around the paper, causing it to igniting violently. Tossing the ashes into the wind, Hal cast his gaze to the streets below. He could just make out in the street two people walking, hurrying along thanks to the report of his gun. His thumb absently rubbed at a ring on his finger as the anger subsided once more. It felt important, just like the words. But the reason escaped him… 

The door to the apartment could be heard being forced open, followed by the scream of a woman finding the gnome’s body. But the police wouldn’t find the killer, not yet. Because right now, there were more important things than jail or justice. After all, the Fallen Angel has a shipment of wine coming in. And if taking that out helped clip her wings? Well, why not help himself to a bottle or two?

To celebrate the beginning of the end for the Loretto family.