A Forgotten Past

Winston stood at the bar, cleaning a mug. It was a slow evening, but a number of people were waiting in the room. Mostly old faces, but there were a couple that Winston didn’t recognize. That was common for the tavern. With the need for more workers in Heron city up north, more and more people had been making their way through town, which was great for business. The mountain pass, as dangerous as it was, would cut weeks off of their trip and was greatly preferred. The majority of them stood by the fire, warming their hands.

Fifteen years, Winston thought to himself. When he had first come to the town, he was another man. He was lost and thought that his life had ended. If the man he was then could see Winston now, he would have been amazed. Winston allowed himself a smile and he placed the glass with the others that he had under the counter. 

Suddenly, a large thud sounded at the door and a moment later a man opened the door and fell onto the tavern floor. A gust of frozen wind filled the room. He wore a thick brown coat that was covered in snow

“Shut the door, yah fool!” one of the other men in the room yelled. He had a large brown beard and had been ordering drinks for the past hour. 

Orlin, that’s his name, Winston thought to himself

Despite Orlin's request, the man remained on the floor, whimpering.

“Calm, my friend”, Winston said, looking at Orlin with a smile. Winston moved in front of the bar and made his way to the man on the ground. As he approached, he recognized the man.

“Hank, are you alright?” Winston said, lightly placing one of his hands on Hank's shoulder.

He was an elderly man with hair as white as snow who lived in a small cabin a short distance from the town. He had been the first person that Winston had met here. He was a man who had changed his life. Hank had seemed old when Winston had met him, and now he felt ancient.

“Winston!” Hank said, turning his head to look at him, “They’re coming for you. I covered for you, but they know something!”

Winston started to help Hank up to his feet.

“Hank I..” Winston cut off as he saw Hank's face. He had a black eye and his nose was bleeding. “What did they do to you?“

“Winston, it’s him. I tried not to talk, but they made me. They are coming for you. They are going to…”

“Good evening,” A voice said from the door. The words were slow and precise, and the second that he heard them, Winston felt a shot of fear flash through him as he realized that he recognized the voice. 

“Why did you do this to my friend?” Winston said in a low voice.

“We are here to capture our target.“ The voice said. “This man happened to know where we could find him, but needed to be persuaded before he was willing to share.” 

“Whatever you think that he did, you are wrong”, Winston said. “Hank is the most kind-hearted person you’ll ever meet. He wouldn’t know anything about any criminals in town.”

“Lies”, The voice said. It sent a chill down Winston’s spine.

Winston got up and looked at the man, and with surprise, noticed that he had four other guards with him. That wasn’t a good sign. The man was dressed in a tight blue uniform, lined by a row of silver buttons going down the front of the coat. He was older than when Winston had last seen him, his clean-shaven face showing wrinkles and his dark black hair was now greying, but his eyes still showed the intensity that he had seen all those years ago. They were now fixed on Winston, a slight smile showing on his lips. 

“My name is Inspector Ruths,” The man said, taking a step closer to Winston, his eyes still locked on him. “I believe that you have heard of me”.

“Inspector Ruths?” Orlin said, his words slurring. “That’s the name of the big shot at ‘eron city. The one who stopped the bombers”.

“Indeed”, The inspector said, now shifting his gaze to look around the room. His eyes squinted as he scrutinized the others sitting at their tables. 

Winston helped Hank to a chair and slowly lowed him down. The man clung to his arm and looked at Winston in the eyes. His large blue eyes showed fear.

The inspector walked over to the bar's counter and leaned against it. Each step created a loud thud against the wooden floor.

He recognizes me, he has to, Winston's thoughts screamed to him. Slowly, Winston began to make his way towards the man. Behind him, Winston could hear Hank moaning.

“What are you doing so far from the big city?” Winston asked, leaning on the counter. “Surely it would have been easier to send a telegram to the town officers instead of coming all the way yourself. They would have been able to tell you that Hank is an upstanding citizen.”

“This is a matter far more important than arresting this man”, the inspector said, tapping the counter with his index finger. “But that will shortly be explained. For now, get me an ale”.

Winston shook his head but complied. He moved around the counter and grabbed a large green bottle and a metal mug.

“How long have you been out here for?” The inspector asked, his fingers laced together and his chin resting on top. He was watching as Winston filled his glass.

“Fifteen years or so,” Winston said slowly.

There was no point in lying to the man. If he had brought four men with him, it could only mean that he believed that he had found a very dangerous criminal. 

Fifteen years I have been running.

“And what brought you out here? What does this place hold for you that the city doesn’t”

“I didn’t say that I was from the city,” Winston said, leaning against the counter, placing the drink in front of the inspector. Some of the ale spilled over the top and rolled down its side. “And I suppose that I came here for a change of scenery.” 

The inspector was right that Winston was from the city. He had left all those years ago, not because he had wanted to, but because he had to.

“Interesting,” the inspector said, once again looking around the room at the other patrons. Then he pointed at Orlin. 

“You said that you had heard of me and my reputation. Tell me what the people say.”

Orlin took a moment to realize that the officer had addressed him, but once he saw the pointed finger, his eyes went wide. 

“Well, uh, you know it’s mostly just stories that I’ve ‘eard. Not really the type that one can believe.”

“Please”, the inspector said, the words coming out like a hiss. “I insist”.

“Well, they say that you are good at what yah do.” Orlin said slowly “A good man and a good officer.”

The inspector laughed.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you are lying. Tell me what the people truly say about me.”

“They say that you’re… well… pardon the expression, but they say that you’re an animal. That the only thing more frightening than you is death itself. No one, no matter ‘ow good they are can escape yah.

“Excellent” Inspector Ruths said, smiling and looking towards Winston. Again, Winston saw that intensity in the officer's eyes. He was hunting.

The rumors weren’t accurate. In truth, the inspector was much worse. Winston, knew first hand what Inspector Ruth could do, and an animal wasn’t a proper description. Winston would rather use the word ‘monster’, but even that didn’t seem to capture the man. He would do anything to find the man who he was hunting. He would torture, lie, and kill anyone as long as he felt that it got him closer to his objectives. The criminals that he hunted, regardless of their crime, always ended up dead.

Inspector Ruths picked up his drink and began walking around the room, letting little drops spill over the edge and fall to the ground. As He walked, he looked from person to person, as if glaring into their souls. 

“I am who I have needed to become.” Officer Ruths said. “There was a time when I thought that I could inspire people to change and to help them to recognize the merits of a just society. Soon however I realized how naive the thought was. 

Inspector Ruths walked over to Hank who stood frozen. Hank looked from the inspector to Winston and then returned his eyes to look at the inspector. The inspector drew close, and in a flash of motion, he slapped his free hand across Hank's face, sending the man's spectacle across the room. They landed on the ground with a crack.

“Look at the man!” Winston said, his face growing hot. “He’s older than dirt. He doesn’t know anything and hurting him won’t do you any good!”

“No”, the inspector said. “Criminals understand but one language. Death. They listen to me now, simply because I know how to speak it better than them. This is the only thing that is keeping peaceful societies together. When someone dares go against our fine laws, they are punished, and they know that I don’t hold anything back.”

Officer Ruths walked back to the counter and faced Winston, placing the drink in front of him. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vile, filled with a black liquid.

“Do you know what this is?” Officer Ruths asked, showing the vile to the room.

“That’s Martil extract,” one of the men in the room said after a moment. It was one of the newcomers, traveling to Heron city. He sat by the fire, still wearing his think coat. His jaw hung open and his eyes stayed fixed on the vile. “I’ve only ever seen it in photos before.”

As the man said it, there was a gasp in the room from the other patrons who began whispering to each other. 

The four guards made more sense. Carrying something worth as much as what a man could make in a year out here was extremely dangerous.

“Exactly, my good man,” Inspector Ruths said. “Because of its rarity, it’s only used in the most special of situations. My friends, you are about to witness one of those moments. The climax of fifteen years of hunting.”

Officer Ruths turned to face Winston again, un-capping the small vile and pouring the liquid into the ale, changing the golden colored drink black. Then the officer pushed the drink closer to Winston.

“Drink.”

Winston kept his face neutral but felt anxiety beginning to well up in his chest. He looked from the drink up to Hank. This was it. He had nowhere else to run. If he refused to drink, it was incrimination enough for the officer to shoot him on the spot. There was no way but through. Winston slowly raised his hand and grabbed the metal mug. Winston brought the mug to his lips and drank. As the liquid entered his mouth, he tasted the disgusting bitter taste of the extract. A moment later, his body went numb. He remained standing in the position that he had been before, but despite his best efforts, couldn’t move. 

“Good. I have been looking forward to this day for a long time Winston.” Officer Ruths said, reaching down to his belt and un arming his side pistol from its holster. He raised it and placed it on the counter.

“You’re friend confessed to helping a strange man who came to town fifteen years ago. He said that the man was none other than Frank Deluge, the bomber of Heron city. When I asked if he knew the current location of Frank, the man simply said your name and nothing else. For this reason, I now ask you, are you Frank Deluge ?”

Winston felt compelled to answer. It was a struggle but Winston still had enough control to keep his mouth shut. The others in the room fell silent as they listened for him to respond.

"No.” Winston finally replied.

“That took a little long, don’t you think?” Inspector Ruths said, addressing the rest of the room. Then he turned and locked his eyes once again on Winston. “You can try to resist it for now Frank, but the extract will soon take complete hold. As we wait, I’ll start with some easier questions. Are you from Heron city?”

“Yes.” 

Winston tried his best to restrain himself from speaking, but his mouth pulled itself open and the words slipped from his lips.

“Did you live there while Frank Deluge and his accomplices were inflicting terror on the city in the name of rebellion?”

“Yes.”

That had been so long ago. He had been just a lad who didn’t fully understand what he had been doing. 

“Did you know anyone involved in the crimes?”

“Yes.”

With every question, it became harder to hold in his responses

There had been five of them then. His brother had introduced him to the group, telling him that it was his chance to make a mark on the world. Now, Winston was the only one that was left. The other four had already been hunted down and killed by the man standing in front of him.

“Did you cause the death of William Roughstock, the son of the Mayor of Heron city?

“No”, Winston said.

“See, he's not Frank”, Hank called from across the room.

“That response proves nothing.” The inspector said. “While it is widely believed that it was Frank who set all of the bombs, there is reasonable evidence that he was only the one who made them and that his other accomplices were the ones who placed them.”

Memories flashed into Winston’s mind. At first, they had only targeted unpopulated areas of town where no one would be hurt. It was a way of showing their protest. That changed the night when they decided to bomb the capital. Something had felt off that evening. He had purposed that they postpone it to another day, but the others were insistent. They left without him. That was the last time that he talked to Henry and his brother, Yves. After the explosion, they were captured, interrogated, and forced to give up the names of the others. 

“That should be enough time now,” Officer Ruths said. “Tell me, Are you Frank Deluge, bomber of the Heron City.

A second passed. Although the time was short, compacted into that moment was the most intense pain that Winston had ever felt. All the emotions that he had experienced in the past flooded over him like a wave. He remembered the guilt that he had felt when he had heard that the bomb had killed the mayor's son. He remembered going to see the public executions of Henry and Yves. That was where he had first seen Inspector Ruths, the man who had pulled the trigger that killed the men. He remembered meeting with the remaining bombers and deciding that they needed to part ways to avoid being arrested and put to death. Shortly after leaving town, he had heard the news that the other two had been killed in a firefight with the inspector. Finally, he remembered arriving at a small house a small distance from town and asking if he could stay the night. That evening, he confessed to Hank what he had done, telling him of the bombs and the murder. He had expected Hank to turn him in, but instead, he had patted Winston on the shoulder. 

“Lad,” Hank had said to him. “you made mistakes, but that is all in the past. Don’t let who you were, destroy who you might become.” 

That was the night that Frank Deluge had died, and Winston was born.

“No,” Winston said. “ I am not Frank Deluge. I am Winston and I am the Tavern keeper of this city. You’ve got the wrong man.”

Inspector Ruths narrowed his eyes and stood frozen for a moment.

“Lies. You are him, you have to be.”

Officer Ruths raised his firearm and pointed it at Winston's head.

“Are you the bomber and murder who terrorized Heron city fifteen years ago?”

“No.”

“Then where is he? Your friend indicated that you knew Frank. Where is he?”

“The man that you are looking for no longer exists,” Winston said. “Fifteen years ago, Frank came here and died on the outskirts of town.” Winston paused, and then looked the inspector in the eye.

“You have two choices now,” Winston said. You can shoot me, disregarding the infallible and expensive truth-telling extract that you forced me to drink, or you can leave my tavern and continue your search for a dead man. 

I would also advise that you give Hank an apology. He doesn’t know where Frank is and is innocent of covering for him.”

The words hung in the air. Officer Ruths paused for a second, and then frowned and turned away, walking towards the door.

“This isn’t over Frank,” Officer Ruths said “I am going to catch you and give you the punishment that you deserve.”

Officer Ruths left the room, the four large officers following behind him. The door slammed with the last. 

Winston looked at his reflection in the metal mug. It was true, he was a new man.