4. Horseman

The door banged against the frame like war drums. It was clear that the wooden sheet wouldn’t last; the force of his kicks vibrated the barrier savagely. I was trapped inside the dark security room with only the dead faces of gray monitors for light.

“Open… the fucking… door!” he shouted between kicks. He shot through the door; the bullet tore through the panel.

There was a long pause as he tried the doorknob again.

“If I can’t see you, you can’t be you,” the leader mumbled angrily.

I crouched underneath my desk and pulled my knees to my chest. All I could do was pray that one of those bullets didn’t rip through me.

I shouldn’t have come to work today.

“I don’t necessarily want to kill you, whoever you are. I just need that footage.”

I remained silent. The last thing I wanted was for him to know I was in there.

“I know you’re in there!” he shouted, exasperated.

Fuck!

“I know this door only locks from the inside, and I know there’s only one door that leads into that room. Just open the door; I will stand back. I just need access to those computers. Do as I say and you won't be harmed.” As though he had only just realized he was screaming at me, he softened his voice. “Hey, it’ll be fine.”

I didn’t say anything. My vast experience in hiding had taught me that assailants often talk to you kindly and offer empty promises just to lure you out.

Then he started kicking again, and in moments his boot was through the door. He cursed and struggled to pull his foot out of the hole he’d made.

I pressed myself into the corner underneath my desk. I saw his thick hand, adorned with a single large ruby ring, reaching through to turn the doorknob.

The leader stepped into the room and pointed a large silver pistol at me, as though he’d known where I hid all along. I noticed his beard and hair were a striking dark crimson color—the color of fresh blood. He was maybe six feet tall, but seemed ten from the way he towered over me.

The intensity of being in the same room with him was unbearable. It felt like I was standing in the same room as Napoleon, Hitler. This guy was some kind of Genghis Khan, I swear. There was some presence to him that was overwhelming just from. I held my breath until he looked at something other than me.

“Where is the footage stored?” he asked angrily, staring directly into my eyes.

I cowered and stuttered, “It’s—"

“It’s where?” He cocked the gun meaningfully and pressed the long barrel to my temple.

“In that locker,” I said, pointing a trembling finger toward the security box that held the taping mechanism. The security boxes were made of heavy steel with large locks.

He tried to open it, to no avail. The lock didn't seem as scared of him as I was.

“Key,” he said simply.

My heart dropped, and I couldn’t respond. I didn’t want to have to tell him that I’d lost the key, but I truly had no idea where it was. I’d never used it.

“Key!” he roared, this time pushing the gun into my face again. “I am going to kill you if you do not give me the key.”

I was too petrified to respond. No one ever told me how to unlock it. My head shook back and forth again.

“Shit!” he screamed, kicking my chair with his alligator-skinned boot and sending it tumbling. “Get up!” he shouted. When I couldn’t move, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me from my hiding place, banging my head against the top of my desk as he did. I stumbled up. “Are you there?” he asked, shaking me violently.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Where is the key to this locker? I don't have time to waste standing here. I need this footage. What is your name?”

“Clark,” I said.

“Clark, normally, I would spend time with you and help you to change your mind about me. You see, I am not a bad person—if you knew why I killed the people I killed, you would most likely even agree with me. But I don’t have time for that.” He stopped shaking me and put an arm around me so that the gun was resting against my chest. He tapped the barrel against my sternum to accent his words. “I’m not a bad guy, Clark. Just open the lock for me,” he said.

“I can’t,” I forced out.

“Okay, look, I actually am a bad guy. I’m going to do horrible things to you until you give me that key.”

My mind was caught in the same endless feedback loop of terror—I couldn’t form thoughts, make plans, or argue. Just that constant Fsscccccccccccchhhhh, the static of over-stimulation, running through my head.

He brought his pistol up to my shoulder, and it looked like he was going to shoot me.

“Last chance to…” his words trailed off, and his eyes averted to the host of monitors in front of us. “Shit,” he said. He released me, and I crumpled to the floor in a fetal position as he stalked out of the security room. He turned out the door and pointed his gun at me; he fired a shot without looking, as though it were an afterthought. The sound was deafening in the closed quarters, and the bullet hit the floor only a few inches from my left eye. Dust and fibers erupted from the carpet and into my face.

When I could breathe again—when I could think again—I looked up at the monitors and saw what had worried him. Police cars were filling up the camera view outside Tasumec Tower.

I watched as he rushed down dozens of flights of stairs, a cell phone to his ear. There were several police cruisers outside the building, and I could see officers approaching the lobby.

The two people he’d brought with him—the Strangers waiting for their leader in the lobby—were apparently talking with him over their phones. One of them repositioned himself so he could ambush any police officers who dared entered the building. The other, a woman, pulled out a large revolver and lazily loaded it, pinching one bullet at a time between two fingers and dropping it daintily into each chamber of the six-shooter as though she thought they were filthy things.

Their uniforms—if you could call them that—consisted of the vast tumbling granite gray trench coats that stretched out over their bodies until they seemed impossibly large and nebulous, a mummy of layers meant to announce their presence as nothing other than unwelcoming. The female—a fact made apparently by her long dark hair and tall stiletto heels—was crowned with an enormous black Sunday hat, fashionable a century ago, if even if then.

I wanted to scream to the approaching policemen and warn them of the ambush, to tell them not to move through the door, but there was nothing I could do. Two officers rushed forward, guns drawn, only to be attacked the moment they stepped through.

The male Stranger, who’d been waiting in ambush, moved his two cavernous sleeves to the first officer’s head and snapped his neck with a powerful, grossly unnatural twist.

Before the body had even crumpled to the ground, the cloaked figure had already moved to his next target. He was hunched menacingly as his enormous cloak billowed away from him. I saw his lithe, lizard-like frame outlined perfectly until the fabric caught up to his movement.

The second policeman was met with the same dark hands around his neck as he was pushed to the ground and the Stranger kneeled over him, the fabric from the coat seeming to eat them both, and then I lost view of the horror.

Just as I saw more police cars pulling up outside the tower, the leader reached the lobby. He grabbed his female compatriot, and they bolted out the front into the swarm of cops.

At first, the police seemed tense and ready to open fire, but then the female stepped forward and seemed to be talking to them, lecturing them. The uniformed men soon began to lower their weapons, faces filling with inexplicable sadness. It seemed impossible, like the woman was scolding small children.

The leader pulled her away, and the trio continued down the street, out of camera view.

The police snapped back into motion. I watched dumbly as they swept into the tower. They came storming up the staircases and took their time searching every room. I was stuck in that tiny room, staring at the bullet hole in the floor, for what seemed like eternity.

I watched with a general sense of dread as they worked their way up to me. We made hesitant contact and radios were frantically barked at until I was identified. Soon, my room was crowded with officers who intruded on my personal space and touched my computer. I fidgeted as they asked me about what footage the cameras had of the intruder; I watched them try to bring up the digital file, only to find that it had all been erased somehow.

I wasn’t surprised. The man who’d broken down the door had gone straight for the hardcopy backups, which he shouldn’t have known about. They were locked up in a heavy cage and were touched only twice a year to switch the hard drives out. The copies we used daily were stored on the network, where others could access it; this is what had been erased.

“Do you think he was trying to kill me?” I asked the detective while I stared at the hole in the floor of my office. Even after surviving the Collapse, it was probably the closest I’d ever come to dying.

“War is to man as motherhood is to woman,” the detective said, writing me off with some kind of ridiculous proverb.

“What?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s just a saying… and Escher doesn’t miss,” the detective said quietly. He was distracted, reading some sort of file as he talked to me.

“Is that who was up here? Escher?” So the leader had a name.

“It was Escher,” he said. “They call him the Red King. As in, he’s king of the Red zones – he leads the SSS.”

“SSS?”

“Secret Society of Strangers.”

“Well, did you guys catch him?”

The detective’s grip tightened on the file he was holding. “No.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because they’re freakin’ magic, alright? Jesus.”

“But it looked like—”

“What it looks like with the Strangers and what it is are almost always two different things. We’re doing what we can.” He said it in a way that encouraged me to drop the subject.

I shut up.

“We need to check your ID… just standard stuff,” he told me moments later, seemingly apologetic. I couldn't blame him really. The police that were left in Banlo Bay had to do a job better suited for a military – except there was no more Federal government, and so no more military.

“No problem,” I said, happy to do anything to get me out of there quicker. I reached into my back pocket and found it empty. “It’s missing,” I stammered. “I had it when I came in. I know I did. My card pass is in there. I couldn’t have gotten up the elevator without it.”

The detective asked the officers if anyone had found it. No one had. “Is it possible that Escher took it?” he asked.

“Yes, I guess it’s possible… but I don’t know. He grabbed me out from under the desk, but it was all a blur. Oh, God! He has my—my name, my address… even my city card.”

“Don’t worry. I can issue you a temporary pass.” He pulled out a pad of forms from his back pocket and began writing. “This will be good for two weeks, alright? You need to have a new card by then.”

“I have someone at home. They could go over there, try to find her, and—”

“How would they know she’s there?” he asked. “And why would they want to go?”

I decided not to tell him about the cage where the hardcopy footage was locked. The less reason I gave the Strangers to dislike me, the longer I would live.

“Why wouldn’t they? How do I know what they know?”

“Look, you’ve had a long day. Go home, take a rest. You’ll be fine. If you need anything, all 911. We’ll come just like we always do,” he said, trying to placate me.

It wasn’t going to work, though. They couldn’t even protect themselves.

I shivered, already reaching for my phone

“How confident are you he wouldn’t try anything?” I asked again as my phone made its maddening third and fourth rings.

The police officer had already turned away.

Then the receiver lifted. “Yes?” Erika asked.

“Jesus, you’re okay. I didn’t know what to expect. I thought someone might be after you.”

“What are you talking about? Why would anyone be after me?”

“It’s been a hell of a day. Am I on the news? Is there anything about Tasumec Tower being attacked?” I asked.

“No, nothing like that,” she said. “Just a cat chasing a dog with a butcher knife.”

“On the news?”

“There’s nothing. Come on home, my Lord. I have a new altar prepared for you.”

“I’ll be there soon. Keep the door locked.”