"Watchman, How Much Longer the Night?"
Canto II
A Wing and a Prayer
Scene 1
"The human mind is one place where all of the gods and monsters in human mythology are inarguably real, in all of their grandeur and monstrosity."
— Alan Moore
The dream that Vance had that night was far clearer than any before it. The mysterious man that steps out of the black Buick looks around as if to check to see if he had been followed. Then he slips down the street so smoothly, Vance almost loses track of him in the shadows. He steps into the yard of a suburban house, following the fence line. The house is dark. The insects and critters are silent. Just before he reaches for the back door, he turns and looks directly at Vance with an evil smile. The dream goes black, but then fades back in. A child is lying on the bedroom floor, and the bed sheets are pulled askew. The child is too quiet, too still, too pale in the moonlight. And then a shadow consumes the moonlight...
Vance wasn't scheduled to work on Tuesday night. Instead, he was parked outside of the gas station, watching. This is beyond crazy, he thought. There is no way I can find that guy in the black Buick among all of the people in Chicago. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when the Buick drove past. Crazy or not, here I go. He started his van, a POS, non-descript brown job, and pulled out into traffic to follow his curiosity's obsession. The car drove down West Foster Avenue, in no particular hurry, and turned down one of the residential side streets.
Vance followed, keeping the black car in his sights. The car slowed near an open parking spot and pulled over. Vance stopped the van, sitting in the street about 50 yards away. The mysterious man—Vance was sure it was the same man—stepped out of the car. Vance blinked hard. It was like living the dream all over again, and his skin began to crawl in anticipation. The man looked around, but paused, looking at the Vance's vehicle in the distance. After a moment, he stepped back into the car and pulled out again. That's not how the dream goes.
Up onto West Peterson, down North Western Avenue, onto West Irving Park, Vance trailed the Buick. The car made an unexpected left onto N Clark, and when Vance made the turn, there was no sign of the Buick anywhere. Crap. As he drove along, looking into Graceland cemetery on his right and the side streets on his left, he felt as if he might have accomplished something. He wasn't sure what. Maybe... just maybe my dream would have turned out true if I hadn't tailed that car tonight. Maybe some kid will see tomorrow because of this. Maybe I'm just kidding myself with delusions. He was suddenly very tired, and turned toward his apartment. Maybe if I get some rest, my head will clear. This is all too unreal.
Scene 2
"Would you tell me, please which way I ought to walk from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
— Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Early in the morning Jimmy headed out to a warehouse district about half of a mile in from the lake. He slowly drove his motorcycle up a few side streets, and then, on a whim, turned left at what was really just a wide alley between the buildings. The buildings were apparently unused or abandoned, but the doors were intact and closed. On his right, a half-flight of stairs led up to the main floor at the level of the loading docks. On his left... there it was. The building from the dream.
He drove down the alley—not too slowly, not too quickly—and observed closely. When he came to another little side street at the other end of the long buildings, he turned left again. There was a rundown party store a couple of blocks down where a larger street intersected this street, where he pulled up his cycle and stepped off. Some teens hanging out in front of the store looked at him suspiciously, but then went back to their discussion. The troublesome ones are rarely out at this time of the morning. But, then again... neither am I.
He walked inside, bought a Mello Yello, and then walked back outside to sit on his cycle. From this vantage, he could see the south end of the building. Not the part from his dreams, but he could see what he needed to see. The fire escape was probably unsafe and noisy, but he could see a utility pipe running up the end of the five-story building to the roof. That would do nicely. He could scale that quickly and quietly, and then use rope to come down from the roof at the correct window. I just need to figure out how to do this without getting blown up.
Scene 3
"Patience is the companion of wisdom."
— Saint Augustine
When twilight fell, Jimmy pulled up to the mouth of the alley between the buildings and surveyed the scene. He turned it down the alley, and then with a little spurt, drove it up the stairs of the building on the right. The door was secure. Since no one appeared to be looking, Jimmy pulled a little case of tools from his jacket and fiddled with the lock. Let than a minute later, he pulled the door ajar and put his tools away. Glancing around at the empty street, he swung the door open and rolled his bike inside, closing the door behind him.
Enough light shone through the broken windows that he could see the loading dock was a large, open area. Near him, there was a little office room with the door ajar. Jimmy absentmindedly closed the office door as he sought out the stairwell and slipped upstairs. On the second floor, he found a shadowed lookout point near an intact window and watched the area closely again. He considered himself somewhat of an expert in light, shadow and reflection, and was confident that no one from the street would be able to see him through the glass.
In the dream, it had been full dark, so he watched patiently as the shadows crept fully across the city. There were street lights at both ends of the alley, but not in between the buildings. Not bad. The streetlight near where I intend to scale the building might be a problem. As he watched, a pair of men walked into the alley from the north end. They talked animatedly as they approached the other warehouse. One was quite tall, and the other had a cigarette in his hand as he waved it about to accent his part of the conversation. As the one with the cigarette looked up and down the alley, the other opened the door with a key, and they stepped inside. Not yet.
Jimmy looked over at the third-story window he had dreamed about. Some sort of office-sized room. Television. Shelves. Boxes. A plug-in table lamp. He knew this from the dream, but fully expected that it was true after coming this far. As if on cue, the light in the room turned on. Now. God help me.
Scene 4
Calvin: "Do you really think Bogeymen exist?"
Hobbes: "I'm not sure, but if they do, I think this is where they live..."
— Bill Watterson
Jimmy slipped back down to the main floor and to the door near his cycle. Cracking the door, he saw no one on the street, and no silhouette in the lit room's window. He stepped out, closed the door behind him, and then crossed the street to the door where the men had entered. No, I was looking in the window. Keeping close to the building so as to stay out of site of the windows above, he moved to the south end of the building. About that streetlight... just then, the bulb overheated and dimmed to a mere glimmer. OK, then.
Once he was sure none of the locals were paying attention, Jimmy gripped the utility pipe and began his ascent. He made it to the roof without incident, and walked over the edge over his target window. No one else on the rooftops, and no one in the alley. Peachy. Slipping off his backpack, he pulled out a length of rope and clipped it to a sturdy vent pipe, allowing for just enough rope to drop the estimated 30 feet to the window. A few practiced knots and turns later, he was rappelling down the side of the building between the windows. As he neared the window of the lit room, he approached very cautiously and quietly. His hands were sweating in his gloves, and his heart was pounding.
The crackle of tires on the dirty pavement brought Jimmy's attention back to the ground. A police car was patrolling through the alley, shining it's spotlight on the buildings as it crept through. At least no one ever thinks to look up. After the patrol car passed, he slipped down the last few feet until he was beside the window.
From this angle he could see many boxes piled up, creating lots of shadows. Good. The window included a simple tilt-pane, and would give him no trouble. Against the better judgment of his rational mind, he took a deep breath and peeked one eye directly through the window.
The room was about 20 feet wide and 40 feet deep. The TV was on. A beat-up couch faced the TV, a pile of short pipes and a couple of canisters were at the foot of a chair, the kind of chair his mother used to have in the dining room. The lamp was on a little table to the left of the TV. A shelving unit held some canned food, clothing, a roll of duct tape and books. A longer length of pipe, about 4 foot long, lay on the floor at the side of the couch. Just like the dream, except... Except there was no one in the room. Jimmy felt his body flush with a combination of panic and relief. Go inside.
Jimmy reached over, tickled open the window, and let himself in. The boxes and shelving provided lots of shadows. He made sure the window was closed, and then crouched down in the darkness behind the boxes.
He heard their voices approaching, and then watched through a gap in the boxes and shelves as the two men entered the room, carrying more canisters, and arguing about something in a language Jimmy did not recognize. The taller one sat down in the chair and began to work on one of the pipes. That's the one from my dream. But... I'm not outside the window. Maybe I won't get blown up. Yet.
The shorter man walked over to the window, very close to where Jimmy was hidden, and reached into his jeans to produce a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. This generated a flood of verbal abuse from the taller man, who pointed animatedly at the canisters and the window, and then at the door. Sheepishly, the shorter man walked to the door and out into the hallway, mumbling as he went. The taller man followed him out the door, continuing to scold his partner. Taking advantage of the noise and distraction, Jimmy moved around until he was laying in the shadow behind the couch. As he lay on the floor staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but think What in the *#@$ am I doing here? The man closed the door, and Jimmy heard him walk back to the chair and begin working again. Well, at least there was only one to deal with at a time, now, Jimmy thought. Just knock them out, don't try to kill anyone said the voice in his head.
Screwing up his courage, Jimmy looked around to see what he could use. Near his head was the longer length of pipe and a plastic cap from a bottle of Pepsi. He peeked cautiously around the end of the couch, keeping his head in shadows, and saw the remaining man slowly twisting a cap onto the pipe he had filled. Jimmy needed a distraction... taking the bottle cap, he waited until the man was looking closely at his project, and then he flicked the cap above the man's field of vision in an arc across the room. It landed with a little plastic snap in the corner opposite Jimmy's position. The man jerked around quickly, looking for the sound of the noise, and stood up. With his back to Jimmy.
In the smoothest movement he could muster, Jimmy grabbed the longer length of pipe, stood up and stepped toward the bomb-maker. Just as the man began to turn toward Jimmy, Jimmy swung the pipe like a baseball batter and struck him square across the chest. The blow sent a numbing tingle through Jimmy's arms, and he almost dropped the pipe. Fortunately, the blow also knocked the wind out of the bomb-maker and knocked him, stunned, to the floor. Now what? His eyes landed on the roll of duct tape.
Jimmy frantically taped the stunned man's mouth shut and his arms and legs together, expecting the other bomb-maker to walk in at any moment. Surely the sound of the man's fall would attract the attention of his partner. Having done an adequate job with the restraints, Jimmy dropped the tape and picked up the pipe again to face the door. A breath later, the door swung open. Hinged on the near side, the door hid Jimmy just long enough for him to swing the pipe again. The man saw it coming as he stepped into the room, and reflexively lifted his arm to protect himself, yelling what was undoubtedly a string of curses. The cursing ended abruptly with the sound of breaking bones, and the man fell back against the wall, cradling his arm. The bomb-maker's face was contorted in a combination of pain and rage, but before he could regain his balance and try to take the offensive, Jimmy thrust the end of the pipe hard into the man's abdomen. He doubled over in pain and rolled onto the floor. The pain of landing on his broken arm was too much for him, and he blacked out at Jimmy's feet.
Jimmy taped up the second man, but was unable to stomach moving his broken arm to tape it up. I just hope he can't use that when he wakes up. The taller bomb-maker was struggling, but having difficulty breathing, and Jimmy realized that he needed to call the police immediately. These guys would need medical attention. A cell phone had been knocked from the belt of one of the bomb-makers, and Jimmy quickly dialed 9-1-1.
"I found a pair of men making pipe bombs," Jimmy said hurriedly to the 9-1-1 operator. He gave them the address.
"Sir, where are you calling from?"
"I'm here at the address. Third floor."
"Are you in any danger?" the operator asked quickly.
"No, they are... um... taped up right now. They'll need medical attention." There was a pause at the other end of the phone.
"Sir, may I please have your name?" asked the operator.
"Well... no... I mean, I'd prefer to stay anonymous," said Jimmy, and he set the phone down on the chair and walked over to the window to look out into the alley.
"Well, if you would just stay on the line with me, help will be there shortly. I'd like to ask you some more questions. Sir? Are you there?" Jimmy could still hear the tinny speaker of the phone buzzing as he slipped out the window, closed it, and began to climb up the rope.
Scene 5
"We seek the truth and will endure the consequences."
— Charles Seymour
Jimmy was still on the roof packing his equipment into his backpack when the first police cars arrived. By the sounds of the approaching sirens, there would be plenty more in short order. An image of the police searching through the building room by room came to Jimmy's mind. I've got to get off this building before they find me here. This will be just too hard to explain.
Jimmy lowered himself over the edge of the building using the utility pipe he had used to come up. He was about half way down when a pair of police cars came up the side street, slowed, and stopped below him. Jimmy waited, hanging there, as four officers got out of the cars and began to move around behind the building. As soon as they were around the corner, Jimmy climbed down the rest of the way, putting his feet down right next to one of the cruisers. He quickly looked into each of the cars, half expecting to see an officer there to catch him, but the cars were empty. One of the doors to the patrol cars was still ajar. He quietly pushed it shut. He could tell by the radio chatter that they were taking this very seriously, so he put the cars between him and the building and snuck away.
Jimmy managed to get around the backside of the other building where his cycle was parked, but picking the lock on the back door was not easy. His arms ached from the climbing, the struggle, and the adrenaline. When he finally slipped inside, the building across the street was swarming with police. Across the warehouse, he retrieved his bike, rolled it to the back door, started it up and drove it down the half-flight of stairs onto the sidewalk. Zip, turn, and away. Somebody probably saw him, but he was soon too far away to care.
:: End Canto 2 ::
7th Seal Image: Pat Loboyko. ©2005 Scott Mitchell.
A depiction of the archangel Raphael.
Image courtesy of The University of Aberdeen, King's College, Scotland.
