Anton Strout - Dead Waters

He picked up the cane and walked over to me without using it, but I noticed he was a little wobbly despite the brave face he put on. “Nonsense,” he said. He tucked the cane through his belt, wearing it like a sheathed sword as though he were a modern-day musketeer. “I’m old, not dead.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jane said.

The Inspectre smiled at her. “However,” he said, “why don’t the three of you start up first? This may take me a while.”

Without another word, I adjusted the strap of my satchel so it lay flat across my back for the climb and the rest of us started up the under skeleton of the bridge. The going was rough but thankfully my gloves kept my hands from slipping as I climbed. I reached the top first and pulled myself up onto the bridge itself. Far out in the center among the swirl of shuffling spirits, Mason Redfield was staring down into the water below, oblivious of our little group’s progress. Connor and Jane pulled themselves up next and the three of us waited for the Inspectre together, but he was taking forever. He was still only about halfway up the understructure. At this pace it would be morning before we could pull him up.

Out of the darkness behind him, something blurred into view, grabbing for him. The Inspectre let go of the bridge, but didn’t fall. Instead he and the other figure flew up the side of the bridge. They shot up past us, flying into an arc fifty feet over our heads until they both came down onto the bridge right in front of us. The professor landed, stumbling away from the figure carrying him, revealing Connor’s brother, Aidan. The vampire’s face was drawn and leathery from taking a form that could fly. Aidan almost lost his footing, but caught himself before he fell.

“Aidan?” I asked, running over to him.

The Inspectre turned to him. “Are you all right?”

Aidan nodded, his face returning to its more human state. “Fine,” he said. “Just a little too wet out tonight for my liking.”

“Thank you,” the Inspectre said. “For the ride. It was quite. . . invigorating.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

Connor walked over to us. “I called him, kid,” he said. “Thought the vamps might be helpful in all this.”

“Actually,” Aidan said, “not so much. We don’t really function well around water, remember? It’s why I skipped your boat ride and had a little trouble sticking my landing just now. But I’ll do what I can. I owe you guys for helping me get rid of that ghost.”

“Well, nice Superman entrance anyway,” I said. “Let’s just hope the water woman doesn’t get her green coloring from a Kryptonite infusion.”

“Funny,” Aidan said. “So glad I came out for this.”

“Thank you for joining us,” the Inspectre said. “Sincerely.”

Aidan smiled, baring his fangs.

“All right,” Connor said. “Enough. My brother’s going to get an even bigger head on his shoulders.”

“Is that possible?” I said.

“Gentlemen, concentrate,” the Inspectre snapped. The rest of us fell silent. “Now, then, we have to make sure Mason Redfield doesn’t escape. We need to surround him.”

Aidan stepped forward. “I’m on it,” he said. “I’ll block the other side of the bridge.” His features stretched back to his vampiric form once again. “Up, up, and away.”

Aidan leapt into the air like he was the Hulk bounding away.

“Let’s move in,” the Inspectre said.

“And quickly,” Connor added, heading out onto the bridge. “There’s no telling what my brother may or may not do.”

I grabbed Jane’s hand and headed after him and the Inspectre, who was already setting a brisk pace.

“Hey, if your brother brings down this woman in green and gets this mark off of Jane, I’ll bring him on a Hot Topic shopping spree myself,” I said.

“Quiet,” the Inspectre said, his mood darkening. Connor and I used foolishness as it had been described in the Departmental pamphlet entitled “Witty Banter to Ease Any Paranormal Situation.” I knew that personally it was what kept me from losing my mind and running off screaming on an hourly basis sometimes. Before I could say anything, the Inspectre had picked up his pace and moved ahead, closing in on his old friend. The sea of long-dead spirits parted out of the way as we went, drifting to and fro in their constant wait for a ship that would never come.

Mason Redfield stood at the edge of the bridge, staring down at the chopping waves far below. His hands held him in place as he leaned out over the side, rocking back and forth, totally unaware of our approach. Pushing him off would be so easy if I just took a running start from here. I let go of Jane’s hand and reached for my bat in its holster.

I worried that the click of extending it out might draw his attention, but I doubted he would be able to hear it over the whip of the wind and rain out at the center of the bridge. I needn’t have worried. Another sound caught his attention instead.

Aidan landed just on the other side of Mason, slamming down into the bridge, cracking a few of the slats. He came down hard, too hard, and looked a little stunned by the trouble he was having being exposed to so much water.

Mason spun around, and then noticed the rest of us crowding in on him. Faster than I expected, he reacted, pulling something out of his jacket.

“Crap,” I heard Connor say. “Gun!”

Fewer words inspired more panic in the Department than hearing someone was packing heat. Dealing with pedestrian weapons wasn’t really our area. Vampires and witches didn’t use them, and when I heard the word, I put myself in front of Jane.

Mason looked around him as we spread out to block any escape path he might try to take, all except the one down to the water below. If he wanted to try that hoping to survive the fall, he could be my guest.

“Everyone stop,” Mason shouted. “Now!”

Everyone on our side of the bridge stopped, but Aidan continued creeping forward on him, fangs bared.

“I said stop,” Mason repeated, and then cocked his head at Aidan as he noticed his teeth. “I’ve got something to stop you as well.” He reached into the collar of his shirt and brought out a wide assortment of chains, all of them with dangling pendants bearing different marks on them. Some of them were definitely religious, some absolutely foreign to me, but they were enough to stop Aidan in his tracks.

“Ever resourceful,” the Inspectre called out to him over the wind.

“It pays to be prepared,” Mason said. “I’m living proof.”

Aidan’s face twisted to its monster form. “What do you want me to do, little brother?” Aidan asked Connor. “I can still probably stop him . . .”

“Don’t,” I shouted. “I’m not going to risk Jane’s life on your ‘probably.’”

“Why are you doing this, Mason?” the Inspectre shouted.

“Why?” he asked. “I turned away from the Department years ago because the dark and secret horrors of this life were too much to bear. Only through teaching film did I revisit my love for all things horrifying, only in fictional form. Thanks to it, I learned why people love seeing scary movies. It’s a thrill, controlled fear without the actual chaos of it being real. Over time that morphed into something more, a darker fascination. . . I turned to the world of the documentary trying to capture the horrors of real life—in this case, the hundreds of deaths at the Hell Gate Bridge.”

“But why?” the Inspectre asked again. “Back in our day, you had everything in control. You were powerful. We were going to fight the good fight side by side.”

“You don’t understand,” Mason said. “Do you even remember the day I told you I was leaving the Department?”