2010:“They don’t ever change, do they?”
Greg stopped strumming his guitar and looked over at Jonah. “What’s that?”
“The stars.” The two men, along with Helen, were sitting out on the tiled patio behind the house, the others having departed hours before. Hal left first, due to an alert signal from his ring -- something about a “Larfleeze” pilfering from folks in Minnesota -- then the Shade, and finally Max, who promised to come a-runnin’ should Hex ever call. Afterward, Greg and his wife treated their new houseguest to a fine supper
al fresco, grilling steaks so big Jonah wasn’t sure he could polish his off. Perhaps it was the satisfactorily-full belly this meal gave him, or maybe the copious amounts of alcohol he’d imbibed since arriving at their home, but as night fell over Arizona, Jonah found himself in a reflective mood. “Yuh kin go a hunnert years in either direction, an’ the stars always look the same,” he said. “Even when Ah was trapped inside muh corpse, Ah’d sometimes get a glimpse of the night sky, an’...it helped. Seein’ something familiar.”
“I’ve had the same experience more’n once,” Greg replied, then turned to Helen with a grin. “Been a few years since I needed those kind of reassurances, though.”
Helen, who was stretched out on a chaise lounge next to him, reached over and poked Greg in the ribs with her finger. “My mother warned me about sweet-talkers like you.”
His grin turned into a comical leer as he plucked out the beginning of “My Mama Done Tol’ Me” on the guitar, and they both laughed. Jonah didn’t know the song, but he let out a soft chuckle at their antics. Though Jonah had only just met Helen, the love she and Greg shared was plain for him to see, and Jonah could only hope that, somewhere down the line in this new life of his, he’d be lucky enough to find someone just as perfect for him as they were for each other (again, he chalked up such thoughts to the good food and booze).
After exchanging a few more playful barbs -- along with a few kisses -- Helen got up and stretched, saying, “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m thinking it’s about time to turn in for the night. Got a buyer showing up bright and early tomorrow to pick up that Cruz installation.” She caught the slight look of puzzlement on Jonah’s face and explained, “I own an art gallery in town. Mainly local stuff.”
“As well as her own,” Greg added. “She does great work. Did you see that painting in my study, over near the bar? That’s hers. One of my favorites, too.”
“Greg...” It was too dark to see Helen blush, but she put a hand over her face anyways.
“It is! Why do you think I bought it?” He said to Jonah, “There was this charity auction three years back, and that painting was one of the things up on the block. I ended up in a bidding war with this gal ‘cause she got cold feet and didn’t want nobody else to own it.”
Jonah cocked an eyebrow. “Yuh tried tuh buy back yer own stuff?”
“It’s not like the money wasn’t for a good cause,” Helen replied, dropping her hand. “But yes, I tried to buy it back. Even after he won it, I went over and offered to buy it from him, or at least let me touch it up before he took it home, but he refused.”
Greg smirked and said, “That’s how we met.”
“And to this day, he
still won’t let me touch it up.” She waggled a finger at him, saying, “When you die again, I’m gonna haul it into my studio soon as the funeral’s over!”
“Nope, sorry, it’s going in the coffin with me!” He started laughing, which was soon punctuated by cries of “Ow, quit it!” as Helen went over and pinched him repeatedly. Greg then dropped the guitar, pulled her into his lap, and gave her a good long kiss until all was forgiven.
While Jonah found the horseplay amusing, something Helen said struck him as odd. “Whut do yuh mean ‘bout him dyin’
again?” he asked.
Greg, who was still holding Helen tight, let out a sigh. The two of them looked at each other silently for a moment, then she said, “Maybe you should have this conversation later.”
“No, it’s okay,” Greg told her, followed by a quick peck. “You go on to bed, I’ll be along soon.” As she slid off his lap, he took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” She nodded to Jonah and said goodnight before heading inside.
After she was gone, Greg picked up his guitar and began strumming again, the notes echoing through the crisp night air. It was obvious that the man was stalling, so after nearly three minutes had passed, Jonah said, “Tell me, Saunders: does
anybody stay dead these days?”
“Lots of people do,” he replied. “Just maybe not the right ones.” He looked over at Jonah with a sad smile. “I kinda expected you to ask me ‘bout this sooner, or at least a side-effect of it.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, saying, “I know your memory’s a mite spotty, so maybe you missed the fact that I don’t look as old as I did last time we saw each other.”
“Ah didn’t miss it, Ah just ain’t got much room tuh talk on thet point.” Jonah waved his own hand towards the right side of his face, which no longer bore the scars he’d been cursed with for most of his life. “Did yuh take the same route as me gettin’ here?”
“You mean dyin’ in the past and gettin’ resurrected in the present? Naw, I got home through proper time-travel: the JLA and JSA got together and rooted out where I was, then sent some folks to pick me up.” Greg wrinkled his nose slightly. “Damn Thunderbolt done got the dates wrong, though, that’s why I hung out with y’all for so long back then.”
“So yuh got back home, an’
then yuh died.”
“Quit rushin’ me, Hex.” He started to pick out a new tune on the guitar. “You wanna hear this, you let me tell it at my own pace.”
[Fear], Jonah head the black ring whisper in his ear.
Thet much is certain, he silently answered.
“Reckon I was a lot like you are now when I got back,” Greg said after a time. “I’d skipped ahead a few decades, so I kinda had to relearn how the world worked. Still, I tried to get back into my old routine like nothing had changed -- singin’ songs by day, bustin’ heads at night -- but it weren’t as easy now. I was creepin’ up on sixty, and a body just can’t do the same things then as it can at twenty or thirty.”
“Thet’s gospel truth there,” Hex muttered.
“So after a couple of years of foolin’ myself, I retired. Hooked up with a gal named Sally, who I knew from way back when -- she was a widow now, but still a fine filly -- and did my best to enjoy all them royalties that’d accumulated while I was gone.” The notes coming from the guitar were bright and cheery as he spoke. “Sure, I’d strap on my sixguns and bandana from time to time, but for the most part, I decided to leave the adventurin’ to the younger set. Even kept mum when one fella after another took on my name without askin’. Figured if you can have two or three Green Lanterns or Flashes or what-have-you, then an extra Vigilante won’t hurt none. It was a good retirement, I enjoyed every minute of it. Maybe a mite too much, goin’ by how my waistline expanded.” He smiled. “Sally was a great cook, and a wonderful gal all-around. When she got sick...”
Greg stopped playing, pressing his palm against the strings to silence them. He stared out at the moonlit landscape for a while, then said, “After she passed on, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d been back for close to ten years by then, and the older I got, the more I kept clingin’ to the past.” He turned to Jonah. “I suspect that’ll be your biggest problem: tryin’ to decide what from your old life you should let go of and what to hold on to.”
Jonah nodded. “Hal’s already pegged me on thet once or twice.”
“Well, don’t be like me and fool yourself into thinkin’ you can relieve your glory days when you’re collectin’ Social Security. I’d gotten a notion in my head ‘bout havin’ a rematch with this monster I’d faced down not long after I got to the Old West. A buffalo spider, the Indians called it...a ghost animal. Big, ugly, and dangerous is what I called it. The thing was trompin’ around Arizona same as it had a century or so back, and there I was, old enough to fart dust but makin’ plans to kill it with a bunch of greenhorn heroes along for the ride.” He shook his head, saying, “Damn fool, that’s what I was. Didn’t even bother to call up the other Soldiers and ask for their help. Not that there’s many left, mind you, but still...”
“Yuh were fixin’ tuh die, weren’t yuh?”
“Reckon I was. Had you asked me point-blank then, I would’ve denied it, maybe spun a yarn ‘bout wantin’ to give the up-and-comers some tutelage. All I really did was set us up for a slaughter like Custer at Little Big Horn. The buffalo spider was just a lure, y’see, set loose by the Sheeda...and don’t ask me what they were, you don’t want to know.” Greg moved the guitar aside, then pressed a fist against his breastbone, as if taking hold of something there. “I remember being speared from behind right before everything went dark. After that, it all becomes a jumble.” His brow furrowed slightly. “I think I might’ve talked to someone, or someone talked to me, but...I don’t know. It’s been five years, and I haven’t exactly tried real hard to keep those particular memories fresh, y’know?”
“So thet was the end fer yuh,” Jonah said once Greg fell silent again. “Not a nice one, but Ah reckon folks like us don’t get nice endings.”
“Damn right,” Greg replied. “There’s always lots of blood and pain and, if we’re lucky, we save some innocent people. No dyin’ in our sleep of old age for us,” he said with a sigh. “They tell me the funeral was nice. Pat broke down cryin’ in the middle of the service...hard to imagine a big fella like that gettin’ weepy, but that’s what I heard. I left instructions in my will to be buried next to Sally, and they honored that. ‘Course, that only lasted ‘bout a week.” Greg started to play another tune, this one lower in register than before, full of dark notes. “More often than not, when someone comes back from the dead, magic’s involved. Hell, you could even think of them Black Lantern rings as magic of a sort. For me, it was no dif’rent: someone worked up a bit of hoodoo to drag me back to the land of the livin’. Only in my case, it wasn’t done with the best of intentions...”
--
2005:“What’s taking you so long?” The Dummy was pacing beside the open grave, casting angry looks at the two thugs down below. They were tossing up one shovelful of dirt after another, sweat beading on their faces. “You’ve been at this for hours, and I
still don’t see the coffin!”
“We’re goin’ as fast as we can, boss,” one of the thugs gasped. “This isn’t easy to do with just shovels.”
“Yeah,” the other added, “I think they use backhoes or something these days.”
“No excuses!” The pintsized criminal swung his cane and bonked one of them on the head. “Work faster, or else I’ll see to it you join that meddling cowboy down there!”
One of them thrust his shovel into the earth and was greeted by a hollow
thud. “Hey, I think we’ve got it!” The work did indeed go faster now as they scraped the dirt away from the edges of the coffin, searching for the pins that held the lid in place. It took a while to break them off, but once they fell away, the coffin pried open easily, exposing its contents.
“There you are,” the Dummy breathed, then snapped at the thugs, “Lower me down!” One of them climbed out of the grave, scooped his boss up like he was a child, and handed him to the thug still in the hole. “Yessir, this has been a long time coming,” the Dummy said as he knelt upon the still chest of Greg Saunders, then cupped his tiny hands around his enemy’s face. “All those times you thought you killed me, but I always came back, didn’t I? Yessir, I did. And now you’re going to do the same.” He cackled in Greg’s face, “I’m going to enjoy making you suffer for all eternity! Yessir!” Jerking his head up, he yelled at the thug above, “Get the tarp, Rand! We’re gonna gift-wrap this singing stiff!”
“Sure thing, boss.” Rand disappeared, while the other thug remained in the hole, watching his employer giggle and slap the former Vigilante’s cold cheeks. “What exactly are you gonna do with him?” he dared to ask the Dummy.
“Bitter irony, Boyce, that’s what I’m going to do! From now on, the Dummy will be the one pulling the strings! Yessir, I will!” He turned to the thug with a mad gleam in his eyes. “And if it works as well as I hope, maybe I’ll do the same with you!”
Boyce gulped, and felt a wave of relief when he saw Rand coming back -- they both knew the boss was a bit of a nut, but the way he was talking now was too much. After helping the Dummy out of the grave, Boyce took hold of Greg’s body and began to lift it up until Rand could get a hold of it as well. Between the two of them, they managed to roll the body onto the tarp, where Rand proceeded to wrap it up, securing the gruesome bundle with lengths of rope.
As Boyce climbed out of the grave, the Dummy ordered him, “Start filling it back in, and make sure you do a proper job of it! I don’t want anyone to suspect that anything’s amiss.” He twirled his cane as he began to walk to the vehicle, saying, “These are going to be private performances, just for me...and perhaps if I’m feeling saucy later on, we’ll take him on the road. Wouldn’t that be a treat for his Soldier buddies? Ha-ha!”
--
2010:“Guess yuh remember more’n yuh were lettin’ on,” Jonah interrupted.
“What do you mean?”
“Yuh know exactly whut happened, even though yuh were dead. Sounds like yuh ended up like me: trapped in yer corpse an’ aware of everything, but unable tuh do anything about it.”
“That’s not it at all,” Greg replied, shaking his head. “I didn’t hang around like you did, my soul had moved on. I wasn’t there for any of that.”
“Then how come yuh know whut this Dummy fella an’ the others were sayin’ an’ doin’? Or is this all just elaboration on yer part?”
“I know because...look, will you let me finish? You have no idea how hard this is for me to talk about, and I really don’t want to do it twice.”
“Fine, keep jabberin’.” Jonah settled back in his chair. “Ain’t got nowhere tuh be.”
It took Greg a moment to get started again. “Boyce and Rand put my body in the back of the van, where the Dummy was waiting. He kept gigglin’ and pokin’ me with his cane during the whole ride, goin’ on ‘bout what he was gonna have me do. His favorite idea involved making me cut my own fingers off, one knuckle at a time, then sewin’ them back on so I could do it again. ‘Or maybe I’ll make you eat ‘em instead! Yessir, that’s a fine idea!’ he’d say.” Whenever Greg repeated the Dummy’s words, his voice took on a manic edge, to the point where he didn’t sound like himself anymore. “We drove to a small airport, and from there, we boarded a plane that took us to Louisiana. The Dummy had made arrangements in advance, y’see, but the fella refused to leave his home base, so I had to be carted to him. The Dummy felt the extra trouble was worth it, though, since he’d heard the fella did quality work.”
A shiver ran through Greg, and he said, “Yep, real quality work.”
--
2005:Papa Vipere was waiting for them in his inner sanctum, a high-ceilinged room permeated by the smell of incense. A stone altar dominated the center of the room, and that was where Vipere directed the Dummy’s men to set the body, still secured inside the tarp. “I presume you have brought me payment as well?” Vipere said in a thick Creole accent.
“Exactly what you asked for,” the Dummy replied, and produced a thick envelope, which one of Papa Vipere’s servants took from him. The servant was African-American, same as Vipere, but his dark skin had an ashen cast to it, and his eyes were glassy, unfocused.
“You state at Andre,” Viepre said. “Do you not like what you see?”
“No sir, I like it very much. Your works stands up to your reputation. I’ve just...I’ve never actually seen one before.”
“Andre was one of my first. In life, he displeased me.” The voodoo priest reached over and patted his servant upon the head, like one would do with a dog. “He has improved much.”
“That’s the sort of result I’m hoping for.” The Dummy gestured towards the body, saying to his men, “Open it up.”
Boyce and Rand untied the ropes and let the tarp fall open, then quickly stepped aside as Papa Vipere approached. He examined the body carefully, probing his fingers over the cold flesh, moving the limbs, and eventually ripping open Greg’s shirt to expose his chest. A brief look of distaste came across Vipere’s features, then he said, “Do you not recall what I told you,
Monsieur Dummy, regarding the condition of the body?”
“Of course I do: the fresher the body, the better the work. I would’ve been here sooner with it, but the Vigilante’s friends had him under lock and key the whole time.”
“Not just fresh,
Monsieur. I need a body that is unsullied.” He pulled the shirt open further, revealing a long autopsy scar. “This body has been dissected and tainted by chemicals. In order to achieve the results you want, this will require significantly more work.”
“Then do it!” the Dummy snapped. “I was deprived of the opportunity to kill the Vigilante, so I want the next best thing: to torture his soul until his body rots away to nothing! You claimed you could bring him back from the dead and make him obedient to me, so do it!”
“I can do it, and very well,” Papa Vipere told him, “but not for the paltry amount we agreed upon. That was for an unsullied body, untouched by the hands of coroners or morticians. To resurrect this offal, I will have to expend more resources than that money will cover.”
“We had a deal, Vipere!”
“A deal with conditions, which you did not meet.” He stepped away from the altar and over to the Dummy, towering over the little man. “If you truly wish to make your enemy suffer as you’ve described, you will give me thrice the original amount we agreed upon. I will gladly hold the body here until you produce it.”
The Dummy’s face reddened as he yelled, “I’m not going you pay you another thin dime, you backsliding...”
--
2010:Greg paused, then said, “He called Vipere the ‘n-word’.”
“The Hell does thet mean?”
“There’s certain words you can’t say to certain people nowadays without gettin’ in a lot of hot water. Reckon sayin’ ‘em back in your day was second nature, but if you say ‘em now, you might as well be wearin’ a white hood and burnin’ a cross. And for black folks, the ‘n-word’ is the absolute worst thing a white man can say to them, hands down.”
Jonah thought about this for a moment. “Negro?”
“No, the other one...but you shouldn’t say ‘Negro’ either.”
“Any other words Ah shouldn’t say no more?”
“I’ll make you a list later.” Greg shifted in his chair. “So, with that tidbit in mind, how do you think a big black guy would react to a little white guy calling him such?”
The black ring came up with the answer before Jonah could voice it:
[Rage].
--
2005:Papa Vipere’s hand shot out and wrapped around the Dummy’s throat. “Your attitude displeases me,” he said, lifting the man off his feet. “It’s not wise to displease me.”
Though Boyce and Rand’s opinion of their boss wasn’t the highest, they were loyal enough to come to his aid. “You’d better drop him, right now!” Rand said as he and Boyce drew pistols out from beneath their coats.
Vipere turned towards them, and to their horror, the voodoo priest’s dark countenance twisted from human to that of an fanged serpent, which hissed at them, “If you value your pathetic souls, you will leave this place and never return.” The two men immediately forgot what little loyalty they had and ran for the door, abandoning their former employer to his fate. “As for you,
Monsieur Dummy,” Vipere said, regarding the small man dangling in his scaly grip, “I believe I have thought of a compromise. You do not wish to pay me any more money, and I do not wish to waste any more of my resources...so instead, I shall waive the extra payment and take the resources from you personally.” His clawed fingers tightened around the Dummy’s windpipe as he began to chant in guttural tones. The Dummy let out a strangled cry and did his best to twist free, but he soon found his limbs unwilling to obey him, and not long after, he felt his flesh become soft and runny, like warm candle wax -- even his insides were sliding about of their own volition.
“You want to control your enemy, as if he were the puppet you named yourself after,” Vipere mused as he carried the Dummy over to Greg’s still form. “I shall grant you the means...but only if you can overcome the strength of your enemy’s soul.” With his free hand, Vipere propped open Greg’s mouth, then held the Dummy’s now-featureless body above it so that the melted flesh could drip down the dead man’s gullet. The effects were immediate: the pale, cold body regained a flush of vitality, the autopsy scars disappeared, his silvery hair turned black once more. By the time the last dregs of what had once been the Dummy passed his lips, Greg Saunders looked to be in the prime of his life again, lean and fit and ready for action. His eyes snapped open as he gulped down air, the shock of resurrection taking hold.
“Whuh...where’d...God...” Confused, Greg tried to sit up, unaware that he was laying on a narrow stone altar -- he leaned too far to one side and tumbled off, the tarp still wrapped around his legs. As he kicked loose, he spotted Papa Vipere, who had regained his human form. “What’s goin’ on?” Greg asked, just before his head suddenly jerked back, as if he was having a convulsion.
“Let me out of here, Vipere! This isn’t what I wanted!" The voice was the Dummy’s, but it came from Greg’s mouth.
“And I do not care,” Vipere answered. “You are a small, petty man, and I will not do the bidding of such men. I gave you what you wanted, but on my terms. Your life and the Vigilante’s are now one and the same. Whichever one of you has the stronger will, the greater desire to live, shall rule the other.” He grinned, revealing pointed teeth. “Personally, I hope it is a very long battle.”
The Dummy let out a curse and lunged at Vipere, but fell short: his control over Greg’s body was already slipping away, and the cowboy took over mid-leap. Landing at the voodoo priest’s feet, Greg looked up and gasped, “Please...whatever you did, you have to undo it. I can feel him...he’s crawling around inside of me...screaming in my ears...” Greg screamed himself as another convulsion rocked his body, followed by the Dummy making a grab for Vipere’s ankles, spitting out racial epithets all the while. Seconds later, Greg tamped down upon his unwanted occupant, an effort that left him too exhausted to move. He tried again to ask Vipere to reverse whatever hideous spell he’d cast, but it was taking everything he had just to keep the Dummy bottled up.
“Remove him,” Vipere ordered, snapping his fingers at Andre and another servant. The zombified men shuffled forward and took hold of Greg, whose body twitched as the two souls contained within clashed endlessly. “I wish you luck,
Monsieur Vigilante,” Vipere said as they carried the body past him, “but not too much.” His laughter echoed throughout the room, even as the heavy doors to his inner sanctum slammed shut.
--
2010:“I got dumped in an alley in the French Quarter. Cops found me a few hours later.” Greg’s voice was low and even as he spoke. “They thought I was strung out on something, so I ended up in the hospital. Lucky for me, the cops ran my prints, and that sent an alert to the Oracle.” Noting the look of confusion Jonah was giving him, Greg said, “It’s an information system for the superhero community. Don’t know who put it together, but it’s wired into every damn thing out there. Anyways, when they tried to look up my prints, the Oracle lit up and sent word to the JSA, but it was too late to help me out. My body couldn’t handle two minds pullin’ it in opposite directions, y’see, so everything started shuttin’ down. By the time my friends got to the hospital, I was in a coma, and nobody knew why, much less how I’d come back to life in the first place.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, the guitar in his lap forgotten. “Me and the Dummy spent a year fightin’ non-stop inside my head, each of us tryin’ to dominate the other for more than a few seconds. Had our fisticuffs been physical, I could’ve mopped the floor with the crazy half-pint, but soul versus soul...his hatred smothered me in the end. One moment I was Greg Saunders, the next I was nothin’, just a collection of memories that the Dummy could rifle through like a book. He was the one who opened my eyes after a year of bein’ hooked up to machines, and he knew just what to say to my friends in order to make them think everything was peachy-keen.”
Jonah didn’t like what the man was implying. Cracking the knuckles on his ring hand, he asked, “An’ is this Dummy fella the one who’s a-sittin’ afore me right now?”
Greg looked over at Jonah in surprise, then said, “Good Lord, Hex, what’s goin’ on in
your head? Do you think I’m gonna jump up now and stab you with a steak knife?”
“Yuh tell me Greg Saunders became nothin’, an’ thet the Dummy’s walkin’ around wearin’ his skin...whut in blazes am Ah
supposed tuh think?”
“I think you should wait until I’m done with the story before you beat the snot outta me. Can you do that?” He stayed silent until Jonah settled back in his chair, then told him, “Reckon I should’ve phrased it better, considerin’ how you went through some similar grief recently, but trust me when I say that I’m all me right now. Back then, however, was a dif’rent story. The Dummy knew how to play it cool, and he pulled the wool over everybody’s eyes for the first couple of months. Then he got bored playin’ at bein’ me and decided to go back to what he knew best: killin’ people.” Greg drew in a deep breath. “He went after my old partner first. Stuff was all grown up now and had a family, so the Dummy dropped by their house all casual-like and...” Another deep breath, followed by putting a hand over his eyes, as if to shield them from a horror only he could see. “He didn’t even wait for their bodies to grow cold before headin’ to his next target, and that’s what did him in: Stuff was still hangin’ on by a thread, and the moment the Dummy was out of sight, he crawled to a phone and called Pat. With his last dyin’ breath, he warned him ‘bout who was really hidin’ behind my face, ‘cause the Dummy had been stupid enough to brag about it. For a little man, he always had a tremendous ego. Thank God for that.”
--
2006:The front window of the Dugan household shattered as the tuxedo-clad man flew backwards through it. He landed on the lawn, then sprang to his feet, paying no mind to the tiny shards of glass sticking out of his hands and face -- any damage Greg’s body took just delighted the Dummy more.
“You’re a very naughty girl,” he said, grinning wildly.
“As soon as I find your mother, I’m going to tell her what you did.”“You’re not gonna get anywhere near her, you body-snatching freak!” Stargirl soared out of the house, her cosmic rod lighting up the night. She pointed it at the Dummy and tried to ensnare him within its energy field, but he dodged easily, taking advantage of the Vigilante’s quick reflexes. That didn’t help him much when a full-grown horse with wings suddenly dropped down into his path.
“Stand down his instant!” the Shining Knight roared, brandishing his sword directly in the Dummy’s borrowed face. “I know not what allowed thee to take possession of our comrade-in-arms, but I will not stand by and let thee make a mockery of all he stood for!”
The Dummy continued to grin, even as he raised his arms above his head. He then flicked his wrist slightly, and a knife sprang out from beneath his sleeve and into his hand, which he deftly used to slice at the knight’s mount. Despite Winged Victory’s magical properties, it was still a horse, and it screamed and bucked as the blade cut into its hide. Sir Justin managed to stay in the saddle, but in doing so, his attention slipped away from his quarry.
“He’s rabbiting, Pat!” Stargirl shouted over her comlink as she fired energy bolts at the Dummy, who was running into the street.
“Not for long,” Pat Dugan replied, and she soon heard the familiar roar of S.T.R.I.P.E.’s maneuvering thrusters overhead. The robotic fighting suit landed right in front of the Dummy, and Pat called out from within, “That’s far enough, pal. Drop your weapons and lay face-down on the ground.”
“And what will you do to me if I don’t? Squash me like a bug?” The Dummy began to laugh manically as he looked at the three heroes surrounding him.
“None of you can dare to lay a finger on me, not so long as you think there’s a chance of getting your beloved Vigilante back! Yessir, I’ve got the ultimate hostage right here!” With a flourish, he twirled the knife in his fingers, then held it to his -- or more accurately, Greg’s -- throat.
“Go ahead, try and grab it away. Let’s see who’s faster than your cowboy friend, hmm?” He pressed the edge of the blade into the skin, just enough to draw a few drops of blood, but no one moved.
“No takers? Such a shame. Looks like the only Soldiers left alive are the cowardly ones. Yessir, a real shame.” Not moving the knife from his throat, the Dummy began to step away from them, but before he could get far, he noticed a thick red mist swirling around his feet.
“What’s this? Trying to use knockout gas on me?” he said, then he saw a figure walking towards him out of the mist: a young woman wearing a red blindfold, a long leather coat, and a white shirt with a large bloodstain over her heart. In her hands were a pair of Colt automatics, both of which were pointed directly at the Dummy.
“Aha, one brave soul! What’s your plan, then? Try to shoot the knife out of my hand and hope you don’t blow the Vigilante’s brains out?”“No,” the Crimson Avenger replied, followed by her guns sounding out over and over. An endless barrage of bullets slammed into Greg Saunders’ body, yet they left no marks. Instead, the supernatural ammunition penetrated all the way down to the Dummy’s soul, ripping through the bonds that kept him tethered to Greg. Falling to his knees, the Dummy let out a howl as the red mist now poured out of Greg’s mouth, carrying away every remnant of the villain and leaving the body’s rightful inhabitant intact.
“Vig!” Pat shouted as he climbed out of S.T.R.I.P.E. and ran over to his now-limp form. Stargirl and the Sir Justin were already there, with the knight kneeling down to gently cradle his old friend in his arms -- the Crimson Avenger had already vanished back into the mists, her work complete. “Is he okay, Justin? Is he breathing?” Pat asked.
“Aye, he breathes, his heart beats...but ‘tis the state of his mind which concerns me.”
And with good reason: Greg’s eyes were open, but they were unfocused, lifeless. Then the spark of consciousness slowly returned to his brain after being suppressed for so long, and he became aware of everything the Dummy had done while in possession of his body. A pained expression came to his face, and he pushed away from Sir Justin to curl up in the middle of the street, hands tearing at his hair and choked sobs coming from his throat.
--
2010:Greg fell silent, his tale having finally reached its end. The two men sat there quietly for a time, then Greg asked Jonah, “So...nothin’ to say now?”
“Whut’s there tuh say? Yo’re all in one piece again, yuh got a fine wife, yo’re young...”
“Well, youngish. I reckon I’m on the good side of forty now.”
Jonah waved a hand in dismissal. “Point bein’, so long as there ain’t a chance of thet sonovabitch takin’ yuh over again, Ah cain’t think of much tuh say.”
“No, the Dummy’s long gone. I’ve had every mystically-inclined person I know check me out six ways to Sunday, and they’ve all reassured me that my soul’s clean, while his is most likely rotting in Hell.” Greg got up from his chair and walked to the edge of the patio, looking out at the dark Arizona landscape. “All of his memories are still lingerin’ in the back of my head, though, just like mine lingered in his when he took over. They’ve been gettin’ fainter as time goes on, but I don’t think they’ll ever go away completely.”
“Yuh got muh sympathies on thet,” Jonah said, thinking about the images forced into his own head during his time under Nekron’s control. “Still an’ all, seems like yuh recovered pretty damn well from thet nightmare. Most folks probably would’ve ate a bullet rather’n go on livin’ with thet sort of stuff burned into their brain.”
“Oh, I almost did. Got good and liquored up one night, then sat down in the front room with my Peacemaker in my lap. Thank the Lord I forgot to turn off the TV beforehand, ‘cause just as I was gettin’ ready to do the deed, the local news came on, and they started talkin’ ‘bout how the sheriff over in Warpath had been murdered in public by gangbangers. Got me thinkin’ of how my Pa died, and all of the sudden, I began to feel like a selfish little bastard. Soon as the report ended, I went into the bathroom and made myself puke up a whole bottle of Jack. Didn’t completely avoid the hangover the next day, mind you, but it took enough of the edge off that I could make some serious decisions ‘bout my life.”
“Yuh mean like lettin’ them Warpath folks pin thet badge on yuh?” Jonah shook his head, saying, “If’n there’s anything dumber in this world than these newfangled fellas thet run around in masks, it’s a fella like yerself thet takes off the mask but keeps on doin’ the same job. It’s a wonder yuh ain’t been killed again yet.”
“That’s exactly why I ain’t been,” Greg replied. “I’d gone public with my identity years ago, and when I became sheriff, I used that to my advantage. The bad guys already know my reputation, and that I’m not gonna drop as easily as the other lawmen they’d rubbed out. Sure, they’ve tried, and I’ve got a few new scars to prove it, but I’ve put away more of them since I took office than my predecessors did in the past decade. I’m makin’ a big dif’rence in people’s lives here, as well as my own.” He turned to look at Jonah, saying, “Wouldn’t mind a little extra help with that, neither.”
“Yo’re joshin’, right? No way in Hell am Ah gonna let yuh or nobody else hang a tin-star target on me.”
“I’m not talkin’ about you bein’ a proper lawman. This would be more like...freelance work. Lendin’ me a hand on some of the rougher cases.” He hooked his thumbs under his belt and said, “Had a setup like this with another fella for a while, but he preferred to keep it all off the books. Kinda restricted what I could use him for. Then some damn reporter from back East came around lookin’ for him, made him nervous. He got afraid someone else might sniff out his trail as well, so he pulled up stakes. I decided afterwards that, if I ever did this sort of deal again, everything would be aboveboard. You’d be licensed with the state, and would have to adhere to the law, no goin’ off and bustin’ heads without my say-so.” Greg cocked an eyebrow. “Any of this soundin’ agreeable to you?”
Jonah shifted in his chair, looking rather uncomfortable under his friend’s gaze. “Don’t know if’n Ah kin handle whut yo’re askin’ of me. Ah’m still tryin’ tuh wrap muh head ‘round this,” he said, holding up his left hand to indicate the black ring he now wore, “an’ this here job yuh got in mind fer me...reckon Ah’d be goin’ up against the sort of craziness y’all was talkin’ ‘bout a while ago, wouldn’t Ah? Like hunnert-year-old spider monsters an’ men whut kin rip a fella’s soul outta his body. Mind yuh, Ah’ve seen some wild stuff in muh day, but that don’t mean Ah enjoyed it. An’ facin’ things like thet on a regular basis just don’t sound appealin’.”
“It won’t all be monsters and madmen. Sometimes it won’t be much dif’rent than collectin’ bounties like you used to. Other times...yeah, it’ll be crazy stuff, but the world’s full of crazy stuff these days. And with you totin’ that ring around, you’ll most likely attractin’ a bit of it to yourself, sorry to say.”
“Ah’ thet’s the other thing. Ah’ve been tasked with keepin’ this ring safe, so it seems tuh me like Ah should
avoid thet sort of stuff.” Jonah shook his head, saying, “Forget it, Saunders. Nice of y’all tuh offer me the job, but Ah cain’t be takin’ risks like thet no more.”
“Then what are you plannin’ to do with the rest of your life? Work at the Taco Whiz downtown?” Greg sat back down again, pulling his chair closer to Jonah’s. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend that I understand this whole ‘bein’ at peace’ thing you’ve got goin’ on now, but I do reckon that it’s changed you quite a bit, and not just your face. So maybe you pickin’ up a gun again -- even in a law-abiding manner -- is the wrong route for you to take. Now for me, it was right and proper, especially after fallin’ so low. I needed to regain some sense of purpose. You...I don’t know what’s proper for you now. All I know is that you’ve got a whole ‘nother life ahead of you, and I want to help you figure out what to do with it. Givin’ you a roof over your head is the easy part. Where you go from here...Hell, I can only point out what looks like a good direction. I just don’t want you to second-guess yourself and start doin’ things that go against your nature because you think your new life is only about that.” He pointed at the ring on Jonah’s hand. “If that was really the case, then God or whomever brought you back would’ve most likely made you as brainless as them other Black Lanterns so that you
couldn’t second-guess things.” Greg stood up again and picked up his guitar, saying, “Okay, lecture’s over. Time for bed.” He began to walk over to the patio door, then stopped to look back at Jonah, who’d remained seated. “You comin’?” Greg asked. “‘Cause once I turn on the alarm, you won’t be able to get inside the house.”
Jonah didn’t get up, he just leaned his head back and stared at the unchanging stars, his brow slightly furrowed. Greg surmised that the man was mulling over what he’d said, but the method by which Jonah was doing it might’ve surprised the former Vigilante:
Do yuh understand whut Saunders is askin’ of me? Of us?[Compassion...will. Avarice].Thet mean yuh want tuh do it? Best be sure of whut yo’re sayin’, ‘cause I don’t need yuh gettin’ cold feet in the middle of a fight.[Will!]It could get rough. Might go up against worse horrors than either one of us has already seen. Might even go up against something thet could kill us...if’n such a thing is possible.[Compassion].Alright then. Yuh change yer mind, though, tell me afore we get in over our heads.With a grunt, Jonah stood up and turned to face Greg, who noticed a familiar gleam in the eyes of his old friend as he said, “So...whut’s this cussed job of yers pay?”
NEXT ISSUE: The first installment of our multi-part tale, “Narcocorrido”! And in case you missed it, be sure to check out the miniseries
Jonah Hex/Green Lantern: The Long Road Home, set five years before the events of
Jonah Hex: Shades of Gray.
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