"So Long"
by
W.B. Vogel
Everything has to end, even dreams so far removed that they seem like the echo of whispers. Tyber knew this, but still it didn't make him feel any better about the situation. He loved Renna more than he could readily understand or even equate to mortal thoughts. Things had abruptly changed for them in some stark and forsaken way. Yet through the rough of it, he loved her all the more. No matter how bitter it got he wanted to protect her from any harm, no matter what the miserable cost.
Renna had left him to return to a former lover named Jeffrey Halmont. He was a rich, over privileged chunk of scum with the moral capacity of a hyena. His longing to regain Renna's favor had been little more than a demonstration of his negotiative abilities, preferring to gain a trophy wife to an eternal union of souls. This had been the one and only thing that he had ever lost. With soft words and false veneer adoration he had enthralled her spirit, making his will hers. His humiliation had been painful. But now he had won.
Tyber had followed them for weeks like a whipped dog following its abuser. Every detail of their daily routine became an aspect of his own, even so much to the point that his dreams emulated every functionality. Shopping, work, and play were stitched into a grim freakish feature. It was then that the plan was born and festered in Tyber's head, easing its way into reality like a worm burrowing to the surface after a heavy rain.
He wanted to kill him. He needed to kill him. Every inch of his being told Tyber that this was the thing to do. Visions of Halmont's brains being splattered on a concrete wall made him cringe with a morbid satisfaction. After some intense soul searching he thought better of it.
A few weeks passed before Tyber and Halmont crossed paths again. It was a random encounter that soon escalated into a verbal onslaught. Tyber jammed his fist right into Halmont's face and said, "If you ever hurt her I will kill you!"
"I'm not worried," Halmont replied with scorn. He was an arrogant man.
"Remember my words," Tyber said softly. Remember my words...
Mere days passed before these two combatants were at each other's throats again. Tyber went to the Halmont estate to plead one last time with Renna not to marry this man. This solemn keep had not been an easy one to invade. Surrounded by high, menacing stone walls it stood on the horizon like mighty Olympus. Nothing would stop him from saving her, no force on this earth at least.
Tyber scaled the wall like an agile cat. Security had been dismissed for the evening, leaving only a few underfed dogs and a very long walk. His feet crunched in the autumn leaves as he made his way up the drive towards the palatially Gothic Halmont manor. It would be difficult getting inside the stark and serene edifice. He had to try.
In just a matter of seconds after his feet had hit the weathered stairs Jeffrey was there to greet him, brandishing an old Civil War pistol in his hand. Two cold eyes stared down at Tyber, and he knew then that he would die on this night. Halmont pulled back the hammer of his gun. The sweat rolled down his face in rivers of cold desperation.
"Stop!" he screamed as his hand tightened around the grip. The sweat ran over his lips; his tongue lapped it up nervously. He pointed the gun at Tyber.
"I shudder to think what you plan on doing with that relic," Tyber smiled coolly "Maybe you're going to beat me to death?" Tyber glared defiantly at Halmont. "There'll be a reckoning."
"I fear not," Jeffrey said, pulling the trigger. The lead ball ripped through Tyber's chest and killed him instantly. The butler came after hearing the shot, running at such a hasty gallop that he nearly fell through the door. Halmont just looked coldly at the corpse, like a man staring at old news. "Call the sheriff. Tell him that I killed a murderous trespasser."
The whole incident was quickly brushed aside. A man of Halmont's stature didn't answer to the law, they only used it as a means to an end. Few even knew that Tyber was dead, least of all his beloved Renna who had been away the evening of his fateful demise. Soon the entire matter was forgotten and Tyber was left to rest in a potter's field without honor or acknowledgement. Alone and forgotten he waited.
Wicked clouds twisted in a stormy black sky. It wasn't a pretty day for a wedding, but Jeffrey Halmont cared little. This was all for the show anyway. He had his prize, and it had been sullied well before their betrothal day. All he had on his mind now was business...and his next game.
The sun went down, but there had been little change to miss from the daylight hours. Rain was pouring in torrents from the heavens. Soon the air took a chill as a shadow passed through the glorious social parade. A man was standing in the crowd he was darker and more severe than the rest. He didn't fit the others. Halmont could feel his ashen stare breaking his mind down into elemental chaos.
Jeffrey was out the door in a hurry. His skin was twitching frantically, as the gooseflesh boiled down is yellow spine. Stepping around the corner he headed for his waiting car. From the shadows a voice said to him, "You and I have business." A fist hit him in the face knocking him out cold. It all faded to black.
When Halmont stirred he found himself chained by his feet to a giant concrete block in the middle of an expansive pit. The walls of this crevasse stretched some 100 feet high and at the top were several torches. This immense hole that he was in was itself enclosed by a wall which he could not see the top of. There were no stars there.
Pulling on his chains, he strained to get to a steel ladder that ran up one of the walls. Muscles and skin began to tear in shrieking agony, but still it would not move. What was this place?
The floors and walls were lined with giant metal plates held into place by large brass rivets. The steel was brown with rust, and water still stood in areas on the floor. His mind was vacant of any reasonable ideas.
A voice called to him from above. "Rise and shine." He looked towards the heavens.
Standing on the ledge was a man dressed in a charcoal suit and a strange styled top hat. "Your guests had impeccable taste. After all, I should know, I killed one of them," removing his hat from his head. He laughed. "It was delicious...it had been so long since I had broken a kitten's neck," he said twisting his hands in a wringing motion.
"You bastard," Jeffrey muttered softly.
"Quite," he replied. "Quite right." He threw his hat down onto the waiting ledge below.
"We have some business to reconcile. The books need to be balanced, so to speak. All of the debts must be cleared.
This, that you see around you here, is the Murphy Water Works Reservoir #5. It was constructed back in 1823 and it can hold as much as 23 million gallons of water. Back in its hay-day it was the main supply of water for this entire county, but now it is merely a second reserve. About every 5 years or so they drain this pit, check the rivets and seals, give it a thorough cleaning, and refill it. It's never used though except in times of dire drought. This year was its time, as is it yours.
At midnight it will begin to fill, and 4 hours later it will be about half full. Don't worry though, you'll be long dead before that." Then the dark figure raised his hands towards the heavens and smiled.
Halmont gasped, and then asked, "Why me? What did I ever do to you? I don't even know you."
"What does it matter? You did me as you do all others, except my price was a little more grave." He reached in his coat and pulled out a small, dark object. Then he tossed it down to Halmont and said, "That was the lead slug that the undertaker pried from my chest. It broke 2 ribs, and ripped into my right lung. I bled to death choking on my own blood, and you don't remember my name!" Then he laughed coldly.
The terror in Halmont's eyes told the tale. He began to shake as his nerves wound tightly into a tense little ball of denial. "You're not Tyber! I killed him. You're dead." All rational thought took flight on the wings of crazed angels.
"Exactly," Tyber replied. "As soon shall you be."
Halmont began jerking at his chains trying to free himself. It was a pointless endeavor, but he continued to strain to get free. His hands sweated profusely as he pulled, slipping away from their work. The progress that he made was measureless.
"You see it was decided that you had done more that your fair share of harm in this world, and that a nemesis was needed. The Devil was busy. He had much more important things to do with his time, like tormenting whores and drunks. Nobody else wanted the chore. So, since I had a lot of time on my hands and we had a history and all, I volunteered to place your fragile soul on the straight and narrow. But sometimes a shove works better than a nudge."
"You're insane!" Halmont screamed.
"No, just fearfully made," Tyber commented. Fearsome is the heart tempered in the flames of Hell, and fierce is the soul that survives the ordeal. Such was Tyber, a nemesis divine.
The water began to flow. Halmont's screams rose to the Heavens like a sinner's prayers. Soon he was floating on the surface.
Tyber reached into his pocket again, and got 2 small gold coins. He threw them down to Halmont and said, "Give my regards to Charon. But remember, don't pay the Ferryman 'til he takes you to the other side of the river."
Halmont was gurgling now. The ripples of water splashed over his face, as the chain's pull grew ever shorter. His gasps became more prolonged and his heart raced under the pressure. The water's waves softened now as its volume reached an initial state of equilibrium. Soon Halmont was beneath the surface, crawling and digging to free himself from this deep blue burial.
Tyber stared below, and gazed at 2 glassy orbs staring back at him from under the water's edge. Then he said, "So long." He was gone before Halmont sunk to the bottom dead.
*****
*****
Copyright 1999.
posted by W.B. Vogel III at 10:42 AM
"Method In The Madness"
by
W.B. Vogel
For everything there is a season...a season to love and a season to hate. Such thoughts often crossed the mind of Axel Danner. He was a man whose time had never seemed to come before it had passed him by. But now was the time for a change.
On December 23rd he met secretly with Ryth Pennington, a renowned stage actor, at the Cat's Paw pub. Several hours of light conversation and drinking passed before Axel's impetus for the meeting came forth. "Ryth, I have asked you here to discuss my plans with you for a lucrative stage production."
"Certainly," Ryth replied as he lifted his glass to his mouth for another gulp of ale.
"I wish to do a modernized adaptation of the Edgar Allan Poe tale 'The Cask Of Montiago.' To say much more would be rash as well as risky in public. So, I want you to meet me at this address tomorrow evening at 8 o'clock. Tell no one, not even your lovely wife Sarah."
"Oh, I won't good sir," Ryth said. His tongue was thick from the liquor he had consumed. This was not new for Ryth Pennington. He spent most of his waking hours at the bottom of a glass.
The two parted company and went home. Axel was well pleased, all was going as planned. Ryth had not only taken the bait, but had sunk the hook deeply into his guts. There was now nothing left to do except wait.
The hours quickly dwindled away while Axel perplexed over the deeds left undone. Soon the sun was down, and the dimly lit streets of south London were now left idle. Ryth arrived promptly at 8.
Again they passed several hours drinking, talking, and playing cards. Axel lost several hands, as well as much money to Ryth before they began to discuss business. He waited until Ryth was well soaked, and then he said, "Here is my idea. I have roughed out the first three acts of the play. Tonight, you and I will work up the final act. The story goes like this.
Two old friends meet at a party. All seems well. Their conversation is affable, and they spent several hours drinking and talking. But unknown to one the other has planned a precisely crafted revenge.
This is where you and I begin our work. But first, I have a contract that I need for you to sign."
"What?" Ryth asked with typically overemphasized shock.
"Well, Ryth I am from America, and if it ain't on paper ain't no good. Besides, I have been rooked before on my writings. This paper gives you half ownership of the play even though I wrote most of it."
Ryth's hands shook as he took the paper from Axel's grasp. "I am so drunk that I can't even see clearly."
"Sign here." Then Axel pointed to the bottom of the page. "After you sign it, stick it in your coat pocket and take it home. If you are dissatisfied we can work it out later. It would just make me feel better to have something on paper."
"Fine," he said. Axel steadied Ryth's hand as he signed the page. Now the hardest part was done. There was now nothing left to do except act.
Ryth placed the signed document in his coat, and then he struggled to get to his feet. He was quite shaky, but Ryth was able to stand. This was as natural to him as sleep and death.
"Now, Ryth, you and I will improvise the finale. For the sake of ease, we'll use our own names. Later when I write this I will change the names of our characters. It will all be just as slick as a wink."
"Excellent notion," Ryth stammered with a tongue as thick as lead. "Will there be a part for Sarah?"
"Of course. She will be the impetus for the climax between these two characters," Axel stated. Sarah Ramsey, Ryth's wife, was also a highly proclaimed London stage actress. She was also the only woman that Axel had ever loved.
"Ryth, did you not tell me that you were a method actor?"
Ryth nodded his head slowly. The affects of all of the alcohol that he had consumed were beginning to take their toll.
"Yes. Well, I am a method writer. For me there is nothing that adds realism to a story like reality itself. So, downstairs in the cellar I have created a set for us to practice in. This flat is perfect because it provides the necessary ambience for our dark tale. There is a method in the madness."
Ryth smiled, and with great admiration said, "For Heaven's sake, Axel. Has anyone ever told you that you are smashingly brilliant?"
"I've heard that a few times," he said smiling, "But only before being given a knife in the back as tribute."
"Oh, my brother, now the world will know your greatness. They will sing your praises on Olympus," Ryth proclaimed.
"I am not concerned with the world. Only with you."
"Fine, fine, fine. Shall we begin?" Ryth asked impatiently. "I am ready for my spotlight."
"All right then. In the story by Poe my character lures your's down into the cellar and heinously murders him. Now remember that we are in character from here on out.
Action!
Ryth, down in the cellar I have several rare and very old bottles of wine. Come with me," he said opening the door. Stepping down three steps, he then motioned for Ryth to follow.
"Should I not be a little hesitant? After all you are going to kill me," Ryth said.
"But you don't know that. All seems well between us, and you're drunk also."
"Oh, yes," Ryth said as he followed Axel down the darkened stairway. Walking down to cellar was no problem for Axel, but Ryth almost tripped and fell. At the bottom of the stairs Axel handed Ryth a bottle from which he drank several large gulps with great vigor.
"It's awfully hot down here."
"Yes," Axel replied. "It's the old coal furnace that is used to heat this house. Come, I believe the Montiago is over here. This red wine is the finest that was ever made. Only 100 bottles were made each year. The one that I have is exceptionally rare?it has been aged for over 2 centuries. Needless to say it was meant for only those with the most discriminating palette."
"Oh, yes."
"Here, through this narrow passage. Take this lantern, and I will follow right behind," Axel said. Ryth took a match and lit the lantern. It dimly flickered in the dank air of the cellar. Axel wrapped his hands around the handle of a shovel near the entrance of the tunnel.
He leveled a solid blow across the back of Ryth's head. There were at first stars, and then there was darkness. When Ryth awoke he found that he was bound in shackles to the wall inside of the tunnel.
"What in the Hell happened?" he asked shaking his head in pain.
"Realism," Axel replied. "Cold, dark, black realism. Now the story ends."
Ryth was still dizzy with pain, but at last reality was beginning to settle in. "What are you doing, Axel?" Ryth screamed.
"Putting you to a fitting end. I will entomb your wretched carcass within these walls. And then, at long last, all that I deserve will be mine." Axel grabbed a brick and smeared it with mortar. Laying it down carefully, he began closing off the entrance to Ryth's prison.
"Did I ever tell you that I was a mason? No! Well, when I was younger I spent three years working for a construction firm. Yes, I got pretty good at building walls. It's so funny how all these things work out in the end. I read Poe's story, and it was as if my soul was on fire with inspiration. It all became so clear to me.
I bought this house. It was just so perfect," he said. All this time more and more bricks had been added to the wall. It was now covering half of the entrance.
"If you hadn't stole my work, or even paid me a little it might be different. You cold hearted bastard! That wasn't the worst of it. The straw that broke the camel's back was when you stole Sarah from me. She was mine! Sarah is the only thing that I have ever loved.
But now things will be different." Axel had added three more rows of bricks, raising the wall 9 more inches. Stopping for only a moment, he removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"Remember this," he said, waving it in front of the opening above the wall. "This is the contract for our grim little opus. No, not really. In fact, it is a letter to Sarah proclaiming your love for another. You, and a harlot understudy, decided to runaway together. Sadly, you had never loved her and were only using her to further your own career. But feeling some obligation to her you have left her all your properties. How nice?
That is what this letter says. Of course, she will be heartbroken. I will be there to mend the broken pieces, and help her through the mourning process. Never fear, Ryth.
Then in about a year we will be wed. We will move to America and make our new home. She will get everything that she desires and more. I will at last be a success as a writer, and Sarah will be the darling of the stage and screen. All will be well with the world when it is without you."
"NO!" Ryth screamed in terror as Axel began to work again on the wall. His noises became utter nonsense.
Axel's work continued unabated. "Go ahead and scream!" he yelled, "No one will hear you. No one will miss you."
The bricks rose higher and higher, except for one spot, which he had left open. Ryth continued to babble and cry incoherently. "Make me feel your pain," Axel said gently. Then he broke out in a roar of laughter.
The bricks continued to stack higher at a steady pace. "These walls shall be your grave. I'm almost done."
Now the wall was finished, leaving but one brick out farther down as a God's eye view. Through this hole he could see Ryth wrapped in chains, bound to the wall behind him. A lantern dimly flickered in Ryth's presence allowing him to see his immediate surroundings. All it did was add insult to injury, leaving Ryth with an ever-increasing sense of dread. Now after all of the foul deeds that Ryth had committed throughout his life he at last had the realization that he would not slither his way out of this mess.
There was one last gamut that he could play. "Axel, this is the best prank that you have ever played! The best, my friend. But you made one small error."
"And what would that be?" Axel asked.
"We have been friends for too long. I know you too well. Your heart is good and pure, and you could not harm a fly. Now, my friend, let me loose and we finish our story."
"OUR story," the words rang in his head like Big Ben's chimes. "MY STORY!" Axel yelled, "MINE! You are an arrogant and petulant bastard. Fair is foul, and foul is fair! You make me sick. I will bury you so deep that the worms won't be able to find your body."
"NO!" Ryth screamed.
Now Axel became instantly calm, as if feeding off of Ryth's terror. "Fear not. As soon as this is all said and done I will forgive you of everything. Believe it or not, I will even think fondly of you on occasion. In those dark moments of the night, when our bodies are entangled like serpents, and I feel Sarah's warm caress I will be grateful to you. During these ecstasies I will smile, and miss you not!"
Now Axel bent over and picked-up the last brick. Smearing it with mortar, he then lifted it to its final resting-place. Through the hole he peered staring at Ryth through the waning glow. The sweat poured from Ryth's body, drenched with fear for a fate from which there was no escape. His terror only grew with every passing second.
"As the lantern fades so will you," Axel stated with assurance. "It has more than enough fuel, so when the oxygen is gone the flame will die. When the flame dies so will you.
Now for an epitaph. What can I say about the late, great Ryth Pennington? The world won't miss you.
To be, or not to be? Not to be."
"For the love of God, Axel!" Ryth screamed.
"Yes, for the love of God," Axel said as he slid the last brick into place. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket he wiped away the mortar from his hands, and turned away from his work. Then he said, "For the love of God."
Copyright 1998.
posted by W.B. Vogel III at 12:53 PM 
