The Ghost

THE GHOST is the story of Gordon Vincent, a man who was once a masked vigilante killer known as The Ghost who protected the streets of Dawn City for decades. Having retired the role 23 years ago, he has gone to another city to seek refuge away from the horrors of his past. Consumed by drugs and alcohol, they do little to ease the pain as he just wishes to be left alone. Soon a pair of horrific murders catches his attention as they echo his alter ego ’ s vicious style.

Feeling a link of some kind to them, he soon begins to have nightmares and hallucinations of the murders and begins to wonder … ..could it be him or someone else?

Reluctantly he sets out to find the truth, one that he is not prepared for as he falls into the darkest corners of his own mind, unknowingly uncovering his most painful of memories that have grown and shaped him his whole life from an abused childhood to a feared guardian of the night.

However, a force within him is looking to take control of him and seal Gordon away in his own mind for all time. Yearning to control Gordon ’ s actions and Gordon ’ s will, this force sets out to embrace the darkness and reclaim the night as his own.

Culminating in a confrontation that brings Gordon face to face with a foe more powerful than anything he has ever faced.

Prepare to enter his world …… .if you dare.

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.

―  Friedrich Nietzsche,   Beyond Good and Evil

Prologue

THE END?

He waits: wrapped in a black cloak, a wide brimmed fedora atop its head, eyes glowing white. Scanning the area, seeing the abandoned buildings strewn along the dockside and beyond that the bright lights of Dawn City. Some call this place Dark Paradise where most come to enjoy the beaches, the nightlife, the culture. People will see what they want to see, however he sees something different: the sick and the damned that hide inside the shadows, waiting for one of these innocent citizens to cross their path and when they do, they become victims of the plague called crime.

Knowing that it is like this everywhere, he comes prepared: prepared to punish those that commit evil deeds. Seeing that the law is shackled to a bleeding heart institution called justice, he has taken the law into its own hands, crossing a line that they cannot cross, learning a lesson learned long ago …… death is the only answer to this plague.

A shift in the wind sends the cloak to the side, revealing the shape of a man underneath: tall, muscular, intimidating. Is he a man or something else: a question that many have asked; Murderers, rapists, child molesters, those that commit crimes so unspeakable … very few of them ever cross paths with this dark figure and live, some have even dared to try and stop it …… no one can.

A crackle of tires on the concrete below catches his attention. Those white eyes glance down and see a small van pull up, he counts seven of them, having anticipated less, but no matter. Seven of them, I anticipated less, but no matter. Seeing that one is big, about 300 pounds, seven feet tall, ripped muscles, but his movements are slow, clumsy.

Three more, each packing semi-automatic rifles: compensating for their lack of fighting skills. The other 3 are unarmed; movements quick, their unorganized nature will be their undoing.

He watches as the three unarmed men open the back of the van, reaching in they pull out a badly beaten man: blindfolded and gagged, he struggles but is quickly over powered.

They carry him into the warehouse as the dark figure on the roof gazes down at them: turns and walks over to the skylight. He positions himself just enough to not be seen: staring down at them, waiting for the right moment.

Bring that bastard over here, the big one says.

Two of them each take an arm, stretches him out: he can barely stand as blood pours from cuts on his face. The big one grabs him by the throat and squeezes slightly, cutting off just enough air to put the beaten man into panic; he likes that.

So Donavan, you thought you could steal from us and get away with it huh? You thought wrong you little prick the big one says.

From behind one of them kicks him in the leg bringing him down to his knee. Each of them takes a turn kicking him as blood is sent all over the concrete: the big one just stares down and grins, enjoying the show. The pleasure at beating another human being is so exciting and empowering to someone like him: so much so that he saves his beatings for something a little more challenging.

Alright, that ’ s enough. Put him in the drum and seal it up, the big one says.

They pick him up and carry him over to an empty oil drum: stuffing him in head first, folding him like a pretzel as they place the lid and lock it tight.

Suddenly from above, the dark figure crashes through the skylight: sending shards of glass raining down on them. He lands behind one of them and just as he turns is met with a hard punch to the jaw which sends him collapsing to the ground. The sound of guns loading across from him: he leaps like a panther and grabs the two guns from them quickly. A solid kick sends one off balance, grabbing the other by the throat and snapping his neck like a twig.

The other charges at him, but is quickly grabbed by his face and spun around: a foot slams into his back and he is bent backwards: the spine snaps before he can breathe.

Gunfire is sent in his direction: he anticipated it and leaps out of the way as the bullets tear through three of them. In a panic he circles around, staring up at the darkness. Firing about, hoping to hit something, but can barely see: his heart pumps wildly as his vision turns foggy. Afraid he backs into the wall, hoping that he can get a clear shot.

Where are you, I ’ ll kill yo … .. .

He is cut off as a small rope wraps around his neck, squeezing it so tightly that it nearly cuts the skin; lifted off his feet, kicking his legs and gasping for air. Slowly his movements cease, his lifeless body swinging back and forth like a pendulum on a clock.

The dark figure leaps to the ground: staring at his last victim who just stands there with folded arms and a sick grin.

Most impressive to say the least, now it ’ s just you and me, finally a real challenge, the big guy says.

Taking off his shirt and heaving it back to him.

I ’ ve been waiting for you, waiting to take on … ..The Ghost.

His name, the one he gave himself long ago; one that hits criminals like a tidal wave. The big guy pops his fingers and his neck: readying to charge at him. The Ghost is unfazed as he gazes back at him: waiting for him to make the first move.

Quickly the big guy charges: taking a swing at The Ghost ’ s head, hitting nothing but air as The Ghost steps to the side: holding his foot out, tripping the big guy. His own momentum sends him crashing to the floor.

Angrily the big guy leaps up and swings his closed fist at The Ghost ’ s head, this time he hits him square across the face, but he barely moves his head.

The big guy stares in shock as he put everything into that punch and he couldn ’ t even move him.

Son of a bitch, he whispers.

Quickly he swings again, The Ghost ducks to the side: then another and another, he continues to duck his punches.

As he swings one more time, his fist is caught within The Ghost ’ s gloved hand: bending slowly towards the big guy ’ s wrists. He grovels in pain as he stares back in shock: he is bigger than The Ghost, but he is being overpowered easily. He can feel his bone breaking slowly, falling to his knees in pain.

The Ghost continues to bend: knowing he could end it at anytime, but he chooses to inflict pain and misery upon him. Jerking his hand to the side, he snaps both the big guy ’ s wrist and his forearm: releasing it from his hand like a bag of garbage. Shouting out in pain, the big guy falls and curls up in a fetal position, unable to fight back.

He stares up with tears in his eyes: looking into the white eyes of The Ghost, his lips trembling.

Wh …… ..wha … .what the … .hell are you, he asks.

Swiftly The Ghost reaches down, grabbing him across the face and pulls him up towards his face: his eyes gazing into his, but then he leans into his ear as he is compelled to answer.

THE GHOST, his dark voice whispers.

Without warning, he snaps the big guys neck and watches him fall sickeningly to the cold concrete floor. As the smell of death fills the air, a feeling of triumph flows through him as it does each time he takes someone down, that there is less evil in the world.

Though he feels something else this time, he has felt it inside of him for awhile now, welling its way up, but he doesn ’ t know what it is. Ignoring it, he walks over to the oil drum, ripping the lid off he pulls out Donovan and tosses him onto the floor: barely conscious, taking deep breaths, convulsing up mucus and blood.

The Ghost hears something fall to his right: turning he sees a homeless man crawling along the ground. The man stands up and runs away in fright: The Ghost ignores him. Turning back around, he sees a small pistol pointed at him by the same man he just saved.

Stay back …… you … .you hear me, Donovan yells: his hands trembling with the gun pointed straight at The Ghost ’ s chest.

PUT THE GUN DOWN. YOU DON ’ T WANT TO DO THAT, The Ghost says.

Staring back at Donovan, he steps forward ever so slightly: knowing that the gun would do little damage to him, then another step.

I mean it … ..I will … shoot you, Donovan says.

The Ghost doesn ’ t listen as he continues to walk forward: slowly Donovan pulls the trigger. As the bullet hits The Ghost in the chest, a small spark from the firing gun lands on his sleeve, starting a small fire: slowly leading up his arm. Donovan failed to notice the oil residue on his clothes: combined with the fire sends his entire body up in a burst of flames.

Help …… .PLEASE,   Donovan screams.

Horror spreads through him as he is engulfed by fire; the heat burning off his skin as he reaches out for help. The Ghost just watches as the man before him burns: doing nothing to save him, just watches. The blood curdling screams echo in his ears, along with something else: almost like … ..laughter.

HAHAHA … .HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA … . .

With the laughter building, The Ghost stares at the flames as they grow around him, consuming him with no feeling of heat or danger. Skulls appear all around him: bodies hanging on wooden crosses, leering down at him with red eyes.

Slowly a figure walks through the wall of fire, approaching him very slowly: the figure ’ s shape if that of a woman, long flowing hair, eyes as blue as the ocean.

He knows her, haunting him every second of every day: no matter how hard he tries he can ’ t escape. Though he knows deep within himself that he doesn ’ t want to and he never will.

I love you, Gordon, she says.

As he reaches out for, the fire dissipates and her with it: his hand clenches and closes grabbing nothing but the stale air. He is back in the warehouse, surrounded by the carnage he has created. It was only a vision, one he sees so often with each time hoping that she will take his hand and deliver him the peace he desires.

Though this time is different, that unknown feeling that he felt in small fragments for years has now become quite clear, it is something he thought he would never feel again …… regret. Regret at what he has done; leaving him with another feeling, one emotion …… .rage.

Taking his clenched fist he falls to his knees and slams it into the floor, the savage force shatters the concrete.

NO, NOOOOOOOO. WHERE ARE YOU, he screams: anger, hate, desperation all fill his lungs. He languishes here on his hands and knees: gazing at the broken bodies all around him.

I did this. I killed them. I can remember all of them, all of them, so many years, and so much death. It was the only way, right? Madness … ..this is madness, The Ghost says.

Suddenly, the sound of police sirens fill the air: building with every second that passes along with red and blue lights shining through the stained glass windows. His instincts pick him up, back to his feet he slowly walks to the door on the far side of the warehouse: the police won ’ t have that end covered, not yet.

Hours later the crime scene is filled with police cars and ambulances: evidence taken out in bags, along with stretchers taking out the bodies.

High above on the roof adjacent, The Ghost stands at the opposite end: gazing down at the ocean. His thoughts are his own as his white eyes reflect off the water.

He reaches up and removes the wide brimmed fedora atop of his head; reaching to the back of his neck he presses a small button: air slowly seeps out from the sides of his head. With one hand he grips his face and pulls … ..it was a mask. There underneath is the face of a man, his name is Gordon Vincent, short black hair with dark brown eyes, staring sternly, he heaves the fedora into the wind as it carries it far off over the water.

Gripping his mask in both hands, he runs his right thumb over one of the eye lenses: memories come flooding back to him, memories he doesn ’ t want anymore and with one swift heave he sends the mask downward, landing atop the water. Looking down, it almost seems as if it is staring back at him: reluctantly wanting to sink. Nearly a minute passes before it slowly begins to sink … ..gone.

He turns his back on the water and walks silently across the roof. Clearing his mind of all thoughts and words, leaving behind only two as he disappears into the darkness …… .

THE END, he says.

Chapter One

23 Years Later

Sitting in a metal foldout chair, a counselor named Julie Ryder sits, her legs crossed, a note pad in one hand and a pen in another; as she adjusts the glasses on her face. In front of her is a group of men and women, some older than others, but they all have the same demeanor about them … .they served in the military at one time or another.

The pain in their eyes and movements is quite clear to Julie, though she knows that physical injuries heal, the psychological ones are tougher to see and rarely heal. That is why she is here, to help them any way she can.

Gregory, let ’ s start with you. Last time we discussed your inability to sleep, could you tell me why, Julie asks.

I … ..am not sure I want to talk about it Julie, Gregory says.

I know it is hard, but I am here for you, we all are. Try your best and tell me Gregory.

Gregory takes in a couple of deep breaths, his hands shake slightly as he feels awkward and nervous, the large black circles hover around his eyes.

Ok. Well, when I close my eyes I drift off almost immediately, I have always been that way ever since I was a kid. Never lost an ounce of sleep, but that was before I enlisted. Seems like after that I didn ’ t want to sleep as the years passed, Gregory says.

What is it about sleeping that concerned you, Julie says.

It … .wasn ’ t the sleep exactly, it was what I saw when I slept. I closed my eyes and there it was … .there they were. The lives I took, they just stood there, watching me, gathering around. I tried to run from them but they caught up to me, glaring at me with frozen eyes. I don ’ t know what they want or why they torment me. I just can ’ t sleep anymore, I don ’ t want too.

Julie looks on as Gregory breaks down, the others patting him on the shoulders, trying to comfort him; she walks up to him, kneels down and places her hands on his knees.

Gregory, I am sorry about what you are going through, but you must sleep. I know it is not easy coming from me, but you are hurting yourself. The demons that we all have swirl around us all the time, they wait until our guard is down before they strike. It is much easier for them to feed off of our insecurities, our fears. You have to confront them, confront these demons, Julie says.

… .but what if I can ’ t? I am afraid, Gregory says.

I know you are afraid, but fear can also be a form of strength, if you act on it in the right way. It will take time, but you will be able to live a long and happy life. You just have to confront your past and believe that you can make it better. I will help you, we all will.

Across the room lay an open door, a figure watches from the shadows, not stepping out to reveal it ’ s true form, finding comfort within the still darkness. Watching with still eyes, not taking focus off of the people here.

Julie glances over at the door, seeing the figure looking on, she is not scared or surprised as she knows who the figure is.

His name is Gordon Vincent.

She sees the long gray hair that he lets sit, hiding most of his face, seeing how he tries to hide behind it. She hopes beyond hope that he would step out and come inside, but she has waited a long time for him to do so and once again he turns his back and walks out, disappearing back into the darkness; lowering her head she feels disheartened again, but she knows he will be back and maybe one day he will let her in.

Gordon steps out onto the streets of San Francisco, a busy night as the citizen ’ s rush to shop or get home, a typical day in the city. He reaches inside of his coat and pulls out a small flask filled with whiskey, taking a long gulp; he puts a handful of pills in his mouth and swallows them, leaning his head back he shakes briefly. Feeling the surge of numbness flowing through his veins, one that he welcomes, but knowing it will not last.

He stares straight ahead, taking note of everything around him, a habit he has held onto all his life; though behind his brown bloodshot eyes lay something dark and fearful, a lifetime of pain and anguish that he locks away and refuses to look at it any longer. Wishing that he could go back and change things, but he knows that is impossible.

He knows what he was or rather who he was; he once was a hero, one that helped those who could not help themselves. He feels the memories beginning to seep back in and he grits his teeth hard, twisting his head to the side, refusing to remember any of it any longer. Especially the name he gave himself … ..he won ’ t say it … .never again.

Gordon then enters a small diner, not a lot of people, the way he would prefer it; as he sits down in a far booth he cannot help but think about the irony of wanting to be alone, but choosing to be in a city surrounded by people; part of him feeling used to looking at people, observing their behavior, reading their movements, he knows it is more of an obsession, but one he finds necessary to survive.

What will it be honey, the waitress says.

Coffee, black, Gordon says.

As she walks away, Gordon can ’ t help but notice a young couple sitting in a booth, sitting next to each other, smiling and laughing at nearly every word they say to each other. Her long flowing black hair, reminding him of someone he once knew, someone he wishes were here now, but he quickly shakes his head, knowing he cannot allow her back into his mind.

As the waitress brings him his coffee, a pair of men rush through the doors, one wearing a red ski mask and the other wearing a green ski mask, drawing pistols from under their shirts; sending the waitress and people at the bar into a panic.

Give me the goddamn money in the register and everyone ’ s wallets and purses on the table, now, nobody move or we will blow your heads off, a robber says.

Gordon jerks his head to the side, locking in on both of them, a surge of adrenaline begins to pump its