The Case Journal Of Randall Flagg, July 5th, 1987...
Good god, what a mess...
I've decided to start this journal to have somewhere to write down my thoughts, and so I don't clutter up the notebook I write down my notes on magic in with unrelated junk. It's been two days since me and Arnold managed to track down the culprit behind the kidnappings that had been hitting the homeless population of Gotham for the past few weeks. The kidnapper turned out to be some sort of mutant or creature working for someone I've identified as Doctor Death, the same man who was apparently behind the Red Hood gang and the attempted break-in at Ace Chemicals. The son of a bitch set fire to his laboratory and escaped while we were busy trying to rescue what remained of his victims...
10 survivors all in all, if you count the kid who was next on the chopping block when we showed up. Finally managed to get a name out of him, it's apparently Otis of all things. Wouldn't tell me his last name. I guess it doesn't matter. The kid's been sticking close to Arnold ever since we got them out, no idea if that'll last or not, but it's not really my business anymore. If this were anywhere else, I'd probably try to get Child Services involved, but in Gotham, I can't imagine the streets are much worse.
We got the survivors to Leslie Thompkins clinic, I didn't think Gotham General would be all that receptive to a bunch of homeless people, but it was already too late for some of them, two of them died a few hours later, and another one went yesterday. All of the survivors were men for some reason, I don't know if it's because the doctor had only been using men for his experiments, if there just weren't any surviving women, or if he... kept them for something else. I'd rather not think about it...
...
Two Days Earlier...
"What are you doing?!" Dr Thompkins yells at me as I force the potion down the throat of the gasping man on the gurney in front of me. She's not a large woman by any means, but stepping between the good doctor and her patients is apparently a good way to get her adrenaline going as she actually manages to shove me away, almost knocking me off balance in the process. She looks like she's about to have me thrown out, when the formerly dying man suddenly begins to breathe calmly, and Dr. Thompkins stares in shock as the various cuts and bruises on his face begins to close up, not even leaving any scars behind, as if they'd never even been there in the first place. Quickly, she grabs her stethoscope, pressing it against his bare chest and listening to his heart beat.
"This... this is impossible! He was about to go into cardiac arrest!" She pulls the stethoscope from her ears and turns to glare at me "What did you just do? What did you give him?!"
"Would you believe it was a magic potion?" I say, holding up the now empty plastic bottle to her. She just stares at it, baffled, before switching right back to outrage.
"Do you think I have time for this?! Either tell me, or I'll-"
"Dr. Thompkins, I appreciate how ridiculous that sounds, but if you want a full explanation, you'll have to wait for a better time. Right now, I think we both prefer to focus on keeping these people alive. Long story short, this man is now healthy. We can cross him off the list."
Thompkins isn't quite done with her questions, however "If you could do that the whole time, why did you wait so long? Two people are dead!"
I sigh "Because that was the last potion I had prepared! If I had more, I would have handed them out as soon as we got here! I am not a doctor, I don't even have any medical training, I knew these people were in bad shape, but I didn't know they were that close to death!" I shrug helplessly "I've done all I can, doctor. I'm tapped out. You gotta save the rest on your own..."
Her expression softens a bit, and she turns to the next bed "None of the others seem to be in critical condition, though it's a good thing you got them here when you did. And we're going to have to contact the GCPD. What on Earth happened tonight..?"
"Well, for me, it all started yesterday..."
.....
Suffice to say, Dr. Thompkins was understandably skeptical about my claims, but you can't really argue with results. Still, three people dead, when they didn't have to, all because I couldn't be arsed to prepare better. I saw Death's lair in my vision, I knew what he'd been doing to those poor people, I should have expected survivors, I should have expected serious injuries and disease, but I just walked right into a disaster zone with basically just what I had in my pockets. Making more healing potions would have delayed me, sure, but would more people have died if I'd taken the time to brew them? Would Otis have died? He'd lasted that long, would he have managed to hold out a little while longer? I'll probably never know...
This whole trainwreck has forced me to seriously reconsider what I've been doing. I'm starting to wonder if I've even been using my magic properly, the "fight" with Death's monster made it all too clear. I've been using it as a cudgel, like finding a magic wand and just using the pointy end to poke my enemies in the eye with it. There was really no way for the creature or Doctor Death to get through my protection spells, yet I decided that getting into a fistfight with an opponent three times my size was the best way to go on the offense? Christ, Ted even told me that something like that is an idiotic idea when he talked about the Society's old battles with Solomon. There must've been a dozen other ways I could have dealt with Jabah, and I decided to punch him in the face. Fuck, I'm lucky no one got killed in the fight... well, aside from Jabah himself, obviously...
I managed to get back to the cavern beneath the World's Fair ruins before the GCPD could start sending their people down there to investigate after Thompkins got in contact with them. The laboratory was in ashes, I couldn't even get into the main section because part of the roof had collapsed, but I could at least recover the body of Walter Gibbons from the lake like Arnold wanted. Yesterday, there was a small service for him and the other three who had died after the rescue....
.....
Potter's Field, Gotham City, July 4th, 1987
The fireworks lighting up the darkening evening sky form a stark contrast to the sorrow of the small crowd gathered upon the desolate final resting place of countless of Gotham's poor and desperate. While the city and the rest of the United States celebrates it's Independence Day, there is no joy or liberty here, as a handful of destitute men and women have come together to say farewell to some of their own...
There is no casket for Walter Gibbons, former soldier for the United States Armed Forces, no headstone or monument to mark his grave. Instead, a simple plastic wreath for his body, and a plain wooden sign is all that is provided for him and his fellow drifters on this final journey.
I've only ever been to two funerals in my life, three technically, but I was too young to remember the first one. The second when I was 12. The third when I was 28. Neither of them were anything like this. There was a church for each of them. A casket. A fucking headstone at least. But more importantly, I never saw the bodies. I never carried the fucking body myself, out from a cavern that stank of death and rot, where shards of bone and decaying flesh littered the ground. Walter was lucky, in a way. Doctor Death didn't bother chopping him to pieces before disposing of him. He'll get to rest here, as paltry a graveyard as this might be. Everything else in that awful place is for the GCPD to sort out. I'm never setting my foot there again if I can avoid it.
I watch as Arnold tosses the last few clumps of dirt on the mortal remains of his friend, and from somewhere far away, there's a voice in my mind, crackling like through a broken phone line...
"My brother was killed by wolves on the Connecticut Turnpike..."
I close my eyes tightly. And once again, I'm back in the cave, staring into the face of the corpse that for one awful moment had the face of a clown...
And the sounds of boots walking along a night road...
The voice screeches again "Nine. This is Nine. We have killed your friends. Every friend is now dead! Even if you leave this Room, you can never leave this Room! Eight! This is Eight! Six! This is GODDAMNED FUCKING SIX-"
There's a hand on my shoulder, and the voice cuts off, like a phone hung up mid-conversation. Arnold is standing next to me, leaning on the shovel in his other hand.
"You alright there, Flagg? You looked like you were a million miles away..."
I shake my head, trying to focus back on the present "Sorry, still thinking about that damn laboratory. I knew it was going to be bad, but you just can't prepare yourself, you know?"
"Tell me about it, I don't think some of those guys we got out of there are ever going to be the same. If I ever get my hands on the son of a bitch who did this..." His hand clutches tighter around the handle of the shovel, his knuckles whitening "Any luck tracking him down?"
I sigh "I've tried, man. That green gunk on your hand should have worked, should've given me SOMETHING at least, but I'm not picking up anything, it's like he literally dropped off the face of the Earth! I'm sure I'm missing something, but I just don't know what!"
Arnold falls silent, staring at the newly dug grave "It's alright, I guess we should be grateful we got anything positive out of this nightmare at all. And thanks for bringing Walter back..."
"Told you I would, didn't I? Just wish I could have actually caught the guy too..."
He shrugs "You did more than most people would have. When I first came to your office, I figured you'd probably just tell me to get lost. In my kind of life, you learn to take the victories you can..." He sticks the shovel into the ground and begins walking back towards the gathered mourners, only to stop and turn back towards me "Oh, I just remembered, did you want Walters tags back? I mean, you did enchant them..."
"Nah, keep 'em or bury them with him, they belong to you. I'll get in touch with you if I manage to find anything else about Doctor Death, alright?"
He nods and joins his friends by Walters grave. I stand there a little while longer, looking up at the sky as the fireworks light up the cityscape. No, this case isn't closed, not by a longshot. Doctor Death, whoever he really is, is still out there somewhere, even if my scrying can't find him. I have a feeling I'll see him again, and next time, he's going to pay for what he's done.
I swear it!
......
It's not just the seeming disappearance of Doctor Death that bothers me. Whatever it was I saw in that cave, I can't keep it out of my mind, it feels like a bad dream that refuses to completely disappear after you wake up. I'm beginning to realise that there's a lot about my own abilities that I don't fully understand, even if I do know how to use them. I want to think that it was just my imagination, or something caused by the fall and the shock of finding a dead body, or... well, anything, really. Because the alternative is something I don't want to even contemplate.
And yet... I can't help but remember something I read in a Lovecraft story once.
"Do not call up that which you cannot put down..."
And I'm starting to fear I may have done just th-
The tip of the pencil snaps as a noise from behind me sends a jolt of fear up my spine. Someone, or something, just moved against the window. I slowly rise from my chair and turn around, staring out through the glass into the Gotham night. Unsurprisingly, nothing seems to be out of place in the alley right outside, except... Hmm, one of the lights are out. Could have sworn it was on when I sat down to write.
I press my hand against the bottom of the window, the magic keeping it sealed recognizing me and allowing me to slide it open and stick my head out, peering out into the darkness. I feel my breath catch in my throat as I can just about make out a figure hiding in the shadows where the street lamp is out, almost perfectly blending with the dark. That is, until my eyes adjust and I manage to spot a very familiar, bat-shaped symbol on the figures chest.
"You were trying to break in through my window, weren't you? Not to be rude, Batman, but I do have business hours."