THRISPEN

CHAPTER 1

Picture a man floating in the darkness of a lethal void. He feels this void draining his very life, but he cannot escape it. The strange shifting colors pull at him from all directions. Perhaos, the man feels hopelessness and despair overtake him as his senses fade. Perhaps he thinks of the life he led and the life he will never have the chance to lead. Forces he cannot comprehend seem to dash his form in several directions at once. The last vestige of light fades.

Rick Striker sat bolt upright in his bed. Completely covered in sweat, he knew without remembering that he had had the dream again. After blinking a few times to try to get his eyes to wake up with the rest of him, Striker knew that there was no way in Hell he was getting back to sleep, but there was also no way in Hell he had slept enough to function.

Turning on his light caused a sharp pain to flash through his skull. His eyes felt as though desert sand had been ground into them. "Ah fuck it then" he thought as he turned the light back off.

Maneuvering by memory alone, he made his way to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he tried to bring himself to at least a semblance of alertness.The water stung his eyes, but also seemed to revive them. After rubbing the crud out of them and blinking a few more times, he was able to turn on the light. Looking at his watch, he saw it was 3:18. "It’s going to be a long day."

* * *

Ron Popiel was explaining the wonders of some new paint that allowed bald men to look uncannily like bald men with paint on their scalps when the doorbell rang. "Fuck, it’s not even four yet, who could that be?" It rang again, more insistent this time. "Hold on I’m coming!"

At the door was a very attractive young woman. Petite, curly black hair, perfect shape, amply endowed, lush red puty lips, and the most expressive sparkline grey eyes Striker had ever seen. The kind that private investigators have walk into their offices all the time in movies. Striekr saw only two oddities here. First, this wasn’t his offic,e but his house. Second, despite having been a private detective for a little over a year, he had never had a dame like this walk in. "Uh, hello," he muttered, immediately cursing himself for not thinking of something more clever.

"Hi, my name is Amanda Trent. I need your help."

"Uh, well, I , er that is, why not come to my office?"

"No, that’s too public. Hold on for a second." She just stood there for a minute as if concentrating intently, then stepped inside his house. "Uh, nice place you have here."

"Well I wasn’t expecting company, now jsut what is it you need?"

"People ar eafter me. Bad people."

"And you want me to protect you? Look lad,y I don’t know what you’ve been told, but unless you need pictures of your old man with a stripper or hooker, I can’t really help you."
"You sell yourself short, Striker. You have certain qualities that will help us."
"Like what?"

"Uh, I think we should go now."

"What? Look I don’t know if you know this, but it is 3:52 in the morning, I’m half asleep (I feel half dead), and I have an office to go to in just a few hours!"

"I think we should go now. I must have nbeen followed."

Yeah right whatever, Striker thought as he went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He debated calling the police right then. This woman could be psychotic. Then he heard the scream.

Running out of the kitchen, he saw that his fireplace had apparently exploded ooutward. A man was standing in front of it. His features were obscured by flames. Although the flames covered his entire body, he seemed not to notice them at all. As he walked toward Amanda, the fires seemed to be drawn into his flesh, which was unmarked.

By the time he reached her, the man was revealed to be a muscular bald man of average height. "You shouldn’t have crossed us bitch, now it is time to pay!"

Striker ran toward the den, where he kept a pistol, but a pillar of flame rose up in his path. "Stay right where you are and don’t get in the way. And maybe I’ll let you live."

The man held Amanda’s head in one hand and a ball of fire in the other. He stopped just as he was about to immolate his helpless victim. A loud rattling sound had filled the small house. It grew to a deafening crashing banging as another sound, like metal being rended and tortuously warped, joined it. A loud explosion sounded from the bathroom and water flew into the living room, extinguishing the fires and drenching Striker, Amanda, and the intruder. Now that the flame was gone, Striker ran into his den for the gun as the sprikler system began to spew forth a steady rain of water.

Meanwhile, the intruder had forgotten about Striker momentarily. After blinking the water out of his eyes, he grabbed Amanda’s throat in a death grip. She could feel her breath cut off. Specks of color appeared in her vision. Then the grip relaxed. The hands fell away from her. In fact, the whole body of her assailant fell away. In a second, her vision returned to normal and she saw Striker holding his gun. "See silly, I told you you could help me," she said weakly.

"We need to call the police!"

"Uh, no. That’s no good. Besides, there will be others, we need to disappear fast."

"But I jsut shot a man! His body is right over ---, uh -- there?" Striker pointed at the place where the man had fallen. Now instead of a dead man, there was a man-shaped singe mark. "What the fuck?"

"He’s gone. No body, that makes things easier right?"

"Yes, no, I, Hell, I don’t know what to think about that yet. But, how did he get in here? I locked all my doors and my windows have bars..."

Amanda pointed to the ruined fireplace. "You left a fire burning."

"Yeah, so? Sometimes it relaxes me."

"He used it as a gateway, I oh never mind. I don’t think you’re ready yet. Are you coming with me or not?" She began to walk out the front door. Striker thought about calling the police, or just letting her walk off, but something seemed to be telling him to go with her. "Hey wait up!" he called out as the door slammed shut behind her.