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A Gotham Tale: Harvey Bullock	By : Driftwood Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 4464 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Vandergilt Manson, Evening
Joshua Allen shifted uncomfortably in his car seat he had been sat parked out on the side of the road overlooking the Vandergilt home for a few hours now. Joshua had wanted to get a warrant to search the property but Bullock had knocked that idea, so Joshua went down the next road of asking about wire taps. “If this little cult is as big as you think it is with all its big business backing, the moment you ask Adkins for a search warrant or a wiretap Vandergilt and his little cohorts will be tipped off and they will disappear.”
Joshua had sighed and starred at his wall, the achievement of so many months of looking under rocks and talking to people that he should not have, had brought him to a standstill and now with the help of Harvey Bullock he was about to start moving again only the man refused to allow it. “What are we meant to do, sit on our hands until they decide to kill someone else?”
“We plan another way to get them.” Harvey had responded shrugging his big shoulders as he did so.
Now Joshua looked back on those words with sadness, the truth was there was no plan other than to stake out the Vandergilt home hoping that Warren Vandergilt would show his face and lead them all the way to the cult. Harvey had gone home to sleep he was still unsure about the Babylonian cult and Adkins was determined to find a way to get Harvey Bullock off the case. Joshua cracked open his thermos of coffee and poured a small amount of the hot black liquid into the lid, he took a sip and winced as the coffee burnt the roof of his mouth.
Sitting alone in the car Joshua had started to come up with theories of not only who else was in the cult but who Harvey Bullock was. Joshua had only spent a few days with the man but already a lot of what he had heard did not fit the man he was working with. Harvey had a keen mind and actually a pretty good detective’s nose, he wanted to know if he really was on the take once and if so how the hell did he break away from Carmine Falcone without having his throat slit. Harvey was a bunch of walking contradictions no wonder people misjudged him.
Joshua’s mobile phone buzzed in his pocket and, quickly as he could Joshua put the hot container of coffee down and reached into his trouser pocket, it did not surprise him to see Harvey’s number on the screen, the man was checking in on him. “Hey Harvey!”
The sound of traffic cluttered up the open line as Harvey spoke, “Joshua where are you?”
“Where do you think? I am about half a mile from Vandergilt’s abode waiting for him to show his face.”
“Well scrap that he won’t be there,” Harvey responded quickly with certainty in his voice.
Joshua disagreed still, “Harvey the man has not left his home all afternoon and into this evening…”
“That place is huge, he probably slipped out the trade entrance and disappeared into the woods hours ago,” Harvey said, the sound of horns blaring cutting him off in mid-sentence, “Jesus who the hell trains these cab drivers?”
Joshua was shaking his head, his free hand turning the key in his ignition, the old engine firing up under protest, “You need to explain to me how you know this and where you are going, because I’m guessing you’re going to wherever Vandergilt is.”
There was a long silence on the phone, the line was still active, the sounds of the Gotham City streets a tinny noise in Joshua’s ear, “Your right I am going to see him, but listen to me,” Harvey fell silent again, “You need to do something for me, I need you to go home and rest and wait for my call okay?”
Joshua bit his lip, what the hell was going on, something in Harvey’s voice told him there was something wrong, “Harvey do not do anything stupid, tell me where you’re going I can meet you there.”
“Just wait for my call,” Harvey replied and the line went dead.

Harvey pocketed his phone then a second later pulled it out again, he held the off switch and watched as his phone turned off, he slipped it back into his pocket hoping that what he had just done was not a bad mistake.
Harvey’s head still throbbed, but nowhere near as bad as it had back at the apartment, he was tired from concentrating on keeping his mind quiet afraid that if he let slip even a little bit he would be bombarded with the voices and the visions, Harvey shook his head, visions! Adkins would have him shipped off to the looney bin if he ever found out.
Whatever the freak show had done to him had given Harvey an edge, he had reached out with his mind like those corny movies on cable, the first time he had vomited violently he had dropped rapidly through the apartment passing through bodies, feeling their emotions, seeing their thoughts and leaving behind the trace of his absolute terror on each individual as he passed through them.
The second time he focused harder, his head became light, his stomach a solid ball of lead and every hair on his body had stood up with a static charge. He left his body again, more control this time, though still disorientating he stayed within the apartment, seeing everything from an elevated angle but also up close and in minute detail all at the same time.
When he moved it was like his dreams, the sensation of moving was not there, it was as if everything else was moving and he was anchored in one place, he thought of Warren Vandergilt and the city whipped by him in a blur. He woke up after blacking out for God knows how long, a thin trail of bile on his chin and chest.
The third time he controlled the speed by simple thought, he moved through Gotham as if he were a pigeon on the up drafts the city produced. It took everything to concentrate on control this form of himself and with every second he did that he gained more control, the voices diminished and Harvey found he could dip in and out of people’s thoughts if he focused hard enough.
The detective side of him told him to hurry, who knew how long this power would last, and if it decided to stop where exactly would that leave Harvey Bullock? Would his body remain in the apartment rotting and festering until someone found him? Would he even be breathing? And what of this out of body form? Would Harvey be forever left drifting through Gotham a spirit without a body?
The City sped by as Harvey shifted his focus to Warren Vandergilt, a small voice was building up telling him to hurry up, and doubt in this new ability was starting to flood into him once again. The Vandergilt home was almost dead ahead, the lights of Wayne Manor a few miles further but his form shifted direction heading over woodlands, further from the sprawling Vandergilt mansion.
From the tree line a house began to materialise, the outside had seen better days, the roof certainly needed to be replaced. The windows burnt bright in the lower floors, the other floors flickered with the softer light of candles. Harvey was drawing closer now, the tree line now behind him, grass and hedges passed beneath him as if on the current of a lazy river.
His form jolted to a stop, his head real and astral erupted with fire and his bones ached as they throbbed to the tune of an unheard bass note. Any forward movement was met with the same agonising pain something or someone would allow Harvey to go no further. Whatever this place was, whoever was inside had the answers and Warren Vandergilt was with them.

Chatham Manor
The acolyte moved through the manor’s many rooms, she moved quicker than normal and spared no attention for the others who called for her. She had an errand to run someone was here who should not be here. Worse she had let him in, well she had tried to stop him but the man was big and he had easily pushed past her and let himself in.
The library was bathed in darkness the only source of light came from the odd assortments of candles that were dotted around the room, the Acolyte stepped in feeling the immense power the moment she entered the room. Miss Lansing was stood near the rear of the room, a half dazed man hung from the ceiling, his toes a few inches from the oak flooring, his face obscured by a tight mask the rest of him was naked and his cock was an erect stub of flesh that Miss Lansing gripped tightly in one hand. Her other hand held a long ivory cigarette holder, the tip of which she pressed into the man’s chest, he writhed and screamed as the lit cigarette burnt his flesh.
The Acolyte knew not to interrupt Miss Lansing but she had little choice, “Miss,” she said, her tiny word sounding loud in the room.
Miss Lansing turned revealing her nakedness only a black Basque covered her middle, her large breasts spilled over the top, her nipples hard nubs of flesh. The horrible tattoo near her sex seemed to move in the flickering candle light, “This better be important or you are going to find yourself my new plaything.” Even as she spoke the words Miss Lansing could see the worried look on the girls face, “What is it?”

Harvey Bullock stood the large entrance to Chatham manor for thirty seconds or so, the tiny girl in the cloak had scurried off to find the owner and had left Harvey all on his own. His scalp itched and he took deep breaths controlling what he could hear in his head. The house was filled with people, all of them scattered throughout the property he kept on getting snippets of conversations.
Harvey had reached out from Rosa’s apartment he had flown across Gotham City out to the outskirts of the city looking for Warren Vandergilt. The man was not where Harvey had expected him to be. Chatham manor refused his astral projection (if that was the right term, Harvey did not have a clue, but it sounded right to him.) but it was all Harvey needed to know, Vandergilt was here no doubt with the rest of his nutso little cult.
When Harvey re-opened his eyes, he had discovered his shirt was covered in blood, his nose gushing blood down his unshaved face, his shirt soaking it up. The headache was worse than the blood though, just moving his neck sent shockwaves of pain through his skull.   Whatever the black blooded assassin had done to him it did not have pleasant side effects.
“Just wait for my call,” Harvey had said to Joshua as the taxi took him out of the heart of Gotham City. It was not that Harvey had wanted to be certain that Chatham Manor was the right place, he could feel he was right on that. He did not want Joshua there because he could feel how wrong the place was too. Harvey would need Joshua soon and if both men were there together no one would be able to save them.
The music was a deep bass sound, heavy thumps with a synthesised rhythm over the top of it, Harvey could feel his bones vibrating with the statico bass beat that hit home, after thirty seconds of procrastinating in the hall Harvey turned right and headed towards the source of the music, which was also the direction the girl had gone.
The room would have been a large ballroom, and the music certainly kept with the room’s original design. No one was dancing though, the figures were a mishmash of hooded and cloaked men and women and business suited men and women. They lounged around on the floor the constant revolving, flashing and ever changing colour lights all worked together to create a sensory overload that left Harvey disorientated, many of the people seemed to be in a daze, others were having sex openly in front of everyone.
Harvey walked through the room, he could see the looks he was getting, many of them drug hazed stares, and fewer still were curious looks. If the cloaked girl was here Harvey had no chance of picking her out of the crowd, instead he headed for a door close to where the DJ and sound system were.
The two men moved as one, they came out of the crowd, one stood in front of him baring the door while the other stepped behind him, they towered over Harvey, their suits pulled taught over thick arms and muscular chests and for some reason they both wore sunglasses. “Can I help you gentleman?” Harvey said as politely as he could while shouting over the music.
“Perhaps we can help you officer?” The voice came from behind the man in front of him, loud enough to be heard but not shouting, the woman came through the doorway and stepped around the hulking slab of meat. She had long black hair, icy blue eyes surrounded in dusky eye shadow. What caught Harvey and made him loose his words was the sudden realisation that her breasts were exposed. The woman wore a black Basque and a cape that reached the ground, her sex was visible while her legs were clad in black stockings and knee high black leather boots. “I have a feeling you may have the wrong address.”
Harvey came out of his shocked daze, “Well... I came looking for a friend.”
The woman nodded, “You have friend’s detective?” The woman smiled, though it never reached her eyes. “I merely jest with you Detective, if I can have your friends name, perhaps my men could locate him for you.”
Harvey could hear her accent, “You’re not from round here are you,” The woman nodded in agreement and one hand tipped with long red finger nails came up and lightly brushed at her neck, “At a guess I would say England.” The woman smiled again, Harvey kept his eyes locked firmly on hers, if he watched the hand then his eyes would slip to her breasts and he would lose.
“This is a private party Officer and I have been as pleasant as I am willing to be,” The woman said her hand dropping away from her neck when it failed to do its job.
Harvey heard it rather than felt it, the thumping bass dropped drastically in volume, the flashing lights slowed with each blink of his eyes. Everything around him had a sudden clarity, he could hear unspoken conversations, see the finest detail in a girl’s nose ring, the small diamond that sat in the centre of it and each individual cut line on it. He took a deep breath, his new found power was still fighting him, any chance for it to break free of his restraints and it would fly.
Harvey’s stomach clenched, the two men were not human he could smell them suddenly, meaty and spoiled that made him want to vomit, the woman was a mask for something older and corrupt, she knew who he was already and why he was here. “Where’s Warren Vandergilt?” Harvey said loudly, his voice centring his brain easing him back to a state of near normality.
The woman motioned with her head and the two large not men stepped back and somehow melted back into the crowd. “He may be here, then again he may not.”
Harvey shook his head, “Listen lady, I have no time for fun and games, whatever this place is I am shutting it down now, I will be taking Warren Vandergilt and whoever else is in his little cult into custody and charging them with murder,” The woman laughed and shook her head, “Did I say something amusing?”
“Detective Bullock, it is Harvey Bullock isn’t it, you do not know where you are or who you are with. I assure you no one here is a murderer; we celebrate life and the bigger scheme.” She turned around and walked through the door way, she looked over her shoulder, her smouldering eyes locking on Harvey’s “Let me show you.”
Miss Lansing hid her shock at seeing Harvey Bullock remarkably well. When the Acolyte had told her a police officer was in the house Miss Lansing had been surprised, when it occurred to her that it was a very real possibility that Harvey Bullock was here she had quickly dismissed the idea...until she saw him in the dance room. ‘How did he find us?’ had been her first thought, ‘who has told him?’ followed quickly on the heels of that.
One of the six was her assumption, not Warren and not Elizabeth surely. The others were weak, but Harvey had only Warren to work on. Then there was the look, Miss Lansing had seen it countless times in her long life, the gift at work, pupils opening wide making black pools in the eyes, the way the body tensed. Harvey’s powers had somehow manifested with no help from Mister LaVey, something was very wrong and Miss Lansing needed to be quick.
When the Chatham’s had roamed the manor, the rooms had been quintessentially English, their heritage was something they refused to let go. The new world, they decided would bend to their will and not the other way round. The room Miss Lansing now directed Harvey to had once housed a billiards table at its centre, the walls still had the original features of William Morris wallpaper and mahogany wood.    The room was filled with cushions of all shapes and sizes, the floor hardly visible beneath them, tall, thin candle holders rose from the cushions casting shifting light throughout the room.
Harvey stepped into the room and looked about, hoping to finally see Warren Vandergilt, the room only held a couple of people all in a state of unconsciousness it seemed. The air was heavy with scents that made Harvey’s eyes burn and his stomach sour. “Enough of the grand tour, tell me where Warren Vandergilt is?” The words were heavy in Harvey’s mouth.
“He’s busy in a meeting right now,” Another voice answered. The black haired lady gave a wicked smile as another woman walked into the room behind them. She placed one hand gently on Harvey’s shoulder, “Is there anything I can help you with?” It took Harvey a few seconds to recognise the other women.
Warren Vandergilt’s secretary, Elisa, leaned on Harvey, her small naked pert breasts pushed against him as she smiled dreamily up at him. “Whatever you’re trying to do it…won’t…work.” Harvey’s words were heavy and hardly made it out of his mouth. The smell in the room was getting thicker, clogging up his nose, his throat and his stomach cramped and threatened to unload itself. The blonde woman took Harvey by the elbow and led him further into the room; he went stumbling over his feet trying to stay next to the black haired woman and failing miserably.
Elisa led him to a larger pile of Cushions and dropped down on her knee’s she pulled at Harvey’s hand and the man collapsed onto his own knees. He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts, his free hand wafted in front of his face trying to get rid of the smell that was all around him. Elisa leaned in one hand on his grizzled cheek feeling the chemical scars beneath her lips touched his for a moment, “Stay with me for a while.” She whispered.
Harvey shook his head and began to pull himself back up, “No, this is wrong you’re under arrest for, for stuff.” Harvey slurred. Elisa giggled and reached out taking hold of Harvey’s belt buckle and undoing it easily. The man’s hands lifted up and came down a little too hard on her shoulders, his fingers applying pressure.
Elisa leaned in and nibbled on one of Harvey’s ears, then whispered “Want to touch me some more?”
Harvey’s head half shook half nodded, his eyes focusing and unfocusing as he tried to fight off the drug hidden within the incense that had slipped into his airways the moment he entered the room. “Rosa?” the words were thick and heavy.
“Whoever you want me to be baby,” Elisa said as she moved from belt to buttons. Harvey’s hands went from shoulder to Elisa’s upper arms, one moved to her back and down finding her bare, toned backside while his other hand found one pert breast and squeezed it painfully. Elisa pushed Harvey backwards, the man stumbled then fell back landing on the cushion strewn floor.
Elisa was on him a moment later, his trousers pulled down with little ceremony. Elisa took hold of the man’s semi erect cock and gently worked him up. Harvey lifted his head, his eyes wide with sudden realisation that it was not Rosa between his legs, then his eyes glazed and his head thudded back down.

Miss Lansing left the room she had little interest in watching Elisa fellate the fat man’s cock. Her concerns were getting the better of her. She made it back to the library, her plaything’s head hung limp and unconscious. She had hardly taken a few steps in when she felt the air being dragged from her lungs, the pressure changed as if she were being taken to the bottom of the ocean her breath fogging before her even though a moment ago the room was stuffy with heat.
“You rang,” Mr LaVey said softly behind her, one meaty hand landing on her pale shoulder. “My time is better spent elsewhere,” the last word came out slowly and trailed off, the hand slipping from her shoulder. When she turned around and looked up she could see Mr LaVey turning his head slowly one way then the next, “Someone is here,”
“That’s why I called. Harvey Bullock turned up a short while ago,” Miss Lansing started, her voice a little higher and her words spilling out a little faster than normal. “And his gift has manifested.”
Mr LaVey’s eyebrows arched at this news his head tilting to one side, “Is that so, how very intresting.”
“I have tried to contact the Mannequin but he has not responded.” Miss Lansing went on.
Mr LaVey shook his head a moment later, “He is dead” the words holding no emotion at all as he spoke them. Miss Lansing felt a knot in her stomach, an uncomfortable feeling of worry at her sudden loss of control. “Why was the Mannequin with Harvey Bullock?”
“That’s not possible, unless he was sent there and only ourselves or the One can issue orders of that nature…” Warren would not have sent anyone to kill Harvey, but he was, strictly speaking no longer the one. “Elizabeth!”
Mr LaVey sighed, “Impressive display of power on her behalf, but also incredibly petulant, your control of the six has been less than acceptable.” Miss Lansing could feel the power emanating from Mr LaVey her eyes welled with tears, for the first time in over two hundred years she feared for her life. “We are done with Gotham. This city held promise, this six held promise” Mr LaVey shook his head with disappointment, “We can no longer waste more time here,” He straightened up, his head held firm his eyes locking onto Miss Lansing’s own. “Another hurricane is approaching, the remaining five are to come with you,” Mr LaVey looked over his shoulder, his eyes seeing the forms of those who wanted to believe, his ears picking up the muted bass beat of music and the whispers of those present his mouth turned down in a sneer, “You allowed this place to become like this,”
Miss Lansing felt her heart turn to ice, “I…”
Mr LaVey held up one meaty hand and her words were cut off instantly, “this is not who we are.”
“I can correct it, I can remove it all.” Miss Lansing said, her voice trying to hold the note of certainty and authority.
Mr LaVey turned his gaze back to her, “Take Vandergilt to the gardens, whatever acolytes you deem worthy may go to, and take Detective Bullock too. Whoever remains can become ash with this house.”
Miss Lansing felt uncomfortable with taking Bullock with her to the gardens, his power was unknown to her, what if he awoke to soon, saw too much, what if he fought back and she could not control him? “I am uneasy with Harvey Bullock being present, his power is so unknown.”
Mr LaVey laughed gently, “He scares you? And so he should. I had hopes to bring his power forward gently and in time manipulate him to my will. But Ereshkizu’s time is upon us, we can wait no longer. Vandergilt will become all that he had hoped and when he does he can feast on Detective Bullock.”
“And if Bullock survives, if Bullock kills Vandergilt.” Miss Lansing pushed.
Mr LaVey shrugged his huge shoulders, “By the time the Detective has pieced anything together his power will have waned, Ereshkizu will walk this earth and I will find Harvey Bullock and rain down two hundred years of torture and pain on the man for taking the Mannequin away from me.”
Miss Lansing had taken a couple of steps backwards as the wave of hate and anger flowed from the mountain of flesh that stood before her. Miss Lansing felt certain that he was going to remove her from her immortal coil, to end her life with the snap of his fingers, all her thoughts and memories gone, faster than the eye could blink.
“Three days Miss Lansing, you have three days to join me.” With those final words, Mr LaVey began to leave. The air pressure built up, Miss Lansing’s ears filled with cotton wool and the odd sensation of her stomach being pulled through her belly button came over her again. The shadows in the room moved to envelope the huge form of Mr LaVey and without a sound he disappeared.

The Hellfire Caves,
The screams filled the caverns and Molly Lansing knew that she had been the bearer of much of the pain and anguish that those poor souls now cried out. Mr LaVey had told her the secret, had shown her the world as it was meant to be and Molly Lansing had embraced it with every fibre of her being. They had returned to the antechamber, to Dashwood and Franklin. The men had no idea what they had in their possession. They held the secret of a long lost civilisation and Dashwood had them praying to it rather than unlocking its mysteries.
She had stood for a few minutes, watching the men talking in hushed tones as if conspirators were only around the corner listening in. Brother Potter was asleep, his goblet upturned and the red wine soaking into his white tunic, he had it right after all, this was simply a bunch of men playing parlour games. When she turned her head again she caught the eyes of Brother Whitehead, her brow furrowed and in turn his did too, his head cocking to one side questioningly.
‘How odd that now with my eyes opened my feelings for him have gone.’ Molly thought, he had looked after her, kept her safe…used her? Perhaps, but she had used him and they had both called it love her next thought sealed their fates and her own, ‘his death can be swift, that is the least I can do for the man.’
“Gentleman,” Miss Lansing said, her words sounding loud against the whispers, “I must leave you at this time, I feel most unwell.”
Even as Francis Dashwood tried to push his bloated form from his wooden chair Benjamin Franklin was already on his feet. His eyes darted from Miss Lansing and Mr LaVey, “I hope it is nothing to distressing, I know women are more susceptible to maladies and have all manner of vapors.”
Miss Lansing bit her tongue she wanted to strike the man down where he stood, how dare he make her out to be some hysterical woman, “I assure you Mister Franklin vapors are not what ails me at this moment, simply,” she gave a weary smile, “exhaustion.”
Francis Dashwood hobbled forward, “I have warned you about your repeated late nights in the library and with your…followers,” Dashwood beckoned Brother Whitehead over, “See that she gets home safely.”
“No,” the word a harsh and cold thing that made the men gathered around her jump, even the sleeping Brother Potter stirred for a moment. “I assure you I am quite capable of making my way home.” She smiled the best she could, wanting to be gone from these walking corpses, “Mister Franklin it was an honour to meet you, though short as our meeting was,” she turned to face Mr LaVey tilting her head to look up at him. “Mister LaVey, thank you for our talk it was far more insightful than you know.”
“Where you go from here is now your choice, what you achieve can only be reached by sacrifice.” Mr LaVey said gently and ignored the odd looks that the other men now gave to one another the uncomfortable shuffling of feet he knew was warranted, it did not take a learned man to know that somewhere the cogs of fate had begun to turn in another direction for Molly Lansing.
…that had been four nights ago, Mr LaVey and Benjamin Franklin had left the night after the small meeting, his speech in parliament the day after that and from there in a few days’ time, home across the great Atlantic. Miss Lansing was going to be on that ship, and so was the tablet.
She had done the right thing by William Whitehead, she had slit his throat quickly the force of her delivery cutting deep into muscle and arteries. His white sheets had turned a deep red quickly. She had moved swiftly to the hellfire caves ‘oh how silly that name sounds’ she thought as she went in under the arched doorway. Miss Lansing struck a daunting figure in the cavern tunnels, the few who crossed her path could see the woman had changed they fled the best they could but Miss Lansing knew the tunnels better than Francis Dashwood.
Some she killed quickly, others she punctured or broke letting them fall to the floor in pain and agony. Their cries were pitiful, that was until she used her gift from Mr LaVey, she showed them the world beyond. Watching their minds break brought an odd thrill to Miss Lansing, her heart beat faster, her naked breasts more sensitive, her nipples painful and swollen and her sex was near agony with excitement.
Across the River Styx she stepped and into the final chamber, Miss Lansing was not surprised to see the secret door open and even less surprised at who she found waiting for her. “Francis, I had hoped you would not be here.”
Francis Dashwood stood in front of the pedestal that held the tablet, his arms stretched out, though his rotund frame was more than enough to block the pedestal. “I had warned Benjamin that his friend could not be trusted, a common thief it seems in the end and you wish to be his cohort.”
Miss Lansing laughed softly shaking her head, her redhead bouncing on her bare shoulders as she did so, “I thought, perhaps you knew what you had here. That your ignorance was a cover it seems even now at the end you truly do not know what you have.”
Dashwood looked over one shoulder quickly, “It’s a stone, archaic writing of witches of the north, a building block of our knighthood.” His words were spoken with true conviction even if they were a little shaky with fear.
“You truly are dense Brother Dashwood,” Her words were like a slap to the fat mans red face, his eyes went wide his mouth opened to stammer our some weak rebuttal; she silenced him with one raised slender hand. “That tablet is beyond your comprehension, I truly see that now. I hoped that perhaps at the last you would reveal your knowledge and that maybe you and I could continue into the new world,” as she spoke she stepped closer and closer to Dashwood, her cloak unfastened around her slender neck falling to the ground, her nakedness on full display to the man.
“Molly the man has clouded your mind, he will take it and sell it, your body will be used and wasted on him and you shall be cast aside just as you were in your village.” Those final words woke a small part of Molly Lansing, the terrified girl screaming as the old crone branded her, the pain of seeing her father refusing to stop the madness worse than the branding itself. Her eyes welled up at the memory, long ago forgotten and buried now risen to the surface, steadying the hand that held a knife at the throat of Francis Dashwood. “I saved you, gave you more than you ever dreamed possible, do not throw that all away.”
Molly Lansing swallowed hard, her words stuck in her throat. The old crone would be dead by now, her family sparing no thought for the child they helped cast out. The boy Michael, his fingers shaky from touching her between her legs, perhaps now married his wife’s belly swollen with their child. No one in that village knew who Molly Lansing was anymore her name washed away on tide and time.
“I thank you for giving me all that I was Francis,” her words were soft in his ears, the tears on her cheeks picking out the candle light. “But fate brought me here, and fate will take me beyond your silly little holes in the earth.” Her jaw line hardened, the knife tip breaking the skin beneath Dashwood’s own jaw.
“Molly…” Dashwood’s words came out with a high pitched yelp as the knife bit a little deeper.
“You will address me properly or I will take this knife and make a eunuch of you.”
“Miss Lansing, I implore you do not do this.” Now Francis was crying, his eyes filled with fear.
Miss Lansing lifted her free hand and placed it gently on the man’s balding head, his eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of his head, his screams came a few seconds later and the fat man crumpled to the ground and curled up into a ball. “Live your life knowing that is what awaits you beyond this world. I doubt you will continue with your silly little cave for much longer knowing the truth.” She stepped over the sobbing man and lifted the tablet from its pedestal.
The stone felt cold, the chill transferring to her fingers and joints, gradually moving up her arms, the cold dissipating as it went. Miss Lansing carried it, hugging it to her belly, her breasts sitting on top of the cold stone. Her thoughts were magnified and sought out the hidden within the catacombs; she delivered the vision to all allowing them to take their own lives if they wished. The cries drove her onwards, her smile becoming wider as she neared the exit, the sun was rising again, a new day and a new life. Molly Lansing was forever a ghost of the hellfire caves.
Miss Lansing would walk the earth for eternity now.
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A Gotham Tale: Harvey Bullock