The Crow, The Witch, and The Spider

The afternoon light filtered in through the face of the clock and onto the platform that Derek had been training on. The platform was situated high above the ground, worked in between the massive iron workings of the clock. It was made of wood and hung in the air by heavy metal chains. In the middle of this platform, Derek stood on his hands, feet in the air, body straight. The scythe rested on his feet, perfectly balanced. Aleena walked around him in circles, never taking her eyes off of him. He seemed to be struggling.
“Down,” she said, harshly.
He bent his arms, bringing his face closer to the dusty, rough wood. His breath quickened.
“Up...”
Against his body's will, he pushed himself straight up again. This was the hundredth and last in this particular set of exercises. But he had to wait for her to decide when he could rest. It was a test of endurance, mental strength, and spiritual power. As good as that might seem, it was one of the most taxing and soul-crushing training methods he knew. Once, a while ago now, Aleena left Derek standing on his hands, scythe on his feet for six long hours. But she was feeling generous on this day.
“Rest.”
Derek slowly lowered himself to the ground and rested on his upper back. Carefeully and skillfully, he rolled down to his lower back and with steady breathing, reached up for the scythe. He held it in front of him as he came to a seated position. He took a deep breath, then fell backward. His chest heaved up and down.
“You're getting stronger,” she said in her thick Russian accent. “You'll need to if you want to continue to be Krähe.”
Derek sat up and looked at his hands. They were covered in blisters from holding up his body weight. He balled his fists and felt the pain course through his hands and up his arms. He took a deep breath and stood to his feet. Taking up his scythe, he pressed the button that released the blade. It swung down so that it pointed straight out, as a spear would. He pressed the button again and the blade swung to the back of the scythe, giving the blade the appearance of a crescent moon. He pressed the switch once more and his weapon returned to normal.
“I think I'll try using it as a spear,” Derek told Aleena. “I haven't had a lot of field practice with it yet.”
He made his way back to his apartment and showered off. He got dressed and packed his Krähe costume in his bag. He then walked toward the door,.
“Where are you going?” Aleena asked, appearing behind him.
“To the cemetery, then to Holloway to visit Julia,” he replied.
“Today is not a good day to visit an asylum.”
Derek considered this for a momentn, then Aleena spoke again.
“You should give up on her. She is a lost cause.”
Derek turned to face Aleena. “How would you feel if someone told me to give up on you? How would you feel if someone called you a lost cause?”
Aleena didn't say anything. She looked down at her feet. Derek turned and opened the door.
“Wait,” she said, staring straight ahead. He waited. “Beware the witch...”
Derek looked back at her, then left his apartment. He made his way down the stairs and out onto the streets of Nocturne. It was a little chilly, but not too bad. It was comfortable enough to wear just a long sleeved shirt without a coat. Derek felt sad on this day. He felt that something inside was missing. He walked down the street and turned a corner. He crossed the street there and walked down another street. He hung a left and walked down another street. At the end of this street, he found himself before a large grassy area surrounded by a large black, iron fence; Blackwood Cemetery.
The gates were open and wide enough to allow cars through. A long asphalt path lead to a giant mausoleum about a quarter of a mile from the entrance. Derek entered Blackwood and, with a heavy heart, walked into the grass, weaving in and out of gravestones. After about a minute of walking, he came to a tree. This tree was what gave the cemetery its name. It was a giant oak tree with back that was a deep red. Without direct sunlight on it, it appears black.
Near this tree was a small, rectangular stone that stood about a foot out of the ground. Derek approached this stone and knelt before it. It read: Isabelle Bethlehem – 2007-2015.
Derek stared at the grave for a very long time. He reached into his back pocket and took his wallet out. He opened it and removed a small newspaper clipping from it. In this clipping was a photo of a man with dark, shaggy hair and a goatee. Underneath, it read: Mick Herman, Escaped Convict. Any information, please call 1-800-297-7766.
“My only regret,” Derek said, “was not being able to protect you from this madman. But if it takes me the rest of my life, I'll find him.”
He placed the picture back in his wallet and ran his fingers across the cold stone. His heart was breaking all over again, knowing that six feet below him, his daughter rested. At the same time, he had to remember that it was her murder that made him Krähe. The sacrifice of her life made him the faithful warrior of Nocturne.
Derek stood, and holding back tears, he left Blackwood and headed for Holloway Sanatorium for the Mentally Insane. He walked through the streets, looking past everything that was around him, staring off into space. At one point, he passed a group of men that he was sure was in a gang. They stared at him as he walked by. It greatly bothered him that if they knew he was Krähe, they wouldn't look twice at him. He thought they were cowards and part of him wished that they'd attack him. They did not.
After a twenty minute walk, Derek came to a street with a high cement wall. There was a large iron gate that stood open to allow cars onto the premises. The road winded up to the Sanatorium, a massive gray building that legitimately took up the entire block it was resting on. It stood seven stories tall and columns outside held up a portion of the building that jutted out from about half way up. It was an old style building, probably built some time in the late 1800's. The road stretched all the way up to the asylum, then circled around a large marble statue of a man in a suit with a monocle. The plaque on the base of the statue read Anthony Holloway.
Derek approached the large wooden double doors that led inside. As he walked, a white van followed by a police car passed him on the road and stopped in front of the doors. Two men in white uniforms exited the van and moved around to the back. They opened the doors and wheeled a man out on a standing stretcher. The man was bound in a straight jacket and wore a muzzle over his mouth. He was an older gentlemen with lucid blue eyes. He was balding, but still had straight, silver hair around his head that hung just above his shoulders. He stared straight ahead. Derek recognized the man. He was known Dr. Maxwell Weaver and he was one of Krähe's most dangerous enemies.
Immediately, Derek's mind was plagued with questions. But the one that stood out among all the others was: Why would they bring a mass murderer to a civilian psychiatric hospital? He was about to approach one of the men when a hand grasped his shoulder.
“Can I help you?” a southern female asked him.
He turned to face her. She stood about five foot, seven and had wavy brown hair tucked under her hat. She had burning hazel eyes that were certain and decisive.
“I was, uh. I was wondering why he's here. This institution isn't for criminals.”
“They want to try a new kind of therapy on him. But we'll be watching him very closely. You don't need to concern yourself with the likes o' him.”
How wrong she was. If Dr. Weaver broke free, it would become Derek's primary concern. The woman walked away, following closely behind the two orderlies that kept Dr. Weaver restrained.
Derek entered behind them and watched as they wheeled the madman down a hall to the right. The interior of the building was just as one would expect. The floor tiles were a sickly green color and the walls were a dirty tan. Old wooden furniture sat against the walls as well as plastic plants to add a bit of life to the asylum. Derek had been here several times before. He walked passed the reception desk and stepped into an elevator behind it.
He pressed the number 6 and the door closed. On the way up, the elevator stopped and let on a male doctor in a white coat. The two nodded to each other and Derek got off on the sixth floor. He headed to room 624 down the hall. As he turned a corner, he was grabbed by his arm and pulled against the wall. He nearly lashed out at his attacker, but stopped when he realized it was a young woman. She had long, raven colored hair and striking green eyes. They had a burst of gold and brown in the middle and her irises were lined with blue.
“Beware the spider!” she hissed. “Danger will come in the form of a spider.”
And just like that, she frantically trotted down the hallway. Derek watched her until she disappeared around a corner and continued on his path. He thought about what she had said, but danger was his whole life. He arrived at room 624. A tag on the door read: Julia Morrison. Derek knocked on the door and entered.
Her room was all white. The floor, the walls, the bed, the tables, everything. Her bed sat against the right with a tall window directly on the wall opposite of the door. There was a table with two chairs, a desk, and a massive pile of drawings on it. Julia, with her green eyes and wavy red hair, sat with her back to the door, drawing something.
“Julia,” he called.
She dropped her pencil and whirled around. Even though she knew it was him, she still looked surprised.
“Derek...”
She was clothed in standard hospital attire; pants, two shirts, slippers, and a robe. She stood to her feet and walked over to Derek, wrapping her arms around his waist. He embraced her.
“You seem surprised to see me.”
“If I were you... I wouldn't want to see me...”
“Don't talk like that. What happened to Isabelle wasn't your fault. How many years have I been telling you that?”
“Four years, eight months, two weeks, and six days... If I had only stayed with her-”
“He would have killed you too. I would have lost my daughter and my best friend.”
There was a dreary silence between them. He had been telling her for so long to stop blaming herself for Isabelle's death, but she was convinced that it was her fault and in her mind, it always would be. Derek went to the desk and observed some of Julia's drawings.
“These are new,” he said. “Who are these people?”
“They're just some of the other patients.”
Going through them, Derek was surprised to see a drawing of the very same woman that had pulled him aside in the hallway. He held it up.
“Who is this?” he asked.
“Dahlia,” Julia replied, standing next to him. “Even for this place, she's kind of weird. She claims she can see the future so a lot people here just call her The Witch.”
The Witch. Aleena had warned him about such a person before he left home.
“What's wrong with her?”
“I couldn't tell you. She's been here for a long time, I guess. I try to stay out of her way.”
Derek flipped through the drawings. Aside from the other patients, he saw some interior drawings, a few drawings of the courtyard outside, and some abstract pieces. The third abstract piece closely resembled a crow in flight.
“That one represents you,” Julia said. “Cool, isn't it?”
“Uh, yeah. I like it a lot.”
He set the drawing down and looked at her.
“What?” she said blushing.
“Nothing. It's just good to see you again. Let's get something to eat.”
Derek and Julia went to the cafeteria where she was able to get a sandwich, water, vegetables, and her medicine. They sat at the table for about an hour and talked about what Derek had been up to in the past couple of months. Finding a job, thinking of traveling, the usual lies. The truth is Derek has been using his time away from the mask to convince himself that his daughter's death was indeed his fault. On the other hand, Julia had been going to therapy as often as she could so that she could get help forgiving herself for Isabelle's murder.
It wasn't as easy as it might sound. Every day, she replayed the events of that night in her head over and over, trying to think of anything she could have done to stop it. But there were things to consider. She couldn't have known that it was going to happen. She could have passed him on the street and not known it. Every scenario that she could think of ended up with she and Isabelle dying together. At the very least she wouldn’t have died alone. The thought of Derek's daughter terrified and hurt was almost too much to bear.
After the events of the day, Julia and Derek sat in the recreation room where the other patients and their visitors watched television or listened to the radio. Some played board games and others sat and chatted. Derek and his friend sat on a couch and were preparing to say their goodbyes. Dahlia was sitting in a corner, hugging her knees and looking around, as if watching something moving in the air.
“Flies in the web,” Dahlia muttered. “Flies in the web. Flies in the web. Flies in the web...”
It was funny. Derek had so much fun with Julia. He hadn't seen her in what felt like forever. He had forgotten that Dr. Weaver was even at Holloway. That is, until the lights cut off. Immediately many of the patients began screaming and running around. The orderlies shone flashlights to try and maintain order. Fortunately the emergency lights turned on. It was dark outside now and visiting hours were nearly over. Derek was hesitant to leave Julia's side, but what happened next made him decide to stay. As order came back to the room, the intercom cut on and an elderly, sickly voice spoke.
“They made a mistake by bringing me here,” Dr. Weaver wheezed. You are all trapped here...”
“Likes flies in the web,” Dahlia said, staring into Derek's eyes.
“Like the insects you are, I will devour you. This man thought he could 'cure' me.” Dr. Weaver laughed.
The orderlies ran around. One man attempted to call the police only to find that the line was dead.
“Now he's going to die,” Weaver continued. “Any last words?”
His hostage screamed in the background as the sickening sound of blade through flesh was heard. Then the doctor's voice was no more.
“All patients get back to your rooms!” one of the orderlies instructed. Visitors, please remain in this room while we deal with this situation.”
Although he sounded brave, Derek knew he was terrified out of his mind. This man spent his time dealing with mental patients, not serial killers. Derek knew what he had to do.
He took Julia's hand and walked her to her room. It was right down the hall so he hurried.
“Hide here and don't come out,” he instructed.
“Derek, I'm scared,” she exclaimed, “please don't leave me!”
“It's okay,” Derek said, holding her tight. “I won't let anything happen to you. I'm going to go get the police.”
He released her and looked into her eyes as best he could in the dim light. He smiled, awkwardly and she went in her room, still staring at him. He closed the door and turned, his smile quickly fading into the serious face that hides behind the mask of Krähe. He quickly found a utility closet with no one near by.
He reached into his bag and pulled out his costume. He quickly suited up and placed his mask over his face. He then called out to Aleena.
“Aleena,” he thought, “I need my scythe. Dr. Weaver is here at Holloway. I must defeat him.”
After a few seconds, a glowing purple light illuminated the dark closet and the scythe materialized out of thin air. He took it in his hand and felt its dark energies coursing through him. As always when he held the scythe, his eyes glowed a dark and dim, hellish red. He left the closet.
His first instinct was to find where Dr. Weaver had been. He figured the head director's office would have the intercom system. Something else bothered him as he was searching. Aleena had warned him to beware the Witch. Did Dahlia have something to do with Dr. Weaver? If she did, she would have to be put down like all the others. He continued, wary of his surroundings.
While Krähe searched, Dr. Weaver found himself in a medical examination room. It was a giant circular room with a pit in the center. On the outside of the pit, a wall separated several rows of chairs that ascended to the edges of the room. There were several stair cases between them, leading down into the pit. Opposite the doors, was a booth from which doctors could observes learning students. On this particular night, there was a stretcher in the center of the pit with a bleeding nurse strapped to it, several corpses scattered about, and a madman with a fetish for torture.
Dr. Weaver had found his way out of his straight jacket and wore nothing but white asylum pants, now stained with blood. His body was shriveled and old, but it didn't seem to slow him down. On his hands and feet, he had three rusty blades that were each a foot long. Although rusty, they were still very much able to cut. He stalked the nurse on the table and laughed to himself as he cut her from her shoulder all the way down her arm. She tried to scream though the rag shoved in her mouth, but that only pleased the him more.
On the asylum's upper floors, after about ten minutes of searching, Krähe had finally found the office where Dr. Weaver had been. It would have been a nice office. It had a beautiful wooden desk, a dark blue sofa, a bookshelf full of dozens of books, baby blue curtains, and a glob on a table near the window. The only thing that thew the room off was the three dead bodies lying on the floor. Blood was splattered all over the wall and the window. Krähe found the microphone where Dr. Weaver made his announcement. He thought for a moment, then pushed the button.
“I'm coming for you, Weaver,” he said darkly. “And when I find you, you will pay for this.”
Back in the examination room, Dr. Weaver looked up and smiled a wicked smile.
“Come little crow,” he said, still torturing the nurse. “Come.”
Krähe left the office and walked down the hall. He peaked around the corner, and when he felt satisfied that it was safe, he continued. As he passed another hallway, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Ready to swing his scythe, he once again found himself face to face with Dahlia.
“I told you to beware the spider!” she whispered. “You should have listened!”
Krähe didn't know if in the darkness his dreadlocks reminded her of Derek or if she actually knew who he was. He decided to remain silent and not respond to Dahlia's statement. That is until he had a realization.
“You knew this was going to happen!?” he scowled.
“Well... yes, but-”
“How?!” Krähe demanded, grabbing her arms.
“I-I had a dream about it! I have dreams all the time about bad people doing bad things. But I'm not involved with him, I swear!”
Krähe sighed. He believed her. “Go and hide. I'll go take care of Weaver.”
“But I want to help you.”
“You can help by going away.”
Krähe turned his back to her and continued his quest to locate Dr. Weaver. Even though he didn't want her to, Dahlia followed him. Perhaps she felt that it was her duty to help since she knew about it before hand. Krähe peeked around the corners before going around them, spotting a few orderlies, but no Weaver and nothing leading him to the evil doctor.
“Do you hear that?” Dahlia asked.
“What?”
“Someone screaming for help.”
Dahlia traveled the opposite direction, back down the hall that they had just come down. She turned a corner and went through a door and up two floors. When she came out, Krähe could hear it. It was a woman; the policewoman that he had met outside of the asylum. He raced on ahead of her and they found themselves in the Solitary Confinement ward. It was a long hall full of heavy metal doors on each side. The seventh door on the right was where she was trapped.
“Stand back!” he said to the officer
Krähe wedged the blade of his scythe in the crack of the door and wedged it open. Almost as soon as it was cleared, Krähe was brutally knocked into the cell. He fell into the woman and they both hit the padded floor. The door slammed behind them and Dahlia screamed.
“You stay right there, little crow,” Dr. Weaver chided outside of the door. “I'll take this delicious morsel and be back for you later.”
“Let me go!” Dahlia screamed as Dr. Weaver carried her away through the asylum.
In the cell, a single dim light flickered on and off, temporarily revealing a dirty cell.
“You!” the Officer said. “Krähe, you're under arrest for-”
“Trust me,” Krähe said, “if you want to live, then you won't want to do that.”
The Officer looked him up and down. She was trapped in an asylum cell with a serial killer on the loose. Krähe was a dangerous vigilante, who various times had taken the law into his own hands. Arresting him would mean a great deal. Not only would she be arresting the Crow of Nocturne, she would be bringing her police force up a notch. However, she had never faced anything like Dr. Weaver before. She wasn't sure if she could stop him. It seemed to be in the best interest of her health to ally herself with Krähe. After all, she could always arrest him later.
“Alright, what do we do?” she asked.
“The door is barred form the other side,” Krähe said, pushing against the door.
He began moving around the room, feeling the wall. He seemed to be looking for something.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“In the early 1990's, all padded asylum cells in Nocturne were made of a specific material. The cells made around that time were constructed with a hidden switch in case the doctors or orderlies were ever accidentally locked in. It would be in the middle of the wall... Here.”
Krähe reached between the padding and pulled one of them out, revealing a small lever.
“How did you know that?” she said, amazed.
“I watch a lot of TV.” He pulled down on it and several of the pads moved into the wall and opened to reveal a thin passage. The Officer followed Krähe in and they turned a corner and went out another secret door. They were back into the hallway.
“Now what?” the Officer asked.
“Now I go after Dr. Weaver. You should go get help.”
“Are you crazy? I'm an officer of the law. I can't just leave, let alone with you running around.”
“Very well, but when we find him, let me fight him.”
“Deal.”
“So, you know my name,” Krähe said, looking around a corner. “Do you have one?”
“The name's Oakley. Elizabeth Oakley.”
“It's nice to meet you, Officer Oakley.”
“So how do we find him?”
“Look.”
Krähe pointed to a trail of blood and what appeared to be drag marks. It must have been Dahlia's blood. Krähe and Officer Oakley followed the trail, hoping it would lead them to the spider.
Back in the examination room, Dr. Weaver had strapped Dahlia to his already bloody table. He bent down and smelled her flesh. He smiled and looked at her with sick intent in his eyes. With one of the blades on his arm, he stabbed Dahlia in her arm and started to run the blade down, making her cry out in agony.
“Why are you screaming?” he asked with a grin, “we're just getting started. We haven't even gotten to your pretty parts!”
Just as he was preparing to make another cut, he heard one of the doors of the room opening. He had bared them shut as best he could to make sure no one could enter, but he knew if it was Krähe, he'd be able to get in eventually. If it was the Crow of Nocturne, Weaver would hide and ambush him when he came to save the girl. Thinking quickly, Dr. Weaver left Dahlia and hid in the observation room. From there, he could see the entire room and there was only one entrance to where he was. He had faced Krähe several times in the past and failed. This time he would be ready.
Eventually the door to the examination room was pried open. Officer Oakley, handgun at the ready, entered. She she didn't see Dr. Weaver, so she sheathed her weapon and moved toward Dahlia. Dr. Weaver was surprised to see that Krähe was not with her. His urge to cause suffering took over and he went for the door. Just at that moment he heard a stirring above him. Before he could react, Krähe came crashing through the ceiling and landed behind him. With speed and strength, Krähe kicked him through the window and they both landed in the center of the examination room.
By this time, Officer Oakley had rescued Dahlia and the two were taking cover in the stands.
“I told you I'd find you,” Krähe told him. “Your biggest mistake was leaving me alive.”
“I won't make that mistake a second time!”
Weaver rose up on his blades and with two on his arms, attempted to impale Krähe. He took up his scythe and blocked the blades. In one, powerful motion, he broke them off. Krähe jumped out of the way of the blades on his legs and shot the blade of his scythe at Dr. Weaver. The chain wrapped around one of the blades on his legs and Krähe pulled it off. Keeping the momentum going, he ran in and grappled, ripping the other blade from Dr. Weaver's other leg. Krähe kicked him back, sending him flying to the ground.
Weaver tried to get up, but Krähe plants his boot in Weaver's chest. He then picked him up with one hand around his throat. Weaver stared him down, still smiling. He laughed in Krähe's face.
“What so funny?”
“You are,” Dr. Weaver said. “I killed seven people before you were able to stop me. In your eyes, you may have stopped me, but in my eyes, you're still a failure.”
“I can take it from here,” Officer Oakley said, readying her handcuffs.
She restrained Dr. Weaver and made sure he couldn't get out. Dahlia approached Krähe and hugged him around his waist. Krähe didn't know what to do, so he just let her hug him.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she said, with tears in her eyes.
“I should thank you as well,” Oakley said to Krähe. “Oh, and about arresting you... I supposed I can let you off just this once.”
Krähe gave a very shallow bow. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
Without a word, Krähe traveled up the stairs of the examination room and found a quiet corner to dress as Derek. He then made sure no one saw him as he made his way back to Julia's room. She was sitting on the bed, but when she saw him, she jumped up and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him.
“It's okay,” Derek told her. “The man has been arrested.”
“I'm so glad you're okay! I don't know what I would have done if-”
“Shh. You need to rest. It's late.”
“Y-yeah, you're right.”
Derek hugged her back and walked her over to her bed. He tucked her in and smiled at her, light from the moon illuminating his face. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. Derek's smile faded as he got up and closed the door to her room. He went to the roof of Holloway Asylum and watched as the Water Prison Police wheeled Dr. Weaver into an armored car and drove away. He looked at the city, far off in the distance and thought to himself for a moment. How many other people like Dr. Weaver were omitting a crime at that very moment? How many people were being born on that night that would grow up to be like him? How could Krähe ever hope to keep Nocturne safe forever. With these thoughts, Derek Bethlehem headed home.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 16.02.2012

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