Rapture Samurai

Rapture Samurai

By Richard Ruth



         The night bled a drizzle of rain with an abundance of thunder and lightning. The dark shadows of the gloomy alley danced and jigged to the blue and white flashes of the natural fireworks. Dusk walked alone through the back alleys of Seattle, his trench coat soaked to the core, his heavy combat boots squishing with every step. Above him window shutters clapped as noisily as the thunder and neon lights sputtered and flickered at every intersection. Every now and again Dusk heard a car or truck go careening by sounding more like a boat through water than a car on a road. Two months ago life had been normal; Dusk Greysson had been a private investigator.  He spent his days following the leads of jealous husbands, suspicious wives, crazy boy/girlfriends, and, in an act of unimaginable kindness God saw fit to keep the small life of Dusk friendly and uneventful. There were no major car chases, no shootouts, and, blessedly no death. As boring as it might have been his career had been profitable. Shallow, jealous, and anxious men and women were willing to pay top dollar to those who could secretly follow their significant others. But all that was before the Rapture.

         Now, the Rapture had come. In the blink of an eye the world had changed. Nations and Kingdoms crumbled overnight, planes fell from the sky, nuclear reactors went into meltdown, and, there were the monsters. Wild, feral and ruthless creatures, resembling demons or devils, with no middle ground, there were people and there were the monsters. And magic. Or, what people could only describe as thus. Over the course of the past two months people found out to their shock, dismay, or elation that they could turn invisible, walk through walls, and even shoot lightening from their eyes. Dusk himself found that he had the uncanny ability to slow down time, though many told him it wasn’t time really slowing; it was just that he moved so much faster than anyone else. In the first two weeks there had been a complete communications break down and Dusk had lost track of everyone he ever knew. As of late, he had recovered none of them not his friends or family, not even his stupid cat.

         Things are different now, Dusk thought. No longer a private eye, now I’m just private. He turned the last corner of the alley and stared on through the last stretch. A low hanging street lamp sputtered fragile beams of light through the darkness. The rain had begun to pick up, falling in fine sheets like silk curtains. At least the buildings cover the wind Dusk thought. He reached into his pocket to grab his keys, his hand brushing up against the katana belted to his hip. He felt the hilt and gave it a reassuring grip. Oh yes, the sword, he mused. I never learned how to use a sword. Another one of Dusks “talents” was his use of the sword. Any sword he picked up he had the uncanny ability to wield with professional precision and grace. Too bad the same can’t be said about my shooting skills. Dusk reached into his jacket and felt the warm, polymer grip of his .45 caliber Hardballer. He had practiced regularly with both pistol and rifle, but still, he wasn’t the greatest shot. Gracing his hand back into his pocket Dusk produced his key ring, its many colored keys jangling, audible just above the clangor of the storm overhead. Grinning and shaking his head he moved into the dim groping for the doorknob. In its stead his hand grabbed a thick, suited, muscle laden arm. In a dash Dusk dropped back into a defensive stance, hand reflexively shooting to his katana, the water flinging itself off the bill of his ball cap.  The void produced a tall, muscular house of a black man, sporting sleek sunglasses and fine, polyester black suit. The rain dripped dry off of his coat and tie as it ran lightly down the dome of his bald head.

         “You’re late, Mr. Greysson.” The figure said, its baritone voice betraying nothing. Dusk pouted petulantly, the shadow of his beard brushing irritably against his nostrils.

         “How the fuck did you find this place?” Dusk spat, his voice hoarse from the surprise. Every fiber of muscle in his small body tensed up, the fear in his stomach screaming weakness into this bones. Relax, relax, he knows who you are. This monkey might want you for something. Slowly and deliberately Dusk forced himself to relax, though his hand never left the hilt of his katana. He took a few deep breaths and allowed the suit to continue.

         “Worry not about our sources Mr. Greysson, would you kindly invite me into your study?” The suit reached into his jacket front. Dusk gripped the hilt of his blade with white knuckle intensity, his hand shaking at the pressure. The anxiety shot through his system like bullets through his veins, he began to jitter and shake a little. “I said not to worry Mr. Greysson.” The suit reiterated. He then produced two dark brown bottles, each topped with a green cap. “A lager for my introduction, to break the ice, now if you please,” The suit stepped aside gracefully and waved his hand at the door like some pompous noble.

         Fuck why not? Dusk thought to himself, I could use a beer. Dusk stepped forward and unlocked the door. Turning the knob he swung the door open swiftly and motioned for the suit to go first. Obligingly the hulk of man ducked into the doorway, and Dusk followed, closing the door on the storm and this chapter of his life. The beer passed in silence, and much too quickly for Dusk’s tastes. After a few more moments of tense quiet the big man finally started talking.

         “My name is Zerik, I represent a certain group of wealthy men, most notably a man named Allister Ribald.” Gingerly the suit swept his fingers over Dusk’s office desk, examining his fingers before blowing off the dust. “Word has it that you are quite the ‘private eye’ and it just so happens that these men require your services.” The deep bass of Zeriks voice did little to calm Dusks’ already frayed nerves.

         “How did you find this place?” he demanded, his voice sounding more like a hoarse plea than an adamant stance. Zerik smirked ever so slightly and stalked toward a window, its dusty blinds shuttering the light from outside. “Even after the Rapture, telephone books and Google still exist, Mr. Greysson.” Zerik turned around and met Dusk eyes to eyes. “You will be rewarded handsomely when the job is finished, and this job is a big job, we will give you objectives periodically.” Dusk watched as the suit produced a thick, manila envelope from within his jacket. “This is your first, her name is Grace, Mr. Ribald and his associates want you to find her.” The suit again reached into the folds of his jacket, producing another thicker envelope. “This is your payment,” Zerik said, pulling a large bundle of cash from the newest envelope. “Half now, and half when you find Grace, all the information you need is in your objective packet.” The suit dumped a wad of cash on the desk and moved toward the door. Dusk didn’t even look at him as he passed.

         “And what if I refuse?” Dusk intoned petulantly. He heard the door open, a gust of cold, wet wind rushing into the office. “You won’t,” was all that Zerik said before he closed the door, leaving Dusk very disturbed in the middle of his dusty, dim office. He marched right across the floor and ripped open his package. Inside were a few folders bursting with information, last known whereabouts, associates and acquaintances, etcetera and etcetera. Dusk dumped the contents of the package onto his desk and sifted through the information. Under a pile of documents he found the one picture his new employers had provided. On the one side he found a beautiful face with smiling blue eyes, dark brunette and vivid purple shoulder length hair and the glaring silver of facial piercings. “Hmph,” Dusk scoffed aloud, “another punk with venoms and an eyebrow bar.” On the back of the photo was a warning in bold letters.

ALL INFORMATION AT THIS POINT

IS CURRENTLY NEED TO KNOW

         Dusk frowned at the cryptic bold lettering; inkling suspicion crept up his body like a barbed snake. He swallowed audibly and sat on the edge of his desk, once again admiring the beautiful girl. “So who are you then, little Grace?” he said aloud as he flicked on his desk lamp with a resounding snap of ozone and got busy.