FIC: Ghost Rider: Season of the Witch 8/??
Title: Season of the Witch
Author: ghanistarkiller @ mrs_peel_fanfic
Fandom: Ghost Rider (movie!verse with comic allusions)
Disclaimer: Marvel and the filmmakers own 'em, I just play with 'em
Rating: PG-13 mostly for language (will warn if porn--it's my motto!)
Characters: Johnny, Mephistopheles
Warnings: Suffice it to say, spoilers
Summary: Visions of the past, as well as some personal demons of his own, are drawing Johnny to a small town in Arizona where Mephistopheles' force is gathering, entangling him in an ever growing web that encompasses a lost tribe of the desert and a new friend, Linda Littletrees.
A/N: This is probably in my top five personal faves of things I've written, and as such, I'm absolutely determined to finish it. And after that? Can anyone say sequel? I just can't let Linda go that easily!
Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
Gorgeous stroy graphics by: jadeblood
Graphic by jadeblood
8.
Johnny sat crossed-legged on the cool cement floor of the garage, his elbows balanced upon his knees, his fingers entwined, palm to palm, apart from his two index fingers which were steepled, laying flat against each other, poked up into the underside of his chin. In front of him on the cracked concrete he had placed the tools from the rusted old toolbox, aligning them carefully in order of size and usage; beside him was Old Bess and the various parts of her he’d removed in order to tinker with were placed in a precise array. He considered each thoughtfully, their graceful, functional aesthetic, their separate and unique purposes.
He could see every possible outcome of their utilization, each result of their potential combination like an artist who instinctively knew which colors to coalesce to create the perfect and beautiful form of a desired image, or a writer who could feel the words falling into place before their hands even had the chance to type them out. It was more than a gift, greater than a talent; it was his meditation, a centering force. He listened, each subtle sound guiding his hand as often as his sense of sight or touch.
The gentle sound of ceramic against cement jarred him out of his deep rumination and he looked up to see Linda in the entryway, pausing in a partial crouch having only just bent over to place a mug of coffee on the floor for him. “Oh,” she said softly, her voice subdued in hushed reverence, her cheeks slightly flushed with the sensation of having been caught out. She’d been standing there for near on a half an hour, just watching him with fascination; a small measure of comfort was afforded her in the realization that he was far too captivated in his contemplation to notice her presence. “I-I brought you a cuppa, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” Her blush deepened when she thought that the coffee was probably cold by now.
She gasped quietly. “Is that Old Bess?”
An anxiety suddenly gripped at him, the idea that she might not exactly appreciate his tampering with her father’s handiwork twisting into his mind. He couldn’t blame her really if she was upset about it; he had kept his father’s cycle in its original condition for years, awed and somewhat afraid to have it messed about with even by his own hands. He’d begun his fiddling on Old Bess without really giving it conscious thought, and it had just impulsively grown from there; he looked at the bike in surprise of his own accomplishments over the past-how long had it been? He’d lost all sense of time, but guessed at an hour and a half, two hours at most. He stood, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.
“Oh my God,” she put her hands over her mouth, approaching awestricken. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful!”
“You like it?” he asked, relief creeping into his voice along with a distinct nuance of pride and pleasure. He hadn’t done anything radical or extreme, the frame was still intact, well, as intact as it had been when he’d started; it was, after all, a chopper in the truest sense. But it was astonishing what a few renovations and a polish could do.
Not unlike its rider, Johnny thought to himself, admiring how nicely Linda cleaned up. He was rather obvious in his appreciation-he never did like games, after all-and the heat rose in her cheeks, displaying another riotous blush. “Like it?” she laughed giddily, examining Old Bess from every angle. “It’s amazing! You did all this just now?” He nodded and she whistled through her teeth. “Wow. And here I thought you were only any good at crashing ‘em!” she teased. “All this and a pretty face? You’ve got it all, haven’t you?”
He spread his hands wide, grinning and leaning casually against a workbench placed along the nearest wall, crossing his legs at the booted ankles. “What can I say? I am just that good.”
“Plus,” she giggled,” how many gals out there can say that Johnny Blaze personally customized their rides?” She gave him a mischievously coy look. “I am your first, aren’t I?”
“Y-yes,” he said, as if he was debating his response, and Linda congratulated him for choosing the right answer. “But there’s more I want to show you.” He chuckled at her impishly crooked eyebrow. “Now, you get your mind outta the gutter, girl,” he chastised playfully, wagging a finger at her. “You got the afternoon free?”
“Grant’s is closed on Sundays,” she nodded, “and I think that Russell’s too shaken up to be good for anything anyways, so I think my calendar’s pretty clear. I’m all yours.”
“Good,” he beamed, climbing astride his cycle. “Well, get on,” he urged, patting Old Bess’ newly oiled leather seat even as he made towards his own bike with a roguish swagger. “We’re goin’ for a ride.”
The desert streaked past in a sandy blur as Linda accelerated, thrusting her head back into the flowing current of wind, strands of her long brown hair whipping against her neck and back. The sun felt pleasantly warm, a soft glow in the surging cerulean waves of the endless sky. Over the roar of the airstream in her ears, she heard Johnny beside her, laughing; grinning, she looked over at him, feeling the giddy mirth well up in her own throat.
The road couldn’t contain them; it was nothing more than a narrow asphalt ribbon, a long, shimmering raven’s feather in the distance and they were two wild spirits riding the boundless plains. They, the primal creatures of fire and earth. Johnny felt the freedom coursing through his veins like a glorious blaze that set his blood alight. On impulse, he threw his head back and howled like a coyote; still laughing, Linda joined him and their cries, the joyous whooping of their voices combined echoed across the endlessly primeval landscape.
Linda stood at the lip of the canyon, looking out into the vast wilderness, the skirt of her floral print sundress catching the breeze, floating around her legs like a phantom, her sandals digging into the prickly underbrush of the rocky ground beneath her feet; the natural world couldn’t be tamed, its elemental existence couldn’t be brought to heel. Like Johnny; like her. She kicked a rock loose with her toe and, taking it in hand, threw it as far as she could muster; she never even heard it land. “Jennifer hasn’t been home yet, but that’s nothing new so I’m not worried. She’s known to flake for days on end,” she called over to Johnny, who was busy trying to find a safe footpath down into the ravine. “Did Sam bother you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say bothered,” answered Johnny, pausing to glance into the sky, making measure of the sun’s progression across the blue void. He’d been thinking about a lot of things Sam had told him, thinking about Linda. There were quite a few questions he had a hankering to ask, but he ended up with, “What happened between you two anyways?”
Linda shrugged. “We grew up. Or I did, at least,” she murmured almost beneath her breath. “You know, when I was a kid, I was teased because my parents were so active in rez politics; now they do me down for not being active enough. And Sam’s all caught up in that world; it’s just…not for me anymore. You have a childhood sweetheart?”
Johnny’s face was wistful and Linda could guess the answer; some people, like her, they knew it had been a good thing, and maybe still would be, but they change so much, the feeling just isn’t there anymore, or it’s different. Some people carried that torch for the rest of their lives. She thought that maybe Johnny was the latter, and that it was the change in him that made him that way, a desire to hold on to that good person, the innocent one he used to be. He loved with all his heart, easily and openly. In some ways, they were exact opposites of each other; the hurt in her was what had made her cautious, guarded.
“Sam didn’t tell you anything…specific?” she asked, and Johnny got the prickly feeling that she was angling towards something in particular, something that she quite obviously felt uncomfortable in revealing. “So,” she cleared her throat, changing the subject abruptly for her own discomfort and reluctance to discuss it, “those things that attacked us last night, those zombies or dust people or whatever-what exactly’s stopping them attacking us right here and now?”
He gave her one of those cocksure, goofy grins and pointed upwards. “Daylight. At least I’m assumin’, ‘cause that’s the way it works for me-well, mostly-and I’m bettin’ you, too.”
“And you’re assuming this…why?” She watched him, her eyes following his leisurely gait as he walked his bike down to the narrow pass to the floor of the valley he’d found; he motioned for her to do the same. She followed.
“Well, now,” he drawled mischievously, “because we’re out here and they ain’t.”
“That’s-that’s it?” she asked, pausing a minute to gape at him. “You just…guessed?”
“I thought it was pretty much a sure thing when we were still alive by dawn,” he shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and she gave him a small punch on his bicep. “Ow,” he laughed.
“Now you’re teasing me,” she scoffed suspiciously.
“Just makin’ a point,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s good to be on your toes, but you can’t let it warp ya so that it’s the only thing you think about either. You can’t live in fear.” He half-mumbled the last part, as if he was reassuring himself-a personal mantra.
“So, why don’t I change?” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, why do I still have, you know, skin when I’m…on fire? I’m sorry,” she giggled, putting her hands over her face and shaking her head from side to side, “this is just all new to me and it sounds so weird or funny or funny in the weird way. I don’t know how to phrase some things yet. Is that-are you the same person when you…change?”
“Yeah. That’s-it’s difficult,” he cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, I am; he is me, or I am he. And this is quickly turning into the refrain from a Beatles song really easily,” he chuckled. “Except when he’s a dick, then it’s all him,” he grinned. His expression sobered. “I don’t know why it’s different for you. I don’t have all the answers. I knew someone once, he would have been able to help-he helped me. He’s…not around anymore.”
They were both silent for a short time, the sound of their footsteps in the shifting gravel was thunderous in their ears, rhythmic as they fell into a steady, synchronized pattern. “I saw about your road manager,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “on the news, they said he got burnt up. Something about sulfur poisoning?”
“He was my best friend, and he was murdered,” Johnny nodded, his shoulders slumping sadly. He looked towards the sky again, once more marking the sun’s movement.
“Did you get him?” Linda wondered hesitantly as they skidded down a steep slope to the floor of the canyon.
Johnny looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Did I…get him?” he said, an bemused tone quirking his voice.
“You know,” she shrugged, biting her lip, “the guy who did it. I mean, it is what you do, isn’t it? You’re like an avenging, well, I reckon you’re not an angel; you’re kind of a fiery skull-head ghost thing, but you know what I mean! You’re a sort of spirit of vengeance,” she said, jumping the last few feet while keeping hold of Old Bess, “aren’t you?”
“It’s…difficult,” he cleared his throat, and awkwardly searched for the words to try and explain it. “Yeeeeah, I got the guy who was responsible for Mack’s…death,” the word stuck in his throat like a nettle. “But he was sort of…the son of the Devil,” he scratched the back of his neck and Linda’s eyebrows shot up across her forehead as her mouth formed a startled ‘oh.’ “Well, Mephistopheles’ son anyways. And, you see, in order to get him, I had to kinda make a deal with the demon responsible for my daddy’s death. I had to make a decision, one that was greater than me or my need for retribution. There’s a larger picture, and I knew that I had to be lookin’ at that, and trust that the time’ll come.”
“I don’t know if I could do that,” replied Linda broodingly, wrapping her arms around herself as if she’d had a sudden chill, descending into the shadow of the ravine’s sandy ground. “Put the big ol’ greater good before myself. If I met the person who killed my parents I…I don’t know what I’d do.”
Johnny felt a pang of guilt then, but felt more warranted in his decision to keep the truth from her; his main concern was sparing her pain, but until she learned to harness her powers and sort her head out, much as he didn’t want to admit it that remained a key factor as well. “What if I can’t…do that?” she asked pensively. “Does it mean I don’t deserve this? I mean, this is a great responsibility, right? What if I’m not up to it?”
“Linda,” Johnny said firmly, shaking her out of her troubled deliberation; she looked up at him, her brow still knitted tightly and he raised one finger, poking her right between the eyes. “Whoa, slow down there, girl; you’ve got to stop over-thinking this.” She laughed, and it brought a smile to his face. “You’ve just got to feel your way through this one, trust me.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she chuckled softly, biting her lip. She looked around, frowning slightly as if noticing their surroundings for the first time. She’d never been this far into the desert before, this far from civilization; no litter cluttered the ground there, no beer cans or solitary boots, no scattering of used condoms or discarded fast food containers infiltrated this primordial natural world, the permeating gloom. “Um, and what exactly did you have to drag me out here to show me?”
“Well,” he grinned that lopsided, disarming grin of his, “instinct is good, training is better. You don’t want to hurt anybody by accident, right?” She nodded. “Good. Then learn to control it.” He held his hand out to her and when she hesitated, he cocked his head to one side playfully. “Let me teach you to control it.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her back on him as he pressed up behind her; he held her arm outstretched alongside his own, towards where their bikes sat. Linda blushed, her mind momentarily distracted by his closeness; she was so much shorter than him, and their bodies seemed to fit together in an unexpected way. “Concentrate,” he instructed her, and she struggling to regain her focus. “You need to tell yourself you’re in control; you need to know you’re in control. You can feel it inside of you, pulsing, possessing you.”
“Just to be clear,” she swallowed hard as she pressed against him, “we are still talking about the fire thing, right?”
“Hush and focalize the power,” he admonished gently, though he was grinning like a rogue. “Know what you want from it, harness it.” He clenched his fist and released it; fire ran from where they stood to his cycle, changed it, altered it to the twisted almost living mass of infernal metal it had been the night before when the Ghost Rider had ridden it.
“Remember what you did to your shotgun last night?” he whispered in her ear. “You transformed it, you made it what you wanted, what you needed, what best fit you. Do it again.”
Linda concentrated, bit into her lip until she tasted blood. She could feel it, welling inside of her like a heated current flowing from her belly into her extended arm. She thought, she thought as hard as she could in the direction of Old Bess and the flame burst from, flaring like a backdraft. Her bike blazed in a fury of hellfire, stretching her sleek chrome limbs like a seductive lover. She could hear Bess speak to her, understood every word of her husky, rolling purr. And she could feel Johnny, her kindred, kindled spirit.
And it was there, the intuition that Johnny had spoken of; it did not struggle against her, resist her, but joined with her, separate and yet so very connected. She laughed giddily, lustily, as she glanced down at herself, watched as her own clothes metamorphosed to suit her, her skirt melting onto her legs and receding upwards to form a pair of practical, hip hugging shorts; red, of course, the color of her hellfire. Her bodice of her dress twisted into a halter top, licks of flame twining about her arms to form sleeves. A headband settled against her forehead, the kind you saw in old depictions of Indian warriors rallying to battle, usually sporting a feather or two, and moccasin-like boots adorned her feet and calves.
“Whoa,” her breath left her lungs in an exhilarated rush. She turned to Johnny to see he had already changed and though his lipless mouth should have remained expressionless, it seemed it held a mischievous grin all the same. They played and practiced, sparred and rained fire amidst the desert shadow. It was intoxicating, it was consuming.
She raised a hand to his face, burning bone turning to heated flesh and blood, felt his tender grasp around her waist as she hooked her arm about his neck and, standing on her tip-toes as he hunched over, their lips met. And the fire they created was hotter still.
Somewhere In Town-
Jennifer cowered in the corner of the darkened church. It was empty, no one came to worship at the little one room building anymore, and the windows had long since been boarded up, allowing only the dimmest glow of dark yellow to seep in, dust swirling in the sun’s faint rays. She trembled like a junkie, her eyes large in awe and dread as they searched the gloom about her frantically. Years of dust drew into her mouth and nose every time she breathed, but she paid it no mind, nor did she notice her lank blonde hair sticking to her lips and falling into her eyes.
“Tell me, my Master,” she implored quietly. “Tell me I did right.”
She gave a tiny gasp as the shadow began to gather before her, merging into one solid form, that of a man in a black leather duster, the kind they had worn in the Old West. He was leaning on a cane, his gloved hands clasped around its crystalline head in the shape of a skull.
Jennifer squeaked as he approached her slowly, scrabbling against the wooden floor with feet and hands, trying to pull herself into a more dignified bearing. And yet, she remained shrinking before him, his humble, devote servant. “Oh, my Jennifer,” he said silkily as he touched her face, lifting her chin and running one finger along her cheek; a look of pure bliss crossed her features, her eyes rolling up until all that could be seen was white. “You have pleased me. Things are in motion, thanks to you, and you will be rewarded.
“But-but the old man,” she sputtered as he withdrew his hand. “He didn’t-I mean, I couldn’t…”
“All in due time,” he cooed, still grinning smoothly. “The chaos you wreaked here in town was particularly inspired; inciting my boys, assisting them when needs be. But I’ve yet another role for you to play, my sweet Jennifer. Will you do it? Will you do what I ask of you?”
“Anything!” she pledged passionately, getting to her bruised and bloodied knees, subserviently extending her hands, side by side with palms up, her fingers slightly cupped, towards him. Upon the heels of her palms were two nasty looking welts she’d acquired by touching hellfire without the power to control it herself, a sign of her service, her devotion to him; it was her stigmata. “I will do anything for you, my Master!”
“Somehow,” he purred, smirking smugly, “I knew you would say that. You will take your place beside me soon,” he waved a hand in front of her and she followed it with her face as if she could feel the heat of his caress emanating from it, “but first, you must join my boys again tonight. Ride with the Devil once more.”
TBC
Peace, Ghani
Author: ghanistarkiller @ mrs_peel_fanfic
Fandom: Ghost Rider (movie!verse with comic allusions)
Disclaimer: Marvel and the filmmakers own 'em, I just play with 'em
Rating: PG-13 mostly for language (will warn if porn--it's my motto!)
Characters: Johnny, Mephistopheles
Warnings: Suffice it to say, spoilers
Summary: Visions of the past, as well as some personal demons of his own, are drawing Johnny to a small town in Arizona where Mephistopheles' force is gathering, entangling him in an ever growing web that encompasses a lost tribe of the desert and a new friend, Linda Littletrees.
A/N: This is probably in my top five personal faves of things I've written, and as such, I'm absolutely determined to finish it. And after that? Can anyone say sequel? I just can't let Linda go that easily!
Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
Gorgeous stroy graphics by: jadeblood
Graphic by jadeblood
8.
Johnny sat crossed-legged on the cool cement floor of the garage, his elbows balanced upon his knees, his fingers entwined, palm to palm, apart from his two index fingers which were steepled, laying flat against each other, poked up into the underside of his chin. In front of him on the cracked concrete he had placed the tools from the rusted old toolbox, aligning them carefully in order of size and usage; beside him was Old Bess and the various parts of her he’d removed in order to tinker with were placed in a precise array. He considered each thoughtfully, their graceful, functional aesthetic, their separate and unique purposes.
He could see every possible outcome of their utilization, each result of their potential combination like an artist who instinctively knew which colors to coalesce to create the perfect and beautiful form of a desired image, or a writer who could feel the words falling into place before their hands even had the chance to type them out. It was more than a gift, greater than a talent; it was his meditation, a centering force. He listened, each subtle sound guiding his hand as often as his sense of sight or touch.
The gentle sound of ceramic against cement jarred him out of his deep rumination and he looked up to see Linda in the entryway, pausing in a partial crouch having only just bent over to place a mug of coffee on the floor for him. “Oh,” she said softly, her voice subdued in hushed reverence, her cheeks slightly flushed with the sensation of having been caught out. She’d been standing there for near on a half an hour, just watching him with fascination; a small measure of comfort was afforded her in the realization that he was far too captivated in his contemplation to notice her presence. “I-I brought you a cuppa, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” Her blush deepened when she thought that the coffee was probably cold by now.
She gasped quietly. “Is that Old Bess?”
An anxiety suddenly gripped at him, the idea that she might not exactly appreciate his tampering with her father’s handiwork twisting into his mind. He couldn’t blame her really if she was upset about it; he had kept his father’s cycle in its original condition for years, awed and somewhat afraid to have it messed about with even by his own hands. He’d begun his fiddling on Old Bess without really giving it conscious thought, and it had just impulsively grown from there; he looked at the bike in surprise of his own accomplishments over the past-how long had it been? He’d lost all sense of time, but guessed at an hour and a half, two hours at most. He stood, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.
“Oh my God,” she put her hands over her mouth, approaching awestricken. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful!”
“You like it?” he asked, relief creeping into his voice along with a distinct nuance of pride and pleasure. He hadn’t done anything radical or extreme, the frame was still intact, well, as intact as it had been when he’d started; it was, after all, a chopper in the truest sense. But it was astonishing what a few renovations and a polish could do.
Not unlike its rider, Johnny thought to himself, admiring how nicely Linda cleaned up. He was rather obvious in his appreciation-he never did like games, after all-and the heat rose in her cheeks, displaying another riotous blush. “Like it?” she laughed giddily, examining Old Bess from every angle. “It’s amazing! You did all this just now?” He nodded and she whistled through her teeth. “Wow. And here I thought you were only any good at crashing ‘em!” she teased. “All this and a pretty face? You’ve got it all, haven’t you?”
He spread his hands wide, grinning and leaning casually against a workbench placed along the nearest wall, crossing his legs at the booted ankles. “What can I say? I am just that good.”
“Plus,” she giggled,” how many gals out there can say that Johnny Blaze personally customized their rides?” She gave him a mischievously coy look. “I am your first, aren’t I?”
“Y-yes,” he said, as if he was debating his response, and Linda congratulated him for choosing the right answer. “But there’s more I want to show you.” He chuckled at her impishly crooked eyebrow. “Now, you get your mind outta the gutter, girl,” he chastised playfully, wagging a finger at her. “You got the afternoon free?”
“Grant’s is closed on Sundays,” she nodded, “and I think that Russell’s too shaken up to be good for anything anyways, so I think my calendar’s pretty clear. I’m all yours.”
“Good,” he beamed, climbing astride his cycle. “Well, get on,” he urged, patting Old Bess’ newly oiled leather seat even as he made towards his own bike with a roguish swagger. “We’re goin’ for a ride.”
The desert streaked past in a sandy blur as Linda accelerated, thrusting her head back into the flowing current of wind, strands of her long brown hair whipping against her neck and back. The sun felt pleasantly warm, a soft glow in the surging cerulean waves of the endless sky. Over the roar of the airstream in her ears, she heard Johnny beside her, laughing; grinning, she looked over at him, feeling the giddy mirth well up in her own throat.
The road couldn’t contain them; it was nothing more than a narrow asphalt ribbon, a long, shimmering raven’s feather in the distance and they were two wild spirits riding the boundless plains. They, the primal creatures of fire and earth. Johnny felt the freedom coursing through his veins like a glorious blaze that set his blood alight. On impulse, he threw his head back and howled like a coyote; still laughing, Linda joined him and their cries, the joyous whooping of their voices combined echoed across the endlessly primeval landscape.
Linda stood at the lip of the canyon, looking out into the vast wilderness, the skirt of her floral print sundress catching the breeze, floating around her legs like a phantom, her sandals digging into the prickly underbrush of the rocky ground beneath her feet; the natural world couldn’t be tamed, its elemental existence couldn’t be brought to heel. Like Johnny; like her. She kicked a rock loose with her toe and, taking it in hand, threw it as far as she could muster; she never even heard it land. “Jennifer hasn’t been home yet, but that’s nothing new so I’m not worried. She’s known to flake for days on end,” she called over to Johnny, who was busy trying to find a safe footpath down into the ravine. “Did Sam bother you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say bothered,” answered Johnny, pausing to glance into the sky, making measure of the sun’s progression across the blue void. He’d been thinking about a lot of things Sam had told him, thinking about Linda. There were quite a few questions he had a hankering to ask, but he ended up with, “What happened between you two anyways?”
Linda shrugged. “We grew up. Or I did, at least,” she murmured almost beneath her breath. “You know, when I was a kid, I was teased because my parents were so active in rez politics; now they do me down for not being active enough. And Sam’s all caught up in that world; it’s just…not for me anymore. You have a childhood sweetheart?”
Johnny’s face was wistful and Linda could guess the answer; some people, like her, they knew it had been a good thing, and maybe still would be, but they change so much, the feeling just isn’t there anymore, or it’s different. Some people carried that torch for the rest of their lives. She thought that maybe Johnny was the latter, and that it was the change in him that made him that way, a desire to hold on to that good person, the innocent one he used to be. He loved with all his heart, easily and openly. In some ways, they were exact opposites of each other; the hurt in her was what had made her cautious, guarded.
“Sam didn’t tell you anything…specific?” she asked, and Johnny got the prickly feeling that she was angling towards something in particular, something that she quite obviously felt uncomfortable in revealing. “So,” she cleared her throat, changing the subject abruptly for her own discomfort and reluctance to discuss it, “those things that attacked us last night, those zombies or dust people or whatever-what exactly’s stopping them attacking us right here and now?”
He gave her one of those cocksure, goofy grins and pointed upwards. “Daylight. At least I’m assumin’, ‘cause that’s the way it works for me-well, mostly-and I’m bettin’ you, too.”
“And you’re assuming this…why?” She watched him, her eyes following his leisurely gait as he walked his bike down to the narrow pass to the floor of the valley he’d found; he motioned for her to do the same. She followed.
“Well, now,” he drawled mischievously, “because we’re out here and they ain’t.”
“That’s-that’s it?” she asked, pausing a minute to gape at him. “You just…guessed?”
“I thought it was pretty much a sure thing when we were still alive by dawn,” he shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and she gave him a small punch on his bicep. “Ow,” he laughed.
“Now you’re teasing me,” she scoffed suspiciously.
“Just makin’ a point,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s good to be on your toes, but you can’t let it warp ya so that it’s the only thing you think about either. You can’t live in fear.” He half-mumbled the last part, as if he was reassuring himself-a personal mantra.
“So, why don’t I change?” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, why do I still have, you know, skin when I’m…on fire? I’m sorry,” she giggled, putting her hands over her face and shaking her head from side to side, “this is just all new to me and it sounds so weird or funny or funny in the weird way. I don’t know how to phrase some things yet. Is that-are you the same person when you…change?”
“Yeah. That’s-it’s difficult,” he cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, I am; he is me, or I am he. And this is quickly turning into the refrain from a Beatles song really easily,” he chuckled. “Except when he’s a dick, then it’s all him,” he grinned. His expression sobered. “I don’t know why it’s different for you. I don’t have all the answers. I knew someone once, he would have been able to help-he helped me. He’s…not around anymore.”
They were both silent for a short time, the sound of their footsteps in the shifting gravel was thunderous in their ears, rhythmic as they fell into a steady, synchronized pattern. “I saw about your road manager,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “on the news, they said he got burnt up. Something about sulfur poisoning?”
“He was my best friend, and he was murdered,” Johnny nodded, his shoulders slumping sadly. He looked towards the sky again, once more marking the sun’s movement.
“Did you get him?” Linda wondered hesitantly as they skidded down a steep slope to the floor of the canyon.
Johnny looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Did I…get him?” he said, an bemused tone quirking his voice.
“You know,” she shrugged, biting her lip, “the guy who did it. I mean, it is what you do, isn’t it? You’re like an avenging, well, I reckon you’re not an angel; you’re kind of a fiery skull-head ghost thing, but you know what I mean! You’re a sort of spirit of vengeance,” she said, jumping the last few feet while keeping hold of Old Bess, “aren’t you?”
“It’s…difficult,” he cleared his throat, and awkwardly searched for the words to try and explain it. “Yeeeeah, I got the guy who was responsible for Mack’s…death,” the word stuck in his throat like a nettle. “But he was sort of…the son of the Devil,” he scratched the back of his neck and Linda’s eyebrows shot up across her forehead as her mouth formed a startled ‘oh.’ “Well, Mephistopheles’ son anyways. And, you see, in order to get him, I had to kinda make a deal with the demon responsible for my daddy’s death. I had to make a decision, one that was greater than me or my need for retribution. There’s a larger picture, and I knew that I had to be lookin’ at that, and trust that the time’ll come.”
“I don’t know if I could do that,” replied Linda broodingly, wrapping her arms around herself as if she’d had a sudden chill, descending into the shadow of the ravine’s sandy ground. “Put the big ol’ greater good before myself. If I met the person who killed my parents I…I don’t know what I’d do.”
Johnny felt a pang of guilt then, but felt more warranted in his decision to keep the truth from her; his main concern was sparing her pain, but until she learned to harness her powers and sort her head out, much as he didn’t want to admit it that remained a key factor as well. “What if I can’t…do that?” she asked pensively. “Does it mean I don’t deserve this? I mean, this is a great responsibility, right? What if I’m not up to it?”
“Linda,” Johnny said firmly, shaking her out of her troubled deliberation; she looked up at him, her brow still knitted tightly and he raised one finger, poking her right between the eyes. “Whoa, slow down there, girl; you’ve got to stop over-thinking this.” She laughed, and it brought a smile to his face. “You’ve just got to feel your way through this one, trust me.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she chuckled softly, biting her lip. She looked around, frowning slightly as if noticing their surroundings for the first time. She’d never been this far into the desert before, this far from civilization; no litter cluttered the ground there, no beer cans or solitary boots, no scattering of used condoms or discarded fast food containers infiltrated this primordial natural world, the permeating gloom. “Um, and what exactly did you have to drag me out here to show me?”
“Well,” he grinned that lopsided, disarming grin of his, “instinct is good, training is better. You don’t want to hurt anybody by accident, right?” She nodded. “Good. Then learn to control it.” He held his hand out to her and when she hesitated, he cocked his head to one side playfully. “Let me teach you to control it.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, turning her back on him as he pressed up behind her; he held her arm outstretched alongside his own, towards where their bikes sat. Linda blushed, her mind momentarily distracted by his closeness; she was so much shorter than him, and their bodies seemed to fit together in an unexpected way. “Concentrate,” he instructed her, and she struggling to regain her focus. “You need to tell yourself you’re in control; you need to know you’re in control. You can feel it inside of you, pulsing, possessing you.”
“Just to be clear,” she swallowed hard as she pressed against him, “we are still talking about the fire thing, right?”
“Hush and focalize the power,” he admonished gently, though he was grinning like a rogue. “Know what you want from it, harness it.” He clenched his fist and released it; fire ran from where they stood to his cycle, changed it, altered it to the twisted almost living mass of infernal metal it had been the night before when the Ghost Rider had ridden it.
“Remember what you did to your shotgun last night?” he whispered in her ear. “You transformed it, you made it what you wanted, what you needed, what best fit you. Do it again.”
Linda concentrated, bit into her lip until she tasted blood. She could feel it, welling inside of her like a heated current flowing from her belly into her extended arm. She thought, she thought as hard as she could in the direction of Old Bess and the flame burst from, flaring like a backdraft. Her bike blazed in a fury of hellfire, stretching her sleek chrome limbs like a seductive lover. She could hear Bess speak to her, understood every word of her husky, rolling purr. And she could feel Johnny, her kindred, kindled spirit.
And it was there, the intuition that Johnny had spoken of; it did not struggle against her, resist her, but joined with her, separate and yet so very connected. She laughed giddily, lustily, as she glanced down at herself, watched as her own clothes metamorphosed to suit her, her skirt melting onto her legs and receding upwards to form a pair of practical, hip hugging shorts; red, of course, the color of her hellfire. Her bodice of her dress twisted into a halter top, licks of flame twining about her arms to form sleeves. A headband settled against her forehead, the kind you saw in old depictions of Indian warriors rallying to battle, usually sporting a feather or two, and moccasin-like boots adorned her feet and calves.
“Whoa,” her breath left her lungs in an exhilarated rush. She turned to Johnny to see he had already changed and though his lipless mouth should have remained expressionless, it seemed it held a mischievous grin all the same. They played and practiced, sparred and rained fire amidst the desert shadow. It was intoxicating, it was consuming.
She raised a hand to his face, burning bone turning to heated flesh and blood, felt his tender grasp around her waist as she hooked her arm about his neck and, standing on her tip-toes as he hunched over, their lips met. And the fire they created was hotter still.
Somewhere In Town-
Jennifer cowered in the corner of the darkened church. It was empty, no one came to worship at the little one room building anymore, and the windows had long since been boarded up, allowing only the dimmest glow of dark yellow to seep in, dust swirling in the sun’s faint rays. She trembled like a junkie, her eyes large in awe and dread as they searched the gloom about her frantically. Years of dust drew into her mouth and nose every time she breathed, but she paid it no mind, nor did she notice her lank blonde hair sticking to her lips and falling into her eyes.
“Tell me, my Master,” she implored quietly. “Tell me I did right.”
She gave a tiny gasp as the shadow began to gather before her, merging into one solid form, that of a man in a black leather duster, the kind they had worn in the Old West. He was leaning on a cane, his gloved hands clasped around its crystalline head in the shape of a skull.
Jennifer squeaked as he approached her slowly, scrabbling against the wooden floor with feet and hands, trying to pull herself into a more dignified bearing. And yet, she remained shrinking before him, his humble, devote servant. “Oh, my Jennifer,” he said silkily as he touched her face, lifting her chin and running one finger along her cheek; a look of pure bliss crossed her features, her eyes rolling up until all that could be seen was white. “You have pleased me. Things are in motion, thanks to you, and you will be rewarded.
“But-but the old man,” she sputtered as he withdrew his hand. “He didn’t-I mean, I couldn’t…”
“All in due time,” he cooed, still grinning smoothly. “The chaos you wreaked here in town was particularly inspired; inciting my boys, assisting them when needs be. But I’ve yet another role for you to play, my sweet Jennifer. Will you do it? Will you do what I ask of you?”
“Anything!” she pledged passionately, getting to her bruised and bloodied knees, subserviently extending her hands, side by side with palms up, her fingers slightly cupped, towards him. Upon the heels of her palms were two nasty looking welts she’d acquired by touching hellfire without the power to control it herself, a sign of her service, her devotion to him; it was her stigmata. “I will do anything for you, my Master!”
“Somehow,” he purred, smirking smugly, “I knew you would say that. You will take your place beside me soon,” he waved a hand in front of her and she followed it with her face as if she could feel the heat of his caress emanating from it, “but first, you must join my boys again tonight. Ride with the Devil once more.”
TBC
Peace, Ghani