Tales of the Parodyverse

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killer shrike notes there is new material about half way down
Sun Aug 27, 2006 at 07:23:48 pm EDT
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All of Me (And a Little too Much of Him) Part Four Continues
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All of Me (And a Little Too Much of Him)


Part Four: “Shrikeback”, or “Everybody’s Happy When the Dead Come Home”



All of Me Story Archive

“This is Rosario Ruiz Reyes interrupting our regular programming with an Action Eight News exclusive. We take you live to Don Sprocket in the Aero Action Eight Newscopter.”

“Thanks, Rosie. We are currently flying along the westbound Eisner Expressway where state police are involved in a high speed chase with a single suspect. Authorities have been pursuing this Cadillac El Dorado for the past twenty minutes. There are now six cruisers involved, though as you can see from this previous footage, two other cars were lost when they crashed into- OH MY GOD! He’s jumped the median! The Cadillac is now driving west in the eastbound lane, weaving through the oncoming traffic—you see here the driver has clipped a SUV, causing it to tip over. The Cadillac is attempting to get off the Expressway at the Claremont Street exit where police have just set up a roadblock. The suspect has stopped and is now in reverse, driving backwards on East Eisner- HE’S HIT THE GUARD RAIL! The Cadillac is rolling, rolling, rolling, glass breaking, sparks flying. It’s landed on top of a Prius! The car’s stopped, and the driver is getting out, and it’s a woman! White, early twenties, with long black hair. She is now attempting to flee on foot! Police cars are giving chase, and, wow, the woman has jumped on the hood of one and is trying to pull the driver through the window. AND DOWN SHE GOES! Officers are surrounding her now, attempting to subdue the fugitive, and as you can see she is putting up a strong resistance. The suspect must have some kind of martial arts training, because she’s kicking the – THEY TASERED HER. The suspect has been tasered, and is now flopping on the asphalt like a landed trout. Police are now wrestling the woman into handcuffs. It’s been quite a spectacle, Rosario.”

“Indeed it was, Don. Any idea what started this chase?”

“We’re getting reports that police were attempting to stop the vehicle after it was identified as stolen from a Paradopolis Plaza parking garage late last night.”

“So this could be part of some larger crime spree, Don?”

“It’s possible, Rosie. We will do our best to get the entire story to you and our viewers, including the identity of this modern day Bonnie -, um, of Bonnie and Clyde.”

But in the breakfast nook of Willingham’s dimensionally bifurcated lighthouse, it was quite clear to those viewing who was responsible for the carnage.

“Cooooooool!” Kerry Shepherdson enthused as she watched her sister being bundled into the back of a squad car.

Her somewhat pseudo male sibling, meanwhile, just dropped his face into his hands and moaned.

*****


Sarah Shepherdson awoke to find herself sore and scorched and bound in a straightjacket.

“This isn’t good,” the Probability Dancer noted with resignation as she took in her surroundings: a circular room with cobblestone walls where the only light came through the slatted window of an iron door.

(Hrrrgngh. Man, you’d think a body would build up a tolerance to electric shock after… wait, what happened to my voice?)

“Simon Maddicks! You hit me!” Sarah fumed.

(Aw, crap. You’re awake.)

The young woman continued, her brogue in full fervor, “You took control of my body, hit me with my own phone, and, and, what the hell did you do to get us locked up like this? And where is this?!”

(Well, see, this is the deal: I wanted to get to the Hood so he could make with the hoodoo and get me back into my own skin. So I boosted a car and drove to Herringcarp Asylum-)

“The Hooded Hood? Oh, Simon,” Sarah shook her head unhappily.

(-but I couldn’t find the place! It’s f****** Brigadoon like that! Then I remembered what Balefire told me when I henched for him during the Big Blackout scam: he said the Parodyverse is made of stories, and sometimes you can manipulate the outcome of things by ‘acting in a contrived or clichéd manner.’ Which to me meant ‘go psycho and get ourselves locked up in Herringcarp .”

“Did you, we, hurt anyone? Kill anyone?”

(Well, there are a few cops that’ll be walking funny for a while, if they can walk at all… but nah: nobody croaked. The good news is, though, my plan worked.)

Sarah looked about. The room was familiar, but not identical, to the cell she and Lisa were imprisoned in during the Lair Legion’s battle with the Hellraisers. It took all she had to repress the shivers that went with those memories.

“That was actually kind of clever of you,” she admitted ruefully.

(Heh. This ain’t my first rodeo, Legs. All we have to do now is wait for the boss to fetch us and make things right.)

The Heroine of Happenstance was too experienced with the nature of Narrative Causality to believe that. And while she was not disposed to take this particular path, she was now committed, in multiple senses of the word, to seeing things through, “It doesn’t work that way, Simon. You started this quest, and it’s not going to end with the Hooded Hood looking for us. We’re going to have to find him.”

(….OK, that makes sense. We can bust out of here easy. There ain’t a prison been built that can hold Killer Shrike!)

“Breaking out will be the easy part,” Sarah warned as Simon talked her through the process of worming her way out of their straitjacket.

*****


“Tell me, Johnstantine,” The Man Who Would Be Killer Shrike asked as he cleaned the occultist’s blood from his hands with a soiled rag, “Why do you do it? Why fight? You’re no hero, that’s obvious. You have no sense of duty, or shame, or guilt. The only person you care about is yourself. You’ve got the brains to weasel out of any type of obligation you could owe the Higher Powers. And yet here you are, tied to a rack, choking on your own gore while my Hero Feeders and I perform a premature autopsy on you. Not smart, not smart at all.”

“You…have… better… idea?” Con Johnstantine wheezed.

“Of course: give in. Tell me where you hid Maddicks. Then the pain stops. If not, then we keep cutting until there’s nothing left to cut. And death won’t be a release, either,” he withdrew a spirit bottle from his top coat, “I’ll catch that grimy blot of ether you call your eternal soul and put it up for auction. There will be bids coming in from all over, but I’ll be especially interested in the ones Down There,” he made an inaccurate gesture in the direction of the Hellish Realms, “It’s time to drop the martyr act, Con, it just isn’t you.”

“Ahehheh,” the Briton’s chuckle sounded like he was gargling glass, “That’s… not…me…either, you poncy…nimrod. I live… to p***… in… eye… of people… like… you.”

TMWWBKS grimaced and reached for the skewers, “Maybe not for long.”

*****


The massive oaken door swung open slowly, revealing a well-lit drawing room replete with several chairs and couches. A pair of figures pored over a sheaf of maps stacked atop the large oval table in the center of the room. The woman, a blonde, had a severe expression that marred her good looks, while the man’s countenance was seen not at all; concealed behind the mantle and the shadows it formed.

“Miss Shepherdson, Mister Maddicks. Good evening,” the Hooded Hood bade without looking up from his charts.

“Hello, Iolobadoth,” Sarah replied, “And Jury. What brings you to Herringcarp?”
    
”Boss! Am I glad to see you! All types of crazy s*** has gone down and I need your help.”

The former Shaper of Worlds pursed her lips in contemplation, “There’s something very familiar about all this,” she said to her cowled companion.

“It is similar in structure to my part in The Shattered Worlds saga, though I anticipate this time my part will involve more than mere exposition,” the Hood straightened to his full height and turned his attention to his guests. His eyes flashed and Sarah was promptly joined by Killer Shrike in full costume.

“Awright!” the Butcher Bird checked his reflection in his titanium talons and grinned, “Back in the saddle again!”

“The separation is temporary, I assure you, Mister Maddicks. It is far simpler to conduct our negotiations with all parties properly represented. You are here to bargain, correct: for your freedoms, and for Johnstantine’s life, and for the continued well-being of your world as you know it?”

“I guess so,” Sarah agreed, though her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she added, “if you’re truly willing to make a deal, that is?”

“Of course, my dear: am I not… the Hooded Hood?”

“Wait,” Killer Shrike turned to stare at the person he had spent the last day spiritually shackled to, “How come a dingy waitress like you knows the Shaper of Worlds? And can be so chummy with the Hooded Freakin’ Hood? Something ain’t right here.”

“Oh please,” Jury scoffed, “All this time and you still haven’t figured out she’s –“

“You know, sometimes a lady prefers to keep her secrets,” the incognito Probability Dancer warned, “After all, Jury, we still haven’t learned why the two of you are suddenly thick as thieves.”

“Preparing for the siege of the Parodyverse,” the Hooded Hood said in terms that made it unclear which side of the barricades he would be on, “but back to the matter at hand: if I agree to help you, both of you, I expect something in return.”

“Hey, whatever, boss. You name it, and I’ll do it,” Killer Shrike hitched up his bird suit in anticipation of the chance to add to his resume’.

“And you, Miss Shepherdson?”

For a long while the young woman said nothing. She was thinking, trying to come up with an answer that was precise enough to protect her from the archvillain’s intrigues. Simon Maddicks noted that reluctance, and shouted in disgust.

“Aw, come on, Legs: stop playing coy. We both know that f****** geas has forced me ta take any bullet meant for you. I’m guessin’ that includes karmic debts to bad guys. Am I right, boss?”

Sarah, Jury, and the Hood all exchanged glances, “That would indeed be the case, Mister Maddicks.”

Shrike folded his arms across his chest, “Fine. Put it on my d*** tab, then.”

“Very well,” the Master of Retcons concentrated, and it was as if Simon and Sarah had never been divided. When they regained their focus both saw that Shep was holding a long handled shovel and a hurricane lantern.

“What are these for?” she asked.

“You will need them to dig up the body,” the Hooded Hood replied before giving the two further instructions.

*****


”Digging up a graveyard behind an insane asylum at midnight. This is how my sixteenth birthday ended.”

Sarah Shepherdson smiled and tossed another shovelful of dirt out of the hole, “Heh. I hope that time you didn’t dragoon some poor guileless waif into joining your outing.”

”Guileless my Aunt Fanny! I heard what Jury said. You’re running some kind of scam. What’s your secret, woman?”

“You got me, Simon. I’m really not a size four,” the waitress drove the spade into the rich, soft earth. With a grunt she cast the debris into the pile behind her, “Here’s a better game: I spy, with my little eye-“

”Nice try. OK, let’s review at the facts. You know Johnstantine, which, well, doesn’t mean much. I’ve seen his Rolodex and there’s plenty of broads in it.”

Shep made a sour face.

”You’re annoyingly chirpy, acrobatic….. crazy as a s***house rat…. You wiggled out of that straightjacket like a pro… Wait. Oh, J**** on a crutch! I know who you are!!”

KA-CHUNK! The sound of metal on metal interrupted Killer Shrike’s revelation as the shovel blade struck the top of the box he and his partner had been seeking.

Sarah bent down and cleared the dirt from the coffin’s lid. After taking a reassuring breath she pried it open.

“Oh, how adorable!” Sarah cooed, “Look at his little booties!”

Laying inside the plush satin interior of the casket was a perfect replica of Con Johnstantine, the Heckblazer, at one twelfth scale. His doll-like eyes opened, and he gazed dreamily up at Shep and her curvilinear dimensions.

“’Cor: a bloke could get used to a view like this.”

*****


“So, you’re a Johnstantine action figure brought to life, then?” Sarah asked once their diminutive discovery had dressed so she could carry him out of the shallow grave.

“It’s a homunculus. Most likely a Christianus variant, since that would explain the eggshells in the coffin. You poke a hole in the egg of a black hen, replace a bit of the white with the magician’s baby batter, seal it up with virgin parchment, and bury the thing at the beginning of the March moon cycle. Thirty days later and you got your very own Mini-Me.

There was a long pause.

“What? I know stuff!” Shrike proclaimed defensively.

“That’s right, luv, er, and maybe whomever else you got roaming in the back of your brain that makes you sound like a Newcastle coal miner sometimes. Call me Short Con.”

Sarah kept up her game face, avoiding appearing upset over how easy it had become for Killer Shrike to borrow the use of her vocal chords, “Pleased to meet you, Short Con,” she offered the construct a well manicured pinky in greeting, “I’m Shep, and that gruff voice you hear is Simon.”

“Ah. So you’re a bit of a schizoid, I take it.”

”Among other things. Now can we stop clowning around and get down to business?”

Sarah nodded, “Just one more thing, Simon. I should have done this before. Well, really, I suppose what I should have done was stop you, but who am I to keep a person from performing a good deed?”

”Huh?”

The lissome young waitress beamed, “Thank you for covering my debt with the Hooded Hood. That was very considerate.”

“Like I had any choice.”

“Of course you did, Simon. That’s what one does in life. You weigh the odds, make a choice, and take your chances.”

“Listen, crazy person, maybe it slipped your mind but when I first came to the Parodyverse I got cosmically bamboozled into being some type of manservant/bodyguard for you and the f****** Heckblazer-“

“Except,” Sarah took back her voice, “you were able to pop me in the mush with the phone yesterday. What kind of ‘bamboozled’ bodyguard does that?”

(Huh? No. Wait. That’s… no.)

“Yes,” the Probability Dancer disagreed, “I’m guessing you made good on all your karmic debts when you died to save the Parodyverse. Remember? When you fought of the Chain Knight so the good guys could escape and rout the Hellraisers? They made you a statue and everything.”

(……)

“Simon?”

(You’re right. Sweet Mary and f****** Joseph, what am I turning into?)

Sarah smiled, “I think you know, Simon, you just won’t admit it. You’re becoming a goo-“

(Don’t. You. Dare.)

“Ahem,” Short Con spoke up, “if you two- it is just two, right?- if you’re done with your little epiphany, we need to get back to cases,” the homonculus’s face became very grave, “my sire is in a bad way. I can feel it. We need to get to him before its too late.”

“You know what’s happening to Con? Can you lead us to him?”

“Yeah, I can track the master down, if you’re willing to give me a ride. Somewhere on your person, that is. We homunculi aren’t exactly built for long distance travel.”

“Sure. What’s one more man to carry around?” Shep scooped up the miniature Heckblazer and placed him in the front pocket of the work shirt Simon had picked out for the woman in after knocking her unconscious, “You know, Simon, when this over, you and I are going to have to discuss women’s clothing. Blue flannel plus silk capris equal bad fashion statement.”

(Pft. As opposed to that outfit you normally wear.)

“What’s that, KS?” Sarah asked as she legged her way out of the Herringcarp Cemetery, which may or may not be there if they ever returned.

(I said let’s get this show on the road.)

*****


Sarah Shepherdson wasn’t the only person with a voice in their head. The Man Who Would Be Killer Shrike heard one as well. It told him:

An awesome destiny awaits you. Listen to me, and you will become the greatest threat the Parodyverse has ever – no, you will be the last threat to the Parodyverse. Because you will be the one who destroys it.

TMWWBKS didn’t need much convincing: two years working the Customer Service counter at Best Buy had soured his impressions toward the human condition. So he followed the instructions of his imperceptible advisor, gathered his arsenal, conscripted his retainers. They had to be cautious, as there were agents of the established order who could undo their machinations with but a thought. But the voice was right in saying:

See, it is like I predicted. The Celestians are removed from play by the Resolution Prophecy, which in turn is destroyed by the Galactic Nobbler. The Family of the Pointless has gone into self-imposed exile thanks to the Hellraisers. The Triumvirate is scattered to the winds after coming against the awesome resolve that is the Parody Master. And Winkelweald will ensnare the cosmic tyrant into one of his schemes, or several of them concurrently, and bring him down as well. Though I suspect there will be at a terrible cost for the Master of Retcons. The Powers are set on destroying one another. We will have to do nothing save wait.

“And then what? We pick through the corpses and lift what we need?” The Man Who Would Be Killer Shrike had objected at the time, “That’s pretty weak.”

The exultation you will feel when you turn the Parodyverse into a hecatomb will be enough to overcome any sense of indignity over how you gained your primacy. Besides, there is no shame in taking from the dead. I know.

The voice was silent now, as it had been for weeks; seemingly content to let its disciple prepare for his coming apotheosis alone, which TMWWBKS had done quite competently. Still, the foretold Leveler of All Accounts would have appreciated some words of counsel now, as his plans were being delayed by an especially twisty hitch.

“Tell me!” he shouted into the ravaged face of Con Johnstantine, “Where’s Maddicks?”

“But… ‘f I… tell you, then we… cn’t have … these… little… chats,” the annoying Englishman countered with as much cheek as he had left.

“Stop being so f****** smug!” the goth brandished a wicked set of shears for the Heckblazer to see, “These are Atropos’s Shears! You know how these work. Get killed by them, your story’s done!! Over!!!”

“….Thought your… plan… was… to trap…spirit for… eternal… torment.”

“I don’t think that scares you, Johnstantine. You have some type of ‘out’ planned for that. S***, you probably already sold your soul to Disney or something!”

Con’s mottled lips broke into a semblance of a smirk. Don’t f*** with the Mouse, was sound advice even for Hell Lords to follow.

“But this,” TMWWBKS grinned and snapped the scissors open and shut for effect, “There’s no escape from this.”

The punk was right. The seemingly rusty blades were one of the tools of the Kindly Ones, who measure and cut the cords that stitch together a person’s life. One well-placed snip and Johnstantine would be severed from the Narrative for all of time.

“Where’s your smug commentary now, a******? Hmm? Not so quippy?” The Man Who Would Be Killer Shrike stopped smiling, “This is it, Johnstantine. Talk, or you become my version of the Gordian Knot. It’ll be a b**** to start over, especially since Xander seems incommunicado at the moment, but---“

“Master,” one of the villain’s Hero Feeders called as it slunk down the stairs into the basement of the wax museum, “There is a woman upstairs. She says she can give us Killer Shrike in exchange for him,” the Lurker Behind pointed a gleaming talon at the Heckblazer.”

“A woman? Who? The Probability Dancer? The Sorceress? Jury?” TMWWBKS instinctively rubbed the Suspenders of Disbelief he wore over his black silk dress shirt.

“No. Just that waitress who shows up in the stories of others. She’s nobody.”

“The woman’s somebody if she figured out how to find her way here,” the young man growled, then shrugged, “What the f***: bring her down. Just give me a few minutes to change.”

And the villain went off to ready himself for what would be the final confrontation.

To Be Concluded. Really.




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