Book Six, Chapter 85: Blue Bloods

How the rest of the cops got there so fast, I would never know. It was obviously movie magic. Carousel would cut things to make it seem like they were inbound the whole time. The audience wouldn’t even notice until they saw their universe’s version of CinemaSins.

Still, I didn’t see them show up. Was I frozen, waiting for them, or did Carousel make me forget?

Lorne’s cop-summoner build was impressive to see. He ran behind them, screaming at them to arrest the floating cultists, to shoot at them. The cops, who somehow appeared more afraid of the large screaming man in a suit than they were of the wraiths, did as commanded.

They fired their guns and made contact more than once. The specters let loose screams of pain and rage, flooding the store with shadows, bursting the overhead lights, and turning the produce section into a chopped salad.

Still, Lorne was on top of it.

“Don’t be afraid of their, their…” His character had seen these things before, at the beginning of the movie, before he fled Off-Screen, but still, he had to be shaken up. “These weirdos bleed. They have weaknesses, trust me, I’ve seen them try to run a store on Black Friday. Aim your weapon and get these guys!”

I had only seen one Bruiser in action, and it was during a bleak horror movie, so it could be easy to forget that Bruisers brought levity to the screen. They just did. There was something inherently humorous about watching them do their over-the-top routines.

They were human, but they weren’t. They really were larger than life. It was a good thing this story kept its tinge of comedy, because Lorne was playing it up.

“Give me a gun!” he screamed. A nearby officer complied before he had time to think it through.

With Lorne’s Hustle of 2, the gun was more of a deterrent than a practical weapon. Heck, it might as well have been a melee weapon.

As one of the Stockers floated over toward Lorne, he didn’t try to shoot it. He instead instructed nearby cops to do so. He had thirteen of them now. They hid behind registers and boxes, each perplexed and afraid, some screaming into their comms systems to no avail.

The thing was, the cops had limited utility. This story was not supposed to feature cops, even with Lorne’s trope that allowed them. Real, competent cops would have been too useful here.

Instead, Lorne had basically summoned a bunch of muscly stunt men and women, who could get thrown through the air by the Stockers and seemingly get taken out of the fight with no visible injuries.

I had to dodge one cop who landed in a big cardboard box full of watermelons, which exploded on contact, practically covering him in red goop.

Still, the bad guys had to act like the cops were a threat, and that was to Lorne’s advantage. Boy, did he take advantage of it.

I heard the roar of a motor in the distance, as one Night Stocker swung a cop around in a circle and threw him, Wilhelm Screaming, into the clothing section.

As I watched, suppressing a smile, Lorne had started one of the four-wheelers on display at the front of the store and was running it full speed after a Night Stocker, who flew away as fast as he could.

Lorne’s Human Missile trope was a lot more flexible than I realized, because it was buffing his Hustle quite a bit in this chase.

Lorne hit an askew stack of boxes, which, somehow, utilizing an aspect of Carousel’s movie magic I had very little experience with, acted as a ramp, launching Lorne and the ATV into the air in a direct arc toward a Night Stocker.

The front wheels hit the flying cultist, and the shadowy robes worn by the Stockers started getting stuck in the spinning front tires of the machine, which left Lorne, the Stocker, and the ATV floating in midair as Lorne revved the engine and the Stocker screamed as if he were in extreme pain.

“You’re fired!” Lorne screamed as he punched the Stocker, who went out like a light, dropping out of the air like a brick, ATV and all.

Lorne simply jumped to the next Stocker, who was on the ground. His Human Missile trope protected him from damage and again counteracted his low Hustle, allowing him to get great contact on the second Stocker as the first one was engulfed in an explosion from the ATV.

It was chaos.

Up close, Lorne didn’t need Hustle for the gun to work.

The last of Lorne’s cops were getting thrown around and out of the fight. They lay moaning and bleeding.

With no allies and no remaining bullets, Lorne was now vulnerable himself. Night Stocker and regular cultists alike encircled him.

He was exhausted, even with his Grit.

“At the last store I checked in on, I caught some employees smoking in the walk-in freezer,” he said. He started to laugh. “Probably should have gone easier on them, all things considered.”

The Night Stockers closed in and began weaving together magic and physical attack, ripping and tearing at Lorne’s flesh. His suit was shredded, and his burly bare chest was visible from the damage.

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As two Night Stockers closed in, one engulfing him in the shadows beneath his cloak, Lorne grabbed onto another and jammed him into the shadow vortex of the first.

The two Stockers became a revolving nexus of shadow and screaming cultists from which Lorne dropped free.

He looked around, looking for a fight. The other cultists didn’t dare.

Except for one.

Tom, who was dressed in his work clothes, suddenly became enveloped in shadow. His cloak was larger and more elaborate than the others.

I jumped back in, surprised.

“Enough!” Tom screamed. He lifted a hand toward Lorne and summoned shadows from around the store, which bound Lorne and lifted him high into the sky.

“I dream of a world without bullies,” Tom said, as the shadows lifted Lorne further into the air and then dropped him, some pulling him downward. “This world was made for people like him, people who thrive by harming, harassing, and dominating others. Why do you think he is fighting us? On some level, he understands that we seek to fix this world. He resists it!”

Lorne didn’t fall all the way to the ground. He stopped suddenly with a loud crack, as if there had been a rope around his neck. There was no rope, only a shadow that didn’t cease to exist or fade. Shadows pulled him in every direction.

He hung there, dead.

The room grew silent.

Tom dropped to his knees. “He was a bully. He was…” Tom repeated over and over, letting the word echo in the air as if he might grow used to the sound of it. He didn’t seem to like the sound. “He will be with us in the next world. All of them will be with us. We will change this world and with it, change them. It’s almost time.”

Night Stockers were supposed to target those they found morally depraved. They had a whole trope for it. The problem was that when you think you are fighting evil, you can call anyone who stands in your way evil, too.

It was a more flexible trope than I initially thought.

All bets were off. The protection we enjoyed because we were not the sick ones in society was no longer there. I could see Tom’s torn psyche struggling to deal with his actions. He was a good guy once, but in this movie, he had to be the bad guy.

I wondered how this played out in the real world.

Tom stood once more. He turned to me, and he must have seen the horror on my face. I wasn’t even trying to put it there. I didn’t have to pretend to be in over my head. I just was.

“You have to understand,” Tom said. “This isn’t real. Once you understand… We’re going to fix it. Your parents will be there too. Don’t you hear them calling you?”

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to hear.