Far in the back of the attic, Neal had set up an impromptu working area. A stack of old boxes had become his 'desk'. All around were open boxes and piles of old, ancient looking books. More of the books were stacked haphazardly on the desk. Overhead, a single bulb faintly illuminated the less than ideal working conditions. Neal blew the dust off another old untitled tome, opened it and began flipping through the yellowed pages.
"Now let's see what we got here. I ain't found a single thing about this damn creature in any of these here books. Not a thing! Ain’t never heard nothing like it before neither. Like somethin' out a' the Night Stalker," Neal said to himself, out loud. He always thought better when he could hear himself think. Just then, he heard footsteps coming up the attic stairs.
"Neal? Neal Washington? Are you up here in this musty ol' attic still?" Neal's mother climbed the old wooden staircase. She looked weak and frail, but Mrs. Washington still had a bit of spunk in her yet.
"Hi, momma," Neal said, looking up from his book. "Yeah. I'm doin' some research." The old collection had belonged to his grandfather. No one had been allowed to look through these books for many years. Neal could remember seeing them in his grandfather's study. He had opened one once and had nightmares for weeks afterward. After his grandfather had passed away, the books were locked up in the attic. It was only recently that Neal had begun to utilize the information contained within. He had yet to read most of them, there being far too much to read in any small amount of time. Mostly he had picked certain topics from selected books. It would be many years before he would get through them all.
"Well, I don't know what you think you're gonna' find lookin' through some old musty books 'bout vampires and werewolves and such nonsense." Mrs. Washington was a God-fearing woman and wanted to destroy the books long ago. To her, they were sacrilegious. First Neal's father, then Neal himself, finally talked her into letting them remain. They had been in the family for generations, some dating back to the 1600's. Neal thought it might be a good idea to move them out of his mother's house and into his own apartment located in Brooklyn.
"It's not nonsense, momma. These things are real. Just like you and me," Neal finally said. His mother took offense at that statement.
"I ain't no monster, boy!", she said, waving her cane menacingly at her son.
"I never said you were. But they are out there. I know. I've seen them." Neal had done far more than just see them, but his momma didn't need to know that just now. She had a hard enough time believing any of this, much less some of the secrets Neal now hid.
"Neal, you've been like this ever since your daddy was killed by that murderer."
"It wasn’t a person that killed him," Neal tried vainly to explain. "He was turned into a werewolf. He had to be killed."
"I ain't got time to argue. It's late. Here's somethin' for you to eat while you're workin’ up here." Mrs. Washington produced a plate with a Ruben sandwich and a few dill pickles.
"Thanks," Neal said, setting the plate aside for the moment. He would eat some food later.
"Someday you're going to have to stop this craziness," Mrs. Washington said, shaking her head as she surveyed the scene. "You're gonna' end up finding somethin' that you shouldn't be messin' with." Carla Washington kissed her son and went back down the stairs, leaving him alone again with the ancient books that belonged to his grandfather.
"I already did. I already did." Neal got up and went over to a trunk, one much newer than the rest of the paraphernalia which filled the modest little room. He opened it and inside was a suit of shiny armor. He raised the helmet up to his face, as if it was an old friend.
"We both know that, don't we?"
George Archer didn't really like taking the subway, especially this late at night. It was too quiet, and there might be someone waiting for him. His friends told him that he was just being paranoid. The last time he took the subway home from work, George had been accosted by a group of young thugs with knives. He was lucky. All they took was fifty dollars. He had learned though. This time he was more prepared.
As he waited for the train to arrive, George Archer kept his hand on the pistol he had bought just for this occasion. Maybe he was being paranoid, but it gave him more security. Or so he thought.
Movement. A slight scrapping noise echoed through the underground tunnels. George tried to ignore it at first. There were lots of odd noises in the subways. Perhaps it was just rats or some wild dogs digging in the trash.
He heard the noise again, this time closer. Archer’s palms started to sweat. Maybe it was just a bum, looking for some loose change or discarded bits of food. Or maybe they were back again. George tightened his grip on the pistol. He tried to stay cool, until the noise came around the corner.
"Oh my--NO! NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!"
The next day, Neal is hanging out with his buddies at the local basketball court in Brooklyn. Having just downed countless challengers, together with Clutch and Isaac Hamilton, Neal grabbed his ball and equipment bag. Once again, their team was the undisputed master of this court.
"Hey, my man. We were awesome today," Isaac said, as he walked off with his girlfriend under his arm. "Catch ya later, dude."
"Be cool, babe. Hey, Clutch, wait up, man. I wanna' talk to you." Neal caught Clutch just outside the gate, before he could slip away.
"What about, my man?"
"Not here. In private." Neal motioned to a nearby alley. The two headed nonchalantly in that direction. What Neal needed to know was not for public conversation.
"That's cool, least wise as long as the price is right. Catch my meanin’?"
"How's this?" Neal pulled a wad of twenties from his gym bag and handed a couple to Clutch. Clutch's eyes lit up when he saw the cash. Clutch made a living at hustling pool, basketball and knowing what was going down all over the city. He was an informant for a number of undercover cops and private investigators, but none of them paid as well as his man, Neal Washington.
"Ooh. Ooh. Neal, my man, whatcho want to know?"
"I want to know what the street says is goin' down. Who this subway killer is." Neal looked around to make sure no one could overhear their talk.
"It ain't gonna' be easy." Clutch preferred the easy jobs, like snitching on drug deals and bootlegging operations. Neal's info never came that easy, though. Good thing he always paid well.
"I wouldn't have paid you that kinda cash if I thought it would be easy. Just find out what's happenin', man."
"I'll see what I can do." Clutch pocketed the money and slipped out of the alleyway.
"You do that, babe. And make it good!" Neal picked up his bag and basketball and headed off in the opposite direction.
The next morning, Neal sits down to a nice big breakfast and the morning paper, at his mother's home. His mom was dishing eggs and sausage onto his plate. Neal poured a glass of orange juice, while reading the headlines and almost overflowed the glass, caught up in the latest news.
"What is it, Neal? Is somethin' wrong?", Neal's mother asked.
"There was another killing," Neal said slowly. "Last night. That's the fourth night in a row."
"This is New York, son. Those things happen here."
"I know that. I grew up here, too. I'm talkin' about that guy that's been killing people down in the subways at night and then their bones turn up in skyscraper buildings." Neal knew that this was much more than some crazy killer. He could feel it in his bones. This would require a special touch to bring the killing spree to an end.
"Sure seems strange to me," Mrs. Washington said, while clearing the pans from the stove.
"Me too," Neal agreed.
"Cecilia called again yesterday," Neal's mother said, changing the subject.
"Momma, I told you that I didn't want to talk to her. There ain't nothin' to say." Neal was obviously very upset by this. "Why you gotta keep bringin' that up."
"'Cause she's a good woman," Mrs. Washington said, as she washed the morning dishes. "You need a woman in your life. Maybe that would keep you from spending so much time with those awful books."
"You know my father spent a lot of time with those books too, momma."
"I wish he never showed you those evil things," Mrs. Washington blessed herself as she spoke. "But at least he took the time to find hisself a good woman. And he was a good father to you. You're spending so much time up there, it's like you don't do nothin' else."
Neal considered what to say for a moment. He had learned long ago that it was generally futile to try and argue with his mother. She was strong-willed. "Maybe I'll talk to her some day. After this case is over." She gave him a disapproving glare. "But I can give you some good news. I'm gonna move the books to my place. That way I won't be such a bother on you."
"You know you're not a bother, Neal. Now promise me you'll talk to Cecilia soon." Mrs. Washington patted her son on the head. "I wanna have a granddaughter before I die."
"Momma, you're gonna outlive us all, probably," Neal said with a hearty laugh.
That night Neal starts putting out the word. His silver-blue corvette covers nearly every part of the huge teeming city. He talks to everyone he knows. Every contact. All the eyes and ears of the street. This is not a sick killer. No, this is something entirely different. Neal's gut feelings tell him that there's a whole lot more to it than that. And since that one particular day, some six months ago, his gut feelings had never been wrong when it came to this sort of thing. When it came to the supernatural.
On an impulse, Neal turns his car into a deserted dark parking lot and heads for the nearby subway station. His gut feeling may just be right this time too. Before he gets to the subway entrance, there is a woman's scream from down below and Neal breaks into a sprint.
Neal bursts onto the scene. The oncoming train's lights make it hard to see. Neal can barely make out a huge shambling creature which looms over a fallen body, but it suddenly rushes away when confronted by the bright light from the subway train. As the train roars on by, Neal comes up to the fallen woman. Blood oozes from the back of her head, where it looks like she was hit by a wrecking ball. He kneels down next to her and checks her over. So engrossed in the situation, Neal never heard the footsteps until it was too late
"Alright, freeze! You're under arrest!" Turning quickly, Neal is faced with a familiar police officer. He recognizes the man as Officer Will Henderson. The officer's firearm is aimed directly at him. "Up to your old tricks, Washington?"
"Say what?" Neal can hardly believe the situation. He was only trying to help, but all the police saw was a black man standing over a dead white woman. Surely, he must be responsible. "This ain't what it looks like, man."
"Don't move, or we'll shoot." More officers had arrived on the scene quickly. It was almost as though they were waiting for him.
"You can tell it to the Judge, Washington," Officer Henderson said, menacingly. Neal finds himself surrounded by police officers. There is nothing he can do. Nothing he can say that will change their take on the situation. The police take him away.
Jail was nothing new to Neal. He'd been picked up by police when he was running with some bad crowds as a youth many times. It just hadn't happened lately. He had been determined to turn over a new leaf. And then this had to happen. How could he prove that he was innocent? More importantly, he simply didn't have time. The creature, or whatever it was, would continue to kill every night until it was stopped. It would take too long to play this game by the rules. He would have to change the game to suit himself.
Standing in the center of his cell, Neal concentrated. As the moonlight shone in through the window across the hall, there was a flash of silvery light. Now where once Neal Washington stood, there was a far more imposing figure in his place. Neal now was encased in a suit of shiny, silver metal. The highly polished surfaces reflected images even from the poor lighting in the cell. The joints of the suit showed through to a black padded outfit worn under the armor. The entire outfit had just been resting in the trunk in his mother's attic. Neal turned toward the far wall, and without hesitating, walked directly towards it and then through it!
Once outside, his armor gleamed in the night air, reflecting light from the nearly full moon. The night was his domain.
Photon raised his head as if testing the air, probing for some sort of sign. Then he disappeared...
