GREG IMRIE - THE STRANGE CASE OF HENRY AVERY AND PATRICK CALLAGHAN

Greg Imrie is a History/Scottish Literature undergraduate student at the University of Glasgow, Scotland. He started writing in his late teens after discovering the work of the pulp, weird writers like HP Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, whom he considers to be one his greatest influences. His other interests, besides writing, are listening to rock music and painting.

​The Strange Case of Henry Avery and Patrick Callaghan
 

​ 
‘What’s the last thing I can remember? That’s a good question.’ I took a moment to think it over, the man across from me in the fine English suit sat patiently and waited. He had a pen and notebook in front of him, ready to record the whole thing. I went to the chestnut table just to my right and took another glass of whiskey, this was me buying more moments to think.
The man across from me realised this but said nothing. Another moment passed and he was still silent. I sighed, ‘yeah, I remember what happened. Getting shot to hell has that effect.’ My southern drawl sounded odd in this eccentric English house, right in the heart of Herefordshire is what he told me. I was far from Arizona, no doubt about that.
I had this man in front of me to thank for still being among the land of the living. I figured the least I could do was tell him what he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the last thing I could remember was. The last thing before the void of blaring light which occurred right before I came to in the pleasant country of England, the country of my forefathers.
Its only right I tell you the whole story. This isn’t where it ended, in some ways this is where it began, but it’s a cool scene and I figure it’s okay enough to start with. But to answer the question in which the man in front of me wanted to know; I’ll get to that.
The last thing I could remember was gunfire. That horrible, blaring sound. A pistol roared into my hip and just about shattered what seemed like everything. My guts poured onto the floor with what seemed like a sigh. A Sheriff’s Marshall blasted a shotgun shell into a leg and onto the ground I went. They were shouting all kinds of stuff, telling me that I was done, telling me that they had me surrounded, telling me they would make me sorry for going after the Mayor’s daughter.
Did I mention the Mayor’s daughter? Yeah, this was about a girl, a story as old as this world isn’t it? Yeah, it sure is. Anna Jenkinson, daughter of Mayor Eric Jenkinson, of the great town of Brighton, Arizona. Brighton is a prosperous mining town which borders a set of mountains. The geography of Arizona is weird. There is a lot of silver in those mountains and many got rich from it, as you can imagine. But that’s enough about Brighton, Arizona.
I was a bank robber. I must have robbed every bank on the West Coast three times, or something mad like that. I had a reputation, to the law; I was the Devil. To the common man, who had all their money taken away by the law; I was a hero. A sort of Robin Hood type character. I kept most of the money for myself and my crew of course, but if a friend of mine was in financial straits, then I was known to give him a few bills, courtesy of the U.S. government of course.
I met Anna Jenkinson when I robbed a bank in Phoenix. She and her Dad where there on a business trip or something like that. Anna was in the right bank at the right moment, so was I.  My crew and I stormed the place, guns blazing, took out any of the local law and proceeded to rob the place. In the confusion of the robbery, as most are; in fact, most robberies are sheer luck, I noticed Anna. She didn’t seem scared of me. She was rich girl who came from one of the most prosperous towns in the state, of course I knew who she was. But she did not seem fearful, even for a moment, of the rancher’s boy who robbed banks.
In that moment I knew it was love, there isn’t any other way to describe it. My heart was racing, and I knew that it was the same for her. She felt the same way. ‘Patrick, what in the hell are you doing?’ One of my crew screamed this at me as he was robbing the vault. I ignored him, I just stared at her, like she was a mermaid and I was a hapless sailor. One of the bank tellers thought that he could get his name in the papers as a hero or something and tackled me while I was starstruck.  
I tumbled to the ground but managed to get the teller away, I aimed my gun at him and was about to do to him what I did to any idiots who think that a robbery is the place to play hero. Then Anna spoke. ‘Patrick.’ I turned, shocked that she knew my name, she said it with a whisper. ‘Patrick Callaghan.’ She said this with a smile also. I ran to her, took her hand, and out the building we went.
It’s funny in retrospect, I completely ignored a robbery of probably the richest bank in the country and ran off with some girl who I hadn’t even known moments earlier. I guess it wasn’t too funny for my crew right enough, as they were left in the place. I was the brains of the operation, so I was noticed. But they made it out alright, the cops aren’t all they are made out to be.
We spent the next month or so together, with pseudonyms, going and doing whatever the hell we wanted. It was love, what can I say. We locked ourselves in a hotel and didn’t leave for weeks. After that we went across many towns and states, doing whatever we wanted. I seemed to have forgotten that I was a criminal wanted in most states, but I didn’t care then.
It was sheer joy. She knew my name from the papers, her old man had often cursed my name she said, with giggles. God she was beautiful. Anna had red hair and was tall, about my height. She spoke with a northern accent, it was from Portland way, she told me that she spent most of her childhood there. I listened to everything she told me; I knew everything about her. That was surprising, because usually I didn’t care about any of that stuff with women, but this was different, this was very different.
I told her everything she wanted to know about me. She seemed genuinely interested, which I found surprising because there really wasn’t that much to say. I had gotten fed up of my Dad working the land he had inherited only to give it away to the taxman. That’s what set me off on the path of robbing the rich and giving to the poor. I guess I really was Robin Hood. A hero is what she called me; I wonder what her old man would have made of that.
Pretty soon we knew more of what her old man thought of me. We walked past a papers rack and noticed our names in the headline. ‘Criminal Callaghan Kidnaps Mayor’s Pride and Joy Anna.’ We laughed a lot at that one. The story which accompanied it was even more ridiculous. I was happy to find out that, as I mentioned, my crew had escaped. I had taught them well and never would have abandoned them in the moment of a robbery had I not been sure that they would make it out okay. Or maybe I would have; if the alternative was Anna Jenkinson.
Eventually after about half a year or so of us essentially being husband and wife; she started to get nostalgic about the old hometown. We had travelled to Michigan by train and the weather was playing on her and she wanted to return to Arizona and her father. I was destroyed by this. She insisted that I should come with her. It was then that I realised just how ridiculous this whole thing was. What future did a career criminal bank robber and the heir to a profitable silver company have?
She insisted that she introduce me to her father and try to explain the situation to him. I found that funny, could you imagine the reaction of old man Jenkinson when his daughter told him that she was in love with a bank robber from the farms? But soon I was sad; for it seemed obvious that she greatly cared for Eric, her mother had passed when she was young, and he was all the family she had. I explained to her that it was impossible for me to return to Arizona, for it was my hometown and I was more famous than Washington there.
She decided to go alone but promised she would return once she got everything sorted out with her father. I waited for a good while in some random town in Michigan, it was hell. Every moment away from her was horrible and soon I was on the next train to Brighton. I was heading to the family home once I arrived, a grand place it supposedly was. But I never got there. Some deputy recognised me in a bar and blasted me with his pistol, a few more joined him until I was a wreck. I took some pride in the fact that I took most of the bastards with me, Brighton Sheriff’s Department would be on a recruitment drive after that, that was for sure.
But I ended up in some stranger’s barn, with enough bullets in me to arm a whole company. My last thoughts were of Anna, of course, just before I thought I was going to the afterlife. Then was the void of sheer light. I thought that that was it. My turn at the table was over and onto the next I went.
But no. The next thing I knew was the ceiling of some mansion. I stutteringly got to my feet, naked, but to my amazement; there was no sign on me that I had ever been in a gunfight. I rushed to a nearby window to make out where I was, it was raining worse than in anyplace I had ever been.
I was in a great mansion, the type that I had only ever heard about. I imagined that the Jenkinson house was something like this. Then a door opened to my left and I turned, greeting me was a stylish gentleman who spoke with an English accent, confirming where I was. ‘Mr Callaghan, I’m glad you could join us.’ He smiled then ran a hand through his fine mop. I fainted a moment later, thanks to shock.
Eventually I was dressed and sitting in his main room on the first floor of his grand mansion, explaining how it was I got there, even though it was obvious that he knew everything that I was telling him. I guess he wanted to know how much I knew or remembered. I waited for a moment after my tale was told; he was scribbling the final word on that notebook of his. Suddenly he turned to me and had a question. ‘Do you have no idea how you got here? How you came to be in England?’
I took another sip of whiskey. ‘Or how I ended up in your house? Nope. That’s a mystery. Do you think you could explain that?’
He smiled. ‘My name is Henry Avery. I’m a … how would you describe it. A concerned individual. Yes, that seems right. I’m a connoisseur, I’m a … well, you know. I’ve known about you for a while, Mr Callaghan. You are special, there is no doubt about that. There are only a few of you in all existence as far as I know.’
‘Well … Henry, what do you mean? Special? How?’
‘You, family name, Mr Callaghan, they have special … gifts. I knew that you would never believe me if I did not present any truth of the fact. You, Mr Callaghan, are invincible.’
‘Invincible, what do you mean by that?’
‘Just as the word describes, my friend. You cannot be injured in any fatal way.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Is it? Repeat the last thing you remember before arriving here.’
‘I was … I was … shot. A lot.’
‘Yet, somehow, here you are. How do you explain that?’
‘I must have had … help. Maybe they were able to get me medical help, save me.’
Henry Avery smiled, got to his feet, then went to the window across from his desk and stared at the rain. ‘You were shot many times, Mr Callaghan. No one would survive that. Everyone knew your profession; do you really believe that they would get a criminal like you help?’
‘So, you think I’m … I’m invincible? That’s ridiculous, Henry.’
‘Is it, I say again; how do you explain you being here?’
I thought it over, his argument was valid. It was impossible to survive what I went through, that was for sure. Like I said, I was shot with more bullets than your average rifle company has on them. But invincible? It was nonsense, surely. That’s what I told myself then. But it wasn’t. I told myself that Henry Avery was right. I was invincible, but I didn’t want to believe it. I should have been drinking with George Washington in the afterlife or something, not sipping whiskey with some English aristocrat.
‘Alright, let’s say I am …’
‘Invincible.’
‘Yes, invincible. How is that possible, you said something about my family, what do you mean?’
Avery went back to his chair and sat. ‘This is a lot of information, I understand that, Mr Callaghan. But I will answer what you have asked, it is up to you whether you choose to believe or not. Just remember the last thing that happened to you before you arrived here, Mr Callaghan. Your family is special. They have had many names over the years, in many different cultures as well. They are known as the invincible, they occur once every generation, each from a series of related families that had this gift bestowed upon them and their kin by an Alien who visited this world many years ago. I will tell you the details of this if you wish, but the important thing to know is that you are this once in a generation invincible. Someone who cannot be ended in normal ways. You will not live forever, that is important to note, you age as any normal person would, aside from the differences I have already mentioned, you cannot be fatally injured.’
‘If that’s the case then how come I don’t remember anything after my shooting, would the bullets not just … bounce off me?’
Henry Avery gave off a sly smile then took a sip of his whiskey. The rain outside seemed to rattle everywhere. ‘As far as I understand; it doesn’t work like that. You … bounce back. You can be maimed, but eventually its effects will be reversed. It took you a while to recuperate from your shooting in Arizona, it has been a month since then. I heard reports of a man surviving such a thing and I immediately travelled there, then had you brought back here.’
‘But why? Why did you bring me here? Why are you telling me this?’
Avery suddenly got to his feet, he told me to follow him. ‘You can borrow one of my coats from the hanger.’ Avery took me around the back of his great property. He owned a vast estate of grassy hills in the English country which seemed to go on forever, I had never known anything quite like it. Around the back of his property was a series of graves. He pointed to them. ‘This is where I bury men like you, men who were invincible. I am a protector of sorts for men like you, I am also the product of my family, this is my family’s profession. We protect those like you from an organization which is determined to end you.’
‘Who?’
‘They have had many names; it doesn’t matter what you call them. Some call them the Order of Menitras. All you have to know is that they are an organization which finds people like you, those who are invincible, and murders them.’
‘But I thought you said that I was invincible.’
‘To most things, yes. But not all. There are ways in which you can be destroyed, such weapons have been made which can end an invincible. But they are rare, but make no mistake; the Order of Menitras have them all. Some say that they were made by the mad Mateo Alvarez himself.’
‘Why do they go after those who are invincible?’
‘Why else? They fear what they refuse to comprehend. They think of you and those like you as a threat. These people run the world and they fear the idea of a rival. There are only a few families who are known to have this gift which you have, they usually find whoever it is who has this … what would you call it? Gift? Yes, let’s go with that. You are probably wondering why none of your family have demonstrated this gift of invincibility?’ I was. ‘Some go through their whole lives not knowing that they have such a gift, but others who have … shall we say, more interesting lives which involve danger, they soon find out about their true nature.’
I laughed, to a country boy like me who robbed banks for fun; that was the only real response to all of this. I refused to believe a damn word that this guy, who I had just met, said. ‘Do you honestly expect me to believe any of this, Avery? Assuming that is your real name. Hell, this could be Michigan for all I know and you’re just putting that lousy voice on! Sorry, but I’m not buying any of what you are saying. In fact, I don’t like you all that much, I’ve listened to what you have to say; and I don’t believe any of it, not a damn word. It’s an act of God that I survived that shooting. I’m not no … invincible. In fact, why don’t you point me in the direction of the nearest town, and I’ll be on my way.’
Avery sighed then put a hand in his pocket, I immediately knew he had a gun. It was a pistol, a Webley revolver, English made. He fired into the distance with a roar. I stumbled to my left, shocked. A cry soon followed the roar of the pistol. I turned, a stranger was having a fit and was clutching at his midriff, not far from him was the discarded pistol which he threw with shock. I turned to Avery who gave me a smile. Avery then went to the stranger and dragged him to his feet, ‘follow me, Callaghan.’
The shooting made me uneasy. I don’t know why though, maybe it was the realism of it. I was a criminal who had shot many wannabe heroes. I guess it was the suddenness of it also. Henry Avery did not seem like the type of guy who would have a Webley pistol on him, that was for sure. Being that there was no alternative; I followed Avery as he dragged the stranger into his grand mansion. A trail of that hot liquid followed them. ‘Lock the door after us, will you, Callaghan?’ I did as I was told; it was a rudimentary lock but seemed sturdy enough.
Avery threw the man onto the floor of the main room, the same place where we had had our discussion moments ago. ‘Do you remember that organization I told you about, Callaghan?’
I nodded. ‘The Order of Metritis.’
‘Meet a member of this group that wants you and your kind murdered.’ Avery slammed the butt of his great pistol onto the shot leg of the stranger, he let out a curling scream in response.
Avery proceeded to go through whatever the stranger had on him. He had a wallet with identification papers, ‘Leroy Hernandez, Portuguese. Police as well.’ Avery sighed. ‘They recruit from all over, don’t they?’ Hernandez responded with some stuttered growls. Avery got to his feet; he gave me the Webley pistol. ‘I understand that you know how to use this?’ I nodded. ‘Good.’ He stuffed Hernandez’s papers into his jacket pocket. ‘Not to worry, I’ve got a spare.’ Avery went to the chestnut cupboard next to his drinking cabinet and unlocked it with a key from his pocket. In a compartment of this cupboard was another pistol, a Smith and Wesson, bullets as well. He stuffed some of the bullets into the same pocket that he had Fernandez’s papers and tucked the pistol in the other. ‘Well … we should be going. It seems I was wrong in my assumptions.’
‘What about him?’
‘Ah, not to worry. I’m sure that his associates are not far away. They will be here soon; of that I am sure.’ Someone knocked on the door enthusiastically. We stared at each other for a moment. ‘That will be them now in fact. Please, Mr Callaghan; this way.’ He motioned me to a door at the far end of the room, which I had not even noticed. Just as we went into the next room, we could hear the distinct sound of the door being shot open.
I felt like a passenger, like I was just doing as I was told. I followed Avery, not because I believed any of what he had told me, but because there was no real alternative. Plus, if there was even a chance that some group of murderers was after me because they thought I was invincible; then it was worth it. Eventually we reached the mansions garage, Avery had a series of secret passages which he led me through. ‘If you please, Mr Callaghan.’ He motioned to the garage doors, I rushed to them and got them open, I was greeted with a rush of rain. I scanned the surroundings, to make sure that the coast was clear. It wasn’t. A bullet cracked past me. After it was a voice. ‘Get rid of the gun, now!’
‘Quickly, Mr Callaghan!’ I rushed to Avery’s car and got in; we went racing into the rain. Following us was a series of shots, but they all missed. There were several of these associates of Fernandez. They chased after us some but soon stopped.
‘I reckon that you just gone and saved me, Henry. If what you were saying is the truth that is.’
‘I assure you, Mr Callaghan; it is.’
‘Well, if it is; thanks. Also, you can call me Pat.’
Off into the English country we raced, Avery seemed to know his surroundings well and soon we were a good way away from his mansion. It became obvious that this was not anyplace in Michigan, or anywhere else in the U.S. for that matter. With weather and roads like that; it was England. ‘I’ve got a question for you.’ Avery nodded. ‘How did you get me over here, all shot to hell like I was?’
Avery turned and made sure we were not being followed before he answered. ‘I have some powerful friends, Pat. Especially across the Atlantic. In fact, I intend to return you there, and then to them. There are men of science in New Hampshire who would greatly like to meet with you. I brought you here with the plan of bringing them over; I believed that my residence was a haven from them.’ He smiled, maddeningly. ‘How wrong was I about that?’
I chuckled in response. ‘What do you mean; men of science?’
‘Academics. They can study you, protect you, maybe put you to some good use.’
‘Henry, I have only ever been good at robbing banks, I don’t suspect that some “academics” are going to find much use in that.’
‘Well, you never know. Maybe you could fund their research?’ I turned to him seriously. ‘A joke, Pat.’ I nodded. ‘Anyway, what I mean is; they can study you. With gifts like yours, think of all the possibilities that DNA like yours could have. Advancements is science have finally made all of this possible.’
‘DNA?’
‘Think of the diseases which your genetics could cure. The practical applications. You are immune from illness, Pat.’
I considered that for a moment; I did not get sick all that often, that much was for sure. Everything Avery was saying made more and more sense. ‘How much influence does this organization have? Are we talking about a bunch of guys who got bored or are we talking about a Church type thing?’
Avery was amused at the way I had phrased my question. ‘They have informants and followers in most governments and institutions. The Order of Menitras, that is their name, and they are many.’
Avery was about to go on before I stopped him. ‘Are you going to answer the question I asked you earlier?’
‘What?’
‘Why are you helping me?’
Avery sighed, he took a left and went on. Bordering us was a lake and some hills, past us went a sign which I took great interest in. It started raining. ‘What was it you said; “a bunch of guys who got bored”. Something you should understand, Pat; money is great, that is for sure, but it isn’t everything. I have been rich from birth; my parents were rich and so were their folks and so forth. They made their money in something or another, I have honestly forgotten what in right enough. But I got bored, there are so many mansions and boats and parties you can have before you get bored of it all.’
‘You want to know something, Avery?’
‘What?’
‘You’re not much different from me.’
Avery smiled. ‘Go on.’
‘You’re a thrill junkie from what I can gather. I know men like you, had enough of them in my crews to know. You like the thrill, for me and my crew the thrill was robbing banks. Not much more of a thrill than that I can tell you, from the cops to the getaway. I’m partial to that myself, I made more than enough money to high tail it to Mexico and never get no fuss from the U.S. government again, but I kept on robbing. Do you know why?’
‘Because of the thrill I assume. The buzz you get?’
‘Not quite. Because I didn’t have anything better, but I was going to stop all of that, I found something better. I found Annie.’ Avery shuffled uneasily in his seat, as though he had a chill, he checked the back window again. ‘Like I said, I’ve had many guys like that in my crew. But they never stayed for long.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Where are we going anyway?’
Avery seemed surprised at the change in conversation. ‘We are going to Hereford, stay there for a while, make sure no one else is following us. Form there; to Plymouth, there is a ship waiting there which will take us to New York, from there it is onto The Institute of Higher Education for the state of New Hampshire. That is where my friends, which I have already told you about, are.’
‘Sounds like quite the journey.’
‘It will take a while, that is for sure. Took a while to get you here as well.’
‘The thing about thrill seekers though, Henry. In my experience; most of them are lying bastards.’ I punched Avery there and then. His head rattled into the window with a scream and a smash. I grabbed the wheel, making sure we did not crash. ‘Also, we missed the exit for Hereford a mile or so back. I don’t know much about England, but I can follow signs easily enough.’ I got the gun from my pocket and aimed it at his midriff. ‘I wouldn’t try anything if I was you, Avery.’ I put my foot on the brake pedal and the car stuttered to a halt.
Avery was still reeling from the knock I gave him. I got the pistol from his belt and threw it out of the window on my right. I went out and around, opened the door, then threw Avery into a ditch by the road. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Avery bellowed this with a high English shrill. ‘They’ll find us!’
‘Stop with all that horseshit, Avery. All this talk about being invincible, and some secret society who wants to stop me; it’s all bullshit, you aren’t fooling anyone.’
I went into his pocket, gun aimed so he wouldn’t try anything. ‘I’m not stupid, Avery.’ I got out Fernandez papers. ‘I know fake papers; I’ve been using them long enough. I noticed them back at that mansion of yours. Plus, I know cops, I know this is England and all, but cops are still cops, no matter where you go. And I’ll tell you something for certain, those guys back at the place; they weren’t cops, their aim was shit and they didn’t identify themselves, I reckon that that’s cop procedure everywhere. Even if they were cops who supposedly served the Order of Metritis.’
 Avery got to his feet, the charade was gone, he smiled maddeningly. ‘Why did you wait so long before you did anything?’
It was my turn to smile. The rain was pouring and rattling the ground. ‘Well, I wanted to have a chat with you, get to know the sadistic son of a bitch who has been lying to me. Oh, and another thing, Avery; you are a terrible liar.’
‘Did you buy any of it?’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, we will have another go at it, wont we? Can I ask why?’
‘Because I remember that it was you who shot me, Henry. Back in Brighton. You wore different clothes, but it was still you. I wasn’t sure at first, but I am now.’
‘Shit. I thought I had a pretty good disguise.
‘Well, disguises don’t fool everyone. Plus, Brits are noticeable in Arizona.
Avery laughed. ‘I guess you know who hired me to get rid of you then?’
‘Yep, Eric Jenkinson, Mayor of Brighton. I’ve got a theory about you, Henry.’
Avery gestured his hands, as if to say; enlighten me. ‘You are a sadistic son of a bitch who likes messing with people. You created all that bullshit about me being some kind of indestructible something or another, about the Order of Menitras, just because you are a rich boy who probably got fed up of murdering people in normal ways, just like you got fed up of everything else you put your mind to.’
I was halted for a moment by the sound of screeching cars, whoever was involved in all of this with Avery would be there soon. I turned quickly and just about stopped Avery making a lunge for me, he was surprisingly fast. He got his hands up with a smile and took a step back.
‘Go on, Pat; you were saying?’
‘Yeah, like I said; you are a thrill seeker who likes messing with people. So much so that you had me brought across an ocean so you could play your mind games. Tell me, does anyone actually believe your bullshit?’
‘A few. You would be surprised at some of the things people will believe. Pathetic creatures.’
‘Well, this is where the fun ends. It’s been fun, Avery. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. I think I’ll be on my way, and so will you.’
I was just about to shoot him before he screamed a word. ‘Wait!’ I took a moment then gestured; telling him to get on with it. ‘What about the shooting?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I shot Fernandez; an associate of mine. How do you reckon I staged that?’
‘Body armour, I guess. Plating or something.’
Smugness consumed Avery. ‘Nope. How else could I have staged it?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Oh shit.’ Blanks. Avery used blanks, which meant that the pistol that I had been aiming at him had blanks. It was the same gun after all. A few of the guys with Fernandez back at the mansion had guns though, a shot cracked passed me. But I guess he was the guy with the real thing, to take care of things if they had gotten out of hand.
‘You would think that a cowboy would know the difference between live bullets and blanks.’ Avery said, just before he barged into me.
I tumbled into the car then went over it. In the distance was the sound of an approaching car, Avery would soon have help. So, I was going to do something. I got to my feet, Avery had his sleeves up and was gesturing to me, saying; come on! I was more than happy to oblige, I thought that this Brit rich boy would be dealt with like taking candy from a babe. How wrong I was. I went to him, fists ready. I swung a fast left, he blocked it with an elbow then planted me back over the car. ‘Cambridge boxing club, friend. I got bored of that as well.’
Avery’s help was now in the distance. I had to act smart. I could always have just went for the car, but he would have beat me to it most like. I made a run for the trunk of the car and was able to get it open and retrieve what I was after before Avery slammed a fist into my midriff. I yelled but managed to compose myself. Avery noticed what I had then went for me. Somehow; I dodged his lunge and was able to slam the tire iron into his shoulder. He crashed with a thud.
I rushed to the car and got in. ‘Shit!’ I thought it best that I get the keys, and who had them? Avery. I ran to him, luckily; he was still reeling. I got the key from his jacket pocket. But he grabbed onto my arm with an iron grip. I threw my right at him, amazingly; he caught it. I slammed a foot into his face, he screamed then tumbled.
Avery’s friends were metres away then, they stopped and rushed out as I got the car going. They got Avery into their car and they went racing after me. The weather was not ideal, it was raining, and it had been for most of the time I had been in England. The car skidded, shots were fired, they crashed into the trunk of my commandeered vehicle.
The car went over with a quick left, I was so consumed with getting as far away from Avery and his goons that I forgot about my turns. It sailed through the air then crashed into a stream. The next thing I knew; my head was spinning. Soon; everything went.
‘Shit.’ I was taped to a chair in Avery’s main room. Him and his goons must have got me from the wreckage and brought me back. I guess Avery had saved me, again. Then again; he was the cause after all.
Avery walked in. ‘Mr Callaghan. That was a lot of fun, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I liked the part where I hit you with that wrench.’
‘Very funny, Mr Callaghan. I take it that you wouldn’t want me to call you Pat.’
I smiled. ‘Yep.’
Avery had a vial in his hand, I noticed this as he sat. It was an odd yellow thing. ‘Notice this.’ He dangled it in front of me like it was candy. ‘This is what I used to wipe your memory, so you wouldn’t remember the journey over here. I’m going to use it on you again. And again. And again. I developed it in South America, some fine locals put it together for me from some plants there for a reasonable fee. I’m going to use it to wipe your memory now. And I will keep doing so until you believe the impossible.’
‘Why, in the hell, are you doing this?’
‘People don’t believe in anything anymore, John. Plus, it’s fun, sheer fun. Maybe I will write about it. There was this guy; I had convinced him that he had murdered his sister in a drunken rage for sheer fun.’ He flung his head back and cackled. ‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, you’re a real bundle of joy, you do know that?’
‘Jenkinson hired me because I’m the best. He wanted you to know hell, so; do you know what he did?’
‘What’s that?’
‘He made a deal with the Devil.’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘Did you practice that to yourself or something? Do you think that makes you sound like a badass? Well, let me tell you something, Avery. I’ve known bad men, real pieces of work, and you aren’t one of them. And I should know, I rob banks. You’re a spoiled brat who enjoys misery, despicable, that’s what you are. You want to talk about the Devil, you aren’t the devil, that’s what they call me!’
‘Nice speech, Callaghan. It’s just a shame that you won’t remember any of it.’
And that was the case, I remembered nothing of what Henry Avery and his wicked mind devised for me. Not until later anyway. That’s the horrible thing about all of this, even when I was happily married and living with Anna Jenkinson in her old man’s mansion, years later, I would remember Henry Avery. As said; Earl Jenkinson recruited Henry Avery to bring me hell. And he did that, and then some.
For the better part of a year I was the subject of Henry Avery’s attention. I like to believe that I didn’t totally forget everything after every mind wipe. That I somehow knew what was happening. Avery got sloppy; no doubt confident in the numerous lies that he had had me believing.
I don’t know what it was that made me remember. Maybe Henry didn’t use the right dose of that horrible drug of his. I don’t know. But suddenly I was back, and I remembered everything. Maybe it was sheer hate that brought me back. Searing hate for the monster that was Henry Avery. The sadistic monster who loved misery.
I got the gun. The real one this time, from one of the goons who participated. I blew him and his friends away when I made it seem like I was buying Avery’s lie; that I was a spy for the Russian government or something batshit crazy like that.
His expression of sheer surprise made it all worth it. I blew his brains across that fine study of his, chunks of his hair were soaking into his grand carpet. I waited there for a good while, finally realising that it was all over. Even when I buried him out in the back, along with all the other poor saps he murdered, I couldn’t help but think that he wasn’t the only one. That there were other sadistic monsters like him out there. Like those guys he mentioned from New Hampshire.
I guess you could say that I had the classic ending. I got the girl and have lived for a good while.
But I still think of Henry Avery.
You know what another disturbing thing about all of this is; that I’m not sure if that man I shot was Henry Avery. Sure; he called himself Henry Avery, but soon the man who came back to me, through my memories, was different from the man I shot. I often wonder, was Henry Avery alone, or part of a terrible party of madmen. Did he get bored of me and get someone else to do his work?