Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!
ISSUE #4 (April 2018)
Written by D. Golightly Featuring: The Shadow
Moe Shrevnitz
Margot Lane
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"Mistaken Identities"New York City, 1938
The darkness always felt cold, an obvious symptom of excluding all light. In the recent years the man calling himself Lamont Cranston had learned to embrace the darkness in his other guise as the nightstalker known as the Shadow. As he rested on the back seat of a familiar taxicab, the Shadow felt a cold shiver run up and down his spine. The wound in his lower back had stopped bleeding some time ago, but he had lost a lot of blood and was feeling quite woozy. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he was unsure of how long they had been traveling. If not for Moe’s signature driving he would have guessed hours had passed before they finally came to a halt. The mansion before them loomed ominously. It was where the Shadow called home, regardless of how pleasant and upper class the estate appeared. It truth, the building was much closer to how the Shadow appeared than one might guess. On the outside, the stanch estate looked clean and sophisticated with exquisite cosmetic detail. The inside, however, housed a plethora of secrets that were privy to just a select few. “Careful, boss,” Moe the cabbie said. “I got ya…lean on me.” The Shadow slipped out of the rear door and onto Moe’s hefty shoulders. He was exhausted, completely taxed from the recent days of thwarting evil men. He laughed silently to himself at the idea and how childish it sounded. It was his life, however. He had dedicated himself to what he thought was a just cause. “Almost there, boss.” The Shadow was able to raise his head enough to catch a glimpse of the front patio. The large oak door lay just beyond the stone archway that had visually stunning carvings all throughout. His red scarf, which had once been tightly wrapped around his face, was now drooping off, the scars and blemishes now showing in the moonlight. In contrast to the deep red, his blue eyes pierced the night, longingly trying to reach out and enter the home faster than Moe could carry him. Just a few feet away from the door, Moe suddenly stopped and backed up a step. The Shadow grunted at the jarring shift in momentum, trying to lift his head again to see why Moe had halted their progress. Even with the weight of his thick cloak the Shadow successfully pulled his own shoulders up, elevating his head just enough to see something he never would have expected. “Dear Lord!” the woman in the doorway screamed. Her red hair cascaded down her neck and around her shoulders, gleaming in the night much like the Shadow’s eyes. She looked surprised, but not nearly as surprised as Moe. The Shadow’s head tilted forward, the blood rushing through his brain and threatening unconsciousness once again. The last image burned into his retina before the darkness overcame him was that of Margot Lane racing over to him. “How much longer do you think you can keep this up?” the reflection asked of him. Lamont Cranston stood in a realm devoid of all light in front of a large mirror. His sullied reflection was thrown back in his face, dirty and disgusting. The scars were deep in his skin and his eyes were bloodshot. The weight of his body no longer held him down, as he floated in the dead space. A regular person may have assumed this was a dream but Lamont’s training in the Far East had taught him to see this place for what it actually was: a vision. “What am I keeping up, exactly?” he asked his reflection. Lamont floated closer to the mirror, the only other thing visible in this theater of the mind. Thanks to the trials he had undergone all across the globe, he was able to exert a limited amount of control over his visions. He remained aware of himself while he was unconscious, always working with his mind…although at times he had worked against it. His own self-doubt and fears sometimes got the best of him. “This mockery of society that you call an identity!” the image said, laughing. “You go out to clubs and popular restaurants, mimicking what you see the rest of them do. You put on a mask during the daytime to look like them. You call yourself a name you have no real claim to! For what? Why do you torture yourself like this? You are not like them and you never will be.” “I don’t understand…” “God created the separation between day and night,” the reflection explained. “You convince yourself that by donning that cape you have erected a shield against the tyranny you try to cease. Murderers, rapists, thieves, and cutthroats…they all bend to your will and you pretend you fall on the side of right.” “I am right…” Lamont stated, albeit a bit meekly. “By whose standard? I wonder, how will you be judged?” Anger began to build in Lamont’s gut, charging up his throat and begging to be released. He closed his eyes and breathed, reasserting the control he had over himself. “Whatever aspect of me you represent,” Lamont told the mirror, “I’ll not be fooled by your double-talk.” “Double-talk?” the image quipped. “What reason would I have for fooling you? You are me and I am you. Admit that which we both already know. You’re insane.” “I’m a guardian.” “You’re a sociopath.” Lamont’s anger finally got the better of him and he lashed out, lunging toward the mirror with his arm extended to grasp the image’s neck. He fingers barely graced the mirror’s edge before another arm shot out from his left side, clutching his forearm and holding it steady. The arm was thin and withered, obviously aged through both the passing of time and immense physical exertion. “Calm yourself,” an elderly voice said. Lamont turned his gaze to trace the arm back to an old man inside of another mirror, this one connected at the corner to the first. It was a man he had not seen for quite some time, someone he respected a create deal. It was his teacher from the Far East, the old man…the Tolku. “Master,” Lamont said, forgetting the other image before him. “Student,” the reflection of the Tolku replied. He was easily in his late eighties and draped in an orange silk. “You forget yourself it seems.” “No, I…it’s merely the exertion I’ve put myself through over the last--” “Do not lie!” the old man ordered. “You would dare to sully my teachings with those poisonous lies? One lie begets another, that is the way of the snake. I taught you to control yourself at all times, not give excuses!” Lamont stole a glance at his own reflection, which was now looking smug and satisfied. It sickened him to admit that his former teacher was right; he was avoiding the truth. “What’s happening here?” he asked, turning his attention back to the Tolku. “This vision…what does it mean?” “It means you are at a crossroads, my student. Soon you will understand why you were given the abilities that you so gleefully use for vengeance. Your mind, while stronger than most, is still a fragile thing. There are forces gathering that would seek your destruction.” The darkness that enveloped the entire arena rustled at the Tolku’s words. Lamont floated steadily before the twin mirrors, staring down each aspect of his soul, unsure of how to proceed. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the Shadow was worried. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are but you can’t stay here!” Moe complained. Margot Lane flipped the wisps of hair away from her large eyes, a motion she had casually used more than once to garner attention. Moe had carried his employer into the den, a room scented with the musk of cigars and brandy, while Margot skittered behind them despite the cabbie’s protests. “I’m not going anywhere until I start getting some answers!” she demanded. “First, I meet Mr. Cranston and I feel some sort of…connection click into place. Then he completely brushes aside my attempts to meet with him! I don’t mind telling you I was more than slightly annoyed.” “Do you always ramble like this?” Margot crossed her arms over the subtle curves of her chest. “I’m a fast talker when I’m curious. Tell me what’s going on with Mr. Cranston, will you? Why is he dressed like that? And what happened to his face? And…oh my lord should we call a doctor?” “Will you just quit the yapping for a minute?” Moe barked over his shoulder. Lamont’s face was turning pale and Moe wasn’t sure what to do. “I need to think.” The fire place crackled while its flames danced back and forth, illuminating the bookshelves and fine furniture. Embers floated out into the room between Moe and the beautiful Margot, but quickly fizzled before touching the soft carpet. The amber light washed over Margot’s face, showing a deep concern for a man she barely knew. To say they were total strangers, however, would be a misnomer. From the very moment they had locked eyes she felt like she was a part of the enigmatic socialite. “Hey,” Moe said, breaking her train of thought. “What are you doing here again?” “Well, like I was saying…I needed to meet with Mr. Cranston, but he had been keeping me at arm’s length. A girl can take a hint but that doesn’t mean I’m going to respect it. Anyway, I simply let myself in this evening so I could discuss things.” “You mean you broke in!” “Now wait just a moment!” she retaliated. “I resent the implication--oh, look! He’s waking up! Is he waking up? I saw his eyelids flutter!” “My destruction?” Lamont asked the mirror. “You must ask yourself if you are prepared, my student,” the Tolku replied while Lamont’s own reflection grimaced maniacally. “Are you confident in your present state? Do you truly believe yourself to be complete?” “No man is ever complete. Those who seek rest before their time are foolish and doomed to a life stagnancy.” The Tolku smirked, the wrinkles of his face contorting into a soft smile. “You may regurgitate my lessons as much as you like, but you must believe in them or else they are just words. Do you believe?” “Do you believe?” Lamont’s reflection asked before he could answer. “Do you believe?” a third voice pondered from Lamont’s right side, startling him. He whipped around to face the new sound and was captivated by what he saw. This realm, this mindscape, was an ever-changing place. As much control Lamont struggled to grasp here he was as ineffective as a housefly is over its own life span. Joined to the central mirror much like the Tolku’s was a third mirror, this one reflecting back a man Lamont had long thought dead. “This isn’t possible!” Lamont screamed, again lashing out, this time in an attempt to strike the third mirror. His fist passed through the silvery surface of the mirror, caught by the immensely strong hand of the man inside. “What’s the matter, old boy?” the third reflection asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” A chill ran up Lamont’s spine as he floated in the void, his arm locked inside the mirror with a man he thought was long dead, a man he had assumed the role of long ago. This third image laughing heartily in his face was one he hoped to never see again until he met up with him in the afterlife. The final reflection looked nothing like Lamont. He was chubby with slicked back brown hair and a thin mustache. His teeth were yellow from the constant inhaling of cigarette smoke and his lower lip was scabbed from a nervous habit. The two men had absolutely nothing in common save for a single, tiny, almost unimportant fact. They were both named Lamont Cranston. “No!” the Shadow screamed. Margot jumped back in surprise, her one hand cupped by the other as she stumbled back into Moe. Lamont sat up quickly, the pain in his lower back leaving him for the moment. His head spun from left to right as he took in his surroundings, his eyes wide with terror. “Boss!” Moe called out as he moved around the startled young woman. “Boss, are you okay? You were worrying me a bit.” “I…I’m fine Moe,” he answered began large breaths. “How did…Miss Lane?” He looked her over from head to toe in confusion before turning to Moe for an answer, his face beading with sweat. “She busted into the place before we got here,” Moe explained. “Look, I don’t know what to do here, boss! You need a doctor! I know you told me never to take you to one of those hospitals, but you were dripping blood the whole way in here and--” “It’s nothing that a glass of brandy won’t cure,” Lamont cut in. “Call Burbank and have him send over one of our physicians. I just need a few stitches and I’ll be fine.” Lamont fell back into the plush armchair, completely exhausted both mentally and physically. He pulled his red sash out from behind his neck and draped it over his lap, the fire’s light licking at the silky fabric. All he wanted to do was pass out and wait for the physician to arrive, praying that even then the good doctor could complete his task while he remained unconscious. His vision was over for now and he need not fear its return upon sleeping. “Mr. Cranston?” Margot feebly asked. Lamont raised his head just enough to see Margot standing over him, her posture spelling out the emotions shifting around inside her. Even when frightened she was still more gorgeous than any woman Lamont had ever laid eyes on. “Is there anything I can do? I’m sorry, I just felt compelled to find you and find out what’s been happening. When we met the other day I felt…is this a bad time?” Moe rolled his eyes as he stormed out of the den in search of a telephone. The sprawling mansion housed various phone lines, many of which were direct connections to the Shadow’s agents around the city. Burbank, the operator Moe needed to summon, would know exactly what to do in a situation like this as the Shadow had given him more precise instructions. The matter of Miss Lane, however, was something Moe doubted the vigilante had ever taken into consideration. “Margot…” Lamont began, the exhaustion showing in his voice. “I’ll answer any questions you have, but can it wait until morning? You’re welcome to stay here in my home for the evening. I’m sure you’ve already made yourself comfortable while waiting for me. Please, if you cannot pry yourself away from this place tonight then at least show me the courtesy of having patience.” Margot silently nodded and stepped back. The pupils of her eyes dilated slightly as the fire danced around the room and she pondered her next course of action. “I am happy to see you again,” Lamont mumbled. “Believe it or not, miss, I would have sought you ought eventually. We have much to discuss.” “Is it about the connection I felt? Because I was pelted with all these images and--” “Please,” Lamont stated. “Tomorrow.” Margot nodded again and turned to leave. She walked down the dark corridors of the mansion, her arms again wrapped around her in an attempt to keep the darkness away. Her head was buzzing with questions and half-answers but she decided to try and concentrate on other matters. She considered herself an independent person, no matter how many suitors tried to make her into the opposite. When she was around Lamont, however…she just felt something different, like her mind was more open. She shook her head as she passed a room Moe stood in, who was being very animated in his telephone conversation. She supposed she could try to pump the cabbie for information, but decided against it. She had caused enough trouble tonight and Lamont wanted her to stay out of it. The moon shone through the tall windows and Margot stopped to view the night. Early in the evening the sky had been plagued with clouds but now there wasn’t a single puff to be seen. It was still dark out, but decidedly clearer. In the morning, when the moon was hidden and the sun glowed proudly, she would clear up a few things herself. For now, though, she would sleep. And dream. Casefiles & Comments The duality of heroes has always fascinated me, and while researching the Shadow’s character, he has some interesting character issues as they pertain to an identity. Lamont Cranston wasn’t always Lamont Cranston, you see. So, I’ll be exploring who the Shadow really is in the near future. Post some feedback on the board, if you please! I’d love to hear from you. |