This issue takes place alongside Mightiest Mortals #9Bulletman streaked through the evening sky, his face torn with determination and anguish. The cooling air made him shiver as his mind raced with the world-shaking events of the last twenty-four hours. Now, with all the speed he could muster through his helmet, he was a crimson blur praying to be in time to save the last two innocents, while another part of his enhanced thinking ran over all the clues and patterns that had emerged, and still a third portion of his mind recoiled at what happened with his beloved wife and the thought of his marriage in peril.
And people looked up into the sky and watched the figure streak with awe and wonder, and in his wake, perhaps a lingering sense of the dread and fear James Barr himself felt.
Sixteen hours, thirty minutes agoThe flashing blue lights and crowd of uniformed figures scurrying over the Grace of Our Lord Church had roused and unnerved the neighborhood. Victor Farley and Carl Doherty had returned to their car with what they’d been able to piece together so far of the murders of Philip Mannion and Reverend Jeffrey Caffrey.
“No sign of that Bulletman fella,” Carl pointed out as their car headed out. “Maybe he should be our big suspect.”
Victor carefully maneuvered the vehicle away from the scene and shook his head. “No. I don’t know why, but I think he’s up front. I think he wants to be one of the good guys. No, there’s something else going on here. The lawyer gives us a lead, Wilson Cassel. We need to go through Mannion’s home and office, and see what we find there.”
“One thing’s for sure,” Carl muttered. “I gotta agree you were right. There’s more to this whole thing than some wife losing her mind and whacking her kids.”
15 hours, fifteen minutes agoThe haunted face of Martin Obermyer staggered into the rundown lot, a couple of metal garbage cans holding burning fires against the darkest part of the night. Several of Martin’s fellow vagrants were already scattered around the area, a few hovering by the flames, others sleeping at various piles instead. Martin was crying and shaking as he reached the fire and stared at it in horror.
“Hey, fella,” said one of the men as Martin came to a stop. “You’re lookin’ pretty bad. Here.” He handed a metal flask. “Have some. Make ya feel better. What’s your story?”
Martin took the flask and greedily downed the caustic liquor. He looked at them and his voice cracked before he could answer.
“They call me Dirty J on the street,” the man said as he hunkered into a thin, ragged gray jacket. “This here, this is my place. We all only got each other here, so you might as well let us in on what’s what, ‘cuz that’s what we do. And you look like you could stand a good vent.”
“My family died… a year ago,” he said in a low, husky whisper. “Now…now the only one…ones…with any chance of helping me…they were killed tonight. It was…awful.” His voice trailed off as he downed more of the terrible liquid that burned his throat and coiled like a wicked snake in his belly.
“Ah, now that’s awful, Martin,” Dirty J replied as he looked at the others around him.
Martin nodded and handed the flask back to Dirty J. “They were sliced up…sliced up like my kids, but with glass and it…their faces and all the blood…” He started to tug at his fingers nervously, fighting back the tears.
“There, there, Martin. You’re with us now. All your troubles, they be over now.”
Martin looked at Dirty J with quavering eyes. “I never told you my name.”
Dirty J smiled, and he nodded. “I know you just the same, Martin. You…you’re what all this has been done for. You’re what years of work have been for.” His fellows had started to circle Martin, and the broken man tried to move away, only to find himself trapped instead.
“You’re…you’re the guy…you killed my kids…”
“Yeah. Not me precisely, but close enough for now. As for you, Martin, it’s time to be more than you ever though you could be.”
Roughs hands grabbed him and dragged him screaming away from the fire and towards a large section of wooden fence. Dirty J followed behind slowly, a powerful gust of wind kicking up and swirling around him. Rags and grit and city debris picked up in the dust devil his steps generated, slowly piecing together the ragged cassock of the Murder Prophet. Martin was screaming as he was bound to the fence with rough, rusted chains and wires.
“The time is nigh, my disciples,” the Murder Prophet announced as he stepped up to Martin, drawing a viciously barbed, slender blade from the depths of his rust-red robes. Malevolent eyes stared out from the dark hood, and glared at Martin.
“The birth of the modern pantheon is so close now. Oh so close. With his blood shall come the labor of a god for this time, and for our people!”Martin screamed again as the dagger was plunged into him and the Murder Prophet began his litany of blood.
Nine hours, twenty minutes ago“Well, gotta say, I love it when people are cooperative,” Carl said as he went over his notes and typed up a report.
“Yeah. Mrs. Mannion was a wealth of information. Apparently, Philip Mannion didn’t think very highly of her perception,” Victor concurred as he was busy looking over the information they had retrieved from Philip Mannion’s computer, courtesy of his wife, Kara. “So get this. He’s the church’s accountant, right? And he’s got these notes in here that apparently the Reverend is skimming off the top. Pocketing a nice percentage of the weekly collections.”
Carl rolled his eyes as he continued to type. “Okay. So how does that connect?”
“Oh, I’m barely started, pal. You’re right, Wilson Cassel was retained by the Church to provide defense counsel for Anna. Who by the way is quite the attractive woman for a mother of two. You can really tell.”
”Oh?” Carl asked, looking over now and sipping at his cup of coffee.
Victor nodded and turned the monitor to reveal the nude pictures of Anna Obermyer. “Apparently these two were having an affair.”
Carl stared at the pictures and sipped steadily and slowly. Finally, without looking away, Carl nodded and put the empty cup down. “Damn. That’s a fine looking lady. If they were having an affair, do you think it goes back to the church somehow? If maybe she was confessin’ to the preacher?”
Victor nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Somewhere in all of this is the killer, and the connection to him. And it’s not Anna. I want to check the church records again, and then try to find the old computer files from the Obermyers.”
Carl finally tore his eyes away from the screen and rubbed the back of his neck. “Good thought. We’ll hit the church together, and then I’ll go drop in on Cassel and talk him up while you dig around in the evidence locker?”
“Sounds like a plan. But we’ve got to move fast, ‘cause Mrs. Obermyer, she’s running out of time.” They both glanced at the clock and picked up the pace on their work.
Five hours, forty minutes agoBulletman streaked through the city streets, heading in the direction of the church. The police had told him that Farley could be found there, and now he headed that way quickly, hoping to share information with the detective. His encounter with the Murder Prophet still left him shaken, and wondered how he was going to handle the fiend when he finally got his hands on him.
His reverie was shaken by the sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines. He turned to look at the street, and saw two cars speeding through the busy traffic, one pursuing the other with clear signs of an initial physical contact between them.
Bulletman dropped down and plunged his hands into the roof of the pursuing car, listening to the driver screaming mindless obscenities in a rage. With his hands secured in the roof, he started to pull upwards, straining with his shoulders and back as the vehicle slowly lifted from the ground. He could feel the structure of the car starting to tear the roof away, and instead of purely physical lifting, Bulletman concentrated, spreading the field of energy he flew on to encompass the car as well, and soon he was high in the sky.
Soon enough, he had found the top of a parking garage and settled the car onto the asphalt. He landed and rubbed his right shoulder while stepping over to the driver, who stared wide eyed at him.
“What…what happened?” he asked in a daze. He staggered out from the car and looked around. “Who are you? What did you do? What was I doing?”
“You were trying to ram that other car,” the hero replied, looking at his reactions cautiously. “I’m called Bulletman. Why were you trying to attack the other driver?”
“He…cost me a light. At an intersection, it was yellow and he could have gone, and instead he stopped. And I was so steamed that he cost me a change of lights.” He shook his head, and looked pale and sweaty as he stared at Bulletman. “I’ve never done that before. That’s not like me, you have to believe me.”
“Okay. You don’t look like you’re acting, and to be honest, this seems to fit with something else that I’m working on,” Bulletman started to float up into the air. “But I’ll be keeping an eye out.” With that he darted back into the sky, with yet more information to deliver Farley.
Three hours and five minutes agoVictor Farley was poring through the accumulated printouts from the Obermyers’ personal computer, his mind still racing with the discussion earlier with Bulletman. The battle with this Murder Prophet, and his bizarre statements, and his goals, none of them seemed to make sense. He glanced at his watch yet again as he tried to find the information he was sure to be found. Eventually, his diligence paid off as he found electronic correspondence with Philip Mannion, how she was guilty for her affair with him, how she needed to talk to Reverend Caffrey, how he counseled her to break it off with Mannion. And she had agreed to, the very night of the murders.
He leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes. “And now he’s dead. They’re both dead.” He looked back at the pile of papers and pulled out a different folder, with all manner of papers and printouts from the church. “There’s still something missing. Who is this Prophet? Did he kill the kids? Why? It makes no sense!” He banged the desktop with his hand and then sighed, flipped the file open and returned to his research, hoping that Carl would have more luck questioning Wilson Cassel.
Two hours and ten minutes ago“James Barr!” Susan Kent Barr shouted angrily as she stormed into the house. “Where the hell are you? Get out here, we need to talk!”
Jim Barr walked up out of the basement lab, shirt and jeans over the Bulletman costume underneath. He looked nervous, wondering why his wife was so angry. He could see her red face and dark eyes and he almost felt nauseous. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“How could you?” she asked simply, her voice dropping to a hush. Susan’s eyes looked hurt and betrayed. “You’re the only person in my whole life who can’t help but put files back away backwards. So explain to me how I could open up my cabinet at work and find the Obermyer case facing backwards.”
James felt his eyes go wide and his mouth go dry. He always did that. He could never remember to face those damn things the right way. He stepped to the other side of the kitchen table from his wife and shrugged at first.
“I can’t begin to figure out why the hell you’d even do that? When? How? Why?” Her voice was climbing as she felt the anger building again. “What did you think you were going to do? Save her from the chair? Solve the case? I can’t begin to figure out the insane logic you used to rationalize breaking into my office and reading my confidential files!” She leaned on her clenched fists as they pressed into the table. “Tell me. Tell me what this is all about.”
“I…can’t,” Jim replied in a choke. He hadn’t considered getting caught. In his haste to make a splash as Bulletman, he never considered that his wife’s office was off-limits. Now he felt ice water fill his shoes and he squirmed under her relentless stare. He couldn’t tell her about Bulletman, that would make things so much worse, he just knew. “I…lost my head, honey. I’m sorry.”
The answer was the worst one he could give her, he felt. She stood up tall and straight and nodded her head wordlessly. Her mouth sealed into a thin slit as she continued to stare at him. Finally, she spoke. “I see. That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” She watched him struggle helplessly for an answer and she didn’t want to hear anymore.
“I have work to do. I’m going to get some things, a couple of suits, and then get back to the office.” She stormed from the kitchen towards the stairs. “I’ll let you know where I’m staying when I get a room somewhere.”
Forty minutes agoCarl Doherty drove along the streets as he spoke into his cell phone. “Heya, Vic. Sorry for the delay, but got pulled in for some help with some of this funky gang war biz. I’m on my way to the lawyer now.”
“Okay, Carl. I’ve got some info now from the church files, and I’m going to do some checking,” Victor answered. He looked at the phone and spoke again, “Carl, did you get that?”
“Vic?” Carl shook his cell and looked to see the dead battery signal. “Damn. Ah well. No big.” He slipped it away, and pulled out the address for Cassel’s office, making a mental note of the twenty minute drive to get there.
Moments agoVictor Farley gave up on trying to reach Carl’s cell phone. He had hoped it was a bad signal, but he could only think now that the battery had conked out on him. Worse still, the line to Cassel’s office was busy, and he this only made his suspicions and concerns worse.
Instead, he dug up a number from his notebook and dialed a third number now. “C’mon! C’mon!” he growled as he heard the phone ring.
“Hello?” came a very quiet, very despondent voice as the line picked up.
“Bulletman? Listen, we have a problem,” Victor said as he started to pile papers into a large envelope.
“Oh? What’s that?” James Barr replied as he tapped the top of his helmet with a finger, staring off in the darkened laboratory. He was barely listening at this point, as the sound of the front door to his house slamming resounded in his memory.
“I think you’re right about the problem being in Cassel’s office, and my partner’s headed over there,” Victor explained in a rush. “The defense wasn’t just screwed up. His personal accounts are flush with extra cash, cash missing from the Obermyers and that church they belonged to, and the Mannions. I think he’s been blackmailing everyone on this!”
“Okay. Well, what do you want from me?” James replied in a tired voice.
“It would take me forever to reach the office, and my partner’s with this guy alone. I also want to get this information over to the DA, and hope it’s enough to get her to request a stay of execution.”
“And you want me to go to Cassel?” James leaned forward.
“Yeah. You can get there the quickest, and too many people involved in all this are winding up dead. I think Cassel’s losing it, and this whole Murder Prophet gimmick is just another sign.”
“Don’t you have some cops in the area?” Barr retorted.
“Maybe, but this guy teleports, you said. Who knows what else he can do? And there’s more, his secretary, a Sandra Janderberry, she was the reverend’s secretary before she started to work with him. And we both know that Cassel kills two at a time. What if she knows too much too? Come on! I’m relying on you like you asked, you bastard! Stop arguing will ya?”
James nodded as he stood up. “Right. Sorry. I got my head back in the game, and you’re right. Good luck with the DA.” He hung up and tore off his outer shirt. “Bulletman to the rescue!” He said loudly, to try and inspire himself. He snatched up the helmet and put it on, feeling the energy cascade around his body.
Bulletman streaked through the evening sky, his face torn with determination and anguish. The cooling air made him shiver as his mind raced with the world-shaking events of the last twenty-four hours. Now, with all the speed he could muster through his helmet, he was a crimson blur praying to be in time to save the last two innocents, while another part of his enhanced thinking ran over all the clues and patterns that had emerged, and still a third portion of his mind recoiled at what happened with his beloved wife and the thought of his marriage in peril.
The hero could see the building holding Wilson Cassel’s office up ahead, and he poured the speed on again. He smashed through the window and came to a quick stop in the office.
Sandy Janderberry giggled and stared with a crazed look in her pretty blue eyes. Her brown hair was askew; her clothing rumpled and stained in blood as she clutched the knife in her hand, and stood over Carl Doherty. The detective lay still on the floor as blood pooled around him, while in his chair, Wilson Cassel stared sightlessly towards the far side of the office, his shirt flooding with crimson stain.
“Good evening, hero. I was told you might show up. Hope you appreciate my offering.” She giggled again as James Barr stared in shock.
