CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Nightbeat sat for
a while, thinking. Cat had mentioned that he knew who had tried to kill him by
pushing him down the very stairs Joey had died on. He knew that this person had
to be the same one who killed Joey. How the hell did Cat know what Nightbeat
didn’t? Cat had to have seen it.
And done nothing
to prevent it, of course. Nightbeat would have to put that idea on hold.
He needed to know
what Cat knew, but he couldn’t just outright ask him. If Cat felt whimsical, he
might actually tell him the truth, but that was a big if. He couldn’t trust a
word out of Cat’s mouth. He would have to do his own investigating.
And that meant the
Catacombs.
The Catacombs were
under Joey’s bed, but they were only accessible by Cat. No one else had ever
been down there, but whenever Cat went, they could usually catch a glimpse of
that world. Nightbeat wondered if he could sneak in when Cat was either coming
or going. He thought it was worth a try.
After a cursory
search, Nightbeat saw that Cat wasn’t around, which highly suggested that he
was in the Catacombs. All he had to do was wait until the beast came back. He
went under the bed and sat propped up against one of the legs—so it looked like
he blended in instead of sticking out—and he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, it
happened. A dot of light appeared and then expanded into a line. Cat leaped out
and walked away, and the glowing line remained. Nightbeat hurled himself at it
and slipped through just before it winked out of existence. He stumbled and
rolled until he came to a stop.
He looked around
and saw that he was in a dingy, poorly-lit dungeon. Torches flickered at solid
concrete walls. He could see no one else around. Only then did he wonder how
the hell he was going to get back to Joey’s bedroom. He cursed, realizing that
he would need Cat’s help with that.
First things
first: he stepped forward, hoping he was headed in the right direction. He saw
there were prison cells down here, and he thought about the dream he’d had when
he was dead. No one was in them, though. No one was in the torture devices,
either. Was this the kind of place Cat liked to hang out? Nightbeat shuddered.
He heard
something. The noise was too distant, so he couldn’t tell what it was, but
there was someone deeper in the dungeon. He wandered further and found stairs
that led down. The sound became louder, and he realized that it was a cacophony
of tortured souls screaming.
Nightbeat
seriously considered unstuffing Cat on principle.
He continued on to
the lowest level, and here he couldn’t help but gasp. The entire corridor was
filled with dead toys. Maybe they were Wally’s, or maybe they were everyone’s.
He saw fellow Transformers down here, all lifeless. Bumblebee was missing his
head. Trailblazer was cracked in half. There were other toys down here, too.
The Real Ghostbusters, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, GI Joes, Sectaurs, Centurions,
COPS, He-Man. You name the ‘Eighties toy, and it was here, dead.
“Don’t mind them,”
a voice next to him said. “I don’t.”
Nightbeat jumped,
whirling on whoever had just talked to him. It was a He-Man character by the
name of Man-E-Faces. He was muscle-bound and had a container over his head,
where he had three faces you could change by moving a knob at the top. The
faces constantly spun around, and Nightbeat knew right away that something was
not right with this guy.
“What is this
place?” Nightbeat asked.
“Welcome to Kathmandu,” Man-E-Faces said. “This is the place where
toys come to die. When they are broken beyond repair, they find their way here.
Still alive, mind you. It’s the lunacy of this place that creates a will to
stop existing.” Faces still spinning out of control.
“What about you?”
Nightbeat asked. “Are you broken?”
“Yes. But I can’t
stop living, no matter how hard I try. Cat keeps me alive.”
“For what
purpose?”
The faces stopped
spinning. Man-E-Faces grinned. “I’m the grim reaper, friend. Welcome to Hell.”
He reached out to grab Nightbeat, who flipped and transformed in one fluid
motion. There wasn’t a lot of space to move around, but he launched himself
into the gathering of dead toys.
“You think you can
hide from me?” Man-E-Faces asked. “This is my home. I know it backwards and
sideways. I can sense your lifeforce like it was heat in infrared. There is no
escape.”
Nightbeat glanced
up, and sure enough, Man-E-Faces was looking directly at him. There really was
no hiding. There were a couple of doors at the end of the hallway. If he could
only get there . . .
He tripped and
fell on Optimus Prime’s corpse. Aghast, he tried to prioritize. Thinking about
his dead friend would do no good now. He had to get to those doors. Pushing
grief away, he stumbled through the toy graveyard, hearing Man-E-Faces get
closer. Closer.
“I wouldn’t go
through that door, if I were you.”
Fuck you, Nightbeat thought. He
transformed and reached for the doorknob and flung the door wide open. He
paused, looking down into the abyss beyond. The screams were coming from here,
and all he could see was fire for miles and miles. He closed the door and hoped
the other would be better.
Man-E-Faces
clamped his hand down on Nightbeat’s shoulder, twisting him around. “Don’t even
think it, friend. Just let me kill you. It’ll be for the best. You don’t want
to linger in this place. I can make it quick, if you want.”
Nightbeat tried to
wrench himself out of Man-E-Faces’s grip, but the He-Man figure was too strong.
He tried to transform again, but Man-E-Faces grabbed him around the waist,
making it impossible.
“Calm down,”
Man-E-Faces said. “You’re only making it worse.”
Nightbeat forced
himself to relax, hoping that his dead weight would fall through Man-E-Faces’s
arms, thus freeing him. It didn’t work. Man-E-Faces only held him harder. His
faces whirled faster than ever, and Nightbeat felt his spark dimming. His
resistance weakened. He had a sinking sensation like when you’re running in
place in a dream. He tried to beg Man-E-Faces to stop, but he couldn’t make a
sound.
“Oh hello!” a
cheerful voice called from up the stairs. Nightbeat’s vision was graying, and
he couldn’t see who it was, but whoever it was bounded down to them in record
time. “You can let him go, Man-E-Faces. He’s not supposed to be here.”
“But he’s almost
dead,” Man-E-Faces said.
“No, he needs to
live. Release him at once.”
Man-E-Faces’s
faces slowed their whirl, but they didn’t fully stop. He let Nightbeat go. He
collapsed into the pile of dead toys, gasping. It took him a moment to
recuperate, but when he finally felt like himself again, he stood, surprised to
see Cat standing before him. Except it wasn’t Cat. This was a black feline,
flesh and fur, with devil’s horns instead of ears. A ridiculously giant
red-and-white hat perched on his head. His eyes glowed yellow.
“Cat?” Nightbeat
asked.
“In the flesh,”
Cat said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, what the devil are you doing down here? And how did you get here?”
“I thought you
were the know-it-all,” Nightbeat said. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“I suppose you got
in when last I left. I suspect you’re investigating me in regards to our dearly
departed boy.”
“Right on both
counts. Now it’s time for my questions. What the fuck is this place?”
“This is my home,”
Cat said. “My real home. But to tell you any more would be too much for you to
know. I’m sure Man-E-Faces said enough.”
Man-E-Faces kept
whirling, except now he turned his body to catch up to his faces.
“Who tried to kill
me?” Nightbeat asked.
“The same person
who killed Joey,” Cat said.
“If you knew who
killed Joey, why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“Not my job.
Besides, I understand why the killer did it. You would, too, if you weren’t so
blind and your memory so short.”
“What do you
mean?”
“Do you remember
the last time one of us died?” Cat asked.
Nightbeat blinked.
“What? No, enough games. Tell me.”
“Have you
forgotten about Bueno Excellente?”
STOP!
Addendum to the
CAST OF CHARACTERS:
Bueno Excellente: a giant stuffed
Mr. Potatohead who thinks he is Bueno Excellente from the DC comic book,
HITMAN, fights crime with the power of perversion.