Part 1
From the journal of Lazarus Lane...
I, or rather, El Diablo, encountered the spirit of Wise Owl last night. Although it delayed my/his quest for eternal peace, El Diablo sacrificed the time to speak with him again.
The news the spirit carried was not good.
I have walked into this new century, this age of wonder, and marveled at the seemingly endless bounds of man's scientific imagination. I see carriages without horses, or automobiles, as these contraptions are called, fill the streets, telegraphs are slowly giving way to telephones, and man has began to join the birds in the air. While there is nothing wrong with these, and other, inventions in and of themselves, they seem to have allowed man to expand the boundaries of his own atrocities.
Wise Owl has told me/him of a coming evil; one with ramifications so horrendous that the entire world will be plunged into darkness.
"Oh, sorry Richard," Detective Brian Walker said as he entered the office. "I didn't figure anyone was here."
Richard Occult looked up at the detective. "Come in, Brian. Have a seat."
"The power's off at my place so I thought I would sleep here tonight," Brian said.
Richard glanced over at the small couch. "You don't plan on sleeping on that thing, do you?"
"Ah, no," the younger man said, somewhat embarrassed. "Actually, I was going to sleep on the Torpedo. When Kelli did the refit, she made sure it had a decent sleeping area."
The older man detected a hint of admiration in the detective's voice, but said nothing. He was certain that T.J. also had designs on the young woman and hoped that neither of the two men did anything that jeopardized the unity of the group.
"So," Brian said, "what are you doing here at this late hour?"
"I discovered this old journal in a new and used bookstore, and thought it might make for some interesting reading," Richard told him. "I didn't feel like going home, so I decided to come here."
"And is it?"
"Most assuredly so," Occult said. "Did you ever hear of the old west mystery man known as El Diablo?"
Brian thought for a second. "I can't honestly say that I have."
"According to this, Lazarus Lane was struck by lightning and left unconscious for a couple of days. While he was out, an old Apache shaman called Wise Owl found him and used a variety of herbs to try to heal him. Something unexplainable occurred, and when Lazarus awoke, he found that his "soul had been split asunder". From that time forward, while the part of him that was Lazarus Lane slept, another persona, El Diablo, would take control and ride through the night righting wrongs and delivering justice."
"That does sound interesting," the detective agreed. "Does it say how he died?"
Richard gave his friend a smile. "No, it doesn't. An earlier entry mentions a mission to combat evil and not being able to achieve eternal rest until that mission is complete."
Brian realized what Occult was getting at. "You mean to tell me that you think he's still alive?"
The older man just cocked his head to one side and gave his friend a smile.
"And we're going to see if we can find him," the young man added.
Part 2
From the journal of Lazarus Lane...
16 June 1914
Had anyone told me that I would be travelling across Europe when I was younger, I would have thought they were touched. Yet, here I am. Then again, I never would have believed I would quit aging in my early thirties, either.
I have been "on the continent", as the Europeans are fond of saying, since 6 June and have been slowly making my way towards my destination. Although there is a language barrier, the people I have met have been kind; I have not gone without a hot meal or a dry bed since I landed.
27 June 1914
I reached my destination last night. The city is crowded, even more so than I would imagine, considering tomorrow. I found myself sharing a room with three other gentlemen.
Sometime during the night I was awakened by the touch of a hand on my shoulder, although I am certain the whole thing was a dream. I found myself looking into the face of Wise Owl; he was not alone. This was the first time I had ever seen El Diablo while not in his persona. It was a bit disconcerting.
The shaman repeated his warning to me, and reminded me how it important it was that I succeed. El Diablo simply told me that I would not be alone.
I awoke this morning with the sense that El Diablo was close, like a bullfrog just below the surface of a pond, watching, waiting to leap forth in an instant. I was still in control, but there was a certain measure of confidence I drew from his presence.
28 June 1914
I have failed.
I thought my mission was complete and lowered my guard. I should have realized that my previous actions had been direct enough to stop the attempt and remained vigilant. Now, I fear, the darkness that Wise Owl warned me about will surely come to pass.
Will this mistake prolong my time here? I am beginning to believe that I shall never complete my quest for eternal peace.
"What the...?" Brian said after listening to Richard read the passages from the book. "You mean this guy was trying to stop World War I?"
"Apparently so," the older man replied.
The detective shook his head in disbelief. Had it not been for the fact that he recently discovered that he had certain abilities, and these abilities had brought him into direct conflict with a werewolf, he would have passed off what was written as the ramblings of an old man's vivid imagination. Slowly, his mind began to allow itself to accept the possibility of what he heard.
"So," he said, all thoughts of sleep now gone from his mind, "have you figured out where Mr. Lane is?"
"Not quite. I'm hoping the journal will give us a few more clues."
Brian grinned. "Wouldn't it be easier to just cast a spell or something?"
Dr. Occult returned his friend's smile. "Now, surely, you recognize the need to do some things the old fashion way."
The detective agreed. "Well, keep reading, then. Let's see what else the man was involved with."
Part 3
From the journal of Lazarus Lane...
15 December 1917
Surely this accursed war cannot continue much longer, or else the world shall find itself deplete of young men. I have seen tens of thousands of bodies since it began, and can hear each one of them crying out my failure to the heavens. So much blood has been shed from that day until this, and all of it is upon my hands.
I do not know when I last slept: I mean a night when he did not come forth, at all, and I remained abed until sun-up. During the days, I, though not a soldier, battle in the trenches along side of young men who are here for no other reason than that their country called them. At night, El Diablo stalks the battlefield, his cloak billowing around him. To the American doughboys he is an omen of good fortune, for they know they have no worries of ambush or surprise attack.
I have recently acquired the habit of carrying cigarettes with me. Although I don't smoke, so many of the soldiers do. Something else I seem to have acquired, though I think more from his efforts than my own, is a gold cigarette lighter. There is a phrase engraved upon it in Latin that says Qui Vindicet Ibit, The Avenger Shall Come. The phrase haunts me.
20 December 1917
Christmas is 5 days away and it is snowing. If one were to close his eyes, he could, during a lull, almost picture a peaceful, snow-covered field. Unfortunately, there have been no lulls, and the stark reality is that the field is churned up and resembles little more than a mass grave waiting to be covered up. I am starting to think that even the snow is turning to mud, or blood, before it reaches the ground.
The fighting has been fiercer these past two days than since the start of the war. Early this morning I scrambled into a shell crater where I discovered a doughboy doing his best to tie a bandage around his arm.
"Have you seen a corpsman?" I asked.
Since he had one end of the bandage held tightly in his teeth, the young man shifted his gaze to just behind where I had landed. I turned and saw the body. After seeing what was left of the man's mangled face, I prayed that the first bullet had taken his life. I turned my attention back to the living, and helped the doughboy with his bandage.
"Thanks, friend," he said once his mouth was empty. "Name's Barker."
"Lane," I replied.
For the most part, first names were rarely used, especially by those of us who had lost friends to the enemy. It didn't make the loss any more bearable, but, at least, we couldn't put names to our ghosts.
That never stopped the men from occasionally opening up. I had never thought about how important it was for a man to talk about his family, but I guess that's what kept most of the men sane in the midst of the carnage.
"I've got this little niece, Claudia, back home," Barker told me. "She's my brother's kid. She's only two, but, Lord, how that child cried the day I shipped out. They like to never pried her off of me when it came time to go. Lord knows I didn't want to let her go."
He looked away and I saw him wipe a tear.
They say grown men don't cry, but, in war, everyone cries.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, which he readily accepted. Barker patted his pockets before asking if I had a lighter. I smiled and handed him mine.
Then all hell broke loose.
25 December 1917
I awoke to the sound of singing and, for just a brief moment, I thought the mortar shell had sent me, at last, to my final reward. I lay with my eyes still closed and listened a bit longer. Imagine my surprise when I realized that the song, "Silent Night", was being sung in several different languages: English, French, German, and a couple more I wasn't familiar with.
I opened my eyes and found myself looking up at a German doctor. "Am I a prisoner?" I asked.
I heard my question repeated in the man's native language and turned my head slightly. A man dressed in the uniform of a British soldier smiled down at me then took a drink of something in a tin cup.
"No, lad. Yuir still a free man," he told me.
"I don't understand."
"Neither do we, Mon Amis."
"Then I shall explain it to you," the ranking German officer said in English as he approached. He was accompanied by his counterparts from the British, American, and French forces.
"Officially," the German said, "we are at a stalemate. Neither side can gain the advantage." He smiled at his counterparts. "Unofficially, we have agreed upon a Christmas truce, much like the one that occurred three years ago. Every so often you will hear gunfire; that is just part of the deception.
"Tomorrow," the British officer added, "we get back down to the business of making war on each other. For the rest of today, however, we enjoy the peace."
"Has anyone seen Barker, the soldier in the crater with me?" I asked.
"When we found you, there was no one else alive," an American told me. "We've already sent his personal belongings to his family."
"He had my lighter," was all I could say.
"Well, how about that?" Richard grinned.
"What?" Brian asked.
"I've seen Lazarus' lighter before."
"When?"
Dr. Occult had a faraway look in his eyes as he told the detective about the lighter. "During my brief time with the All-Star Squadron, it was shown to me by a fellow mystery man. Talk about prophetic."
"I'm not sure I follow you," Brian admitted.
"The hero that had the lighter, the one who told me that it was a part of his inspiration, was the Crimson Avenger."
Part 4
With both men becoming more and more engrossed in the life of Lazarus Lane, they realized that they might be in for a long night. Since they both had highly inquisitive natures, neither of them seemed to mind.
"Why don't I put on a pot of coffee?" Brian asked.
"I think that sounds like a pretty good idea," Richard replied.
As Brian went to fill up the coffeepot with water, Richard began to flip through the journal. He was becoming more and more surprised by the life Lazarus had led. By the time the young detective had returned, the older man had found what seemed to be the last entry.
"This is odd," Dr. Occult told his friend.
"What's odd?"
"Lazarus has been meticulous in keeping a record of his exploits," Richard said, "but, for some reason, he just quits."
"Perhaps Lazarus died," Brian offered. "When was his last entry?"
"October 12, 1936," the older man said, "but I don't think he died. Here, listen to this."
From the journal of Lazarus Lane...
12 October 1936
News comes slowly to the monastery. Unfortunately, when it finally does come, it is almost always distressing. It seems war has come to my adopted home.
There are no foreign invaders; although I am certain there is foreign influence behind what is going on. There always is, in one form or another. No, this time it is brother against brother, father against son, neighbor against neighbor.
As a small child in America, I witnessed the horrors of one civil war. And now, it seems I must return to Spain and witness it all over again.
"That's it?" Brian asked.
"Nothing but blank pages after that," Richard replied.
The young detective took a sip of his coffee. "Talk about needles and haystacks. Spain is an awful big place to look for someone we've never met."
"True," Occult said, "but look at it this way. At least we have very little to go on, and no idea as to what Lazarus looks like."
Brian laughed. "Well, if nothing else, you're looking at this in a positive light."
Richard laughed along with his friend.
After a few moments, Brian got a thoughtful look on his face. "I have an idea."
Part 5
"Isn't Brian coming with us?" T.J. asked as he boarded the Torpedo.
"He can't get a leave from work to come with us," Richard replied. "It's just the three of us this trip."
Despite the fact that he felt as though he and the detective were in competition for Kelli's attention, T.J. really wished Brian were coming along. After he spotted Kelli at the controls, he began to change his mind.
"I thought you would be wearing your costume," the older man commented.
T.J. smiled. "I am. Just watch this."
Dr. Occult remained silent, and even Kelli turned to watch, as the young man began to concentrate. After only a couple of seconds, the brown hooded tunic began to fade into view over his street clothes; even the belt and holster that held the Red Bee (the stinger pistol that once belonged to the man it was named after) were now visible.
"How did you do that?" Kelli asked as she approached.
"I was just playing around, you know, experimenting, when I noticed that I could make it fade without making me disappear as well. I mentioned it to the Witch..."
"Don't call her that," Kelli admonished him.
"But, that's her...sorry. I mentioned it to Abigail, and she taught me a little trick that King had shown her. With people like Brainwave around in the forties, he developed a way to keep his true identity locked away for a short time, even from himself, in case he encountered a foe that could read minds. Abigail suggested I could use that same method to keep the costume invisible without concentrating on it. I just call forth a predetermined phrase and, presto, here it is."
Richard seemed impressed.
T.J. glanced at the girl standing beside him. "And speaking of costumes, you seem to be getting closer to one of your own."
The brunette glanced down at her outfit, a form-fitting black pullover and black pants, then back at him. "Just don't expect to see me in spandex anytime soon."
For just the briefest moment, that picture popped into his head and he turned away. "So, where in Spain are we going to find this Lane fellow?" he asked changing the subject.
"According to Brian, somewhere near Cartagena."
"How did Tracker figure that out?" T.J. asked, referring to the detective by his codename. "Did he draw upon the psychic emanations of the journal?"
"Actually," Occult smiled, "he checked with INTERPOL."
"You mean they have been keeping tabs on Mr. Lane all this time?" Kelli asked.
"Not exactly. Brian said that several years ago, Lazarus Lane left his home and never returned. Money was sent to pay for the upkeep for nearly fifteen years, then suddenly, a man shows up claiming to be Lane's nephew. There were a few of the older folks who remembered Lazarus and made the man welcome. After about a decade, the nephew left. Again, money was sent. Recently, a man arrived claiming to be the great-grandson of Lazarus. Since no one seemed to remember any mention of such a person, they had him checked out to make certain he wasn't a confidence man. That's how INTERPOL got involved. The man provided enough evidence that he was who he said he was, so he got the house."
"So, we are going to see if the great-grandson can lead us to the old man," T.J. surmised.
Kelli began to shake her head. "I think I'm starting to see the pattern. Lazarus lives in the home for a while, then moves out before it becomes obvious that he isn't aging like those around him. He waits a few years, then returns under the pretense that he is on of his own descendents. After a certain amount of time, he does it all over again."
Richard nodded. "You'll be a detective before you know it. That's exactly what I think is going on."
A beep from the controls informed Kelli that the Torpedo was fully powered up and ready for departure. As she dropped into the pilot's seat, she said, "Grab a seat, guys, and buckle up."
Once her passengers were secure, the young woman tapped a series of numbers onto a keypad, then pressed a button. Overhead, the roof of the warehouse began to open, retracting from the center. As the opening grew, Kelli hit a second button and the Torpedo's engines roared to life.
After checking the opening overhead, she fit her hand comfortably around a throttle and began to pull it towards her. The Torpedo's V.T.L. system engaged and the craft's engines pivoted until they were in a vertical position. Another button was pushed and clamps were released from the outside of the flying sub. Free of its fetters, the Torpedo began to lift into the air. Within minutes, the flying sub had passed beyond Charleston Bay and plunged into the deeper waters of the Atlantic. Other than attracting the attention of a small pod of curious whales, the trip was uneventful.
Part 6
Lazarus Lane sat on the veranda and watched the road coming from Cordoba. He took a sip of coffee and then looked over at the gentleman seated on the opposite side of the white, wrought iron table. Although his visitor appeared to be his senior by several years, Lazarus had already lived a lifetime by the time he was born.
Originally from the Mexican city of Cordoba, Ricardo Roarke had moved to the home of his grandfather in Spain after a successful career in acting. While most people thought his portrayal of the mystical Senor Montalban on the popular "Isle of Fantasies" was without peer, little did they know that he knew something of the Arts in real life. This was one of the reasons he struck up a friendship with the mysterious Mr. Lane.
"Today is the day?" the retired actor asked.
"I believe so," Lazarus replied. "According to Wise Owl, they will arrive at the time of the full moon."
"And that is tonight," Ricardo nodded. "So, do you intend to join them or shall you send them away?"
"I feel that my place is with them. The shaman told me that I shall finally find the completeness that I have searched for so many years."
The actor knew what his friend meant, so no explanation was necessary. He had sensed the man's dual nature the first time the two had met. "Then, I shall wish you luck."
"Thank you, my friend." Lazarus started to take another sip of his coffee when Ricardo pointed to a small cloud of dust rising up in the distance.
It was another ten minutes before a gray, dust-covered rental car turned off the main road and headed towards the man's home. Lazarus was there to greet his visitors as they rolled to a stop.
"Please," he said as three people climbed from the car, "come in and make yourselves comfortable."
This was not the greeting Dr. Occult had expected, nevertheless, he and his companions accepted the gracious offer. Ricardo was still on the veranda when Lazarus led his guests out.
T.J. immediately recognized the man seated at the table. "Oh, wow," he said, rushing forward with his hand outstretched. "You're Ricardo Roarke, from "Isles of Fantasies". I loved that show."
Ricardo laughed. "I am glad that someone appreciates my work."
Occult introduced himself and his friends.
"I have been waiting for you," Lazarus told them. Despite the curiosity on the faces of his guests, he explained no further.
Reaching into his pocket, Richard pulled out a book and handed it to their host. "I believe this is yours."
Lazarus accepted the book with a confused look. When he finally saw what he had been given, a grin appeared on his face. "I haven't seen this since near the end of '36. How did you come to possess it?"
"I stumbled across it in a bookstore in New York City. Once I realized it was a journal, it seemed like I was compelled to purchase it," Richard explained.
"I'm glad you did," Lazarus said. "Thank you."
As they spoke, a dark-haired woman in her mid-fifties stepped onto the veranda. "Senor Lane. Dinner will be served in half an hour. Rooms have been prepared for your guests in case they wish to freshen up."
"Gracias, Maria," the man told her. He then looked at his guests. "Gentlemen, and fair lady, if you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms."
Before their allotted time until dinner had expired, Richard and T.J. had returned to the veranda, each wearing a black suit provided by their host. The four men were walking to the dining room when they met Kelli coming down the stairs to join them.
She wore a long, black, strapless dress that clung to her like a second skin. A slit up the left side that ended six inches above the knee made movement easier. Her hair had been washed and dried and hung in loose curls across her bare shoulders.
"Madre de Dios," Ricardo swore with a grin. "La senorita es muy bonita."
T.J. remembered enough from his Spanish class in high school to agree. "Yes, she is beautiful," he whispered to the man. "But I think I would have used the word "caliente"."
"Yes," Ricardo smiled, "I do believe "hot" would also be a precise description as well."
Lazarus offered his arm, which Kelli graciously accepted, and then led the party to dinner.
After they had eaten, everyone returned to the veranda for coffee and conversation. Lazarus finally explained how he knew they were coming. He told them that he would be pleased to accompany back to America, and wherever else their journeys took them.
When his friend finished speaking, Ricardo made the surprise statement that he, too, had been expecting them. "I have seen a glimpse of the future in my dreams as well," he said. "I know that you have an adventure ahead of you before you return to the United States. I can explain no further this evening, but, in the morning, you come to my home for a visit. Everything will be made known to you then."
Although mystified by the man's words, they respected his refusal to say nothing else on the subject. It was long before Ricardo stood and bid the good night. As they accompanied him to the door, he did offer them one piece of advice for their next meeting.
"Please wear your work clothes," Ricardo said, "even you, Lazarus."
Lazarus and his companions awoke to find that Maria had breakfast waiting. They ate quickly, each of them anxious to find out what Ricardo had meant the night before.
Within the hour, they were pulling up in front of Ricardo's home. He stood on the front stoop waiting to greet them. After the pleasantries, he led them inside.
The man led them through a series of hallways until he came to a locked door. Drawing a key from inside his coat pocket, he unlocked the door and held it open.
Inside, they found a room full of mirrors. When they turned to ask their host about the room, they discovered that he had not entered and the door was locked. After a moment, the man's voice filled the room.
"Please forgive the dramatics," he said, "but I will not be accompanying you on this journey. I must remain here and continue my role as the guardian of these mirrors.
“In a moment, one of the mirrors will offer a view of somewhere else; when it does, please step through as though you were passing through a doorway. You will be entering a dimension that has only recently attached itself to our world. During the Crisis, a dimension that had formerly been attached to our world became attached to a different world. Just before everything settled down, a different dimension attached itself to our world to restore the cosmic balance. In this new dimension, you will find yet another member for you team.
“I will be waiting for your return."
There was silence, and then a mirror in the center of the back wall emitted an unearthly glow.
"Do you trust him?" Dr. Occult asked Lazarus.
"Yes," the man said without hesitation, "I do."
"Then let's see what is on the other side."
Leading the way, Lazarus stepped through the mirror. Within seconds, the room was empty. Elsewhere in the house, Ricardo accepted a cup of coffee from his diminutive butler. "Good luck, my friends."
