Deadman
Walking Dead
Part 1 of The Lazarus Tremaine Saga
by CSyphrett
Boston Brand is eager to enjoy a rare day of leisure at the circus, hoping to escape the usual dangers that accompany his life as Deadman. However, his day is abruptly interrupted when he stumbles upon an attempted kidnapping, thrusting him into a chilling encounter with another undead being! Introducing Lazarus Tremaine!
***
In the sunlit circus grounds, Boston Brand soared gracefully above the bustling crowd below, his spirit buoyed by the vibrant atmosphere that enveloped the circus. Colorful tents adorned with bright banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, while the laughter of children and the excited chatter of adults filled the air, creating a symphony of joy that resonated deep within him. He savored the kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, the way the sun sparkled off the cotton candy, and the glimmer of the acrobats’ sequined costumes as they performed daring feats high above the ground.
The thrill of the circus had always thrilled his blood — well, perhaps “let his spirits soar” was a more fitting metaphor for a being like him, a Deadman navigating this supernatural existence. A grin spread across his face at the thought, savoring this rare opportunity to take a much-needed break from his usual duty of saving the world. Today, he could simply enjoy the show, basking in the warmth of the sun and the laughter of those around him, if only for a fleeting moment.
Settling in the upper part of the tent, Deadman watched the festivities unfold below. The opening parade had begun, and he found himself wishing for popcorn or a hot dog to enhance the experience.
Suddenly, a woman’s cries pierced through the joyous sounds of the circus, drawing his attention. Frantically scanning the crowd, she appeared desperate. Intrigued, he descended to listen, hoping to work some of his own magic to resolve whatever crisis had befallen her. After all, it was part of his role as Rama Kushna’s agent on Earth.
As he materialized beside the frantic woman, Deadman slipped into the body of a nearby elderly man, using the stranger’s voice as his own. “What’s troubling you, hon?” he asked gently, his tone infused with a comforting warmth.
The woman’s tear-stained face turned toward him, her eyes filled with desperation. “My Ricky,” she gasped, her voice trembling with fear. “He’s gone! I… I only looked away for a second.”
“Stay here and remain calm,” Deadman advised, doing his best to reassure the distraught mother. With those words, he left both the bewildered woman and the elderly man behind, setting off in search of the lost boy, determined to bring him back safely.
Swiftly, Deadman navigated through the maze of tents and throngs of people, his ghostly form gliding with unmatched agility. Whispers of his spectral presence rippled through the crowd, leaving a chill in their wake. It was this eerie aura that made him a force to be reckoned with — an entity that both intrigued and terrified those who crossed his path.
From the grand big top, Deadman expanded his search to the bustling midway. His speed was unparalleled; even the Flash would have struggled to keep pace with him when he truly wanted to move. He scoured the circus grounds with extraordinary swiftness, his keen eyes searching for any sign of the lost child. But alas, he found no trace of a boy wandering alone.
Yet, his ghostly senses picked up an exchange between two men, their voices carrying across the empty parking lot. Lingering overhead, Deadman listened intently, his resolve renewed.
“Hush, Ricky,” one of the men said gently, his voice dripping with a sinister smoothness. “You’ll see your mom soon enough.”
“I want to see her now!” sobbed the boy, his voice choked with distress.
“We have to go somewhere else first,” the man replied calmly. “Just like I said.”
“No, Daddy!” Ricky protested, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I want Mommy now!”
A wave of dread washed over Deadman, his ethereal form trembling with urgency. These men were no ordinary abductors; they were preying upon the innocence of a young child. Boston Brand nodded to himself, solidifying his decision to put an end to the nightmare that had befallen this unsuspecting family.
Slipping into the body of the other man was as effortless as a stone sinking into water. His first act was to release his new vessel’s grip on the trembling little boy’s arm. The boy’s father stood no chance as Brand’s fist then connected with his face, sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.
“Ricky, your mother is waiting for you in the big tent,” Brand said through the possessed man’s voice. “Go find her. She doesn’t know where you are.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ricky scurried back toward the circus, his heart pounding in his chest. But his father, consumed by rage and humiliation, swiftly pulled a pistol from his waistband and aimed it at Brand with trembling hands. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dennis,” growled Ricky’s father.
In the blink of an eye, Brand disengaged from Dennis, his initial host, and his spirit soared through the air, merging with Ricky’s father and taking control of his body. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he emptied the bullets from the weapon, casually strolling over to a nearby trash can. He nonchalantly discarded the pistol beneath a layer of garbage, concealing it from any prying eyes.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Brand calmly suggested to his erstwhile partner-in-crime, his tone laced with urgency.
Dennis’ voice trembled with apprehension as he asked, “You feelin’ all right, man? What’s Tremaine gonna say when he finds out you let your own kid slip through your fingers?”
Undeterred by the man’s skepticism, Brand replied confidently, “I’ll tell him the truth — you let him go.”
Dennis scanned their surroundings, fear evident in his wide eyes. “What? Is this some kind of s-sick joke?” he stammered. “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Brand retorted, his voice gruff and unyielding. “You let him go and punched me in the face when I tried to stop you.”
“That’s not what happened, Randall!” Dennis protested, desperation creeping into his tone. “You can’t pin this on me!”
“You see this bruise on my face?” Brand interjected, jabbing a finger at the purplish mark on his cheek. “Tremaine ain’t gonna buy your feeble excuses. He won’t believe you over this unless you come up with something better than ‘I didn’t do it.'”
“Look, I don’t know what happened,” Dennis pleaded, his voice trembling. “But I swear I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that!”
With a sinister smile, Deadman chuckled darkly. “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he sneered, imitating Batman’s gravelly tone. “But can you convince Tremaine of your innocence with that story?”
Panic etched across Dennis’ face. “Listen, Randall, can’t we work somethin’ out?” he begged, his voice fraught with desperation.
“You can drive, and we can talk,” Brand suggested coolly, his spectral presence looming ominously. “I’ll listen, and if your story is convincing enough, maybe I’ll help you out of this mess.”
“But you have the keys,” Dennis reminded him frantically, his voice cracking under the weight of anxiety.
“I know that, idiot,” Brand snapped, attempting to mask his own blunder with a facade of confidence. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a keyring and tossed it to Dennis. Together, they moved toward a nondescript minivan, their escape vehicle now within reach.
***
Boston Brand sat in the passenger seat of the minivan, his ethereal form flickering slightly as he watched the miles blur by. So far, Dennis, the other would-be kidnapper, had remained ominously silent, the tension thick in the air.
“What in the hell are we gonna tell Tremaine?” Dennis finally mustered the courage to ask, breaking the silence.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me, pal,” Brand replied, his voice calm. “I want to see what kinda bull you come up with.”
Dennis wiped the sweat from his forehead, his nervousness betraying him. “Can’t we just say we couldn’t get the kid?” he suggested, his words tumbling out in a desperate plea. Fear etched itself into every line of his face as he contemplated the repercussions of disappointing the enigmatic Tremaine. Brand began to wonder what could make this Tremaine so terrifying to elicit such a response.
“Sounds reasonable,” Brand replied, attempting to conjure a reassuring smile. He didn’t want his jittery companion to lose control of the vehicle before they even had a chance to confront the mastermind behind this kidnapping attempt, whatever its purpose might be.
“So you’ll go along with me?” Dennis asked uncertainly, a glimmer of hope shining briefly in his eyes.
“Sure, as long as you keep your eyes on the road,” Brand replied, his voice carrying an ethereal edge that sent shivers down Dennis’ spine. He couldn’t afford any accidents now — not before he learned what Tremaine wanted with a child and why the man he currently possessed was so willing to offer up his own son.
“You okay, Randall?” Dennis questioned, his wariness evident in his tone. “Y-you don’t sound like yourself.”
“Just worried about what Tremaine will say when we show up without Ricky,” Brand answered, his tone serious.
The minivan veered off the highway, navigating through desolate rural routes until it finally arrived at a dirt road. At the road’s end stood a foreboding gate, guarded by an imposing figure armed with a rifle. Dennis brought the minivan to a halt, tense anticipation hanging in the air. The password was uttered, and the gate creaked open, grating against the silence of the night. The minivan passed through, its engine whispering a sinister lullaby.
Inside the bunker, every corner was under watch, armed guards lurking like specters in the darkness. Brand maintained an appearance of casual observance, his borrowed eyes scanning the surroundings with ghostly intensity. He had to play this dangerous game cautiously; one false move, and his unknowing host’s life would be forfeit, leaving Brand with unanswered questions and a heavy burden on his ethereal conscience. It was a risk he had to take; after all, Rama would understand — or perhaps not.
Brand cautiously stepped into the converted house, its windows heavily barricaded, blocking out any trace of sunlight. As he entered, a deafening clang echoed through the room, signaling the heavy bar slamming shut behind him. His heart pounded in his chest as he ventured deeper, drawn toward the mysterious heart of the dwelling.
In the center of the floor stood a set of ominous stairs leading downward into the darkness below. With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Deadman carefully descended, desperate for answers to the enigma that surrounded him. The cellar revealed itself as a gloomy space, dominated by a solitary chair at one end, flanked by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Strange symbols were etched into the floor, hinting at something far more sinister than a simple kidnapping for ransom.
And there, seated upon the chair, was the remnant of a once-living man, decaying and withering away.
Brand’s face instinctively contorted in disgust, but he quickly regained his composure as his accomplice stepped forward to explain their failure. Remaining hidden in the shadows, he silently observed the unfolding scene, his mind racing to understand the true reason this undead ghoul had sent two kidnappers to procure a child for him. Dennis, his reluctant partner in this deceitful scheme, nervously recounted their fabricated story while Brand’s gaze remained fixed on the grotesque figure in the chair.
The creature was a grotesque sight, resembling a skeleton adorned with patches of thin hair and decaying flesh that clung to its skull. An old-fashioned black smoking jacket draped over its bony frame, adding an unsettling elegance to its appearance. Its skeletal fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of the chair as it listened intently to its subordinate recounting their misfortune.
Without warning, the undead figure rose from its seat, its gaze fixed menacingly on Brand. Raising its skeletal hand, a brilliant blue beam suddenly shot forth, obliterating Dennis in a horrific eruption of boiling blood and shattered flesh.
“Step forward… and tell me the truth,” commanded Lazarus Tremaine, his voice resonating with an otherworldly ominousness that sent chills through the air.
Unable to hide any longer, Brand stepped into the dim illumination cast by the flickering torchlight. Tremaine’s piercing gaze locked onto him, his eyes boring into the very depths of Deadman’s soul.
“You are not Randall,” Tremaine declared, his voice reverberating with an unearthly intensity.
“Bye, now!” Brand hastily replied, his spirit slipping out of his host’s body and darting away.
Deadman maneuvered through the air, narrowly evading the relentless blue beams that pursued him with deadly precision. The militia men began to vacate the room, leaving him with little time to spare. In a bold move, he leaped into the last remaining militia member, seizing a grenade and tearing it from the man’s belt as he sprinted up the stairs.
With the safety pin removed, Brand hurled the explosive beneath a shuttered window before detaching himself from the possessed host, allowing the man to escape on his own. Backlit by the glowing flames, he hovered before the boarded-up window, bracing for the inevitable arrival of Lazarus Tremaine.
The undead figure ascended the stairs, a malevolent blue aura radiating from his skeletal hands, his haunting gaze fixed on the former acrobat.
“So, you choose to face your doom?” the spectral figure hissed, his voice a chilling whisper.
“Not today,” Brand retorted, determination lacing his voice as the grenade detonated, ripping a gaping hole in the wall. Sunlight flooded into the room, mercilessly illuminating both dead men.
Smoke began to billow from Tremaine’s body, his spectral form writhing in agony as he emitted an unearthly howl that echoed from all directions. Brand watched in silence as the other undead figure caught fire, engulfed by the blinding light of the sun.
“What have you done?!” the wretched figure wailed, just moments before he disintegrated into fiery fragments. The raging flames rapidly engulfed the house, sending plumes of black smoke spiraling into the night sky. Unfazed, Deadman departed, the kidnapping case resolved, but his mission on Earth far from complete.
Boston Brand still had a circus to attend.