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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:32:21 GMT
Sandman The Quixotic Crucible A Mystery Play in Seven Acts by Doc Quantum
ACT I: All Hallow's Eve
Scene I: Park Avenue
It was early Halloween Night, and the city of New York was busy with shoppers picking up last minute trick-or-treating candies, and parents fitting their children into gaudily-designed costumes of all kinds, all in a rush to get their children out and back home before dark. And for many residents of the Big Apple, there was also the 13th annual Greenwich Village Halloween Parade to get ready for. The stigma of this annual parade being the unlucky 13th was joked about by many, but not taken very seriously at all.
On Park Avenue, where the real estate is so expensive as to confine its populace to those in the uppermost tax brackets, several children with their adult guardians strolled down the street and went door-to-door, mostly to people their parents knew and trusted. This was also the case for the Williams family.
Robert and Zoë Williams were the proud parents of a twelve-year-old boy they named John Robert after Robert's father. The couple had met at the Civil Rights March on Washington in 1963, when they were both in their late teens. They hit it off right away, despite the considerable differences in their backgrounds, and began dating. At first, Robert's parents were against the union, believing that Zoë was only after his money, since she had come from a poor immigrant family and obviously set her sights on him once she learned that he was poised to inherit a large sum of money upon his parents' death. After meeting her and seeing how much she was in love with Robert, though, they soon came to love her as a daughter. The two were married in 1966 and began attending Columbia University together that same year. They had been trying for years to have a child, but after several miscarriages, John was finally born in 1974. He was their only child.
"Do you guys haveta hold hands like that?" John said as he looked back at his parents strolling behind him. He was dressed in a Flash costume, with a "helmet" on his head which was actually his mother's salad bowl with "wings" taken from a discarded novelty baseball cap taped onto it.
Robert laughed and said, "You'll understand it better when you get older, Johnny."
"I don't think so," snorted John. "I'm never gonna wanna see my mom and dad holding hands and cuddling!"
John bolted down the sidewalk and raced back to where his parents were. "See? I'm as fast as the Flash ever was!" "Be careful, Johnny," warned Zoë, "that helmet might slip over your eyes and you could crash into something."
"Ahhh, nothin' to worry about, mom. 'I know this street like the back o' my hand'," he said, switching to a fake Scottish accent áá la Scotty from Star Trek, and then fake-crashed into a streetlight. "Whoa, where did that come from?" he said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. At that very moment, all the streetlights began to turn on automatically due to the dimming of the evening sky.
"Either our son's going to grow up to be a comedian who does impersonations, or he'll be a magician," Robert laughed.
"I'd rather be a superhero!" John announced, running and jumping into the air with his arms held forward.
"John, have you had enough trick-or-treating yet?" said Zoë. "Are you ready to go home now and get ready for Billy's party?"
"Um... can we just do one more block? Just one more?" John pleaded, his index finger making a 1.
"All right, but just one more," his mother smiled. "Mrs. Miller lives on that block, as well as the Jensens."
"Cool!" said John, who then ran to the corner and looked back impatiently at his parents walking way too slowly for someone possessing his incredible speed to endure.
The three crossed the intersection together to the next block.
"Robert, maybe we should start heading back home now," said Zoë. "I mean, it's getting too dark as it is."
"A few more houses couldn't hurt, Zoë," replied Robert. "Look at how excited John is."
"Yes, but--"
Zoë was cut off as a car with its high-beams on made a U-turn behind them, causing all but one of the street-lights to go out. They could all see just how dark it was now. A few homes had their outside lights turned on, but many of them didn't, since the residents were out celebrating Halloween at various parties, as well as the parade over in Greenwich Village.
"I don't like this," Zoë said with a firmer edge in her voice. "I think we should--"
"Where you folks heading off to?"
The voice came from behind the three, who stood underneath the only streetlamp on the block which was still lit. They turned around as one, but could only see a shadowy figure walking towards them. "Trick-or-treating, huh?" the voice said.
Robert pulled his wife and son closer to him.
"Who's that?" John whispered to his mother.
"Hey, cool costume, kid," the man said. "I've got one of my own." And he stepped into view of the street-lamp. The man was dressed all in black, and wore a heavy black overcoat. The most startling feature about him was his realistic bat-mask, though. It looked as if it had been created in a Hollywood special effects studio, and gave the man a demonic look. Zoë shivered and pushed John behind her.
"You're probably wondering why I'm dressed in this costume, though. Well wonder no further. I'm out trick-or-treating, myself." He held up a gun in one of his black-gloved hands. "Trick or treat."
Zoë tossed the Halloween bag of candies she was carrying at the man's feet. He looked down at the the candies which had spilled onto the ground and he chuckled. "You're kidding, right? Listen, lady, give me your damn money or you're all dead!"
"Get away from my wife, you damned--!" began Robert before two bullets pumped into him, killing him instantly. The CRACK-CRACK sound echoed between the buildings.
"Robert! ROBERT!!!" Zoë screamed, trying to rouse her husband.
"Shut up, dammit!" The man fired the gun again, shooting her once in the chest.
"Mom... dad..."
A pool of blood began forming around the bodies of John's parents. John glared up at the masked man, a mixture of rage, fear and confusion in his eyes.
"They're-they're dead. You... you killed them."
The man looked at him for a second, and then turned around and ran. John barely registered the sound of a car-door slamming and screeching tires, as he tried unsuccessfully to wake up his mother and father.
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:34:05 GMT
Scene II: The Dodds Residence
I have never understood the importance of Halloween.
Perhaps it's an indication of my own refined upbringing or personal tastes, but I have always found the idea of sending one's children around the neighborhood in one various disguise or another begging for food very distasteful. I suppose the fact that Dian and I have never had any children of our own may have some small part in my opinions, but even as a child living in Hilltown I found the practice of trick-or-treating distasteful.
It would be the height of hypocrisy for me to suggest that wearing a mask and pretending to be something you're not goes beyond the realm of good taste, considering the chosen profession I have kept a secret from the public these past 45 years. And I would be the first to admit that the anonymous nature of a mask helps to release certain qualities within oneself which may otherwise be hidden in the everyday face we wear; however, this particular tradition of Halloween no longer seems to have any meaning.
The most amusing part of Halloween has always been, to me, the idea that parents encourage their children to dress up as ghouls and goblins on this one day of the year, and go door to door asking strangers for candy, when in the other 353 days of the year children are told to never take candy from strangers. It seems to me to be somewhat of a mixed message.
Which is not to say that I haven't partaken myself of the tradition of the annual costume party. In my years as a society playboy I participated in these get-togethers as much as any other wealthy man-about-town did in those days. And there were times during the monthly meetings of the Justice Society of America that I thought to myself that this team was full of grown men who were only different from the police or fire departments in that they liked wearing fancy costumes when they fought crime and saved people. I kept my observations private, of course.
I was one of the few members whose costume did not involve wearing circus tights... at least at first. It was at Dian's urging that I finally adopted the purple-and-yellow costume I wore alongside Sandy in the early 1940s. After I came out of retirement in the 1960s with the rest of the JSA, however, you'd have to have put a gun to my head to make me put on those tights again, after almost twenty years of inactivity. I was more than content to be accused of color-blindness in my choice of my crimefighting suits rather than feel self-conscious about the "spare tire" I was carrying by that time in my life.
Sandy's opinions on Halloween differ from mine, of course. This evening, he went with a few friends of his to the annual Halloween parade in Greenwich Village, leaving me home alone with Dian on a Friday night. Just the way we like it.
Dian is still very weak from our last case together. The effects of vampirism are much harder to shake off than one would gather from the movies or television. Despite her infirmity, however, she has been most insistent on organizing my birthday celebration this Tuesday. I told her that I've still got four more years until my next "big" birthday, and that she shouldn't bother too much about this one. She told me she didn't care whether it was my 71st birthday or my 100th birthday; she just wanted to do something for me after all I've done for her in the past year. The truth is that my 71st birthday is actually on Monday, but as per a long-standing tradition Rex (whose 69th birthday is on Wednesday) and I will be celebrating our birthdays together on the day in-between, since he was always my closest friend in the JSA.
I must admit that I've longed many times over the last few months to don the gasmask, orange hat and green suit of the Sandman, but I felt that my place was here next to Dian. Besides, Sandy has proven himself capable many times over, and he makes an able substitute in my place. The fact is, though, that the Sandman hasn't really been needed much for quite a while now. It seems as though the usual breed of petty criminal has become pettier, and the variety of gaudily-named villains I am used to fighting have become rather sparse of late. I know I should feel grateful that my prophetic dreams have been fairly run-of-the-mill for some time now, but I can't help feeling that this lull is merely the calm before the storm.
Dian is calling me to bed now. And as far as I know, there is nothing this Halloween evening that warrants the action of the Sandman.
Wesley Dodds, October 31st, 1986.
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:34:35 GMT
Scene III: Park Avenue
"It's horrible! Horrible, I tell you!" screamed a wealthy old dowager in her '60s as she clutched to the 12-year-old Johnny Williams, who continued to say nothing, but remained impassively grim.
"I can see that. Thank you, ma'am," said Police Inspector Clem Burke as he walked away from the wailing old woman and over to his fellow police officers at the scene of the crime. The bodies of Robert and Zoë Williams had already been carried away in an ambulance although there was nothing that could be done for them. Robert had died instantly, and Zoë had gone into a coma and was in an extremely critical condition from the wounds she had sustained; she had almost no hope for recovery. "F***..." Burke breathed as he stepped around the pool of blood which made it hard to create a chalk outline around the bodies, "...as if we didn't have enough to deal with tonight."
The usual sounds of the night could be heard in the distance, as well as the sounds accompanying Halloween: bottle-rockets and firecrackers went off in nearby Central Park, teenagers drove through the streets with their radios blaring, and the screams and howling from taped Halloween sounds could be heard playing at various "haunted houses" in several neighborhoods.
"I'm goin' home, Clancy," muttered Burke as he tapped the shoulder of a police sergeant. "Think the kid's gonna be all right?"
"Mrs. Miller seems to know the family fairly well, so I think he'll be in good hands, Inspector."
"Mm," Burke acknowledged. There really wasn't much they could do at this point. The killer had left little evidence for them to follow up on the crime scene itself besides the bullets he'd shot into the Williams couple, which seemed to be of a very common variety; the gun used was almost certainly stolen. And despite his seeming motive to rob the family, he had left without an attempt to steal Mrs. Williams' purse or Mr. Williams' wallet, both which held a small fortune in large bills. The only real evidence they had was the skid marks on the street corner. They had almost certainly come from an S.U.V., which corroborated eyewitness reports of a sport utility vehicle of some type fleeing the area. No license plate number had so far been reported by any of the witnesses, however. If not for the wealth of the Williams family and the pressure that was already being put on them by the family's patriarch, this murder would probably be dropped in a few hours for lack of evidence. The case file would have remained open, of course, but for all intents and purposes this seemed like a routine mugging gone wrong. Due to the Williams' wealth, though, other possibilities had to be considered.
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:35:36 GMT
Scene IV: The Dodds Residence, the next morning:
"Wesley?" said Dian as she held up the telephone. "It's for you; it's John Williams. Something's happened."
"John?" said Wesley as he took the receiver. "Is everything all right?"
"No... no, it's terrible. Completely terrible," said John Williams on the other end of the line. "It's my son, Wesley. Robert. He and his wife were murdered last night!"
Wesley sat down, his legs suddenly going weak. "I'm so sorry, John. My... uncle was very fond of him as you know." Since Wesley and Dian had been rejuvenated to look much younger than their years, they had been forced to pass themselves off as the nephew of Wesley Dodds and the cousin of Dian Belmont respectively, explaining that the Dodds estate had been left to them after the elder Wesley Dodds and Dian Belmont had left to travel around the world in their twilight years. It made sense, since much of Wesley's youth had been spent in the far east.
"You must find his killer, Wesley!" John Williams demanded. "You're his godfather; you owe him that much."
"What? John, I--"
"I know that you're the original Wesley Dodds. I don't know how you made yourselves younger as you did or kept Sandy as young as he was in the 1940s, but I've known you too long to be fooled by that cockamamie story of yours. And I know that you're the Sandman. I've always known. You forget, as everyone does, that I'm not simply the head of a wealthy family, but that I was a damn good private detective in my time, and I assisted the police on several occasions in the 1930s and '40s, even while Dorothy and I were managing the fortune we had inherited from my uncle Dr. J.R. Ferguson." John Williams sighed deeply into the telephone. "Robert was my only son. He and Zoë meant everything to us. We thank God for sparing young Johnny, but the murder of my son must not go unavenged! They say it was a simple mugging gone wrong, but I know it was more than that!" "I'll do what I can, John. You have my word on that."
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:36:22 GMT
Scene V: Wesley Dodds' Journal
My dreams have failed me.
As I sit here the night after one of my closest friend's son and daughter-in-law were brutally murdered before the eyes of their twelve-year-old son, I can't help but to wonder whether my abilities of prophetic dreaming have completely abandoned me. The only other possibility I can think of is that this particular killing was an unfortunate random occurrence; one of hundreds of murders which happen every year in this city without a motive. My reasoning doesn't seem flawed on the face of it, but a small part of me knows that something is very definitely wrong here.
I visited the police precinct this afternoon and politely inquired as to the details of the Williams case, introducing myself as a family friend, but was met with a brusque brush-off from the ever-polite Inspector Burke. Clem Burke is just like his father: crass, uncouth, and suspicious of everyone. Still, he's predictable and utterly honest.
The details do seem fairly routine but for the matter of the bat-mask and the way the suspect fled with nothing to show for it but two victims and one very important witness. The question, of course, is why?
I'm afraid there's not much more I can do at this point that the police haven't already done. Still, I've readied my gear in case I need it for further investigation.
Wesley Dodds November 1st, 1986.
End Act I
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:37:07 GMT
ACT II: The Birthday Party
Scene I: Dian Belmont's Journal
The newspapers are all abuzz now over the so-called "Bat-Killer" as well as the accident at the Hudson Nuclear facility several miles north of the city which happened on Sunday. A recent college graduate named Mickey Waterberry just walked into the nuclear reactor there; his co-workers said he didn't seem to know what he was doing. He's alive, but in critical condition. Radiation poisoning. Meanwhile, Zoë Williams is still alive but unconscious. The doctors say she will most likely survive, but will most likely be crippled for the rest of her life. Her son John has been at her side ever since she was released from critical care. Wesley has been very restless since Saturday morning when he heard the news about the murder of Robert Williams; I'm really worried about him. Although the birthday party is tomorrow, I think I'll plan my own little surprise party for him tonight after he gets home.
Sandy, meanwhile, has become enamored with a pretty redhead he met at the Halloween Parade on Friday night. Honestly, that boy can't seem to focus on one girl for more than a few weeks; I believe this is the fifth "love of his life" this year. As one of my closest living relatives, however, Sandy's a dear. He reminds me so much of my dear departed cousin Lucy, who was the closest thing I had to a sister, being an only child as I was. I've never thought of Sandy as my cousin, but only as a nephew. Of course, now that the three of us have either kept our youth or had it returned to us, the legal relationships between us are a bit more complex.
Wesley has successfully passed himself off as the only son of his brother Gerald, which was made simple in the fact that Gerald hasn't been seen or heard from for several decades; Wesley has rarely mentioned him. It was far more difficult for me to pass myself off as one of the Belmonts from the west coast branch, but we were successful after a search through the family records. Wesley and I learned how difficult this process was when we originally were forced to explain first Sandy's disappearance in the mid-1940s and his sustained youth when he was restored to humanity in 1982. At first we thought it would be difficult to find a branch of the Hawkins family where a young cousin could easily fit without much notice, considering the fame of the Hawkins name throughout history, beginning with old Tom Hawkins during the Revolutionary War; however, we discovered that one young member of the Hawkins family had died in infancy, and his parents and grandparents were also both dead. This seemed to be a dead-end branch of the Hawkins family, and we were successful in finding the proper legal identity for Sandy, even though on paper his first name is officially Daniel. Wesley and I were fortunate in that we could keep our real names, and our JSA friends were very helpful in acquiring all the legal documents with which we could protect the secrets of our youthfulness and thereby protect our secret identities as well.
It looks like any plans I may have had for beginning a new novel may have to be put off for a while yet. While I'm getting stronger every day, my long convalescence has taken a toll on my imagination, I'm afraid. I may have to plunder my journals for an idea soon. Ah well, I have Wesley's and Rex's birthday party to keep me busy for now.
Dian Belmont November 3rd, 1986
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:37:33 GMT
Scene II: The Dodds Residence
"You're sure this is going to work?"
"Trust me, Wes."
"Sure, I trust you, Rex, but can I trust Fate?"
"Hey, me and Doc here go back a long ways. Besides our golden age JSA days, we teamed up a few times in the '60s, and made a heck of a team, at that. And if you can't trust your fellow JSAer, who can you trust?"
"Well... all right. But I don't want to end up turning into... into a frog or anything."
"Relax, chum."
"I am relaxed. I just... don't trust anything which can't be explained scientifically."
"Believe me, I understand; but this won't hurt a bit. I don't know how it'll work, I just know it will."
"All right."
"And hey, if it doesn't work, this party is sure to be one that EVERYONE remembers."
"What? Hey--"
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:38:27 GMT
Scene III: The Dodds Residence, early evening:
"--happy birth-day to you, happy BIRTH-day, dear Rex and Wesleyyyyy... Happy birth-day to yoooooouuuu..."
"Speech! Speech!"
Wesley glanced at Rex, who bowed at him, giving him the floor.
"Uh, thank you everyone," Wesley said. "After our trip to South America and Australia, it's great to be back in New York City, where you don't have to worry about getting a sunburn in the middle of December."
A few people in the crowd laughed.
"First of all, I want you all to know how much Dian and I are going to miss you." The room hushed. "Yes, Dian and I are going away again, this time for good. Yesterday, I turned seventy-four years old. Uhh... would anyone happen to know how much that is in dog years?" A few polite chuckles. "Seriously, though, I long to see the lands I grew up in. And I want to see them with Dian at my side. Therefore, I am turning over all my business assets to my only nephew, Wesley, including my control of the Dodds-Bessing Steel Corporation, as of today. Dian and I are leaving for Tibet tomorrow morning. I don't expect we will ever return. And at my age, that's a pretty safe bet." Wesley smiled a weak smile, leaning on his cane. "Now, I don't have much patience for speeches any longer... especially my own, so... on with the party!"
Wesley Dodds hobbled down from the staircase where he addressed the crowd of well-wishers and took hold of his namesake nephew's arm, and walked off as Rex began his birthday speech.
Finding himself alone with his younger double in the adjoining room, Wesley sighed as he held up a very old black and white photograph of two young men in football uniforms. "I wish you could've been here for this, Lee. You were my oldest friend."
"I was thinking the same thing," the younger Wesley Dodds said.
"How long was this spell supposed to last, anyway?"
"Long enough to convince the world that we're two separate people before Wesley Dodds the elder and world-famous author Dian Belmont vanish forever," said a third voice, which was also cracked with age.
"Dian!" the elder Wesley said, smiling. As he moved towards her for a kiss, he whispered, "Thank you for doing this, Inza. I didn't want to take a chance of this magical hoo-doo harming Dian any further than she's already been harmed by magic."
"My pleasure, Wesley," 'Dian' smiled. "Now go back out there and mingle. 'I've been planning this party for too long to let you spoil it by spending this evening all alone." She winked. "And you, young nephew, you should be upstairs keeping my cousin company."
"Yes, ma'am," the younger Wesley said, leaving.
"And don't get any funny ideas," the elder Wesley grumbled as he left. "Honestly, I really hate this flagrant abuse of 'magic', Inza, when we don't even know how it works, or what can go wrong with it."
"Listen, Wesley," Inza whispered, "Kent and I have been using 'magic' for almost as long as you've been wearing that gas-mask of yours, so stop worrying and have a good time. It's your birthday party, for crying out loud!"
"You're right, you're right," Wesley said. "The truth is, I had to step out of there for a while. Don't tell him I said this, but... I can't stand Rex's birthday speeches!"
***
"Wes, I want you to meet... Minnie!" Sandy Hawkins said, grinning from ear to ear as he presented his red-haired date to his favorite uncle.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Minnie," Wesley said.
"Charmed, I'm sure," Minnie replied as Wesley kissed her outstretched hand.
"We met on Friday," Sandy said. "You know, at that Halloween Parade. She was dressed up like a southern belle, and I was dressed up like Jesse James. It was only natural that we bumped into each other."
"Love at first sight," Minnie gushed.
"Isn't she great, Wes?"
"Mm-hmm," Wesley smiled noncommittally.
"We were planning on going out dancing while the night is still young; that is, if you don't mind, Wes," Sandy said.
"Mm... oh, not at all. Enjoy yourselves."
Sandy pulled up close to Wes and said in a conspiratorial tone, "And she can swing-dance, Wes. Oh boy, can she swing-dance."
Wesley watched the young couple make a bee-line for the front door and frowned. " 'Love at first sight', indeed."
***
"Brian, how are you, lad?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Dodds, sir," Brian Dunlap replied, the look on his face belying his statement.
"How are you really?" Wesley said. "You forget I knew your father when we were in the service together, and I could always read his face as I can read yours."
"Well... it's just that... I've been having these dreams lately, sir. Really strange, awful dreams. I don't know what to make of them."
"Dreams? What kind of dreams?"
"This is probably going to sound crazy to you, sir."
"I seriously doubt that. Please, go on. What kind of dreams have you been having?"
"Well, the dreams I've had lately all seem to... have something to do with what's going on lately... in the news." Brian looked at Wesley to see whether he was being taken seriously or not, and saw a very serious face looking back at him. He continued, "I... I think I dreamt about the Bat-Killer."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir. It was very very vivid."
Wesley studied the face of his young friend, who looked up to him like an uncle. "Surely the details of such a horrible crime may have influenced your dreams of late..."
"Well, that's just it, sir. I dreamt of the Bat-Killer BEFORE the murder of Robert Williams."
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:39:04 GMT
Scene IV: The Dodds Residence, late evening:
"Well, I think you've pulled it off, Wesley," Rex Tyler said as he sipped on a glass of wine.
"Think so? I only hope the legal side of it holds up," said the now-youthful Wesley Dodds as he drank down his glass of carbonated water.
"Oh, I'm sure if there are any problems there, one of us JSAers can help you out."
"Say, shouldn't you be getting home to Wendi?" Wes remarked.
"Probably," said the easy-going Rex. "But she's the understanding type, and she thinks this is the last time we'll see each other, so she won't be waiting up for me tonight."
"You haven't told her about my... other pursuits?" Wesley said matter-of-factly.
"No, I didn't want to burden her with anyone's secrets but my own and my son's," said Rex. "She knows I'm the Hourman, of course, but that part of my life is considered private in my family."
"That's not the way it is with me, Dian and Sandy," Wesley said, taking another sip of carbonated water. "Of course, both of them have aided me in their own ways throughout my career."
"I've always been very careful about keeping my career lives separate from my family--" Rex stopped suddenly as a beeping sound went off. "It's my pager. Probably a problem at the plant. Excuse me a moment, will you?"
Rex Tyler left for a few minutes to use the telephone, and then came back into the study. "I'm sorry, old buddy, but there's been an accident. My head chemist, Danny Franz, is in the hospital. Sounds pretty serious."
"Franz?" Wesley said, his eyebrows raising.
"Yeah, he's German," Rex said, almost reading Wesley's mind. "In fact, his father was one of those Nazi scientists who were smuggled out of Germany during the war. Anyways, I've got to get over there right away. Tell Dian how thankful me and Wendi are for all her efforts tonight."
"I'll tell her, Rex," Wesley smiled. "Although I'm sure you've mentioned it often enough to her tonight. Er... are you sure you haven't had too much to drink?"
"No, but my limousine driver isn't drunk, so I'm pretty sure I can get to my destination safely. See you, Wesley. And happy birthday."
"Happy birthday to you, Rex. And look: it's after midnight. It's really your birthday now. Good night."
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:39:36 GMT
Scene V: Wesley Dodds' Journal
My dreams have been peaceful of late. Far, far too peaceful. Perhaps this is a sign that my mission in life, my purpose, is over. One of my oldest friends, Dr. Clyde Dunlap, along with Happy O'Shea and I formed "The Three Sandmen" in our days in the service. Dunlap became wealthy after he founded a pharmaceutical company, using his experience from co-creating the sleeping-gas technology the three of us had developed to pioneer several new drugs. Brian, born relatively late in Clyde's life, followed in his father's footsteps as I had in my own father's.
Brian reminds me quite a bit of the way I was when I first became the Sandman: Quiet, reserved, and very driven in that quiet, reserved way. And now these dreams which plague him seem to have begun just as mine have ended. Could this be a sign that the torch should be passed?
I've always thought that, when I do pass out of this mortal coil, Sanderson would be the heir to my crimefighting legacy and perhaps even my prophetic dreaming. Sandy is the closest thing I have ever had to a son. There was once a time when Dian and I could have had children... a child... but that moment passed us by. Forever. Either Dian or I have been sterile since then, and we have had no children of our own. However, Sandy has truly been the son we never had, in more ways than one. Just as I followed in my father's footsteps in business, Sandy has followed in my footsteps in my true life's pursuit. Dian's nephew came into our lives just as Dian was urging me to wear a costume more befitting of the times, which would show off my new, muscular-yet-lean form. After all, she reasoned, this was the 1940s, and the detective look was out. I still don't know how she convinced me to trade my gas-mask in for those yellow-and-purple acrobatic tights, but I must admit that, by the time we brought Sandy into our home, I found the tights much easier to operate in; especially since my chosen career was becoming more physical than it had been in 1939, when I first donned my gas-mask at the New York World's Fair.
Sandy is nothing like me, however. Oh, he brought out a fatherly side of me I thought I'd never see: One which could enjoy the sporting events he loves, despite my natural aversion to such things, as well as get caught up in the contagious patriotic fervor of Sandy's during the War. However, our differences have always been painfully apparent. In many ways I am glad he's different from me, and is his own man. It does serve to remind me, however, that the son of my heart is not my spiritual son. He does things his own way. He has a fierce, independent streak which reminds me more of Dian than myself. And as a crimefighter he's more physical than I am, although I've tried to temper his emotional nature with common sense. He has the potential to become a great crimefighter in his own right, but he's not a replacement for the Sandman.
I wonder if anyone really can be.
Wesley Dodds, November 4th, 1986
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:40:20 GMT
Scene VI: A Manhattan swing club, after midnight.
"Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy, Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy, Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy, floy doy, floy doy, floy doy."
The swinging sounds of Glenn Miller's 1938 composition resounded through the dance floor as a crowd of dancing men and women, ranging from a couple in their 70s who had danced to this music when it was new, to the majority of younger people who, although they were from a different generation, were dressed in the style of the 1940s. This place suited Sandy Hawkins, a kid of the '40s, just fine.
Flat Foot Floogee ended, making way for the more famous of the Swing anthems, Sing, Sing, Sing, With a Swing. As the first drumbeats of this song began, the crowd parted and began to clap, until the first brave couple decided to strut their stuff.
Sandy glanced at Minnie with a look that said, "How 'bout it?"
She winked back at him, and they strutted onto the dance floor. They started out with a few basic moves, but soon moved on to the more complex Lindy Hop moves, and the crowd ate it up. They cheered as the crescendo of the music coincided with the moves of the dance, until the couple reached their apex and moved off the floor, making way for the next couple.
***
Sandy and Minnie walked hand-in-hand down the street outside of the Swing club, still flushed with the excitement of the evening. They found themselves at a point where they were talking about anything, any little unimportant thing, everything except the attraction they were feeling just then about each other.
"What's your favorite movie?" Minnie asked him.
"Uhh... Up In Arms," Sandy said after a moment's thought.
" 'Up In Arms'?" Minnie repeated. "What is that, a Schwartzenegger movie or somethin'?"
"Nah, nah. Danny Kaye," Sandy said, looking at her. "You know, Danny Kaye."
"Nevah heard of 'im," she said, blinking shyly.
"He's only the greatest comedian alive, Minnie," Sandy said. "He was in all the great comedy films: Up In Arms, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, The Inspector General, The Court Jester..."
"Oh, that old stuff."
"Yeah, I happen to like old stuff."
"Sometimes I think you are old stuff," Minnie said playfully. "I'm glad you don't look it, though."
"Not all things I like are old," Sandy said as he turned her towards him and kissed her.
"Mmmm..." Minnie purred.
"Beautiful," said a deep voice. "Young love. Ain't it great?"
The couple ignored the man and started walking again.
"I should feel insulted," the voice said. "As if I wasn't even supposed to look at a couple of rich kids kissing."
"Look, pal, we don't need the grief, so beat it," Sandy said, pulling Minnie beside him as they picked up their pace.
"You're Dodds' nephew, ain't ya? Old rich Dodds, goin' away fer good, leaving all'a his money to a couple o' rich snots."
Sandy finally turned around and looked at the man.
"Sandy, don't--" Minnie began, and stopped as she caught a glimpse of the dark figure behind them, letting out a small, startled squeak.
"Look, me and my girl don't want any trouble," Sandy said.
"Trouble? I'll give you trouble, ya rich, snot-nosed kid. I'll give you a whole world o' trouble!"
The next few seconds went by in a blur of activity.
Sandy's mind clicked in as he saw the bat-mask on the dark figure's face.
The Bat-Killer pulled out a gun.
Minnie began shrieking.
Sandy crouched.
The Bat-Killer shot.
Sandy sprung out.
Minnie stopped shrieking.
Sandy tumbled into the man.
The gun went off again.
Minnie fell to the ground.
The two men fell to the ground.
Sandy began punching the man, furious with rage.
The Bat-Killer struck Sandy in the head with his gun.
He shot the gun once more, grazing Sandy's temple.
Sandy screamed, falling back.
The Bat-Killer pushed Sandy onto the sidewalk as he jumped up.
He pulled his gun back to Sandy's head.
Sandy's arm sprung up, knocking the gun out of the man's hand.
The Bat-Killer darted and ran.
Sandy collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
End Act II
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:40:48 GMT
Act III: The Sting
Scene I: A Manhattan hospital in the afternoon, three days later.
"Lemme outta here! I've gotta get that bastard!"
"Sandy! Calm down, you're only making it worse!" Wes Dodds pressed Sandy Hawkins back onto his hospital bed, careful not to open the head-wound under his bandage. Sandy had only just become conscious an hour ago after being in a coma for two and a half days since the Bat-Killer's bullet grazed his head.
"He attacked us, Wes!" Sandy pleaded. "He shot -- ohmigod... he shot Minnie..." The blood drained from his face as the sudden realization came to him. "Where is she, Wes? What happened to her?"
Wesley Dodds looked into the eyes of the young man he loved like a son. "I'm sorry, Sandy. She's... gone. It was a direct hit. I'm sorry."
Sandy Hawkins continued to stare into Wes' eyes for another moment and then slumped back down onto the bed. He began to sob. After a long pause he began speaking once again. "She was so young, Wes. So full of life. I -- I barely knew her. We only just met on Halloween, but she was something special. She made me feel like... like I could fit into today. You have no idea how that feels, Wes... to be a man thrust into a time not his own. You lived through all those decades like a normal person, but I... I was a monster stuck away in a bottle, waiting for a cure." Sandy looked back at Wesley. "I'm sorry, Wes, but you have no idea how hard it was for me. And even though I've been 'normal' for the past eight years it hasn't been until recently that I could even feel like I was normal any longer. Heh. Y'know, when I met Minnie I felt like I'd known her all my life. She made me feel like I was just another guy. I know that sounds kinda weird, but I really just needed to feel that way again. I wanted to know her more, I wanted to understand what made her tick. What it was about her that brought out the best in me. I know I sound like a fool. I hardly had enough time to get to know her. But she wasn't just another girl, Wes."
"I know, Sandy," Wesley said as Sandy began to close his eyes again. "Now rest. Sleep. And don't worry about this any more right now. Dian and I will be back tonight."
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Post by DocQuantum on Jul 23, 2017 5:41:05 GMT
To Be Continued.......?
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Post by DocQuantum on Dec 22, 2019 0:17:09 GMT
I've deleted the duplicate of this story, since it was already here.
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