Sunday Morning, June 15th 1924: A Pyrrhic Victory
The hum of the engine had become Jack’s constant companion as he drove through another night. He had become a man on the run, dogged every step by the Order. Don’t. Stop. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, let alone slept. He could feel the stone in the seat next to him. He had wrapped it in a thick cloth, fearing to touch it with his bare skin. It pulled at his mind, whispering dark secrets to him. A passing fancy filled Jack’s mind. Maybe he should just take out the stone and recite a prayer. What harm could it do? Iä, iä, Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh R'lyeh wgah-nagl fhtaga…
As Jack’s mind came back to reality he found himself reaching for the stone. He pulled back his hand as if he had been burned. Don’t. Stop.
Jack needed to find a place to hide the stone. But whom could he trust? He ran through the people that he knew that he could trust. It was a short list. Something tugged at the corner of his mind. He was struck by a sudden inspiration. Father Henesey… The car gave a sudden lurch as the engine sputtered. Did they find me?! Jack’s pulse raced, his heart beating through his chest. It turned out to be a far less nefarious cause as his eyes landed on the fuel gauge. Shit.
Those unfamiliar with the Elder Gods would have called it a coincidence but to Jack, the sudden appearance of a service station on the horizon was an ominous sign. The engine gave another sputter. Don’t. Stop. However, it didn’t seem that Jack had much of a choice. He either had to stop for gas… Or walk. With a frustrated growl he pulled into the station, a bell ringing as he stopped at the nearest pump. A sleepy-eyed, toe-headed youth emerged from the nearby store, rubbing the sleep from his eye. “Whatcha want mister?” he asked.
Jack eyed the boy suspiciously. “Fill the tank.” The night was filled by a bustle and clang as the boy started to gas up the car. Jack felt a twinge, the call of nature. “Where is your bathroom?” he asked the attendant.
“’Round back,” said the boy without looking away from the dial on the pump. Jack opened the door and stepped out of the car pausing for a moment before reaching back in and grabbing the stone. Can’t trust the boy.
Holding the stone seemed to only strengthen its voice in his mind. KILL THE BOY! TEAR HIS FLESH! DRINK HIS BLOOD! REAP HIS SOUL!. It took all of Jack’s being to tamp down the impulse to bludgeon the boy with the stone and calmly walk to the restroom.
The door creaked open on rusty hinges and Jack quickly swung it shut behind him. He reached down to swing the latch shut, only to find it broken. Don’t. Stop. Jack was able to relieve himself with only slight difficultly due to the awkwardness of holding the stone at the same time. Approaching the sink to wash his hands, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A haggard face looked back, eyes darkened by heavy bags and chin covered in thick stubble. Carefully setting down the stone to ensure it stayed covered, Jack turned on the tap, bending down to splash water on his face. Feeling slightly refreshed, Jack let out a contented sigh and straightened up, only to freeze in shock. Looking into the mirror, he found nothing looking back.
Suddenly a heavy blow sent Jack bodily into the mirror, cracking the glass and sending him sprawling onto the floor. Looking back, he was filled with horror as he gazed upon the face of his assailant… Himself. An evil grin twisted the doppelganger’s face as it loomed over Jack. “They always said you were your own worst enemy Jack.”
As the mirror image raised its fist to strike, Jack reached down to the waistband of his trousers, feeling the wooden grip of the pistol hidden there. NEVER. FUCKING. STOP.