Jack Thompson's Arc

Chapter 1 of 25

Jack limped back onto Hatchet Street with his shotgun braced under his arm. He hadn't planned to return. But the gaps in his memory itched worse than the bad leg, and somewhere in this dust was proof of what Blackjack had done while he was gone. If he ever wanted to call that thing out on his own terms, he had to know what it did off them. He found the first sign near the noticeboard in the square. A rough poster flapped against the wood, a crude horned skull inked above the words CARD DEMON. Someone had been collecting accounts. Names. Times. Jack pulled the paper down and folded it into his coat. A few steps on, he saw the cards. Two of them, lying face up in the dirt like they'd been set there on purpose. An ace of spades. A jack of hearts. No wind had moved them. He stared a long moment, then nudged them apart with his boot. Underneath, the dust was dark. Dried. He didn't remember bleeding here. He didn't remember anyone bleeding here. He lifted his eyes to the end of the street. The old clock tower stood watch over everything, its shutters cracked just enough for a man to see out without being seen. A shape shifted behind the slats and went still. Jack felt the weight of being watched settle on his shoulders. He started toward the tower, dragging his bad leg, shotgun thumping the dirt. Whoever was up there knew what Blackjack had done. By the time Jack reached the door, the watcher was already coming down the stairs to meet him.