Blackest Night

Episode One

Atticus stepped through the seemingly empty streets with his rifle held firmly in both hands. Within a moment's notice he could have it readied against his shoulder, eyes trained down the sights at his target. He was prepared for such an action since he had set foot in the streets. There was a quiet air about the neighborhood, and the sound of a calling black bird was all that was heard reverberating through the barrenness. Aimless newspapers twirled through the gusts of vacant air that whistled as they brushed against the iron rain gutters. A soda can rolled and clanked against the ledge of the sidewalk as it dipped in the storm drain. Atticus' steps were precise and purposeful. His ears took in all the nothingness, every spot of irregularity was dinner bells in his ears.

A screeching howl from the throat of a cat twisted him to his left where he stared down a dank and uninviting alleyway. The owner of the howl rushed from behind an overstuffed tin trash can as Atticus ventured forth. It brushed passively passed his feet and into the empty streets behind him but Atticus took little interest in the startled animal for his eyes were locked on the forward progression his feet were carrying him.

Then in an instant the rifle was readied and he took a knee. The rifle was aimed forward toward an alcove between some dumpsters and the towering brick wall on his right. A shaking shadow eminent on the cement, produced by hidden light from a window just above.

"Step out." Atticus spoke with controlled command. His arms were steady and he pressed the stock a bit more into his shoulder. The shadow on the earth grew slightly as its owner was now standing at its true height and not at its hiding posture. Atticus searched slightly, lining up a headshot with his rifle in accordance with the distance of the shadow. "Step out, or I'll shoot you dead." Atticus commanded.

There was no response. The shadow remained, its owner exposed but not cooperative. His rifle shook slightly, but not enough to falter the sight line. The muscles in his arm were weak for it had been two days without sleep. His weakening arm was a side effect of his stubborn determination. If this was his target he couldn't let it go. He needed this done, he needed to rest. Slowly Atticus rose to his feet, his rifle prepped, and loaded.

He had only taken a step when the figure emerged with arms raised, and fingers pointed to the sky. "I couldn't stop him." The woman said. She was clothed in a harlequin dolls outfit. The ends of her red and white jester's hat slung in opposite directions. The dangling bells ringing out as they swayed and tapped against the side of her head. Her face was painted a pure white, her lips the color of pitch.

"Where is he Harley?" Atticus said in the same tone he had held when he first arrived here.

"Where's who?" Harley played back. She took a step forward with her arms raised up. The gloves were powder white on the palms, and red atop. It was same vibrant color that matched her skin tight costume. Her feet were in heels that tapped upon the cement as she stepped. Then she stopped in place. She cocked her hips to the side and brought her fingers to hang on the side of her waist, while her other hand brought her index finger to her lips and she attempted to search her brain for an answer to Atticus' question. "You must be speaking of Mr. J."

There wasn't a moment that she moved that Atticus didn't have his sights trained on Harley's head. It was a location between her eyes closer to the left than to the right. "No more games." He said.

"No games Mr. Finch," Cackled a voice from behind him, "just jokes." Atticus twisted around with an unbelievable velocity but there was nothing except a set of three cackling teeth with legs shuffling across the entrance of this trap. Atticus returned to Harley as he heard the sound of her heels beneath her steps. She made to cross to an intersecting alley when he let his finger find the trigger. The round entered and exited through her calf and she stumbled down. Her face planted against the pavement, but her tenacity brought her back to her feet within moments.

Atticus knew she wouldn't get far, and as if in the same instant his gaze went back to the teeth. He pulled the bolt up and back on his rifle and expelled the empty shell and slammed it forward and back down readying the next. He fired at one of the teeth, and then repeated his steps till all three were gone. He had to be sure they contained no traps, for he knew his target too well to fall for any again. Two months ago he hadn't been as wise.

Two months since of tracking, of scarce meals, of limited sleep. Two months since he had had him cornered and restrained. Two months of getting so close he could smell the stale sweat on The Joker's chin, the rotted breath passing over rotted teeth. The taunting bodies, with permanent smiles carved in their faces. Atticus wasn't about to quit. If he had only shot him dead when he had the chance, but the reward halted him and it required the clown to be alive and kicking. How many more people would have to suffer, and how many people already had? The Joker had too many connections, too many schemes, that it almost seemed worthless locking him up with the imminent possibility of his escape. Even then, Atticus tried to reason, that somewhere underneath that filthy white skin was a man who deserved trial.

The teeth it seemed where nothing but distractions, just old standby toys that his target carried around for such an opportunity as this, but he would have had to have been close in order to set them up. He had to have been just around the corner winding them, setting them down, and letting them loose. It was another taunt, another stink of breath. Atticus threw the strap of his rifle over his arm, and turned back to talk to the woman. A hand clenched into a fist, releasing some aggression, trying to preserve a sense of calm.

Upon the pavement where she had fallen were the remnants of white make up resting atop the gravel and a thin blood trail that lead into an open door way. There was a loose chain with a padlock cut and lying useless upon the ground. The woman's blood was upon it and inside a flickering light. Atticus entered.

A row of lockers lined the walls and various school papers were littered upon the floor so that one could barely make out the black and white tiles underneath. The lights flickered dimly, and the cold air escaped out of the opened door behind Atticus. The blood trail passed over more papers, and Atticus followed. His eyes stayed forward, his peripheral vision remained aware.

All was dead silent until the sound of feedback came from the overhead P.A. system, and the familiar cackle rang out gleefully, "Mr. Finch to the principal's office. To the principal's office, Mr. Finch." The mad horrifying laughter followed for some seconds before the system was silent again. Even though Atticus could not see the man he was at least headed in the right direction. The Joker wouldn't run yet, he would first surprise, and bruise Atticus, both in body and spirit in an attempt to break him. Then he would flee, getting two steps ahead again, but always keeping his presence known. Not this time however, Atticus vowed, this time it ended.

Harley's trail stopped in front of a locker that she was poorly hidden in. "Please Mr. Finch. We only wanted to play." She said in her best effort to sound innocent. Even if she was afraid of Atticus now, she was more afraid of the clown prince. He knew she was still a part of some scheme. He dropped the rifle into his palm, and kept it aimed at the locker.

"Step out." He simply said. Slowly the locker door opened, and Harley no longer had her jester hat upon her head, instead her hair was now exposed in a little bun, and her forehead devoid of makeup. There were scratches going down the length of her left cheek which exposed the peach color of her skin. Atticus' eyes shifted to her leg, where her hat now served as a makeshift tourniquet. "What's the plan?"

"Oh you know Mr. Finch he only tells me the beginning and the middle. He keeps the end in that pretty little head of his. He likes to surprise everybody after all." She was speaking honestly, and Atticus was disgusted with the admiration she showed her boss.

"You're telling me the truth, I know that much," Atticus stepped closer gun still pointed at Harley, and she backed up with each step until the back of her foot hit the bottom of the locker. She took a step up and was soon crouched back inside. "Let's just make sure you stay out of trouble." Atticus said as he shut the door.

"You can't keep me in here Mr. Finch. Mr. J is gonna be furious something fierce. Just wait till he finds out what you did to his little doll." Harley screamed as Atticus' steps faded from her hearing.

After taking a few turns and passing various doors with black numbers next to them on the white walls, Atticus found what he was looking for. From the ceiling there dangled a sign that swayed as it sat just under a ventilation fan and it read: Principal's Office. When he arrived at the door he aimed the barrel down the length of the room, and placed his back on the opposite wall he had entered from. Atticus moved slower now as he entered.

There began a loud cackle of laughter as the white skinned psychopath stepped out from a side office, his hands were covered in long ago dried blood. Along the right length of his face there were office staples holding together skin from a recent wound.

"Looks like someone beat me to you." Atticus stated.

"Oh this," The Joker gestured with his eyes to the scar, "Just a scrap I had a day or so ago." He held the back of his palm up to the side of mouth and whispered, "You should see the other guy. His fault. He just didn't understand me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh it's true, I think there's only one man who understood me, but he's not as travel logged as you are Mr. Finch. Nor does he have The Factions wealth backing him up. How much are they paying you to waste your time on me? Surely your funds have dried out. You must be the laughing stock of mentors, pupils, girlfriends. You name it. Oh what a failure you are Mr. Finch. Too bad The Faction won't let you kill me." He playfully taunted. He forced his smile wider than it could go, which caused the wrinkles in his face to unclip a couple of the staples, letting the skin flap open slightly.

"I know the law Joker." Atticus retorted. In the clowns presence he kept his finger softly on the trigger.

"I'm sure you are well versed. I know the laws too Atticus, remember Dick?"

Atticus knew full well who the Joker was talking about.

"You remember how I knew the laws of gravity would spatter him upon the pavement. Do you recall the sound?" The Joker gleefully begged as he slapped his hands together. "Splat."

Atticus lifted his rifle up. "Don't tempt me."

"Oh but you know I will. After all that you've seen me do. All my handy work. All those people I made so undeniably happy. You think that someone like me, someone who could do such wonderful things is going to be afraid of a little bullet?"

"It could kill you."

"Killing people is my thing Atticus. Not yours." The Joker moved to an office chair that was rolled away from its desk, and he sat. The sights remained glued on him as he continued speaking, "Why kid yourself with such empty threats? You come from a long line of men I know who live by the same code."

Atticus kept the gun trained, "I suppose you do know me. I don't share your wild imagination." He lowered the gun, and returned it to its place dangling on his shoulder. "What's the plan then? Push me until I go to shoot you and then…"

"Oh how you love to skip the anticipation. You want me to go straight to the punch line. But how I love making you think you're so close, and then to just rip it out from under you." His grin turned to annoyed anger, "And look how you go and ruin it." He twirled around in the desk chair. "So now you've willfully walked into a trap yet again."

"Suppose I'm a sucker for it." Atticus admitted.

The Joker locked eyes on him and a smile cracked at the side of his mouth, "Suppose you are." He patted a spot under his lapel where a purple and green flower rested; as he did so a splash of water ejected across the room onto Atticus' face. The Joker laughed hysterically, gasping for air in the process. Then he stopped as he stood to his feet, but as Atticus removed the puddles of water from his face the laughter began again. It appeared the maniacal menace could not be contained. "Oh hell I'm so sorry," he gasped in humorous ecstasy, "you should just see the look on your face." He waved his hand dismissing his behavior as he turned away as if embarrassed.

Atticus took this as his chance and stepped forward ready to subdue him but it was then the laughter stopped and The Joker twisted about. There was a flash of electricity and a jolting sound as two prods attached to wire found their way to Atticus' chest and neck. He convulsed and was frozen in electrical spasms for a moment before he felt his knees give way dropping him hard to the floor. The Joker's laughter echoed as his world went shapeless and dark.

The Joker slapped Atticus across the cheek with deliberate force. Then he did so again and again. Soon Atticus stirred and was staring down the eyes of his mark. Furiously he kicked and pushed himself; however, he was stuck securely in place. The ropes about him were tight and thick pressing the fabric of his grey vest into his sweaty skin. Atticus' arms were secure at his sides as the rope kept himself and the metal beam behind him locked together. The Joker just burst into laughter and moved away where he doubled over his face nearly touching the floor. The tails of his familiar purple coat dangled in the air. "Oh Mr. Finch, what a delight you are. You know it's hopeless and still you try." As he finished speaking he stood back up and turned to show that he was now brandishing a butter knife.

Atticus eyed it suspiciously. "Surely, you are not short on cutlery?" He said.

"Oh this, this isn't for cutting." The Joker pressed it into his bare wrist and sawed back and forth vigorously trying to break skin, "If I keep trying I'm sure I'll get it." He said feigning a shortness of breath. "Wait, there we go." He stopped to hold up his wrist to show Atticus the small trickle of blood seeping from the many light scratches. Surprised he remarked, "I guess I could cut you with it, although it would be most unpleasant. But if I shoved this in your mouth," he stepped closer and crouched pointing the knife at Atticus, "and I pressed into your teeth and gums I would guarantee you Mr. Atticus Finch," the words were biting and animalistic, "I could loosen your canines quite nicely." The little knife was inches away when the Joker turned away again, "It does sound like so much fun. After all I wouldn't want to cause any permanent damage." He was talking with his back to Atticus now as he ceremoniously searched for words to say. His steps were flamboyant and gleeful, "What we really need is non-fatal discomfort."

Atticus remained silent. He searched his mind for a method of escape. To his right his rifle stood leaning against a utility cabinet. There was no way for him to reach it, let alone get out of the ropes. His heart beat quickly in his chest for he knew the inevitably of this confrontation could only have one outcome. The only comfort was knowing that The Joker would not kill him. Atticus knew that the Jokers clearest weakness was his need to put on a show and Atticus was the audience. "That'll put me off of you for a while, old friend." Atticus said in a gambit.

"Oh nonsense, dear boy, nonsense. It's not the same as losing a limb. It's just a couple of teeth," The Joker said as he imitated the process against his open mouth, "It's pop, pop, and pop, and terrible discomfort, and a mouth full of blood, but you will right back on your feet in no time at all." Before The Joker's plan could be put into action there was a maddening call from a raven as it sped through the open door way and onto the Joker's face.

. Blood seeped from under the talons as they latched down pulling The Jokers skin that sent the office staples scattering about the floor. The bird's beak searched the jokers face as the clown tried to rid himself of the animal. He lost his footing and crashed against the abandoned boiler behind him. As he made to attack the bird with his knife its beak came down in a sharp jabbing motion and an eye was pulled from its socket. With the prize in its beak it released its victim. The Joker kept a palm to his eye and waved his other hand about him believing the bird still in the air overhead.

Atticus sat literally trapped in shock as the bird perched on the utility cabinet where it released the eye to the grey floor below. Fearing it'd come for him next he struggled against the ropes. The birds head cocked and it cawed almost seeming to eye him but then it fluttered down onto the arm of the man who now entered in a long thin pea coat. The Joker's eye was squished under this strangers worn and scuffed combat boot. The man's focus was on the wounded clown.

The man stood in cold silence as The Joker rose to his feet, confused and bleeding between the fingers that covered his empty socket. The man was holding a knife in his left hand just resting at the side of the black coat. The Joker stared at him, and then at the bird and then at Atticus, and then he returned his focus to the man and said to everyone in a humorous tone, "Now who the hell is this guy?" With a blinding ferocity the mysterious figure brought up an antique pistol with his free hand and fired a single shot into the Jokers skull. The malicious clown fell lifeless with a crack against the boring grey floor.

In his trap Atticus sat speechless as he saw the curved knife raised in the man's hand as the stranger rushed to the corpse in front of him. The sounds of flesh being cut could be heard but Atticus was unable to see as the body of the man obscured his vision. Then he stood placing something in an inner coat pocket before turning to Atticus.

"Are you okay?" The man said knife still in hand dripping blood.

"I'm fine." Atticus supposed. He looked at the blood about The Jokers body and at the bloodied mess upon the strangers' hands. The raven was sitting on the strangers' shoulders and cawed and twisted its head again as if whispering into its masters' ear. Then he approached Atticus with the bloodied knife, and proceeded to saw at the ropes. Atticus said nothing else.

"You're lucky," the man commented as he worked.

"Am I?" Atticus wasn't so sure.

The man shook his head and smiled, "You are as far as I'm concerned. If I hadn't shown up that bastard would have left you in an unpleasant state." The ropes loosened enough for Atticus to get his arms out and then the man's hand came down to be greeted, "You can call me Edgar. My companion here," Edgar said gesturing to the greasy bird, "is Eleanor."

Atticus took the hand and responded with his name.

"Atticus is it? Strong name." Edgar said as he pulled him up to his feet.

Atticus let loose of the grip as soon as he was able and stepped over to the utility cabinet to retrieve his rifle. "I needed that man alive," Atticus said as he put the strap of the rifle over his shoulder. He didn't approach the bloodied corpse but from where he stood he could see a gap cut just below The Joker's sternum.

"That wasn't a man," Edgar said gravely, "His heart was the color of the void. The evil within him carried through his voice. We could sense it." He said of him and his pet "Could you not?"

"I've seen his works." Atticus retorted as he made for the door to return upstairs to keep safe Harley Quinn. Edgar walked beside him down the hall and up the stairs to the first floor. Atticus was uneasy for there was something in this man Edgar's demeanor that frightened him more than The Joker ever did.

The raven cawed on Edgar's shoulder and flew ahead to the whimpering coming from Harley's locker. It perched there as Atticus made to open it. "Who is in here?" Edgar asked as Atticus slowly opened the door. At the moment he felt responsible for what happened to Harley, and he did not trust this man with her.

"Where's Mr. J?" Harley asked. The make up on her face was washing off, and the cream of her skin exposed under the tear streaks.

Atticus made to fashion a lie, but Edgar jumped in, "If you are referring to the clown, I ended him. His soul is returned to the underworld." The black bird called out and Harley was speechless. She stared long at Atticus searching his face for confirmation to the stranger's story. Atticus nodded at its truth.

Harley slapped Atticus across the face and made to do so again but Atticus gripped her forearms forcing her back against the locker which slammed the door shut. "Calm yourself." Atticus pressured.

"A harlot who weeps for a devil, is little better than the evil itself." Edgar said standing alongside the scene.

Atticus saw the man's hand resting on the knife handle. "She is none of your concern stranger." Atticus said with his eyes locked on Harley.

"I may have saved your hide Mr. Atticus but do not assume to tell me my place." Edgar stepped forward and the raven called out. "Is this woman a threat?"

Atticus stared long and hard into Harleys eyes trying to convey the imminent danger she was in. Atticus had no intention of dying for her, and if she didn't calm down he feared she'd go the way of the clown. Harley sniffled and looked at Edgar nervously, passing her eyes between the man and the bird. She forced a wounded grin and said, "Who am I without Mr. J?"

Atticus nodded his thanks to her as he relinquished his grip on her arms. "You see Edgar she's not a threat. I'll take care she stays out of your way."

Harley looked at the pair defiantly, "Lead the way Mr. Finch. Aint a soul in this damned town anyhow." Her voice was devoid of theatricality and she followed closely behind dragging her feet on the black and white tiles. They exited back out the doorway Atticus had entered earlier, down on the ground he noted Harley's blood trail. They did not follow it but instead turned in the opposite direction.

Atticus was keeping close to Harley's left arm as he was still afraid she'd try something foolish. His focus was torn however, between her and Edgar. It wasn't just the ravenous raven on the man's shoulder but the grizzled demeanor him. Within Edgar's eyes Atticus saw scars, and hellfire. Whatever happened to the man had forever made an impression, that much was clear.

"Where are you taking us?"

Edgar stopped and turned around and before speaking he lifted his arm up and let loose his bird, "Someplace safe. There are many who will descend on the city in the twilight, bandits and thieves. Blood thirsty rats, each and every one of them." Edgar looked back the way he was leading and then returned his gaze to Atticus, "Are you sure this female would not be more comfortable with the nocturnal specimens. They rarely hurt their own."

"He may have a point Mr. Finch." Harley admitted. "Surely you don't need me slowing you down. Besides your new friend doesn't seem to like me much."

"Your leg." Atticus reminded her.

Harley made her lips pouty, "I've been nicked worse than this sweetie." She placed her palm at Atticus' cheek, and for a moment Atticus was reminded of his wife. He found himself closing his eyes to see her, but he caught himself, and proceeded to remove her hand. "Listen, Mr. Finch your friend seems lonesome."

Atticus looked at Harley and then at Edgar. With The Joker gone he really had no reason to keep Harley. Edgar seemed intent on driving her off and Atticus was growing curious about the man. Despite feeling a complete unease about him, but perhaps figured Atticus, that was why he wanted to learn more about him. "Go. Get out of here." He instructed and without another word she limped off the way they had come. "Will she be alright?" Atticus said to Edgar as Harley trailed away.

"She's got spirit. A twisted spirit, but she'll be fine, yes." Edgar spoke as he began walking off. Atticus turned and followed.

They stepped out into the vacant streets where many automobiles sat immobile in the center of the road. Some of them were on blocks, their tires stripped from them. Windows smashed rusted frames, and all of them in various states of decay. Under foot shattered glass cracked against the pavement.

Atticus had been in the city for a couple hours tracking The Joker and from the outset something had bothered him about the place, "What happened to everyone?"

"A month ago I was passing through a town to the west called Posterity. There was a commotion in the streets. Apparently a girl had wandered in from the wasteland. She was covered in blood and babbling mostly nonsense. From what the people had said, she kept repeating one thing. Someone knew her there. Said she was from this town called Divinity, which is where we are. So I came here searching for her family. No one else would. The bandits had been ravishing the wastelands and communication had been cut off. When I got here one thing stuck out. There was a name on every wall. On posters, in the café's in the shops, even in the schools." Edgar lifted up a torn piece of paper from under the debris and handed it back behind him. Atticus stepped forward and retrieved it.

On the paper was a towering skyscraper. A silver sliver extending skyward, modern and sharp. At the widening base of the building a crowd stood hand in hand, and below their feet in big bold letters it read: Snow Industries: A Stepping Stone to the Future "What does this have to do with anything?"

"The word she kept saying. It was snow." Edgar answered as he retrieved the paper from Atticus' hands, only to let it slide out of his fingers to the ground below. As they continued walking Atticus saw why Edgar had been so cavalier in dropping it. The entirety of one wall was plastered with the same exact image. He tried to search his memories for any mention of such a company but couldn't recall it. "My employers might know something of this." Atticus offered.

"Perhaps." Was all Edgar said as they entered into another alley way.

Atticus didn't particularly appreciate Edgar's quizzical personality. It wasn't only that but The Joker was supposed to be brought back alive. If he was injured or terribly maimed it was no loss, but death was not part of the contract. One of the largest payouts The Faction was ever commissioned for. Money to pave the way for a secure future for his young children that he left at home in the caretakers capable hands while he went and played hero.

"I lost quite a sum when you killed the clown."

"You mean money?" Edgar questioned over his shoulder.

"Yes I mean money." Atticus said a tad more furious than he had planned.

Edgar didn't say anything else at that moment, but turned out onto another street full of townhouses, and went down passed only two doors before he climbed some stairs. He paused a moment as his raven came back to perch on his arm. Then he entered into the large baby blue house with boarded windows. "If you are inclined to help me, I may be able to offer you a sum." Atticus could tell Edgar was spitting back sarcasm.

"I have responsibilities. I don't go around doing this for my own benefit." Atticus entered and Edgar closed the door behind him. The living room of the house was dark with small bars of light breaking through holes in the boards on the windows. Dust danced in the air descending in slow motions about them, some of it seemed to stand in suspended animation. There was mildew smell coming out of a nearby room.

"You are a mercenary then?" Edgar asked as he put Eleanor in a cage that dangled from the ceiling in the corner. Accompanying the word mercenary was a disgusted tone that Atticus picked up on.

"It's something like that. Have you heard of The Faction out here?" Atticus unslung his rifle and rested it against the wall and took a seat in an old recliner.

"The Faction?" Edgar said striking a match and bringing its small flame to the wick of a candle, "Of course I've heard of The Faction. A bunch of wealthy corrupt bastards playing at policing the world."

"Someone has to speak for justice." Atticus defended.

"Leaving a path of violence and carnage, is that what you call justice? And what of collateral damage? Some of your peers have no trouble with causing it. Are you one of those people?" He said as he moved to the other side of the room and struck another match to light another candle.

"Sometimes it can't be helped. But I take care as best I can to avoid such things."

Edgar moved to a chair across from Atticus. He sat letting out a long sigh of relaxation. "I normally wouldn't take your word for it, but I sense something better about you. A sense of conviction in your words."

"Snow industries?" He changed the subject as he spotted a litter of the posters upon the shagged carpet. It was always the same image, but with the background altered to different colors.

"I'm not a people person." Edgar said cryptically then pointed at Atticus, "You on the other hand seem to be one." As if suffering from an attention disorder the grim looking man stood up quickly from his sitting position and exited the living room to what looked like the kitchen – all Atticus could see was a pair of sinks stocked to the brim with filthy dishes. The sound of cupboards opening and closing came from this room, and Edgar spoke again, "I've seen many evil things in this world my friend. Things that send people screaming from their homes, but not a whole town. A whole city. You would be surprised the things people save before they retreat. Photographs, strange toys, a collection of stamps or even jewels. Not here however, they forgot too. Or they had no time too." Edgar reemerged from the kitchen with a jar held in his hands, but his fingers obscured what it contained.

Atticus stood up now growing intrigued by Edgar's ranting. The man had a point, whatever had made the city evacuate must have been catastrophic. "Why do you suspect this Snow Industries would have anything to do with that?"

"I'm a collector Mr. Finch. Most of these collections occur within my mind, they are composed strictly my memories. Other times I collect the memories of others. Over on the desk by the fireplace." As Edgar spoke Atticus cast his eyes to what he described, it was full of books. The candle flames flickered; dancing light upon the leather bound surfaces. Some had simple locks that were broken apart. There were those with hearts, purple with white polka dots.

"These are diaries. Journals." Atticus remarked.

"They are." Edgar walked over to him, the jar no longer in his hands. "I've read many of them. Such sad lives for most, but some found hope, and optimism in their bleak surroundings. Strong souls. Now missing."

"And they make mention of this Snow Industries?"

"Yes. Every one of them that I've read so far. There are some, day laborers, husbands who spoke of the prospects of going to work for them. Nearly a years' worth of work, leaving behind family to travel to some factory in the middle of the wasteland." Edgar lifted up a red leathered one and handed it to Atticus who flipped open the first page and read the entry.

August 19th,

Not sure why I decided to keep a diary now. I use to have one when I was ten but I'm nearly eighteen. Feels good to have a place to hide my thoughts. Gale asked me to dinner with him tonight…..

It went on a ways like that. Feeling slightly ashamed of peering into some ones private matters, Atticus flipped ahead trying to catch sight of the word Snow. After flipping through an extensive amount, he finally spotted it.

December 2nd,

Well I got the job. I really wasn't sure if my name would be picked in the lottery or not. Sure they say you get to place a new entry in every year, but what are the odds? It's my second year. It'll feel good to finally send Momma and my sister some money back. This town has seen such hard times. Bandit raids have increased. It's barely safe to be on the outskirts of town even during the day now. It used to be just at night. A lot of people are moving. Snow Industries, they say it's the best work you can do for the best pay. They say they are real generous. Half the city is working for them now, money is pouring in nice and good like. Soon we'll be able to gather some proper protection.

December 23rd,

Feels strange leaving so late in the year but that's when the shuttle arrived. It's been parked at the bus depot all day. Their representative came to my house today. He was handsome maybe a few years older than I am. To think being that young and having such high power at one of the biggest industries in the world. Maybe I'll actually get to know him when we get there. Or even on the trip. I hear it's a few hours north. Well, this will probably be my last entry. Don't worry I'll write all about my experiences when I get home.

Love, K.E.

"Half the town went there?" Atticus said as he shut the book, "What kind of corporation employ's half a city?"

"A big one." Edgar grimly joked. He walked over to Atticus and retrieved the diary from his hands and tossed it back on the table. "K.E. are the initials of the girl, in Posterity."

Atticus began searching his mind for his next course of action. He paced to where Edgar had been standing with his jar. It was a shadowed corner of the room, but as he neared he paused only for a moment startled at what he saw on the shelf. Against his better judgment he stepped in closer still.

"Hearts tell many tales Mr. Finch. Black hearts, mutated hearts, these are the hearts of demons I've sent to the other side." Edgar was standing side by side with Atticus. "Do you like your work?"

Upon the shelf were twelve jars filled with a clear liquid, and within the center were hearts that floated still intact. Distracted from Edgar's question he asked, "This is what you do to them all?"

"Not all of them." Edgar pointed to one jar with a small fresh red heart. The blood was like a fog in the jar floating about the liquid. "This is your dearly departed friend."

Upon the jar was a label that read, Clown. Another heart was barely contained within the jar, the glass cracked almost to the point of shattering. It was black and coated in a thick green sludge, and on the label it read, Bane.

"You think this Snow Industries deserves a place on your shelf?" Atticus asked as he read another label, Gargamel. The heart appeared to have been in a hundred tinier pieces that were now sewed back together.

"I don't know anything yet Mr. Finch, but it warrants looking into." Edgar stepped away from his heart collection and sat back down in his chair. "If its money you want, I can't guarantee it. But I'm sure there's someone out there who would pay handsomely to know what in the hell is going on."

"This isn't my place." Atticus said turning back to his own chair and he sat down. "What business do I have with Snow? Perhaps they had nothing to do with it, perhaps it was bandits."

"There are no bandits capable of disappearing an entire town. Not one of this size." Edgar looked about the room and gestured with his hands to everything, "If there ever was a time for The Faction to intervene its here."

"I can't."

"You saw the school Atticus. All those young minds keen to learn. Did you not see the drawings on the walls, the rainbows, the families? Won't you help them?"

The image of his daughter and son flashed within his head, and Atticus began to allow his thoughts to fathom the horrible fates that could have befallen children like them. He couldn't turn his back on the possibility of innocence being snuffed out for some diabolical reason. Atticus rubbed the knuckles on his left hand and thought for only a moment before he said, "I'll accompany you to the next town, but no further. If this does not lead anywhere I'm gone."