The Line 3
Okay. Jack has heard his fair share of super villain names, from Treekeeper to Rasputin, but this one takes the cake. "I'm sorry—Nightmare what?"
Whilst Hiccup tucks hungrily into his mushroom risotto and Merida pokes halfheartedly at her tagliatelli, Elsa continues. "The Nightmare King."
The image that comes to Jack's mind is of a spindly man in a black spandex onesie, with dozens of little z's adorning the material. Not the assumption one wants when, apparently, the situation is serious enough to warrant reforming The Line. "Uh-huh," he utters with a skeptical drawl. "Lemme guess - he terrorises small children with nightmares."
Hiccup snorts behind his mouthful of risotto, earning him a reproachful look from Elsa. "If only that was all he did."
Jack frowns. "Huh?"
"The Nightmare King is an ancient being, Jack. No-one knows precisely how old he is, only that there have been records of his appearances dating back as far as the Roman Empire. Perhaps even further."
Jack scoffs a little. "Vampire? How cliché."
The edges of Elsa's lips twitch. "I doubt that very much. What I can tell you, however, is that he has been there for every dark moment in human history. The Salem Witch Trials, he was sowing the seeds of paranoia. He was in the trenches of the First World War, revelling in the chaos and guiding a young Austrian messenger on a terrible path that would lead to the greatest massacre of innocent lives in human history. He whispered in the ears of American and Russian leaders, nearly starting a nuclear holocaust. The Bolshevik Revolution, the beginning of the slave trade, Hiroshima, Nagasaki, you name it. He was there, nurturing and feeding on the fear."
The ambient volume of the conversations in the restaurant lessens slightly, but Jack is in too much a state of disbelief to notice. It all sounds crazy, like the fantasy plot of a novice fanfiction writer. For someone to have his fingers in every slice of history's pie…
"Seriously? C'mon, Elsa. That's insane. How do you expect me to believe that?"
Merida makes a muffled hum, like a noise one does when their mouth is full. Sure enough, a quick glance reveals her bandana has been pulled down and one of her cheeks is adorably hamster-like. "I didnae believe it at first, either." She gestures at Elsa with an impressively expensive-looking fork. "Show him tha photographs."
Elsa's hands dive under the table, reappearing moments later clutching a handful of photographs, eight in all. She hands them to Jack, who takes them with wary eyes, and returns her fingers to their prior laced posture. Jack's eyes look down at the laminated images in his hands; a few are of paintings or drawings from the days before cameras were invented, and the rest are actual photographs. The first is of a bunch of men and women, Puritan-era by Jack's shaky recollection of his history lessons. The second, a line of black men and women led in chains. He leafs through the moments frozen in time, from Hitler at a rally, to Khrushchev and his military staff.
Is it just him, or is the restaurant a little quieter, now? Jack dismisses the notion as he looks up from the images. The customers have probably realised the hour and started heading home.
"Alright - I don't get it."
"Look again," Hiccup prompts him. "Don't look at what you're supposed to look at."
Jack cocks a skeptical eyebrow, and seriously considers therapy for Hiccup as he does so. He leafs through the images one more time: the ruins of Hiroshima; Hitler, surrounded by his fascist goons, and—
"Wait…"
His eyes glimpse a man stood behind and to Hitler's left. With jet black hair and a hawkish face, he could almost be mistaken for Goebbels… except Goebbels is at Hitler's right.
He's seen this man before.
Curiosity driving him, Jack goes back through the images - sure enough, the man is in every one. Walking through ruined Japanese buildings. Observing the slaves with his hands behind his back. Leaning over Stalin's shoulder as the Russian dictator signs a document.
An unwelcome chill grips Jack's spine, clenching his stomach. This has to be a joke, some kind of Photoshop masquerade.
"You see him, don't you?"
Elsa's voice catches his attention - not that it's difficult… it's Elsa - and he nods. "So you're telling me this guy, this Nightmare King, has been behind the scenes manipulating every bad thing in human history?"
"I wish I could tell you differently," Elsa says in a solemn voice, "but it's true."
Jack shakes his head, resisting the urge to laugh out of nerves and disbelief. He hands the pictures back to her. "That's nuts. For all I know, these could have been edited… how do you know all this?"
Elsa looks at him as she takes the pictures and returns them wherever they came from, and her expression is akin to a gut punch as it's the exact same expression she wore when she dumped him - humourless, honest, and deeply serious. "Because my grandmother fought him."
"What."
See? Thousand and one household uses.
The story of Elise Whitethorne is well-known, at least to anyone bothering to look up superhero history. Known as the White Witch, she was the scourge of super villains and ne'er-do-wells alike, defeating and trapping them with her mastery over winter itself. On her days off, she was a historian and museum curator - which explains the images. The White Witch was famous, looked-up-to and celebrated, her actions setting in motion the Age of Heroes as Hiccup likes to call it, an age of safety and security with superheroes in every city.
Until she, without explanation, disappeared.
Of course, anyone close to Elsa knew the truth - the White Witch passed away peacefully in her bed, surrounded by her family - including a young Iduna Whitethorne, Elsa's mother.
She shifts in her chair, ignoring her gnocchi in favour of a glass of wine. "Yes. You see, upon learning of his existence, my grandmother dedicated her free time to researching everything she could about him - as you can imagine, records were quite scant - believing him to be the single greatest threat to humanity. She believed that if she could end him, mankind's only threat would be mankind itself - something much more easily managed. So, she sought him out."
Jack nods - and the background noise lessens further still.
"They fought each other around the world. Wherever there was conflict, or a place where fear was rampant, he would be there… and they would clash. It went on for a decade - but the longer she battled him, she realised: he could not be defeated. The Nightmare King was immortal, invincible. He hadn't lived for centuries for nothing. He was a force of nature, an abstract, as powerful as he was clever… and she was simply a human with supernatural gifts. After all, how do you kill fear itself?"
"Ask FDR," Hiccup chirps up.
"That's 'the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself,' you dingus," Jack snarks.
Hiccup pulls a face and gives him a middle finger. Elsa clears her throat, returning the attention of the table to her. "My grandmother realised she couldn't kill him. It was impossible… but she could trap him. Seal him away for eternity… and the way to do that had been under her nose all along. Literally."
Elsa's right hand snakes under the collar of her business shirt - arousing thoughts in Jack's mind that really shouldn't be there - and pulls out a silver chain upon which hangs a transparent teardrop gem the size of one of Merida's meatballs. Jack remembers the necklace all too well, remembers how she freaked out when he tried to take it off the first time they made love.
Elsa looks at the precious jewel with an expression one usually doesn't expect - mournful regret. "This belonged to my grandmother, and was left to me in her will."
"What is it?" I mean-" he adds quickly after Merida gives him a funny look, "-other than the obvious?"
"A vessel, enchanted to contain supernatural powers, or entities. It was the reason my grandmother gained her powers…" her eyes travel to distant lands, and her expression becomes one of deep sadness, "the reason I am cursed with mine."
Before Jack can question what the hell she means by 'cursed', Elsa sniffs, shoves the necklace back into its hiding place, and forces herself to continue. "When my grandmother owned it, it was then as it is now: empty. So, she theorised that just as it contained the formidable power over winter with which she was granted - though she made a mental note to never again touch mysterious jewelry without protective gloves-" Elsa chuckles bitterly, a sound that both lightens and pains Jack, "-it could also contain him. So, armed with her theory, she lured him to the Arctic."
Rapt, all Jack can issue is an impressed hum. It's clever - the Arctic Circle would have been where Elise was at her strongest. She could literally wield the land itself against the Nightmare King.
Elsa takes another sip of wine to wet her mouth before continuing. "She hoped to weaken him, use the very power and location of her surroundings to strip him of his strength."
"And did she?" Jack murmurs.
Elsa's eyes find his. "Yes, but not in the way she wanted to. You see, the Nightmare King was weakened, but his power still exceeded hers. His assaults were relentless, endless, and in the end, she was too busy defending herself to try and use the necklace against him. So she went with Plan B."
"Which was?"
Elsa's lips quirk into a smile that almost looks like pride. "She threw everything she had at him in one last strike… and buried him in the Arctic ice."
A whistle of admiration escapes Jack's pursed lips, though a small voice at the back of his mind reminds him of his inferiority. He banishes the thought - now isn't the time for that shit. "Go Elise."
"Indeed," Elsa's smile falls, "but the victory was not without great cost. The battle and the long journey home had taken its toll on her. She had pushed her body past its limits, past the point of physical exhaustion, and by the time she returned home to Arendelle… she was dying. Her organs were slowly shutting down one by one. She had enough time to set her affairs in order and record a tape explaining everything I have just explained to you before she passed away."
Without thinking, Jack reaches across the table to take her hand. "I'm sorry."
For a few seconds, she holds it - actually holds it - and Jack's heart soars when her gaze lingers on the embrace of their fingers. Until she jerks her hand away, of course, and does everything she can to avoid his eyes.
Stung, Jack withdraws his hand, and tucks it into a defensive folding of his arms. Up goes the wall of ice, metaphorically speaking. "So what's this darkness that's got you all shit-scared enough to reform The Line?"
"The Nightmare Prick is back, laddie," Merida declares, her Scottish accent doing little to diminish the ominous quality to her voice.
Jack's jaw loosens. "What."
You get the picture.
"How the—Elise buried him. That's right, yeah?" He looks at Elsa for explanation. "Your grandmother buried him."
"Two words, my skeptical friend," Hiccup says amid a mouthful of risotto, before he swallows under a reproachful look from Elsa, "Global warming."
Jack's eyebrows rise. It makes sense. Decades of climate change must have caused unforeseen side-effects - though who could have predicted an ancient nightmarish being, trapped in a prison of ice?
The chill in his spine grows just enough to send a shiver through it, and for the first time in a long time, his stomach feels the weight of dread.
"Not tae mention icebreaker ships passin' willy nilly through tha Circle," Merida adds. Strange how she hasn't needed to talk over the background noise.
"Whatever his method," Elsa loudly cuts in, "the fact is the Nightmare King has returned. And he has not been resting on his laurels."
Elsa leans to the side once again, this time producing a small pile of newspaper cuttings. Initially, she holds them close to her chest, a frown of trepidation crossing her features. "Just over a year ago, a production team filming Arctic wildlife disappeared without a trace. When their plane returned, there was only the pilot on board, who when later questioned, talked of how the camerawoman took an ice pick and murdered the entire team, before taking off her clothes and walking off toward the Pole. He remembered running for the plane, away from 'the shadow', but moments after takeoff he heard a noise in the passenger compartment… and didn't remember a thing since then. A few seconds after his recollection, he put a flare gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger."
"Yikes. I'm guessing no sign of him on the plane."
"No," Elsa shakes her head. "but I have been attempting to track his movements, assuming he disembarked in Canada. So far, he has visited every single city in America… and has left a trail of blood and death in his wake."
She hands the clippings to him. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm told you knew some of these people."
Sucking in a gasp, Jack's eyes widen as he snatches the clippings and begins to read, hoping to God it isn't true.
"No," he whimpers, "no, no-no-no…"
The truth stares back at him.
DEATH OF THE INCREDIBLES
HERO FROZONE MURDERED
SYNDROME DEAD
Jim Hawkins. Toothiana. Sandman. North. The Easter Bunny.
The names go on.
All dead.
"God, no. This… t-this can't be true…"
He looks up at Elsa, panic in his eyes. "What about Dash? Violet? Jack-Jack?!"
"If it's any consolation, I was able to warn Robert and Helen in time for them to spirit the children away to safety. However, Mr and Mrs Incredible chose to stay and fight. Perhaps they were buying time."
The relief coursing through Jack's heart is a match for the grief and rage sharing the space. It clouds his mind, warps his senses. He covers his mouth with a loose fist, fighting back the tears welling in his eyes.
"Okay." He sniffs, tossing the cuttings into the centre of the table. "So, we go find him, take him down. Make the bastard pay. Where is he?"
The look she exchanges with Hiccup and Merida? It speaks volumes, and Jack's stomach sinks to the floor.
"He's already here, isn't he?" Jack murmurs. "He's in Arendelle…"
"S'what we've been tryin' tae tell ye, Jack, but ye—"
Jack's hand shoots up. A frown crosses his face, and the sensation of hairs standing on the back of his neck becomes too much to ignore. The weird sensation of something being off?
"Don't ye dare—"
"Red," he hisses. "Shut the fuck up and listen. Do you hear anything?"
Merida looks at him like he's speaking another language. "No, nothin'! I cannae hear a—"
"Wait… Jack's right…" Elsa murmurs.
There isn't a single sound from behind him. No clinking of cutlery, no animated conversation. Not even a single clearing of a throat. The once-bustling restaurant is as silent as the grave.
Jack slides his chair back and rises to his feet, filling the room with the scraping of wood on wood, and with one hand firmly gripping his staff, he turns and pulls back the curtain.
Every single customer is still. Unmoving. With empty eyes they stare through each other, the only indication of life being the subtle rise and fall of two dozen chests, and for a time, the only sound in Jack's ears is the thump of his heartbeat.
Jack weaves through the tables, closely observing each person. It's like they're statues - not one of them blinks, not even when he clicks his fingers an inch from their eyes.
"The hell's going on?" says Hiccup from behind him. Jack turns to see him waving in front of a waiter's face. Movement catches his eye, and he notices Elsa leaning down to press two fingers to a middle-aged lady's wrist.
"It's like someone just stopped time," Jack muses. Judging by the occasional passing of cars outside, whatever is afflicting the restaurant is contained within its walls.
"Think it's tha food?"
"No," Elsa mutters, and it's the ominous tone to her voice that twists Jack's gut. Straightening up, she pulls her hand from the woman's wrist, and as she rubs her fingers and thumb together, small specks of black are visible. Jack moves closer for a better look, and squints down at her fingers.
"Sand." She looks up at him, eyes wide with comprehension and urgency. "We need to leave. Now."
The look in her eyes tells Jack all. He is here.
Jack nods, and gestures with his eyes to the same side door he exited - and was practically pushed through - all those hours ago. Elsa nods her agreement, and turns to issue the same silent order to Merida and Hiccup, who both give her a single nod in return.
Elsa is the first to move; carefully, quietly, like the slightest sound will snap the customers out of their trance, while Merida glides over to the table to pick up her bow and quiver of arrows. Following just behind Elsa, Jack is led to the grey door. Her hands lace around the handle.
"I have to say, this is very, very exciting."
The voice freezes them in their tracks. Silky smooth, self-assured and confident, the English accent fills the room - and Jack's skin - with a crawling, sinister tension. His head slowly turns to the source.
The man in black in the far corner of the room near the main door slowly straightens up. The one he'd ignored on the way in, the one he'd assumed to be a victim like all the others. He turns, and Jack's heart freezes a beat.
The man's eyes are golden yellow, radiating unblinking menace. His skin is slate-grey, his face as hawkish as it was in the photographs, his lips curled in a smirk of pure malevolence. At his full height, he looks even taller than Jack, and his attire is a smart business suit entirely in black.
The Nightmare King.
"The Line… all in one place. I'm a little starstruck."
3/7.
I may or may not have my motivation for OGaV back. Stay tuned.