The Break: Fisher

Fisher was exhausted…

For days on end, he had been on the run, the Highwayman hot on his heels. Despite feeling that his quest was nearing its end, he couldn’t help but feel that he would never find his prize. The brooch was the key to his salvation, but he had no idea why. He only knew that he needed it. Yet, it was always was just out of his reach. He had been all over creation, it seemed, and each clue that sent him to his next destination only led to another clue. Months ago, his journey had started on the very street he now found himself trudging down, the rain falling heavy. How could the brooch be here? Something had drawn him back, though, something so strong that he could not ignore it.

Then the Highwayman had come along. His face was always shadowed by his tricorne, and the high collar of his black trenchcoat gave him a formidable look. His belt held several pistols, but Fisher had never seen him draw one. The fear invoked in the back of his mind at the thought of the Highwayman drawing and firing made him pick up his pace. No doubt that he was not far behind him. No words had ever been spoken between them, but there was no need for it. The Highwayman had one mission, to prevent Fisher from getting his hands on the brooch, even if Fisher didn’t know why that was his mission.

The whole ordeal seemed nonsensical, after all, what could be so important about a brooch? It was meant to hold a cape about one’s neck. They weren’t useful beyond that. But it didn’t matter, that was the mission and the conflict that had to be resolved with the Highwayman.

So, Fisher continued on his journey, making his way back to where it all began, his confusion making his mind as weary as his body. That’s when he tripped and fell to his hands and knees. His own raggedy brown tricorne ending up on the ground before him. In the downpour, Fisher turned with a grunt to see what had tripped him up.

And there it was! The brooch! It didn’t matter that it was buried nearly completely, sticking out of the ground only far enough to interrupt his steps. It was here!

Turning frantically, staying on his and knees, he reached out to it slowly, almost afraid to touch it. A golden light that emanated from the exposed portion seemed to have a life of its own, its only aim to blind him from seeing the truth before him. Fisher’s hand came slowly to rest on the edge of the brooch, an energy seemed to enter into his hand. Fingers gripping the brooch, he pulled it out of the ground with a grunt and sat back on his rump and into a puddle. As he wiped away the mud, possession of it had taken the life out of the emanated light and he could finally make out the design upon it.

The brooch itself was in the shape of an ellipse, the gold filigree around its edge very ornate in a Celtic motif. Within the border was a background of pearl white, at odds with four overlapping elliptical outlines of black. It felt cool in his hands, but the energy within it seemed infinite.

What now, Fisher?, he thought. He didn’t understand why he needed it, and now that he had it, he understood it even less.

“You’ve found it,” came the voice, raspy and as dark as the muddy road on which they found themselves. The Highwayman stood tall and foreboding, and all the more menacing from Fisher’s vantage point on the ground.

Slowly, Fisher rose to face his enemy. “What do you want? Why is this so important to you?” he pleaded.

“For the same reason it’s important to you, Fish,” his hands inching towards the pistols in his belt.

“I don’t know why!” Fisher felt the rage begin to swell within his breast. Who was this man to take what I’ve worked so hard to find?!

In that moment, he knew the Highwayman meant to kill him. There, in the middle of the town in which this whole journey started, Fisher was going to meet his end at the hands of an unknown entity. “Who are you?”

“I am the one who is many,” he said, nodding in Fisher’s direction. The Highwayman pulled his pistols and fired.

The only defense Fisher could muster was to raise the brooch in front of him. One bullet grazed his left cheek, but the other found the center of the brooch, breaking it into three pieces and putting a hole in Fisher’s hand. The pieces fell to the ground, his prize now ruined.

Fisher broke in that moment, and using his uninjured hand, he drew his own pistol. With a scream of primal rage, he fired at the Highwayman, putting the bullet right between his eyes.

“The one who is many?! Now you’re the one who is DEAD!” and he spat on the ground.

Solemnly, Fisher bent for the three pieces of the brooch, and his tricorne. As he cradled the pieces to his belly, he turned and looked down the street. It was empty, save for two horses tethered outside of Maximillian’s Pub. Even as the rage subsided, his fatigue gained, and the walk to the pub seemed a thousand miles long. But he finally made it, and putting his soaked tricorne on his head to look somewhat dignified, Fisher opened the door and walked in.

There at the bar sat two men in very strange garb, yet nobody but Fisher appeared to notice. He knew that they were drinking bourbon, and he knew that he was meant to come her to meet them.

And behind the bar stood Maximillian… Max, a scowl on his face that Fisher knew to be trouble. Fisher, however, was too tired to care. He wanted a bourbon.

Read Part 4 of "The Break" using the link below:

The Break: Broken