by Dave Barnowski
James Corrigan felt himself floating in a calm, peaceful somewhere. He knew where he was, even though his eyes were closed. The place was a space between life and death; he had been here three times before, and during two of those times he had agreed to take on the mantle of the Spectre. During the third time, he was told by the Voice, which he suspected was the Voice of God, that he, James Corrigan, was in full control of the power of the Spectre.
This disturbed Jim, even as his consciousness was awakening, because he knew full well that he was the Spectre. He had accepted the responsibility of teaching the spirit who was obsessed with revenge about redemption. He found that he was actually beginning to enjoy it, despite his many protestations to the contrary.
He opened his eyes and found that he was indeed floating in a sea of white. There was no horizon, up or down — just a white background with him in the middle of it. “Why am I here?” he asked.
“THOU ART DYING, MY SON,” said a Voice from nowhere and everywhere. It was deep and resonant, as well as kind and gentle.
Corrigan accepted this calmly and nodded as he said, “I’ve died twice before. I guess the third time’s the charm.”
“THOU ART NOT YET DEAD. IF THOU ART WILLING, THOU MAY COUNTERACT THE DEEDS THAT HAVE BEEN DONE.”
Corrigan smiled at the correction. He truly was at peace here. He also knew that his wife and daughters needed him. “What has happened, and what do I have to do?” he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
“A DEMON FROM ANOTHER REALM HATH DISCOVERED A METHOD TO SLAY BOTH THEE AND THE SPECTRE. IT LACKS THE STRENGTH TO ENTER THINE DIMENSION, BUT IT DOTH POSSESS ENOUGH POWER TO INFLUENCE EVENTS AND SOULS ON EARTH. BY CLAIMING THE SHADOWS OF THOSE WHO ART WILLING TO DO ITS BIDDING, IT GAINS STRENGTH IN EXCHANGE FOR POWER AND OTHER BASE DESIRES.”
“Shathan the Eternal — but the Spectre banished him back in the ’60s. (*) There’s no way he can be behind this, because the Spectre sealed up the barrier between our dimensions for the next several eons!” cried Corrigan.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Beyond the Sinister Barrier,” Showcase #61 (April, 1966).]
“THE RECENT CRISIS HATH UNDONE THE GOOD WORK OF THE SPECTRE. THE BARRIER IS AS WEAK AS IT WAS IN THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to go back as the Spectre and send this bad boy back to where he came from.”
“ALAS, IT SHALL NOT BE SO SIMPLE, MY SON, FOR THE SPECTRE IS SEPARATED FROM THEE. HE IS TRAPPED IN THINE ORIGINAL BODY.”
“So that was what that was all about,” said Corrigan, never realizing that here he felt none of his post-traumatic stress disorder.
“INDEED, MY SON. FURTHERMORE, KNOW THAT THOU WOULDST BE DEAD WERE IT NOT FOR THE RING OF LIFE. IT HATH GRANTED THEE A REPRIEVE, ALBEIT A BRIEF ONE.”
“What do you mean?” asked Corrigan.
“THE RING OF LIFE HATH KEPT THEE ALIVE, JAMES CORRIGAN, BUT ON EARTH, THINE BODY DOTH AGE TWO TO THREE YEARS EACH DAY.”
It took a moment for that piece of information to assimilate in Corrigan’s mind. “You said I’m aging two to three years for every twenty-four hours. Why one or the other?”
“THINE COMRADES IN THE JUSTICE SOCIETY OF AMERICA HAVE PROVIDED SOME RELIEF. HOWEVER, THEY CANNOT OVERCOME SHATHAN’S SORCERY.”
“How long have I been here?”
“FIVE DAYS.”
“How many years have I aged?”
“TWELVE YEARS.”
“How do I beat Shathan without the power of the Spectre?”
“THOU MUST SEEK AND TOUCH THINE ORIGINAL BODY, MY SON.”
Corrigan nodded hard at the information that he would have to physically touch his own corpse. “What happens then?”
“THEN THOU AND THE SPECTRE SHALL BE REUNITED.”
“If I’ve already aged twelve years, I need to go back now.”
There was a multicolored rainbow of light all around Corrigan; then he knew nothing as all went black. He sensed now that he was back on Earth. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a hospital bed. His wife, Andrea, was by his side, as was an old friend. Dr. Charles McNider was at his bedside attending to him.
James Corrigan was not surprised to find himself in a hospital bed upon waking. He was surprised, however, to learn that the bed was in the Justice Society’s Brownstone. Doctors McNider and Nelson had a state-of-the-art infirmary at the JSA’s fabled headquarters, which was used when members needed medical attention under circumstances that dictated that it was better for the patient to be there than at a regular hospital. Corrigan nodded as this was explained to him and asked what circumstances warranted his being there. Dr. Charles McNider smiled while he examined his patient and said, “Helena made the decision, Jim. She was acting as your lawyer. Understand, you were never formally charged by the police, but she thought it best to have you here, since most of us are duly deputized.”
“If I’m here, then my secret identity has been blown,” said James Corrigan with a frown.
“Not at all. Helena told the authorities that you were an old ally of ours from your days as a police officer in New York City,” said Charles in his most reassuring manner. “She said she knew that because her father had mentioned it to her when he hired you. The Acting Police Chief, a man named O’Malley, spontaneously combusted in the next room immediately after your collapse. Helena, acting as your lawyer, contacted the JSA and had you transported here under the pretext that O’Malley’s combustion had something to do with an old case of ours.” The doctor then changed the subject as Jim digested the information he was told. “Do you remember what happened, Jim?”
“I didn’t know about O’Malley. But I know that I’ve been unconscious for five days and the reason why. But I think that maybe I’d better tell the rest of the JSA as well. Why isn’t Doctor Fate here?”
Doctor Mid-Nite frowned, then said, “I’m afraid that none of the team’s heavy-hitters are back yet. That doesn’t mean that those of us who are available haven’t been busy. Red Robin and the Huntress have taken the Bat-Sub to Lake Erie and are looking for your old body. Wildcat is also in Cliffland as Ted Grant. He’s telling the folks there that he is a cousin of your old partner. Atom and his family are taking care of your daughters. Nuklon and Damage are there as well. I’ve been taking care of you.”
Jim looked at his old friend and then at Andrea, who nodded her head yes. “And have you figured out what is wrong with me?”
“No, not really. I have some of the symptoms figured out, but not the cause,” confessed Charles.
Jim looked at Andrea, who was holding his hand when he said, “I’m aging approximately a year every eight hours. The cause is magical in nature. The Spectre is trapped in my original body. I have to find it and come into physical contact with it to free him and cure me.”
“This is reversible?” Andrea said in a hope-filled sob. Dr. McNider had already told her that Jim was dying, and he didn’t know the cause.
“Yeah,” said Jim with a smile. “It’ll be tough, but I’ll take care of it.”
“No, Jim,” said Dr. McNider as he replaced his glasses with the familiar goggles he wore in his costumed identity. “The Justice Society of America will take care of it.” Doctor Mid-Nite donned his cowl and said as he left, “I’ll give you two some time alone. The rest of us will be in the meeting room. Hourman gave Andrea a tour a couple of days ago, Jim. She can lead you there when you’re ready.”
Andrea helped Jim as he slowly climbed out of the hospital bed. “I want to go with you to Cliffland, Jim,” she said, helping him put on his shirt.
Jim turned and faced his wife. He looked her right in the eyes and said, “No.”
Andrea cried out, “Damn it, Jim! I’m a cop’s wife. I was a cop’s wife before you became the Spectre again, never knowing if I’d ever see you again every time you left. Then you became the Spectre, and I knew you were safe. Now you’re dying. I want to be with you.”
“No,” Jim repeated. “Listen, Andrea, I need to know that you and the kids are safe. This demon, Shathan — he would use you against me. Besides, the JSA is going with me. They don’t lose.”
“Tell that to Batman,” countered Andrea.
Jim winced at that cutting remark. “I need to know that the girls have you. I told you about how I died that first time when Gat Benson used my fiancée to get at me, to kill me. Then that drug lord Antonio Scalzo used you and the girls against me before I died again. Worse, he killed you, too. I need to have a clear head, and I can’t if I’m worried about you.”
The couple stared at each other in silence for a moment before they embraced and kissed one another. Andrea and Jim walked hand in hand as she led her husband to the famed meeting room of the Justice Society of America. “I’ll wait out here,” she said.
“No, come on in, Andrea. You should at least know what we’re doing,” said Jim.
Together they walked into the large meeting room dominated by a circular table. “Oh, my,” said Andrea. “Just like King Arthur’s fabled Round Table.”
Jim cocked an eyebrow as he gathered the significance of the table for the first time. Each member was equal to the other, just like Arthur’s famous knights. Jim looked at the eagle and shield emblem in the center of the table with the Justice Society’s logo. “We didn’t have this table when I was a member,” he said, admiring the fine craftsmanship.
“Mister Terrific built it back in the ’60s, Jim, when we came out of retirement,” Doctor Mid-Nite said. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember it.”
“The Spectre and I were two separate beings back then, Doc. He was the one active in the JSA while I was busy being a cop,” explained Corrigan. Looking around the room, he saw that there were only three other JSA members present. “So tell me where we are now.”
The Atom spoke first. “Your daughters are up in New Hampshire. Nuklon, Damage, and my wife Mary are there with them. It’s a cabin I inherited from my uncle. It’s also where Joe Morgan trained me how to fight. I’ll take Andrea there once we leave.”
Then Hourman said, “Charles has given me samples of your blood, Jim, and I’m trying to find a way to slow down this unnatural aging process in your body permanently. I’ve had some short-term success, but the disease process mutates every time I arrest it. Tyler Chemical has a plant near Cliffland, so I’ll be going there to continue my research.”
Lastly, Doctor Mid-Nite spoke. “As I told you before, Wildcat, Robin, and the Huntress are already in Cliffland trying to find your body. Wes Dodds called from China. He and Dian are on a world tour. He can’t come to our aid, but he’s sending his partner, Sleeper.”
***
Wildcat was at the Cliffland View Nursing Home, talking to Wayne Grant, Jim Corrigan’s former partner. The Huntress had told her fellow JSA members that Wayne Grant’s son, a police detective, had been killed, and it was perhaps related to the sudden interest in Jim Corrigan’s original body. Wildcat was there in his civilian guise as former heavyweight boxing champion Ted Grant. He had told the nurse at the reception desk that he was Wayne Grant’s cousin. She was a young woman, who could not be more than thirty years old, and had never heard of Ted Grant. Several of the patients around the reception desk did recognize the name, and Ted found himself surrounded by many of the residents of the Cliffland View Nursing Home who were fans of the former boxing great.
Most of the patients at the nursing home were older than Ted, who had not aged at a normal rate. He usually took his unnatural youth as a matter of fact and ignored it. But the residents made him self-conscious. Despite his discomfort, Ted was gracious to his surrounding fans. He had been a big celebrity as Ted Grant throughout the ’40s and well into the ’60s before his fame faded, and even today he could find himself mobbed by fans of Wildcat during public appearances for charity. He went to meet with Wayne Grant after a prolonged public meeting with the fans.
Wayne Grant did not come out of his room during the loud disruption that followed Ted Grant’s arrival. He sat in a plastic hospital chair by his room’s window, looking at a framed photo of his only child. He was in one of his more lucid moments when his memory was functioning at its fullest capacity. He was illuminated by a sun setting in the west. A tear was running down his cheek as he looked at the handsome man in the photograph that he would soon forever forget.
Ted Grant was finally able to exit from the crowd and went to Wayne Grant’s room.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Ted Grant.”
Wayne Grant looked up at the middle-aged man who was a dead ringer for the famous boxer. He was alert and suspicious, as the many years of his being a police detective told him that something was not right. “You’re not the Ted Grant who fought back in the ’40s. You’re too young.”
Ted noted that Wayne Grant was in one of his better intervals. He also knew from friends afflicted with Alzheimer’s that these intervals would be fewer and shorter as long as Wayne Grant lived. Ted decided to tell Wayne Grant of his other heroic identity. “I’m also Wildcat, a card-carrying member of the JSA,” he said as he handed Wayne the special government identity card the feds asked him to carry when gaining access to government information.
Wayne took the card and examined it. It looked official, but the old man did not trust Ted. Handing the card back, he said, “Listen, if you are Wildcat, come back in costume in five minutes. I’ll open the window for you.” Wayne’s room was on the third floor, and he was using this as proof that Ted was indeed Wildcat.
Ted smiled at the old police detective and said, “No problemo. See ya in a couple of minutes, cousin,” as he headed out the door.
Ted left the facility and made a quick dash into the nearby woods. He took off his street clothes. Underneath them were the skintight fighting togs of Wildcat. He donned his mask and smiled. He spotted a drainpipe and used it to rapidly vault up the three-story structure and onto the roof. He then headed to the place on the roof where he was directly above Wayne Grant’s room. He then did an angled leap that landed softly in a graceful pounce into Wayne Grant’s room.