Terri's Jack Lord Connection

Home

What's New

Central Dispatch

Twelve Seasons of

Hawaii Five-0

Fan Fiction

Photo Galleries

Articles & Interviews

Links

Copyright &

Privacy Statement

Slave Spirit

By Kathleen James © revised 11-12-07

Steve McGarrett drove his rented gleaming black Mercury into Roy’s Gas Station. The car, with its polished exterior and rich leather seats contrasted sharply with the derelict gas station and its rusty last chance gas sign. Steve was exhausted after hours of driving in the Arizona desert.

An old man with wrinkled sun burnt skin sauntered to Steve McGarrett’s car. The old man beamed. “Hi, mister, how are ya?”

Steve smiled back. “Well I’m very thirsty and hot.”

The old man cackled showing yellow teeth. “Well come along in, I sell good beer.”

“Oh, I don’t drink, but if you have some cold Coke, I’ll really appreciate it.” Steve glanced at his watch as he slid out of the car.

“Well come along then.”

Steve followed him inside.

The old man beckoned toward a stool without its plastic covering. “Sit here, while I get your drink.”

Steve watched the old man push aside some threadbare curtains that were bordered by stained peeling wallpaper. The old man disappeared into the opening. He  waited, drumming his fingers on the rusty counter. He looked around the room and noticed a life-sized wooden figure that faced the front window.  He blinked and looked again. The statue’s face depicted a hallowed cheeked Indian with a war bonnet, but it was dressed in a 20^th century business suit and a starched shirt much like the suits he wore in Five-0. He chuckled at the mish mash of conflicting culture.

Steve went over for a closer look. Its wooden eyes stared out at the desert dawn across the road with a life-like sternness and its mouth had a tight curled cruel look in the chiseled wood. The shadows elongated by the low level of the sun gave it a feel of malevolence as the statue was momentarily cast in stark relief.

He shivered. In spite of his years of facing down all kinds of criminals he wouldn’t want to face the living version of this statue. Except for the ridiculous business suit, the statue would have been splendid, dressed in Indian gear.

Close behind the figure in its shadow, Steve noticed a book case that held a variety of items. There was a shiny bottle of fine vintage wine, a pipe of polished rich wood, bright beads, a package of chewing tobacco, and two history books on Indians and one on Abraham Lincoln. In contrast to the rest of the neglected gas station these items were clean and well taken care of.

The old man came out with a glass of ice and a can of Coke. “I see that you’re looking at the Chief’s gifts.”

Steve said, “The Chief’s gifts? Did a chief give them to you?”

“No, son, these are the gifts that I gave to him.” The old man beckoned toward the wooden statue.

“Gifts for this wooden statue, why would you want to give gifts to this uh…?”

The old man’s eyes widened in fear as he glanced quickly at the statue. “Don’t say anything, son. Be still; be quiet, when you’re in his presence. I have to give him gifts to appease his raging spirit because of our invasion.”

Steve smirked. “Our invasion, what do you mean?”

The old man’s voice sank to a whisper. “The white’s man’s invasion, son, don’t push your luck.”

Steve tried to muffle his laughter so that he wouldn’t hurt the old man’s feelings, but he couldn’t contain himself. He chuckled. “Well, I wonder what the old chief would do if he knew that I am a modern day law man. Do you think he might have had encounters with a sheriff back in his day?”

The old man paled. He placed an imploring hand on Steve’s sleeve. “Please son, say no more.”

Steve felt the old man’s hand trembling badly. He felt ashamed that he had teased this frail old man. He wondered if he had relatives. Was it safe for the old man to be alone with his mind wandering? “Hey, I am sorry.” Steve made a show of bowing to the chief. “And to you, too chief. I guess the white man had messed up the environment.”

The old man relaxed. “I think the Chief is ok now.” The old man grinned. “Now that you have made friends with him, you can call me Roy.”

“And my name’s Steve. Uh…what is your last name? Do you have relatives that live with you?”

The old man scowled. “No, all my relatives are dead, and my last name, you don’t need to know son.”

Steve frowned. Well maybe he would contact the sheriff in the next town to see if any one checked up on the old man. He would not want the old man to come to any harm.

The old man offered the drink with the half melting ice cubes. “Here you best take this before the ice cubes melt.”

“Thanks,” Steve took the drink. “I better be on my way, I want to hit the next town before it gets dark.”

They headed back outside. A sudden swirl of wind scattered dust and small rocks across the asphalt, some of it got in Steve’s eyes. He tried to rub away the sand’s sting.

Roy walked on unaffected.

Steve wondered how Roy could have escaped the flying dust. He shrugged. He must be used to the dry conditions and the dust.

Roy paused and rubbed his sweating brow with a large handkerchief. “Well Steve, I guess you want me to fill up your tank before you leave?”

“Yes Roy. I wouldn’t want to run out of gas out there.” Steve watched as Roy turned with exaggerated importance toward the gas tank.

Out of the desert silence, there was a sudden rumbling. Steve started. “What’s that noise?”

Roy scowled. “It’s them digging machines, Steve; they’re the devil’s machinery violating God’s earth.” Roy’s eyes turned reflective. “Did you know that the earth actually moaned in agony at the wickedness of men in Noah’s day?”

Steve suppressed a sigh. Now what? “That’s ah…very interesting, Roy, is that in the Bible?”

Roy stared in the distance, not hearing him.

Steve had to lean closer to Roy to hear his muttering.

“No, it ain’t right. There are Indian graves out there. The dead need their peace. That’s the Chief’s job to keep it peaceful here in the desert, but sometimes it’s hard for him.”

The gas hose clicked indicating that the tank was full and Roy came out of his reverie. “Well Steve, I guess you are all ready to go.”

Steve grinned at him, and slapped a twenty dollar bill in Roy’s hand. “Here Roy, you keep the change, ok?”

Roy grinned. “Now I have a bit of extra money to buy the Chief some more gifts.”

Steve grinned wryly. He reminded himself that he had to talk to the sheriff in the next town concerning Roy’s isolation. Steve set off down the road. After driving a while, Steve wondered at the sudden absence of road signs and mileage markers. He shook his head. He was here on vacation. He had to suppress his cop instincts for noticing a crime in progress. Who would steal road signs any way? This stretch of road probably never had any, anyway.

Through his dusty car window, the ribbon of black tarmac with its streaks of white submerged to a distant point which wavered in heat currents into the curve of the desert horizon. To his far right, the skyline of the desert’s horizon was broken by remote purple mountains whose destination seemed unattainable even with the car’s speed of 65 mph and the closer desert terrain passed in a blur. It was strange, that when he reached the mountains the purple color would be gone.

It was sure different from Hawaii’s green lushness. Steve felt a stir of homesickness. Maybe he should  not have listened to Danno’s urging to take a break. A change of scenery, Danno had urged vigorously would do him good. Well the red rocks and dryness was sure a change of scenery, he  mused, maybe a bit too much.

He missed the flowers and the trees of Hawaii already. The terrain that bordered the road he was now on was filled with an orderly row of dry faded green shrubbery that made him think of the tombstones of Arlington cemetery. Here and there, breaking the monotony of the shrubbery, brown mounds of brown plateaus sat like scabs to protect the desert floor from harsh erosion; Mount Pele’s lava flows could be a wet version of those dry plateaus.

Steve switched on the air conditioner. It was ironic that the lava flows were hotter than this sweltering dry heat even though they were surrounded by the moist greenery that was Hawaii. Here, the desert’s peaks and dips were marked sporadically by the low hanging shadow of clouds that showed spots of shade on the sun drenched desert floor. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.  The isolation and the miles of wide open space was getting to him.  

The efficient sound of the car’s humming motor gave Steve an assurance that modern civilization was still at his beck and call. The vastness of the desert seemed to be held at bay from outside his car windows.  After he cooled down, he turned off the cool air not wanting to overheat the engine. The heat quickly took away the coolness as it swooped into the car’s interior. “Oh, brother, ” he turned the air conditioner back on.

Up the road Steve saw orange cones that denoted that construction on the road was being done. He slowed the car down and a man in a hard hat approached his window. “Hey, mister I am afraid that you’ll have to turn around and go back. We’re closing this old two lane road so that we can start construction on this branch of the freeway.”

Steve frowned. He peered ahead and noticed that a barricade with bright red flags was just being put in place. “I see that you are now just closing the road. Couldn’t you just let one more car through? I am from Hawaii and I don’t know these back roads very well. If I go back I will not be able to reach the next town until dark.”

The man hesitated. “Well I guess it will be ok.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate that.”

“Hey guys, I am letting this car through.”

The men nodded and pulled back the barricade.

“Hey, before you go in, I want to warn you that there will be no highway mileage markers or signs to tell you where you are. The signs have been disappearing for years.”

Steve’s interest was piqued. “The sheriff tried to find the vandals?”

The man grimaced. “Some say its ghosts in the desert, not vandals.”

Steve laughed. “The desert all by itself is frightening. I don’t need ghosts in the equation.”

“Well good luck, man. We hope to see you alive on the other side of this blocked off road.” The man laughed.

Steve smirked. “Why are you trying to scare me?”

The man pretended to look hurt. “We’re not, sir. We are just telling the truth.”

Steve grinned. “Well the truth always prevails, I guess. Thanks for letting me through.” Steve waved and drove through the barricade. In his rear view mirror, Steve watched as the men grew smaller and smaller.

Hours later, Steve switched on the stereo system and selected some classical music that played in hypnotic harmony with the sinking of the orange sun as it sunk toward the purple mountains. Steve squinted his eyes against the increasing glare of the sun on the car window. He sunk into a reverie while still keeping his eyes on the running ribbon of the road. With the booming crescendo of the music Steve failed to hear the change in the motor’s even hum as it started to jerk. Then it sputtered, and then quit altogether. The silence of the desert rushed to his ears like silent cannon. Steve sat stunned at the cessation of the luxury car’s expected performance.

“What now?”  Steve turned the wheel toward the side of the road and the car thankfully rolled to the side before stopping. Perspiration was running in rivulets down his body as he grabbed a rag out of the glove compartment and got out of the car. He raised the hood and the sizzling of over-heated water filled the desert’s silence. To Steve, even that was a comforting sound as the desert’s silence seemed to engulf the road, the car and him. The desert seemed like it was mad at him for daring to invade its solitude and its aimless sculptured paths that only sand and creeping rain followed.

Steve’s nerveless fingers almost slipped on the cap as he pulled it off to allow the steam to escape. He went around the car to open the trunk to get a jug of water. To his dismay the jug was laying on its side, the interior of the trunk’s carpet was sodden from water that had leaked from the jug. What was he going to do? He wanted to wait by the car for help but he was the last car that had gone through the barricade. No one was going to come. He leaned against the car but jerked away from the hot metal.

He looked up and down the highway, hoping to see any of the construction crew, but the road was deserted as far as he could see. The afternoon shadows from the desert’s vastness were taking on the aspects of a sculptor’s mad dream. For some reason the face of the wooden statue entered his thoughts; it seemed to be mocking him in his predicament. A nearby edge of the shadow of a nearby plateau seemed to pin him like a helpless bug fighting against its fate.

Steve would have to leave the car and start walking. He found a piece of paper, wrote a message and stuck it under the windshield, then locked the car. He started down the road. Thank heavens he had made jogging his daily routine. In spite of his conditioning, after a couple hours of walking, blisters began to form on his feet and he had run out of water. Not seeing the dip in the road, Steve stumbled and fell on the asphalt scraping his hands to break his fall. He groaned and lay there a moment catching his breath.

Jarring the silence of the desert, Steve could hear an incessant pounding that seemed to come from beyond the plateau. “What is that?” Steve muttered. “Am I hallucinating?” He decided to investigate. It was better than just lying in the road. He limped for a time toward the sound which was getting louder. It was beginning to sound like drums. Maybe he was about to enter a war. Steve laughed at his crazy thoughts. Finally he reached the source of the sound. It was now so loud it was beating his eardrums. Steve looked around bewildered. There was nothing here. What then was making the sound?

Steve slumped down against a rock’s edge seeking its shadow. He needed to sleep but for a moment. He slept. Cold water splashed into his face and Steve jerked awake. How long had he been asleep? It was now night time and a camp fire had been built. He must have been asleep for about six hours. The cold water dripped down his face reminding him that some one had thrown it. Steve looked around and saw no one. A cackle of laughter rang out from the darkness.

“Your name is Steve McGarrett?”

Steve gasped. “Yes, how did you know that? Who are you?”

The laughter rang out again. “I was listening to you and Roy talking. I am Roy’s Chief and he is my slave because of his fears.”

“But you’re only a wooden statue.” Steve protested. What was going on? Was he beginning to hallucinate? Perhaps there was no cold water or a camp fire and he was dying. Would Danno blame himself for his death? Danno had made him take this vacation.

“Only in Roy’s mind am I a wooden statue. I’m afraid Roy is too weak to see me as I really am.”

Steve asked. “And what are you then, a man who is afraid to come out of the shadows to face me?” Steve’s blue eyes flashed, in spite of his fatigue. His Irish temper was starting to boil at the cat and mouse game that the man seemed to be playing.

“No, Mr. McGarrett, I am not a man in the physical sense. I am a spirit, the spirit of a great Indian whose land was from my people long ago. The earth was healthy then, but now it is sick and ailing from the greed of the white man.”

Steve laughed. This could not be happening. Was this some kind of game that was being played by some group to make the public more aware of the damage being done to the earth? “Ok, what protest group thought up this elaborate gag? I am just an Irish cop on vacation. I am not one of the owners whose stacks belch out dust and chemicals into the air; so what do you want with me?”

“No Steve McGarrett, I am not a member of one of those silly groups, I think they do it because there’s nothing better for them to do in their empty lives.”

“Well, Indian Chief, Roy sure thinks you are just the same as those groups that you are so disdainful of, full of noble ideas.”

The Indian grinned. “I am not as noble as Roy makes me sound. I don’t care if the earth is dying. I am no longer a part of it. And I do not watch over my ancestor’s graves. They can all be dug up for all I care.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, I see, you’re just a common criminal.”

The Indian Chief snarled. “I am not common. A hundred years roaming the earth as a spirit has made me wiser in the ways of men. I am here for revenge. A sheriff killed me a hundred years ago and I am going after you because you are a law man, are you not?”

An image of the old west entered Steve’s mind. “I have never tried to see how fast I could be at the fast draw at the OK corral. I am just an Irish cop who lives in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii?” The voice of the spirit that Steve had yet to see was puzzled.

Steve grinned. “Oh, I see that you have not er…flown there yet. How do you fly by the way, if you’re a ghost? Do you use the feathers of your war bonnet?”

The voice snarled. “Do not mock me, Steve McGarrett. I can destroy you with the lift of my small finger.”

“Well then, why haven’t you done it then? Maybe I should get my gun out and shoot your little finger off since I do value my life.”

The voice mocked him. “You can’t shoot my finger off because I am a spirit. I don’t have a body.”

Steve sneered. “You say you have grown wise in your mortal and spiritual life. How would the killing of an Irish cop from Hawaii  satisfy your revenge  against a sheriff who has now been dead for a hundred years?”

“Because you are a law man and he was too. I want to avenge my death on anyone who was like the sheriff who killed me.”

“I guess to you that makes sense. To me you’re no better than any criminal I had put away in the far away land of Hawaii that you have never seen.” Steve straightened up. “Well then, how are you going to get your revenge? I can’t shoot you, and I gather since you don’t have a physical hand you are unable to hold a gun, a knife, or a tomahawk to kill me.”

Steve stood up. “First why don’t you show yourself? Are you too much a coward to come and look me in the eye?”

The voice snarled. “I’ll come before you, Steve McGarrett.”

Steve waited and saw a glimmering of air currents coming toward him. He could discern the faint outline of an old Indian, his face winkled in his old age. Steve stared at him. “Well old man, I see even in your mortal life you did not gain wisdom. Revenge is a negative emotion. It must have destroyed you in life and it will probably assure your eternal damnation since you feel the same way in the spirit.”

Steve could see the Indian hopping around in his anger. How juvenile this spirit seemed. Wo Fat, Alika, or the Vashons would have danced rings around him with their more sophisticated cunning.

“So, Chief, how do you propose to obtain your revenge? Are you perhaps going to possess my body? Gee, I hope not. I wouldn’t want to return to Hawaii and present my new method of fighting criminals by scalping them. I don’t think that would go down very well with the Governor or Mr. Manicote.” Steve laughed. He was almost enjoying himself with sparring with this spirit. But deep down Steve was afraid. This creature was still immortal. He could have unknown talents that Steve could not overcome.

By now Steve could see the Chief’ a bit more clearly and he could feel the Chief’s emotions spilling out like waves. He reminded Steve of Adolf Hitler in one of his maniacal rages. He chuckled. When the enemy was consumed with rage, their logic usually went out the window. He relaxed a bit. There was still hope that he could get out of this alive.

Suddenly Steve felt a pressure on his forehead; tendrils seemed to reach into his mind. Pain exploded in his brain. He moaned. Was he being possessed then? Steve staggered and fell to the ground; the pain in his head increased. Steve fought back mentally, trying to push back the Chief’s presence in his mind. He couldn’t let this demon take his possessed body home to Hawaii, What would the demon do to Danno and the others, especially if they thought he was Steve?

Steve started to tremble and his head was spinning. The Indian probed Steve’s memories trying to find his weaknesses. He tried to clear his thoughts and had a sudden idea. It might work. He started thinking of his memories with the evil General of his Korean POW days who had tortured and beaten him into submission. He hoped that the Indian Chief could read his thoughts. In his mind Steve brought the image of the General and his deeds into sharp focus even though it brought painful memories.

The Indian staggered as he encountered Steve’s General as if the General was really there fighting the Chief with his evil. Steve felt the pressure lessen in his head a bit as the Chief mentally staggered. In glee, Steve then started thinking of his experiences in his Cocoon and his torture in Singapore with Wo Fat. Like the General, Steve brought the image of Wo Fat in sharp image as Wo Fat’s cunning blasted the Indian’s mental mind back further. Steve felt the pressure in his head lessen even more.

In succession, Steve brought out the memories and physical image of the Vashons, Alika, Big Chicken and many others of his foes. Steve threw in a few serial killers in the mix for good measure.

At the end, the Chief pulled completely out of Steve’s mind. Steve could see his shadowy form panting as he kneeled on the ground.

In awe, the Chief staggered to his feet and approached Steve McGarrett, a Chief in his own right, the Chief of Hawaii Five-0. Steve’s modern experiences as a soldier and cop were too overwhelming for the mind set of the Indian who only encountered and defeated foes born in the 1800’s. The Indian growled. There had been many modern white man who had groveled at his feet. Why was this one so different?

Trying to seek an answer, the Indian Chief came close enough to stare into Steve McGarrett’s steely blue eyes which were blazing their defiance. Those eyes had stared down and defeated the very foes that in their turn had finally defeated the Indian Chief. The Chief’s black soulless eyes glided away from Steve’s, which reflected the strength of his character. “There is only one man, I have encountered in my life, Steve McGarrett who had the strength of character that you have, and I bow down to you in defeat.”

Steve sagged in relief. His muscles were trembling from his paranormal experience. “Who was that man, Chief?”

“It was your president, Abraham Lincoln.”

Steve’s eyes widened. The chief thought he was comparable with Abraham Lincoln? Boy would Danno have a good laugh if he dared tell him about it. He might tell Danno that he had dreamed it. Steve shook his head. He was probably dreaming it anyway. But what was happening now felt so real.

The Indian chief still had the mental strength to read Steve’s last thought. “I will go away in defeat, Steve McGarrett, and I will leave a token of my respect to your strength of character.” The Indian paused. “No wonder your government awarded you a token as a great warrior.”

“What do you mean?”

The Indian hesitated. “I perceive in your mind, that it’s called the Medal of Honor. Not many soldiers in your nation have received it, am I right?”

Steve embarrassed, nodded. He was modest by nature and kept it hidden in his trunk. He didn’t like to display it.

The Indian warrior laughed reading his thoughts again. “Why do you not wear it, Steve McGarrett? I wear my war bonnet with pride, each feather represent deeds that I have done.”

Steve was startled. “I thought you were a criminal to your people?”

The Indian Chief nodded sadly. “Yes, I earned the honors before I became corrupt. After I met your Abraham Lincoln for a time, I tried to change. And now that I have encountered your strength of character I am more ashamed, but it’s too late to save my soul now.”

For the first time Steve felt pity for this spirit, who was doomed to wander in a void between heaven and hell. He had become a slave to his evil deeds, a slave spirit.

Reading his thoughts again, the Chief said. “Yes, Steve McGarrett, I guess that is what I am. But there is one last thing I can do for you, to let you know that your experience with me was real.”

“How can you do that? I still think I am dreaming this.”

The Indian pointed to a prominent mound that was rounded like a large fresh grave covering a body above ground level. “There, I have buried the road signs that I took from the road. When you tell the local law men, they probably won’t believe your experience if you choose to tell them of it. If you don’t tell them, at least you will know that your experience was real. I now have to leave you, Steve McGarrett.” The wavering form of the Indian Chief disappeared before Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s muscles felt like they have been tangled in a washing machine. He staggered back to the car and flung himself in the back seat and lost consciousness. Hours later Steve awoke to the red and blue flashing of a highway patrol car that had stopped next to his car.

Though cracked lips Steve muttered. “Thank you Lord for saving me.” His  throat dry, he whispered,  “I solved the case of the missing road signs.”

“Sir, what do you know of the missing road signs? We have been trying to catch the vandals for months.”

“It was not vandals,” Steve muttered, his eyes half closed. “It was the Indian Chief.”

“The who, sir?” The highway patrol officers eyed each other. One of them whispered. “He’s suffering from dehydration. We had better get him to the hospital fast.”

They shook their heads. “He’s out of his head.”

But little did they know the Chief of Five-0 had solved the case of the missing road signs that had baffled the local authorities for months. He had faced down his opponent, the Indian Chief of the Old West. Steve never did tell them what happened. Who would believe him anyway?

The authorities had found the mound with the buried road signs that Steve directed them to. If Steve hadn’t been a fellow lawman, the local authorities would have arrested him on circumstantial evidence as the vandal.

When Steve recovered, he took home a large souvenir to prove that his experience had been real. Danno was shocked, the passengers were shocked and people in the airport were shocked when the Chief of Five-0 returned to Hawaii with a large red and white STOP sign. Later the rest of the staff of Five-0 wondered if their boss had lost his marbles. Only Kono, with his wise black eyes, figured that his boss had a good reason for it. It was probably from magic. The STOP sign might be a talisman or a charm. Kono could feel it in his gut, he knew this because of his Hawaiian ancestry. There was more than meets the eye in the world, he thought. He would ask the boss about it later, it would be just between him and the boss. This time Danno would be out of it.

PAU

Go to Kathleen James' Page

Go to Fan Fiction Page