Phantom Frost

by Alfred Wurr

  I strafed left to the living room window and peered around its edge. A floodlight blazed to life at the side of the car, lighting up the front door.

  “Come on out,” said the same voice as before over the car’s loudspeaker. “Don’t make us come in after you, asshole.”

  Oh, very nice. Who’re you calling asshole, asshole?

  I looked around, taking a deep breath. The air felt moist. The floors and walls still dripped from the efforts of the firefighters. The only illumination came from outside, through the shattered living room window, casting long shadows and hiding the corners in darkness. The charred remains of furniture huddled at the edges of the room, identifiable more by their position than their appearance. The sofa was just metal springs and wiring stretched across the carbonized wooden frame. Tatters of fabric hung from it, somehow having survived the inferno.

  It felt weird seeing the house in this state, so unlike the place of happiness and safety it had seemed earlier the same day. I felt like an invader, a tomb raider, entering a mausoleum, disturbing newborn ghosts.

  Just great, Caleb, I thought. This must be why they call it dope. Our friends were still missing and now the two of us were separated, and the police had me trapped. You’d better be hiding, kid.

  I took a deep breath, feeling the knot between my shoulders loosen. He’s a good kid. Just a bit unreliable. I should have kept a closer eye on him, not let my grief distract me.

  The passenger door of the police car swung open and a figure emerged. A police officer approached the house, his hand hovering over his hip. I pulled back from the window and stepped toward the rear of the house. My head snapped to the right, hearing one of the garage doors trundling open, muffled but audible through the walls. The rumble of a motorcycle followed.

  I crept back to the window and looked out as a darkly dressed figure straddling a Ducati flew down the driveway, sending the cop scrambling to the side. The bike fishtailed as the rider turned onto the street, and its back wheel tapped the tail end of the idling cruiser before roaring away to the north. The driver of the patrol car reversed into the driveway as his partner picked himself off the pavement and jumped into the passenger seat. Seconds later, the vehicle’s sirens blared and rooftop lights blazed as the police tore away after the fleeing motorcyclist, leaving crumbs of shattered glass in their wake.

  Who the hell was that?

  Whoever it was had come from inside the Schmidts’ garage. Thinking back, I remembered a Ducati parked in front of the Trans Am when we’d first arrived at the Schmidts’ domicile a few days before.

  Must be a motorcycle thief, fleeing the scene of the crime.

  It made sense. A smart criminal watching the news about the recent fires might see a chance to loot in the aftermath, suspecting that there might be undamaged property unguarded and ripe for the taking.

  Not cool, dirtbag, but thanks for leading the cops away. I hope they catch you though.

  A door thumped shut somewhere in the house as I turned the doorknob to leave. I froze, clamping a hand over my mouth, stifling a yelp. The motorcycle thief must have a partner still searching the house for plunder, or hiding while his crony fled the scene. Wilhelm’s body had barely cooled, and vultures were already picking through the aftermath.

  I narrowed my eyes. You picked the wrong house, pal.

  I still had to find Caleb but figured he’d made it to Scott’s by now. After a short detour to deliver a little street justice, I’d be there, and we’d either find our friends or figure out what had happened to them.

  I inched the doorknob back to its default position before letting go. The sound had come from the back of the house, so I held my breath and slid along the hallway like a phantom.

  Burned and charred like the rest of the home, the rec room was almost unrecognizable in the dim light entering through the broken windows. It was also unoccupied.

  I shuffled around the edge, looking for signs of the intruder. A sliver of light bleeding from the floor near the room’s centre drew my attention. I squinted, moving closer, then realized what I was looking at.

  A trap door. What’s a trap door doing in the middle of the house?

  I remembered the spot. Yesterday, a large wooden table covered in D&D books and papers had sat over its position. The table’s remains, broken and burned, now lay a few feet away, partially covered with charred carpeting pulled back from the floor. The fire must have burned away enough of the rug that had covered the trap door for the thief to spot it.

  He must be down there.

  I made my body glow and ran my finger along the trap door’s thin seam. It blended so well into the surrounding floor that I’d probably have missed it if not for the light seeping through into the dark room.

  This guy must have sharp eyes, I thought. Did the Schmidts even know it was here? And where does it lead?

  Wilhelm had said they’d moved in five years ago, but the house was older than that. Scott had once told me that basements are a rarity in Las Vegas homes. In colder regions, he’d explained, house foundations need to be below the frost line, or the frost/thaw cycle pushes them out of the ground over time. The ground doesn’t freeze in Vegas, though, so footings don’t need to be deep, making basements an extra expense rather than a necessity. If people want extra space, they build out or up, not down.

  Probably not a basement, then, I thought.

  I moved to the hinge side so that the trap door would shield me from view when the burglar exited, doused my inner light, and waited.

  I lingered patiently for about sixty seconds before I started to worry about Caleb. I’d convinced myself that he’d made his way to Scott’s, but what if someone had waited for him there? They might have taken him too, or maybe he was hiding in a nearby yard, waiting for me to find him. Torn between two desires, I looked around for something heavy to lay over the hatch. If I could trap the prowler inside, I’d go find the kid, and we could call the police on this guy.

  The ruined sofa didn’t look heavy enough, but a nearby bookshelf added to it might just do the trick, if I could slide them across the floor before the crook escaped. Shuffling over to the sofa, I prepared to lean into it when the room brightened. My eyes snapped to the source as the trap door separated from the floor. I froze, gripping the sofa’s back in my hands. My whole body trembled with nervous energy.

  The burglar held the trap door as he exited, keeping it from falling over and crashing to the floor. He turned to lower the door back into place while I conjured frost, reaching back like a baseball pitcher. The prowler’s head turned toward me as I hurled it at him. He blurred to his right milliseconds before the bolt of frost brushed past his left shoulder. It crashed into the far wall and the trap door hammered closed a moment later.

  “Shivurr, what the hell, man?” demanded the intruder. “It’s me, Wilhelm.”

  Chapter 19

  No More Secrets

  “Wil?” I said, covering my mouth as my jaw dropped. “You’re alive? You’re alive.” I rushed across the floor, lighting up my body to better see him. “I thought you were dead—that the fire got you.” I grabbed him in a bear hug and pounded his back, then let him go, with my eyes still popping out of my head. “What about Bear? Is he okay? Tell me he’s okay.”

  Wilhelm held up both hands, motioning for me to calm down. “Easy, Shivurr. He’s fine. He’s totally fine.”

  “But I saw him on fire. It was…” I paused, looking down at the floor. “Is that how you survived?” It made sense. He must have grabbed Bear and, seeing no way out through the flames, fled below.

  Wilhelm looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, not exactly. Look, let’s talk about this downstairs.” He pulled the trap door open again and moved to the side, motioning me in with his other hand.

  Stairs led down into the depths, with rough stone walls lining either side. Instead of a simple ladder into the subfloor, it looked more like the entrance to a castle dungeon.

  “Uh, I’ve got to
find Caleb first,” I said, taking a step back, eyeing the void. “He’s out there somewhere.”

  Wilhelm paused, looking thoughtful. “Olivia’s going to look for Caleb. Don’t worry, she’ll find him and bring him here.”

  “Olivia? Where is she? Was that her on the motorcycle?”

  He nodded. “She’s just got to lose the police first.”

  “It’s not just Caleb that I’m worried about,” I said. “Something happened at Scott’s. I think the others may have been taken.”

  They’re not tied up under the house, are they? I thought.

  “What do you mean, taken?”

  I told him about our decision to split up, how the gang hadn’t wanted to leave the scene without first speaking to the police, then how we’d hid out at the arcade and tried to call Olivia.

  “Weird thing is no one there’s heard of her.” Wilhelm looked uncomfortable. “You don’t seem all that surprised.” He shrugged but said nothing. “Anyway, after Scott took off, Caleb was talking to Lucy. She started shouting, there was a struggle, then the call disconnected. We were totally freaking out. With Scott gone to look for Olivia, we called a cab and here we are. You seem to know the rest. I guess you were watching what happened with the cops.”

  Wilhelm’s forehead wrinkled and he rubbed his goatee. “Hmm, that’s not good,” he said, sighing.

  “Damn right it isn’t,” I said. “Look, I’ve got a lot of questions, but I’ve got to get over there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Wilhelm said. “I might be able to help. Give me a minute.” Still holding the trap door with his right hand, he held up his left, extending his index finger skyward like he was testing for a breeze. He froze like a department store mannequin and stared at the floor, a faraway expression on his face, like he was looking beyond it, as if through a glass window.

  After ten seconds without any word or gesture, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. “Quit playing around, Wilhelm.” My bearded friend didn’t respond, still holding up a finger. I crept closer and extended a hand to touch him like testing a stove top to see if it’s hot. “Hello?” Still no response.

  I counted to ten Mississippi, then snapped my fingers by his right ear. “Hello? What is this, Wilhelm? You there?”

  His hand moved like a Cobra strike and clutched mine as his head swivelled to regard me. He let go as I pulled away. I stumbled, flailing my arms as I backpedalled. Catching my balance, I reached for the Underfrost.

  “Easy, buddy,” Wilhelm said, holding up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Caleb’s fine. He’s with Olivia. She’s going to Scott’s now to look for the rest of the gang. If they’re there, she’ll find them. If they aren’t, she’ll let us know what she finds. There’s nothing more you can do now to help them.”

  “How do you know that? What was that? Were you using some kind of radio?”

  “I can explain. There’s a lot of stuff I need to tell you. Let’s talk while we wait. Some of this you may not want the others to hear. I’ll let you decide that.” He motioned at the staircase again.

  I stretched my neck and looked at the steps like a pool of piranhas swam inside. “It’s me, man. Bandit,” he said, referencing last night’s adventure. “Trust me.”

  I cocked an eye at him. “Can’t we just talk here?”

  He looked around, smiling wryly. “Not the best place for a chat anymore,” he said softly. “We’ll be a lot more comfortable down there.”

  “You first,” I said. I grabbed the trap door and made a sweeping gesture with my other hand.

  Wilhelm began to descend. I followed a moment later, pulling the trap door shut behind me. The light coming from below made my own redundant, so I shut it off.

  “So, why doesn’t anyone at Olivia’s work know who she is?”

  He looked back, sheepishly. “Patience, man. I’ll explain everything when we’re settled.”

  The stairs descended twenty feet into the earth, turned a corner, ending at an open doorway.

  “Welcome to our inner sanctum,” Wilhelm said, stepping to the side and sweeping his arm like a circus ringmaster.

  Tentatively, I stepped through the portal into the room beyond. It was a thousand square feet of comfortable living space. Immediately in front of us, plush furniture—sofas, easy chairs, and footrests—gathered around a large glass coffee table. A large TV and VCR sat near the wall closest to us, next to a well-stocked bar, filled with liquor of all varieties, and a full-size fridge. Off to the right, large speakers bookended a stereo system that included a cassette player, record player, receiver and other electronics that I didn’t recognize. Stacks of albums and cassettes lined the walls to both sides. On the left, about twenty feet away, I could see a line of several arcade game cabinets nestled in a far corner. The outer walls of the space were stone, and the inner walls drywall, painted simple white. The ceiling was surprisingly high, perhaps ten feet overhead, despite giving up some room for pipes, wiring and ductwork; far higher than your usual basement—or even aboveground floors of a typical home.

  “This place is huge. It must have cost a fortune.”

  He nodded. “I know a guy.”

  “Why do you have this place?” I did a full turn, taking it in. “Your house is already big.”

  “Privacy and security, mostly,” Wilhelm said, taking a seat on a large L-shaped sofa. The BBS SysOp gestured to the bright red easy chair that sat at the edge of the sitting area before us. “Have a seat, Shivurr.”

  I remained standing, arms crossed, with a stern look on my face. “Who are you, man? How did you survive the fire? Why do…quit smiling. This isn’t funny. I thought you were dead. I thought Bear was dead. Brad, Alan, Lucy and Lilith are missing. You’ve got a freaking magical tree living in your backyard and fighting alongside some green armoured ghost against fire elementals from who knows where. You’re not just a computer programmer or SysOp. Is Wilhelm even your name?”

  “Relax, man. I’ll tell you everything,” Wilhelm said. “There will be no more secrets between us.”

  He stood and walked over to the bar. Grabbing a crystal tumbler, he dropped in a few ice cubes from an ice bucket, poured a generous portion of a dark liquid into it, then added cola from an already opened can.

  He took a sip. “Rum and Coke? No? How about just a Coke?” I inclined my head, and he grabbed a second tumbler, filling it to the brim with ice, then cracked a fresh cola pulled from the small fridge under the wet bar. I took it and the rest of the can from him and drank. Wilhelm did the same, then sat down. I joined him.

  “To answer your last question first, Wilhelm is my name, but it’s one of many. You first knew me by another name.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about, Wilhelm?”

  “Boreas. My ‘real’ name is Boreas, but I’ve gone by Wilhelm for a while now.”

  “Your SysOp handle? No kidding. Of course I knew you by that first.”

  “Yeah, but you knew me as Boreas for a lot longer. From before you lost your memory,” Wilhelm said gently. “We’re friends, Shivurr. We’ve been so for many years.”

  I threw back the tumbler and drained the last of the soda, then poured in the rest of the can. I placed the empty on the glass end table next to the chair, stalling for time to think.

  With my messed-up memory, I didn’t know what to believe. Anything was possible. We’d always seemed to get along like old friends, even before meeting in person. And few people would have joined a raid on the casino guard’s house for someone they knew only through a BBS, risking their life and freedom.

  “I think I believe you. And Olivia?”

  “Her too, though not as long. You knew her as Orithyia, back in the day.”

  “So, our meeting through the BBS—it wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

  “Nope, Orithyia and I orchestrated that. After you went missing, it took us a few years to figure out where you were, then a few more to put the pieces into place to rescue you.�
��

  “Scott is in on this, isn’t he? I knew him before, too.”

  Wilhelm shook his head. “Uh-uh. Well, not exactly. Scott is as he appears to be. He doesn’t know Orithyia’s or my true identity,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “When we knew where you were and who held you, we knew we had to proceed with great care. Once we located you, we started surveilling people leaving the Institute and made plans to bust you out. We identified Scott as the most likely to be helpful in our endeavour. New to the Institute at the time, he was less likely to feel much loyalty to them, so we figured out where he lived and bought a house nearby. The owner wasn’t looking to sell, but our generous offer convinced him, eventually. Well, that and a few seemingly supernatural occurrences. After that, we made sure to introduce ourselves and set our plan in motion. It depended on Scott becoming friends with you, of course, which was something we managed to encourage, after getting him to confide in us.”

  “Seems like a bit of a dirty trick.”

  “I didn’t feel great about it, but it was our best option. Remember, when we started out, he was just another Bodhi Group employee, imprisoning a friend of ours—against his will, we believed, and later confirmed. Scott has become a good friend, and it hasn’t been easy, but I think he’d ultimately forgive us, as he’s exceptionally fond of you. Anyway, at our urging, he investigated where they were holding you and found you. It was my suggestion that he set up the system to allow you to connect to the BBS, so we could converse.”

  I looked at the ceiling. “I guess Olympus is dead now. The computers must have burned up in the fire.”

  “It lives on in spirit,” Wilhelm said. “But maybe I’ll restore it from backup in the coming days. I’ve got extra hardware down here, but it would be too suspicious if it went back up right after the fire that destroyed the house. I made some good contacts through it, which I wouldn’t want to lose. I’ll probably log on to a few other BBSs that my members frequent and get the word out about what happened, let them know that Olympus will rise again.”