The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  Now he held her hand and peered around the corner down a hall he knew led to a back exit from the factory.

  He’s going to kill you, you dupa.

  Yeah, well, this might be the craziest move of his life, but it could very well make up for some of the dumber ones, like getting involved with people like Mr. Dolan.

  This part of the factory, they hadn’t bothered replacing or putting up new lighting. The shadows swallowed the hallway. But Charlie could only wait so long for his eyes to adjust. He still didn’t want to run through there. Some of the things working for Mr. Dolan had no problem seeing in the dark. This portion of the factory very well may have been left to those things.

  “What are we waiting for?” the woman whispered. “There’s no one back here.”

  Charles put a finger to his lips. He didn’t have time to explain about those things that lived in the dark. Frankly, the woman was better off not knowing.

  The woman gave him an impatient look. Now that she didn’t have the handcuffs on, she wasn’t so meek anymore. Charles started to regret his decision, but too late now. No way the woman would let him take her back quietly. And he’d still be left trying to explain why she was loose in the first place.

  Despite the moniker of soldier Mr. Dolan gave his mortal followers, he didn’t really have an army. But he had enough mortals and supernaturals to make Charles expendable. Besides, in this world, no death was wasted when it could fuel some ritual or other to conjure magic.

  He squinted into the darkness once more. There. Something moved. He thought. Maybe. He continued to stare another few seconds. Nothing. He must have imagined the movement. The shadows had taken on a life of their own in Charles’s paranoid imagination. The longer he hesitated, the worse it would get.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “We’re going.”

  He led the way into the shadows. The woman kept close. Too close, really. He could smell her sweat and the hint of urine, as if she had wet herself at some point during her capture. Charles hadn’t been part of the unit that grabbed her. Maybe she had more experience with supernaturals than he thought, depending on who (what?) had brought her in. The first time he saw a werewolf he had wet himself a little. Just a little, though.

  Halfway down the hall they now walked in perfect darkness. Seemed strange not to have any light back here. He tried to remember what this section of the factory had looked like on his initial walk through. Hadn’t there been windows? It was the middle of the day. Even if the windows were boarded over, there should be some light. Right?

  A cold, wet breeze licked the back of his neck and he heard something. A snort?

  “What was that?” the woman asked.

  If she heard it too, Charles couldn’t pass it off as his overactive imagination. Which meant something else was back there with them, living in the dark.

  Now he was positive there had been windows back here. Which meant someone had carefully covered those windows to block out light totally.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Another snort, followed by that moist puff of air. Something was literally breathing down his neck.

  “This one is for us?” a voice like stones in a blender said behind him.

  “I…um…no. Sorry. I’m taking her out back.”

  “Another to the fish? It isn’t fair. Tell your master we demand sustenance or we shall feed on his own.”

  “You, um, are confined to the dark?”

  “The daylight cannot last forever. In the mean time, we will take this one.”

  Charles reached to his belt where he had a mini Maglite clipped. He plucked the light from the holder. “Sorry, but I can’t let you have her.” He spun toward the voice, flicked on the Maglite, and aimed it right at where he thought the creature stood.

  The beam hit the monster right in the face—a hideous face Charles couldn’t process through his fear.

  The woman shrieked at the sight.

  The beast threw a furred arm across its eyes and howled. He grabbed the woman by the arm and ran down the hall, using the flashlight now to cut a path through the darkness.

  He could hear the rustle of waking things around them as they ran. He dared not look. He kept his eyes on the metal double doors at the end of the hall which he knew led to a loading area at the back of the factory.

  When they reached the door, Charles hit it with his shoulder while pushing the bar to work the latch.

  The sunlight seared his eyes as they stumbled through the doors. Screams echoed through the hall behind them. He shoved the door shut and wanted to take a second to breathe. No time, though. After that ruckus, they had to keep running.

  The woman whimpered, but she kept pace as he tugged her around the back of the factory that lined the Detroit River. He glanced at the water as they raced away from the building and into an adjoining property with yet another decaying industrial complex. He wondered briefly what the thing inside had meant by the fish, and decided himself lucky he wouldn’t have to find out.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Either her dad had stopped being a paranoid freak, or something was wrong.

  Jessie sat on the back porch swing at Mr. Creed’s house. The waves of green stretching to the back tree line and the music of the wind chimes soothed her. After all she had been through, a little bit of peace felt good. But she also thought a lot. Too much. About Craig. About the kind of person he was. About the danger he had pulled her and the rest of her family into.

  Yeah, but none of that danger would be an issue if you hadn’t gone looking for him in the first place.

  How could she have known this would happen? Who in their right mind would even imagine such a screwed up nightmare?

  Now she sat and worried because her father had broken his pattern. He hadn’t called at his standard interval.

  She stood and went inside to find Mr. Creed. He sat in the living room, on a plaid couch, with a whole bunch of guns laid out on the coffee table.

  She froze at the sight.

  He looked up from the pistol he was cleaning. “He hasn’t called.”

  “I know.”

  “Something’s gone wrong.”

  “Are we going after him?”

  He frowned. “He would kill me if he found out I put you at risk. He would also kill me if he learned I had left you alone.”

  “He do a lot of that?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Killing? Only those who deserved it.”

  “Says who?”

  “No matter what you might come to think, your father is a good man. I’ll go to my grave vouching for him.”

  “So are we going after him?”

  He sighed through his nose and looked down at his arsenal. “You don’t know how to fire a gun by any chance?”

  Jessie laughed, the humor dial turned low. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Lockman’s whole body felt like microwaved meat. He felt like his scalp had split open and something was trying to burrow out from inside his skull. His tongue felt like he had licked the frayed end of a downed power line. The handcuffs pinning his hands behind his back didn’t help, either.

  He sat on a metal chair in the middle of an open room framed with unfinished drywall. The exposed floorboards were streaked with a light coat of wood treatment. A rectangle cut in one wall waited for the door meant to fit there. Lockman didn’t have a good angle to see out that rough doorway, but it appeared to lead to more unfinished construction. No circulation, so the air in the room boiled.

  “Tanner,” he shouted. “I’m conscious. Let’s get this over with.”

  Footsteps thumped against more exposed floorboards in the hall outside of this room. A moment later, Tanner stepped into the doorway and leaned against the rough edge. “I had to Tase you three times before you finally stopped struggling.”

  “Go me.” Lockman twisted his neck, trying to work a kink free and maybe ease some of the pain in his head. “Where’s Dolan?”

  “He comes later. I wanted a shot at you first.”
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  “He won’t like that.”

  “You think I give a fuck what a nut job terrorist thinks? He’s already paid me enough to retire and never worry about money again. Everything I do now has more to do with my curiosity.”

  “Money? That’s the reason you betrayed your country? Your friends?”

  “Would you rather I told you I believed in Dolan’s cause? That I want the veil between the natural and supernatural permanently drawn? I can play crazy, if that’s what works for you.”

  The same face. The same voice. But Lockman did not recognize the Benjamin Tanner standing before him now. “What do you want?”

  “Dolan is after an artifact that he believes only you can obtain.”

  “An artifact? You mean like those mojo devices we confiscated in Brazil?”

  “Very similar. There are powerful artifacts left behind from mortal cultures and supernatural intruders alike. Just laying around out there, waiting to be discovered and powered.”

  “Dolan’s pissing in the wrong pool if he thinks I know anything about some artifact. Those things we recovered from Brazil were all trashed.”

  “This isn’t about Brazil. This is about another device. One tuned specifically to raise the spirits of the mortal dead.”

  The hairs on Lockman’s arms stood on end despite the stagnate heat in the room. He thought of the specter he’d faced in Ryan’s basement. “He must already have his artifact. I’m pretty sure I had a run in with one of those spirits.”

  Tanner smiled, though he did not look at all amused. “That was a one shot deal. A really stupid idea, too, if you ask me. But Dolan doesn’t often ask my opinion when it comes to playing with the supernatural. No, this device wouldn’t raise just one spirit. It would raise thousands. Maybe even tens of thousands. A ghost army.”

  “And he thinks I know where it is.”

  “You do know where it is. You just don’t know you know.”

  Despite everything, Lockman laughed. “You were right. You can play crazy.”

  Tanner raised his eyebrows. “Since we’re on the topic of artifacts, did you know our dear Victor Creed has a nifty one of his own?”

  “Is that so?”

  “Do you want to know what it does?”

  “What’s the point of trying to turn me against Creed? You’ve got what you wanted. Leave him out of this.”

  “Unfortunately, we need his artifact, too.”

  “Then you’ll have to ask him for it.”

  Tanner sucked at his teeth and stared off for a moment. “I really want to tell you. The look on your face will be priceless.”

  “Quit dicking around.”

  His focus returned to Lockman. “Don’t you ever wonder why your childhood memories are so shaded?”

  “Are you going to take me to Dolan or not?”

  “You aren’t listening to me. I know the biggest secret about your life, Craig. A secret you don’t even know. Dolan and people like him aren’t the only ones using magic. You think the U.S. government hasn’t worked a little mojo here and there?”

  “I know about the experiments. The trials. I know they discovered they couldn’t replicate the results of the terrorists without inflicting serious emotional and physical harm to mortals to power the mojo. So they quit trying.”

  Tanner shook his head. “They never quit trying. There is too much at stake. They just quit trying to avoid the inevitable.”

  “So the U.S. is torturing and killing people to use magic? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “And you, Craig, are a prime example of what they managed to accomplish by wielding that power.”

  Lockman tried to stand. His cuffed hands looped behind the chair took the chair up with him and prevented him from straightening his legs enough to stand. The chair, and him with it, slammed back into place. “Enough bullshit, Tanner.”

  “You know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Look at me. Do I look like a supernatural to you? I’m pure mortal.”

  “Oh, you’re mortal all right. You’re just not the mortal you think you are.”

  Lockman glared at Tanner. He wouldn’t play into the prick’s mind games. Tanner had already done enough damage by betraying him. That made everything out of his mouth ninety-nine percent lie as far as Lockman was concerned.

  “That artifact Creed has? They call it a soul machine, which always sounded like a good band name to me. It has the ability to transfer and store mortal souls.”

  A tremor rode up Lockman’s spine. Even in the stuffy room, a chill came over him as if he stood in the shadow of a giant foot about to stomp out his world.

  “You are not Craig Lockman. There is no such thing as Craig Lockman. The person you think you are today is a mishmash of souls pieced together to make a perfect agent loyal to the United States of America. Your true identity is held within that artifact. Safe to retrieve whenever the need for intelligence arises.”

  Lockman couldn’t keep his silence any longer. “You expect me to believe anything you say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Once Dolan has you and the artifact, you’ll be back to your old self whether you want to believe it or not.”

  “And who is that? Who was I supposed to be?”

  Tanner smirked. “This is the best part. You were Dolan’s right hand. His best friend and greatest asset. Right before the Agency captured you, you hid the artifact Dolan wants so badly. But I would bet Dolan wants more than just the artifact. Otherwise, we could have gone after the soul machine and tried to extract the necessary information without you. No, I think Otto misses his old best friend, his most ardent supporter.”

  Lockman pulled his wrists apart, charged with the feeling he could break the chain on the cuffs based on rage alone. The chain resisted him. His blood pulsed in his face.

  “Relax,” Tanner said. “You’ve got a long day before Dolan can fix what the Agency did to you.” He checked his watch. “I imagine Creed will come after you soon enough, once he realizes you haven’t checked in. Then we can all go back to his place to gather the soul machine. Delivering you and the means to fix you is sure to earn me a bonus.”

  “I thought you said you had enough.”

  “To retire on comfortably, sure. But I always wanted a private jet. Have lunch in Paris. Dinner in New York. And I’ll need something nice to replace the car you destroyed.” He shrugged. “Guess I can never have enough.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  For an old guy, Mr. Creed drove a sweet car. They pushed almost ninety-five miles per-hour on the I-94 East. The old Mustang had to have been built before Jessie was even born, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at it. Glossy, gray sheen to its paint. A motor that sounded like a napping tiger having a good dream. Too freaking cool.

  Something about the car made her think about Ryan. She could see him driving something like it when he finally got his license. Only he wouldn’t get his license, would he?

  She tried to draw back from the thought. Too late. Tears swelled in her eyes.

  “He’s going to be okay,” Mr. Creed said. “Your dad is a tough son of a bitch.”

  She wiped her face. “Yeah.” She didn’t feel the need to correct him. She wondered, though, if something did happen to Craig if she would cry for him? Had she known him long enough? Did she really know him at all?

  Mr. Creed reached across her lap and opened the glove box. He pulled out an antique of a cell phone. Jessie had seen video cameras smaller than the chunk of electronics in his hand.

  He flipped the phone open, doubling its clunky size and hit a single button, the whole time weaving through traffic with a NASCAR driver’s ease.

  “Rodriquez,” he said after a pause. “It’s Creed. Are you secure?” He paused a moment. “That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  Creed tipped the receiver away from his mouth. “Backup.”

  “I thought you were retired.”

  “I’ve made a point to stay in touch with so
me of the team, just in case.”

  “You all knew something like this was going to happen. You knew Dolan would find Craig eventually, didn’t you?”

  “We had to plan for it.”

  “Why? What is the big deal about one guy?”

  “Your dad…” He held up a finger and put the phone’s receiver back to his mouth. “Yes. Condition black. Can you activate the chip? Good. And gather the others. We convene on his location ASAP.” He flipped the phone closed and handed it to Jessie. “Put that back in the glove box for me?”

  She turned it around in her hands before putting it away. “Big phone.”

  “Old tech. But it does the trick when I need a secure line.”

  “So what’s condition black?”

  “What we’ve prepared for in case of a situation like this.”

  “How do we even find him? You talked like you knew right where he was.”

  Mr. Creed dug another device out of his pocket. This one a little more sleek. “GPS,” he said. “Your dad has a tracking device implanted in his heel.”

  “Are you for real?”

  He tapped a few buttons on the device then set it on the dashboard. “You have no idea how important your dad is.”

  “You keep saying stuff like that, but you won’t tell me why.”

  His brow creased. He gave her a disappointed glance. “Don’t you want your dad back?”

  “I never had him to begin with. I haven’t had a chance to think what I want.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Maybe. But you’re not going to convince me by repeating that over and over.” She hesitated when she saw his face tighten. “Not me you’re trying to convince, is it?”

  He jerked the wheel, cutting into the next lane, and barely avoided clipping the bumper of an SUV in front of them. His gaze stayed locked on the road. He did not answer her question.

  “You don’t think he’ll give up whatever top secret info he has over to Dolan, do you?”