by Sheryl Lynn
“You have a lot of clothes,” he said stupidly.
“Only because I haven’t thrown anything away since the ninth grade.” Then she noticed her state of dress and clamped her arms over her bosom. “I am not in the habit of flashing guys.” She put her back to him and grabbed her robe.
“I don’t mind,” Buck said. The light moment winked away. “You have to get out of here, honey. This thing is dangerous.”
She clutched the robe lapels. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. I thought it was gone! It’s been quiet here. Nothing has happened. I was going to sleep here tonight!”
Her temper was up and fire brightened her eyes.
“It’s me,” he said, knowing he’d nailed the answer. “I’m drawing it out because it doesn’t want to share you. I talked to it at the Moore house. It’s as aware of me as it is of you. Jealousy drove it to murder Veronica. Jealousy is fueling it now.” A low buzz filled his ears. He worked his jaw, as if to pop his ears against a pressure change. His thoughts tangled and he forgot what he meant to say.
She touched his arm. “Buck? Are you okay?”
It squeezed him. The black entity battered him, surrounded him as if seeking entry through his pores. Fear pummeled him inside as the darkness pummeled him from without. He wanted to tell Desi to run, flee the house, but paralysis gripped his throat, shaded his eyes and turned his vision gray.
“Buck!” Desi shook him. “You’re scaring me. Stop it!”
He wrenched against the coldness and staggered. Desi tried to catch him and they both stumbled against the wall. He pinned her. The smell of her inflamed him. He saw her scent as dancing swirls and curlicues in tantalizing colors. He grasped her face in both hands and kissed her. Hard.
She struggled and shoved at his chest. Her mouth was hot and oh, so sweet. He wanted her so badly. He wanted to devour her, become one with her, take her and own her and make her his own forever.
Mine. You’re mine. None can have you save me and you’re mine and I will have you and none other.
At the sound of that menacing voice—was it his?—Buck shook himself. As if pulling his arm through quicksand, he pushed his thumb up under his jaw, striking the sensitive gland. He jammed it with as much force as he’d use against any criminal trying to fight. White pain rocketed through his head and down his neck. He fought through it and forced himself away from Desi.
Before him Desi slid slowly down the wall. Staring up at him with shocked eyes, she racked in air and clutched her throat. Buck stared at his hands. Hands that had tried to strangle the life from her. Hands that had not belonged to him.
Moaning, he rushed from the bedroom, stumbled down the stairs and fled the house.
DESI FOUND BUCK in the parking lot. He sat in his Jeep with the door open. He leaned his face on his arms folded atop the steering wheel. Desi approached warily.
“Buck?”
When he lifted his head, she saw his eyes were dark with anguish and his face looked pale in the yellowish interior car lights. She stood tensed to run, studying his face, seeking any sign that he was not himself. His misery drained away her fear and she touched his shoulder.
He thrust his cell phone at her.
“Call 9-1-1,” he said.
She refused the phone. “What? Why?”
“I assaulted you. You have to report it.”
Dumbfounded, she thought about what it would mean for him. It wasn’t that long ago that a law had gone into effect that every person, male or female, convicted of domestic violence lost all rights to own or carry a firearm. A police officer without a weapon could not be a police officer. She licked her bruised lips. She was surprised none of the neighbors had called the cops about the ruckus in her house.
“It wasn’t you,” she said.
“Like hell it wasn’t.” He flipped open the phone. “I’ll call it in.”
She grabbed for the phone. Though his arm was too long for her to reach the phone, at least he couldn’t dial the number.
“Listen to me! It wasn’t you in there. I swear to God, Buck, it was not you!” She stared into his eyes, willing him to believe. His arm relaxed and he dropped the phone on the passenger seat.
“All my life I’ve felt crazy,” he said. “Even when I saw spirits that were friendly and helpful, part of me wondered if I had a chemical imbalance or some weird kind of epilepsy. Or maybe it is schizophrenia. All my life I’ve been weird, out of place, seeing things and knowing things I shouldn’t. Maybe I’m psycho instead of psychic.”
“It wasn’t you,” she said. She stroked his cheek. “It wasn’t even your face. It’s like…it was like a mask! It was the ghost. I know you wouldn’t hurt me like that. I know it.”
“Do you?”
She wanted to crawl onto his lap and hug him until the anguish left his face. “Don’t you know by now that I’m an unforgiving bitch? I carry grudges. If I thought for one second that you tried to hurt me, you’re damned right I’d be on the phone to the cops.” Fury tightened her forehead and made her guts ache. How dare that monster take something beautiful and make it ugly? She glared at her front door. “That wasn’t you in there. I saw his face. It wasn’t you. I want him out. I want him gone. You have to help me.”
“I’m the reason he’s attacking you. He’s jealous.”
She snorted. “So a ghost gets to choose my boyfriends? I don’t think so.”
Buck perked up a bit. “Boyfriend?”
“You know what I mean,” she mumbled, her cheeks hot.
A car pulled into the small parking lot. Here she stood in her robe and slippers. Her neighbor gave her a funny look. She gave him a little wave.
“We have to talk to Dallas.” She drew a deep breath, shoving down the fear. This was her house, her property, her life. “I’ll meet you at his place, okay?”
He rose from the car and caught her arm. “Don’t go back in the house.”
“I have to. I’m not staying the night, but I’m not running around town in my robe. Wait if you want. I won’t be more than five minutes.”
“Desi—”
“It’s okay! I’m wide-awake and ready for him. You wait out here for me.” She forced a big smile and left him at the car.
For all her bravado and righteous indignation, opening her front door was one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life. Sweat chilled her forehead. Every hair stood on end. A flock of quarrelsome birds took up residence under her rib cage. She jerked open the storm door, shoved open the front door and marched inside. The air was thick and sour, and every step felt like wading through mud.
“Spike?”
No answer. The door to the basement was closed, but her reserves of courage were thin and she could not make herself open the door.
She grabbed her purse and cell phone. Clutching the leather bag like a shield, she eyed the stairs.
One, two, three…run!
She pounded up the stairs and into her bedroom. At least her recent stay in the motel meant her overnight bag was already packed. She threw in some clean underwear and a pair of jeans. She turned for the closet and turned away. She could not make herself step inside to rifle through the mess for a sweater. It was too easy to imagine the ghost slamming the door behind her and having her alone in the dark. Instead she snatched up the brown sweater from the bed and pulled it over her head.
A querulous meow startled her.
“Spike?” It sounded as if it came from under the bed, but checking would mean getting on her hands and knees and putting herself in a most vulnerable position.
Things hid beneath beds.
“If you want to go with me, get your butt out of there. I don’t have time to chase you.” She slipped on her shoes then waited for the count of ten to see if the cat would show. Horrible guilt washed through her, but not even that could make her look under the bed. At least Spike had proved he could handle himself against the ghost. She grabbed her purse, overnight bag and coat, and hurried out of the bedroom.
The at
mosphere was so heavy, breathing hurt. She filled a large bowl with water, and for good measure filled the sink, too. She set out several bowls of kibble, hoping Spike didn’t make a pig of himself and eat it all in one night. She hurried to the front door and pulled it open.
She spun about. “This is my house, damn it! You’re dead. Veronica is dead. I don’t care what happened a hundred years ago! Get out of my house. You don’t belong here! Go away! Get out!”
Her nerve broke and she fled.
Chapter Nine
Buck and Desi met Dallas at Rampart headquarters. Without a houseful of people to generate body heat the apartment was cold. Dallas saw to the comfort of his computer equipment rather than the comfort of people. Desi kept her coat on.
“I was about to call you when you called me,” Dallas said. “I caught something on video at your place.”
Desi’s heart sank. No more, she begged the powers that be. No more paranormal crap for her frazzled mind to deal with. Buck wandered restlessly, glancing at the display of horror-movie posters and framed Victorian séance photographs.
“Ringo and I are still going over the video and audio.” Dallas looked at his wristwatch. “Man, that cute chick must be working at the deli tonight. Ringo has been gone forever.” He patted his flat belly. “He’s supposed to be getting sandwiches.”
Desi focused his attention on her problem. “What did you find on the video?”
Dallas studied Buck. Dallas was far too scientifically curious about the paranormal to get upset about anything his investigations uncovered. Desi had seen him startled, stricken by claustrophobia and pushed around by spirits. His reaction was always “This is cool!” Desi wondered what it would take to scare Dallas.
Seeing a monstrous face superimposed over Buck’s? It had sure scared the snot out of her.
“You first,” Dallas said.
Buck stopped pacing. Desi had trouble catching his eye. She thought she understood. He was the law, he served and protected, and at his core he was a gentle soul. No doubt the attack shook his entire image of himself. Desi wished Pippin were here to talk to him, to assure him that he wasn’t a monster and he certainly wasn’t dangerous. Pippin had a gift for that sort of thing.
“I assaulted Desi,” Buck said.
“It wasn’t you,” Desi said. She told Dallas what had happened with her closet then the monster taking over Buck and trying to strangle her. “The face. I saw a face on top of Buck’s face.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember, though she didn’t want to remember at all. “It was like a mask. A mask made of Jell-O. Almost, but not quite transparent and sort of…jiggly. Shifting. Its eyes…” She shoved her icy hands into her coat pockets. “They were black, all black. Like bottomless pits.”
“Wish I’d been there with a camera,” Dallas said. He flinched away from Desi. “Sorry! That’s what I do. Even you have to admit that’s really cool. What did you see, Buck? What did you feel?”
“I saw it downstairs first,” Buck said.
Desi shot him a wondering look. He hadn’t told her that.
“A shadow. No real shape, just blackness. When Desi screamed and I ran upstairs it tried to block me. Then it shoved me down the stairs.”
Dallas pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it backward.
Buck’s gaze turned distant, troubled. “I felt paralyzed. Like I was wrapped up like a mummy, or trapped in quicksand. I was moving, but I couldn’t move. Does that make sense?”
“Not really, but go on,” Dallas said.
Buck touched his thumb beneath his jaw. “I jabbed myself. Pain broke the hold.” He licked his lips. “I heard it talking in my head. It thinks Desi belongs to him.”
“Sounds like demonic possession,” Dallas said. “Do you feel anything right now?”
Before Buck could answer, Desi said, “It wasn’t in Buck, it was on him. It thinks I’m Veronica Skillihorn. This is no residual haunt and it’s definitely intelligent. It means business.” Remembering how she’d pooh-poohed Mrs. Moore’s claims of being strangled made Desi feel mean and stupid. She should call the woman and apologize. Then she’d call a Realtor and list her house for sale. “I never meant to invite it home. That was so stupid!”
“Stuff happens,” Dallas said.
“It doesn’t happen to you,” she said bitterly, slumping on the chair. “I never should have joked around like that.”
“You’re not totally to blame,” Buck said. “I know better and I still confronted it. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it focused on you and it knows it can use me to get to you. Do you think Alec Viho can help, Dallas?”
“It’s possible, but the weatherman says a storm is coming that could be winter’s last hurrah. Supposed to hit later this week. Alec might not want to risk the drive down from Wyoming. I’ll give him a call and we’ll see how his schedule looks. Alec runs a boot camp for bad boys. Hard for him to drop everything.” Dallas drummed his fingers on the chair and stood up. “Want to see what we caught at your house?” he asked Desi.
“Not really, but I guess.”
She and Buck followed Dallas into the tech room. Dallas dropped onto a chair then typed commands on a keyboard. Humming, watching the screen, he clicked through commands until he had a video image isolated. “Haven’t cleaned it up yet. But you can see it. This is your bedroom, Desi. We had the IR camera mounted on the dresser, focused on the bed. Watch the corner. It happens fast.” He tapped a key.
Desi and Buck leaned in to watch the computer screen, which showed her bed in a black-and-white video. A shadow appeared in the corner, mushroomed into a conical shape, then collapsed and vanished.
Desi’s stomach did a slow roll.
Reports of the phenomena stretched back through history and were a fixture in folklore and ghost stories. They were called shadow people, shadow men, shadow folk, wraiths, Death, succubi, incubi and Hat Man. In folklore they were considered ghosts clinging to a traumatic event, perhaps one the shadow man caused while alive, or they were demons summoned through occult practices. Ever since the Roswell UFO incident a cult of believers had risen who believed shadow men were aliens.
Scientists and skeptics said shadow men were a result of people misinterpreting shadows caught in their peripheral vision, or they were nightmares in a state of waking sleep called hypnagogia. Chemical poisoning or sensitivity to high electromagnetic fields accounted for many sightings. There were even seizure disorders that could cause people to see shadow men.
Not so easy to explain were the increasing number of shadow men caught on camera. No camera in the world could photograph hallucinations.
Desi swallowed a sour taste in her mouth.
“Dark Presence,” Buck said. “That’s what I see.”
The overhead lights dimmed and the computer monitor flickered. Dallas snapped up his hands if to protect his electronic darlings from a power surge.
After a few seconds, Dallas said, “This makes for an interesting situation. The entity is obviously intelligent and interactive. It responds to stimuli. It manipulates the physical world.”
Desi slugged his shoulder. “I don’t want to study it, Dallas! I want it gone. It has to be Veronica Skillihorn’s killer. If I remember correctly none of the newspapers reported him saying anything at the trial. Maybe he couldn’t. I bet he doesn’t even speak English. Maybe he needs to say he’s sorry.”
Dallas nodded. “Yep. Strangling you is a good way to do that.” Desi reared back to slug him again but stopped when he waggled a finger at her. “Maybe we should take a direct approach. Contact it. Ask it what it wants. What do you think, Buck?”
Buck frowned at something behind Desi. She glanced at the door.
“The lady is here,” he said. “Do you mind if I talk to her, Desi?”
She exchanged a look with Dallas. He was grinning. “Uh, sure,” she said. “Where is she?”
Buck pointed with his chin to a spot to the right of Desi. “Is your name Mary Hollyhock? Are you Desi’s gra
ndmother?” He nodded. “Hi. Did you see what happened at Desi’s house earlier?”
Desi stared where Buck said Grandma was. She saw nothing. Not a shimmer, not a glimpse, not so much as a change in temperature. Desi strained to hear, strained to feel. Nothing came to her, and grief hurt her heart.
“Ma’am, I can barely see you. Can you come closer? Did you see what happened?” He cocked his head. “Do you know why it wants to hurt Desi?” He shook his head and turned his hands palms up. “I don’t know what that means.”
A lightbulb winked out. Dallas made a pained noise.
“We’re supposed to go there? Will it be there? Okay. I get it. It can’t go there.” He blinked at Desi as if bringing her into focus. “She’s afraid of the Dark Presence.”
“Where does she want us to go?” Desi was fairly certain she did not want to know.
“Evergreen Cemetery.”
THE NEXT MORNING Buck and Desi, each driving their own cars, arrived at Evergreen Cemetery. They parked at the main office. When they met, Buck wanted to hug Desi, to kiss her, but he held back. If he understood Mary Hollyhock correctly, the Dark Presence could not come here. He sensed no invader waiting to pounce. Even so…
He handed Desi a pocket-sized canister of pepper spray.
“What’s this?” She peered at the small print outlining its use and effective range.
“If Jell-O Face shows up, give him a snootful. That stuff can stop a bear.”
“Grandma says it can’t come here. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Better safe than sorry.” He looked around at the cemetery.
Evergreen had once lay on the eastern outskirts of Colorado Springs, but the town had some built up around it. It was still the largest in town.
