by Mac Flynn
The shadow turned to the stranger and me, and its thin body bloated until it resumed its wide cloaked form. The phantom. Its burning red eyes glared at me. It flew over Bellamy and reached out with both its clawed, pale hands.
The stranger spun around and pushed me behind him. He pulled two familiar scraps of paper from his jeans pocket and clasped them between his fingers. The man threw one at the creature and it sliced through the air like a dagger. The phantom dodged the dagger-like paper and crashed into the stranger. The stranger pushed me aside and they tumbled past me, a mess of dark blue and midnight black. The stranger ended up on the bottom with the phantom's cold claws wrapped around his neck.
I didn't know the guy but I knew the phantom, and I knew I definitely didn't like him. I looked around for something to use against the dark creature, and my eyes spotted the other scrap of paper with the writing. I snatched the paper from the floor and raced over to the pair. The phantom's cloaked back was turned towards me, but it paused in its murder attempt and glanced over its shoulder at me.
"Get off him," I growled as I slammed the paper into his forehead.
The paper seared a nice hole between his eyes and smoke rose from beneath the paper. My eyes widened and I stumbled back as the creature screamed in agony and clawed at the paper. Bits of the ink rubbed off on its fingers, and more smoke appeared from that contact.
The phantom stood and swayed back and forth as its body was consumed by the paper. This wasn't the clean disappearing act of yesterday. This time the phantom melted out of existence. Its body oozed to the floor and it let out a last, long wail before its head dropped onto the puddle that was all that remained of its body.
The man sat up and rubbed his neck. There were nice bruises on his skin. He studied the pile of ooze, and then his cold eyes turned to me. They narrowed and he set his lips in a firm line.
"You must come with me," he hoarsely ordered me.
"Heck no," was my response.
I turned and got the hell out of there.
CHAPTER 7
I raced past the unconscious Mr. Bellamy and through the doors, but stumbled to a stop outside. The cold night air greeted me, and so did a familiar figure from the shadows.
"Where's the fire?" Osman spoke up as he walked up to the door. He wore the same overcoat as last night, and I swear he had the same cigarette between his lips.
I jumped back and stumbled into a trash can. I would've fallen, but Osman leapt forward and caught my hand. He righted me and chuckled.
"I always seem to be saving the day for you," he commented.
I glared at him and pushed him away. "Well, you're a little late tonight. I saved myself from the phantom that you were supposed to have killed-"
"Destroy," he corrected me.
"That you were supposed to take care of last night, and there's still this pale guy following me!" I snapped.
He smiled and folded his arms across the front of his overcoat. "I know. I told him to follow you."
My mouth dropped open. "You WHAT?"
"The pale man you mentioned in your phone message is my-well, you can call him my assistant," Osman admitted. "I told him to keep an eye on you during the day."
I narrowed my eyes and took a step backwards and away from him. "What the hell for?" I growled.
"To see if you were really a Phantom Whisperer," he told me.
My face twisted into disbelief. "A what?"
"A person who's capable of controlling phantoms," he explained.
"But I was attacked by one last night, and tonight," I reminded him.
He shrugged. "I thought perhaps our friend from last night was one of your toys who'd gotten out of hand. It's been known to happen."
Our conversation was interrupted when the door to the store swung open and the pale man stumbled out. He rubbed his neck one last time and dropped his arm when he sidled up to Osman.
"We have a problem," I heard him whisper to Osman. His voice was deep and tense.
Osman raised an eyebrow and his cigarette hung limp in his mouth. "How so?"
The pale man turned his eyes on me. "She destroyed a phantom with one of my spells."
Osman frowned. "That's not possible. Even with a spell a human can't destroy a phantom."
The stranger continued to look at me without blinking. "This one can."
Osman turned his gaze on me so they both stared at me. I raised my hands in front of me and took a few steps back.
"Listen, this was all an accident. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to touch that guy's thing," I defended myself.
"You're not supposed to be able to use it," Osman commented.
"Well, whatever I did wrong, I didn't mean to do it," I insisted. I made a bit more distance between me and their serious stares. "So now that the phantom's gone and you know I'm not its master or anything, we're cool, right?"
Osman dropped his arms to his side and shook his head. "We're far from cool. You need to come with us."
I rolled my eyes and gestured to the pale guy. "Like I told that guy, I'm not going anywhere with anybody. I'm going home, to bed, for a nice, long weekend break."
"You don't understand," Osman protested. "You're a threat to them, and they don't like threats."
"A threat to who? I made that phantom into ooze! He isn't coming back this time!" I pointed out.
Osman closed his eyes and shook his head. "That wasn't the same phantom."
My mouth dropped open. "But it-"
"All Black Phantoms look alike," he told me. He held out his hand to me. "Now you have to come with us."
I'd had enough. Enough phantoms. Enough orders. Enough freaky fun. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides and glared at the pair.
"I'm not going to repeat myself," I warned him as I dug into my purse. I pulled out my phone and hovered my fingers over the numbers. "I'm going to give you guys a ten second head start, and then I'm going to call the cops. Deal?"
"You don't understand what's happened," Osman insisted. "This Phantom won't be the last. The Whisperer who controls them will wonder why they haven't returned, and they will find you themselves if they have to."
A brief, uncomfortable memory came to mind. The man from that morning, the one who'd gotten into the clinic through the locked doors. His missing friend. Another attack by a phantom. The Whisper had already found me himself. My eyes widened and I lowered my phone.
"Oh shit. . ." I whispered.
Osman frowned and took a step towards me. "What's-"
He didn't get a chance to finish his question before a blast of wind blew over us from the street. I was knocked off my feet and onto my butt. The two men planted their feet against the ground and threw their arms over their faces. The gale dropped as quickly as it came and I looked in the direction of the wind.
The man in the white suit stood in the middle of the street opposite the grocery store. He had a wide smile on his lips and his hands were tucked into the pockets of his suit pants.
"Well, well. I'm no longer surprised my little pet didn't make it home last night," the man in white commented.
Osman lowered his arm and frowned. "You're the Whisperer," he guessed.
The new stranger shrugged. "I prefer the term master, but that will do."
"I don't think we've been introduced," Osman commented.
The man in white's smile widened. "Oh, but I know you, former Detective Osman. You've given yourself quite a name in the paranormal world."
"I don't think I have the pleasure of your name," Osman returned. I noticed his hand slipped into his overcoat.
The man shook his head. "Your little toys won't help you hear, detective."
"I'm willing to try," Osman retorted as he pulled out two of the scraps of paper.
The detective's partner grabbed Osman's arm and shook his head. "You can't," the man warned him.
Osman wrenched his arm free and glared at his companion. "Why the hell not?"
His companion looked past him at the man in whit
e and pursed his pale lips together. "Because this one is different."
Osman frowned and cast his eyes in the direction of the new stranger. "How different?"
"You can't defeat him," the man replied.
Osman sighed and tucked the scraps of paper into his overcoat. He flicked his cigarette onto the ground and shrugged. "Then we'll have to make a break for it."
"I feel very left out of your conversation," the man in white called to us. He opened his arms and strode towards us. "And why did you put your toys away? I would have enjoyed watching your look of disappointments as they failed to save you." He was only ten feet from us.
"Because we're playing a new game. Tag," Osman quipped.
Osman turned away from the man in white and sprinted towards me. He leaned down and scooped me into his arms. I gasped and clung to him as we sped down the sidewalk at a speed that made everything look like a blur. The wind and night air whipped my long hair into my face and chilled my cheeks. I looked up into Osman's face and noticed his eyes had that strange orange color to them.
"How are you doing this?" I yelled at him.
"Hold on," he ordered me.
He took a sharp turn into a nearby alley and leapt into the air. A large dumpster stood against the right-hand wall of the building, and his feet slammed onto the lid before he pushed off higher into the air. I looked down and my eyes bulged out of my head as I watched us sail twenty feet above the ground. We landed halfway up a fire escape. The metal grates rattled beneath Osman's feet, but the vibrations didn't slow him down as he zig-zagged his way up the rickety stairs and onto the roof. We were in the jungle of flat roofs with their stairwell entrances, cooling and heating systems, and tall walls to keep people from taking a slow drop to a quick stop. He sprinted across the black tar-papered roof and raced through its jungle of air vents and tar.
"What the hell are you? Superman?" I yelled.
"Hold on and prepare to fly," he called back.
I looked ahead at where he faced and gasped. He ran past a stairwell entrance and towards the two-foot tall ledge. Another building stood beyond the one we were on, but the alleyway criss-crossed the block and cut between the buildings. That meant there was a twelve-foot gap to cross.
"Stop!" I screamed.
"Hold on!" he commanded me.
I clutched onto him and turned away from my fate as a splatter on the crumbling alley pavement. Osman sailed onto the ledge and jumped into the air. I watched in slow motion as we sailed over the fifty-foot deep chasm beneath us. An alley cat looked up and blinked at us.
Osman's feet skidded onto the opposite roof with a yard to spare, and he hit the ground running. This time he took a sharp right and raced towards the adjoining building. Again, the alleyway cut us off from a safe transfer of roofs.
"Let's have an encore!" he shouted.
"Let's not!" I yelped.
Osman didn't listen to me, and we sailed over another death-promising gap and landed cleanly on the next building. The he-man didn't take a breather, or even slow down, as he sprinted towards the next, connected building. I whipped my head up and glared at him.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" I growled at him.
"No, but that thing might if it catches us," he countered.
"Only a madman would follow us," I argued. Something over his shoulder caught my eye and I looked behind us. My eyes widened and I choked on a yelp. "Run faster!" I ordered him.
"Why?" he asked me.
"Because that phantom's back!" I told him.
The cloaked figure had appeared over the far edge of the roof we just left and floated towards us. Its cloak billowed behind it and it stretched its pale, clawed hands towards us. The red lights of its eyes blazed like the coals of hell. My heart quickened its tempo when the phantom floated over the chasm between the roofs without losing any altitude or speed.
"That isn't the same phantom," he corrected me. "You have witnessed three separate phantoms."
"Well, how do I un-witness this one?" I shouted.
Osman skidded to a stop just short of hopping onto the connected roof next door. He set me down and turned us so we stood beside each other and faced the dark menace that flew towards us. The detective reached into his overcoat and pulled out another of those scraps of paper. He held up the paper between us and looked to me.
"This is how you un-witness phantoms. It's the only thing that works," he told me. "Now make it work for us."
Osman stuffed the paper into my hands and pushed me forward. I clutched the paper in both hands against my chest and looked over my shoulder.
"Are you nuts?" I snapped at him.
"Slightly, but I suggest you throw the spell to destroy the phantom right now," he suggested.
"But I didn't throw it last time! I slapped it on his forehead!" I revealed.
His eyes widened. "That would be a problem," he agreed.
I heard an ungodly screech and returned my attention to the problem that raced towards us. The phantom crossed the long roof and was within a yard of us. I shrank from its awful scream and cowered behind the talisman paper. Osman rushed forward, snatched the paper from me, and threw it like a dagger at the phantom.
The distance was too close for the dark creature to dodge, and the talisman lodged itself between its red eyes. The phantom slid to a stop and clawed at the paper, but like last night that only accelerated its disappearance in a slow snowfall of specks, and even those disappeared into the roof.
We were safe, but still on a roof in the middle of a cold, dark, long night.
CHAPTER 8
I clutched at my fast-beating heart and glared at Osman. "You really are trying to get us killed, aren't you?" I growled.
A crooked grin graced his lips and he shrugged. "It was an honest mistake," he protested.
"Honest, my ass!" I snapped at him.
He leaned to one side and looked down at my mentioned spot. "And as nice an ass as it is, we really should get going."
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "I'm not going anywhere except home alone."
"I told you that wasn't an option, and I mean that in the most persuasive way," he insisted.
I held up my hands in front of me. "Listen. Whatever the hell's going on, I don't want to be a part of it," I countered. "I've got no car, a crappy apartment, and a difficult job, but I sure as hell am not trading it in for the shit you've thrown at me."
"I haven't thrown anything at you. This trouble is centered around you," he argued.
I threw my arms in the air and paced a spot in front of him. "There's no way anybody's after me. I'm not special enough to have a stalker, much less a phantom stalker."
"The Phantom Whisperer we met disagrees, and all that matters is his opinion," Osman persisted. "And since you insist on being difficult, then I have no choice."
"I'm not being-hey!" Osman picked me up and swung me over one shoulder so my stomach lay over his bony shoulder and I had a great view of his back. "Let me down! This is kidnapping!"
"You'll thank me later," he told me as he sprinted off across the roofs.
I had a front-row seat to the long drops beneath us as we jumped and sprinted over the remainder of the block's roofs. Osman took the last fire escape to street level and I was dropped into the front passenger seat of his car. I tried to jump to the driver's side and out of the vehicle, but he wrestled me into the seat and grabbed the seatbelt. He pulled the strap across me and tied the belt to its buckle. Osman stepped back and admired his handiwork as I writhed and squirmed in the tight strap.
"Let me go!" I demanded.
He shook his head and walked around the car to slip into his seat. "I'm really sorry about this-"
"If you're sorry then let me go!" I snapped.
"Sorry doesn't mean I'm stupid," he argued as he started the car. He pulled out onto the deserted street and we drove in the opposite direction of my home, and at a speed that definitely wasn't legal. "If I let you go then that guy and his phantoms wil
l kill you, or worse." He looked over to me and studied me. "You sure you don't know why he wants you?"
I rolled my eyes. "I'm pretty sure. The only thing I've got is a creepiness factor that scares people."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting that."
I squirmed in my seat. "Damn, because if you were you'd probably not be doing this to me."
"What sort of creepiness?" he wondered.
I shrugged as much as I could in my bindings. "I-" I didn't get to finish before a dark shadow landed in the backseat. "Phantom!" I screamed.
Osman yanked the steering wheel and we veered onto the sidewalk. He whipped his head back and his tense face softened. He also got us back on the road and chuckled.
"That's just Cronus," he told me.
I tilted my head back and saw it was indeed an upside-down pale stranger, the one who'd stalked me on the bus. "How the hell did you get back there?" I asked him.
We must've been going fifty down the streets, and I didn't see any flight suit or strings to slide him into the seat.
That crooked smile graced Osman's lips and he shook his head. "Don't expect too many answers from him. He likes to play it cool." Cronus glared at the back of Osman's head, but didn't reply.
I slumped down in my seat prison and frowned. "So what are you going to do with me, anyway?"
Osman wagged a finger at me. "No changing the subject. We were talking about you and your weirdness. You were going to explain to me your strange vibe."
I turned away from him. "It's not a vibe, it's just what I do sometimes."
"And what's that?" he persisted.
I shrugged. "I know people's names when I don't remember hearing them, and sometimes I know there's a problem somewhere nearby, and it turns out there was." The car slowed down. I looked ahead for an obstruction, but there was nothing there, so I glanced at Osman. He had his full attention on me and there was a contemplative, serious look on his face. "What? Okay, fine, it's not that weird, but it gets the patients riled up."
Osman faced ahead and pursed his lips. "I guess that explains it. . ." he muttered.
