Phantasm

by Phaedra Weldon

  Though I knew on some level that time for that was running out.

  With a nod I took the phone and moved out the front door to the porch. No one was out there at the moment. The breeze was still chilly, and the sun didn’t reach beneath the roof. I moved down the steps to the sun. “Hello?”

  “Please walk to the sidewalk, and no one will get hurt.”

  I frowned at the phone—was this some sort of fucking joke? I put it back to my ear. “Joe? Is that you? That’s not a funny thing to say.”

  There was a very pregnant pause.

  “You can talk?”

  Wait . . . that wasn’t Joe’s voice. And it wasn’t Dags’s either. It was sort of familiar—but not very.

  “Yeah I can talk. Who is this?”

  “J-just do as I say, and no one gets hurt.”

  Yeah. Right. I pulled the phone away, looked at it and pressed the disconnect button. Jerk.

  Shaking my head I turned to walk back in—

  Get down!

  TC’s voice was a bellow inside of my head, and I don’t know if I actually bent forward because he’d deafened me, or I did what he commanded. But when I did go forward, something whizzed over me and struck the wood railing on the porch to my right. I lifted my head and saw a red pompom sticking out of the back of a silver bullet.

  Ack! I’d seen one of those before! A tranq! Who?

  You better move!

  And I did—I tried to run up the steps of the porch into the shop—

  But something knocked into my ass—and fuck if that didn’t sting! I landed to the right, just beside a white rocking chair on the porch. I managed to reach behind and put my hand on the tranquilizer where it protruded out of my left butt cheek—

  14

  I often wondered what a normal life would be like. I think I had one once. Simple days. Dealing with irate and rude customers, coming home, drinking a glass of cheap wine and just relaxing for the evening. A phone call from Mom or a girlfriend.

  I think I even had a real boyfriend once. One who would bring me flowers, take me to dinner and a movie. Snuggle. Make love.

  But those days just seemed soooo long ago. Especially now as I woke up with a mind-cracking headache, a sore ass cheek, and a parched mouth. It didn’t take long to realize why my mouth was parched. There was something shoved in it.

  Tasted like shit.

  I opened my eyes and looked around. I was in a bedroom—that was obvious because I was on my side on a bed. It wasn’t a very decorative bedroom. Blank white walls-not even a poster. An open closet with a few things hung up inside. I could see shoes on the floor. There was a nightstand with a clock blinking 1:19 over and over, so that was unreliable. And there was a Dollar Store lamp.

  As for my condition—I discovered I was trussed up like a turkey. My hands were painfully tied behind my back and somehow attached to my ankles, which were drawn up to my ass. Whoever it was that shot me wanted to make damn sure I didn’t get out of this.

  You finally awake?

  Well, I could “mmfff” at him, the bastard.

  I can hear your thoughts, luv. Though I will admit being inside of you all tied up is a turn-on.

  Phreak. Okay, so where are we?

  As to where—I’d say north of the city. Near Alpharetta or Roswell.

  Do you know who yet? Or why?

  Not really. I know it was two young men—both of them so scared I was intoxicated with their fear.

  So why didn’t you like jump out and suck their souls or something?

  Now, I’m not really one to condone the intentional killing of human beings, but if it saves my bacon—then booyah.

  Because when you’re unconscious, it’s nearly impossible for me to step out. And right now, being inside of you is safer than being outside of you. Remember, the Guardian’s bitches have a piece of me still—and they could seriously jeopardize my plan if they knew I was here.

  I frowned—as best as possible with something foul shoved into my mouth and taped in place. You have a plan?

  Before he answered me, the door opened and two people came in. I thought I might pretend to still be unconscious, but then I figured, what the hey?

  I did manage to make some really loud muffled protests when I recognized the two guys.

  Randall Kemp and Ron Beaumont. Members of SPRITE. I hadn’t seen Ron since that night at the house on Web Ginn House Road when the poltergeist shoved the camera into his head. Randall came to the bed first and, before I could gather my wits, slapped me hard across the face. “You bitch.”

  Ow, ow, ow.

  “Hey, that wasn’t necessary. You said it was that ghost that killed Boo.” Ron took a step closer to Randall, but I did notice he kept his distance, like he was unsure about the entire situation.

  “According to Mr. F, she’s the one that controls that spirit. Not the other way around like I thought.” He refocused his very-balled-up anger at me. “And I’d been worried about you—that you were being haunted by that entity, and I risked my reputation to try and save you—and got arrested! And all this time you’re nothing more than a Ceremonial Magician—binding spirits to you and controlling them!”

  I blinked.

  And then I blinked again. Hello? What channel were you watching? Ceremonial Magician? That wasn’t my gig—that was old Allard Bonville’s gig. I’d never ceremonially done anything in my life. So, yeah, I started to protest but didn’t get very far. Just a lot of “mfff” and “mwwwf.”

  Very annoying.

  “Yeah, and Mr. F said she couldn’t talk either, and she’d be really easy to kidnap.”

  Who the hell was this Mr. F? Who did I know whose name had an F in it and wanted me kidnapped—

  Oh no.

  Oh fucking no.

  Rodriguez. Francisco Rodriguez.

  That bastard had conned these two—he’d brainwashed them into thinking I was evil and needed to be kidnapped. He had someone else doing his dirty work for him. And Randall could be so gullible! I tried breaking free again, but that was useless. These two had been good Boy Scouts in their youth—the knots weren’t slipping.

  And my entire right side was getting numb.

  They’ve cut off the circulation. You might want to get out of here?

  How can I do that? I can’t even OOB to sneak up behind them!

  Oh. Yeah.

  Ack! Symbionts were useless.

  But then Randall moved to the other side of the bed and pulled at the hog-tie. Another pull, and my legs snapped forward from the strain. Then he moved to the foot of the bed and pulled me by my feet until my knees were on the mattress’s edge. Ron helped me sit up—being a lot more gentle—as Randall pulled out a pocketknife and cut the ropes off my ankles.

  “Stand up.”

  That was easier said than done—left foot asleep. So I nearly fell back down. Christ. How long had I been in that position?

  “Randall—maybe we should just use the handcuffs in front? I think her legs went to sleep—”

  But Randall was up and had the knife pointed at Ron. “What is wrong with you? Do you have feelings for this bitch? She killed Boo, Ron.”

  Randall’s voice had cracked, and I really felt bad for him. I needed to tell him I didn’t touch Boo but that something called a Horror had. And you know, I figured he’s a Ghost Hunter—he’d believe me right?

  In my dreams.

  The two of them supported my shuffling feet out of the bedroom, down a hall, and down the stairs to a kitchen. The rest of the house was just as undecorated as the bedroom—like it was a brand-new home, and the owners hadn’t moved in yet.

  We stopped at a door by the refrigerator (nice stainless steel!). It led to a basement.

  Oh great, another basement.

  But this basement was finished, with berber carpet, a bathroom, and—

  Wow. It was a mad scientist’s wet dream down here. Work-tables full of electronic gizmos, shelves of machine-looking things with pegboard along the walls. And there were tools ev
erywhere. I even saw a cot to the side and a stack of Playboy magazines. I got the impression that this was where Randall lived. They led me to the farthest corner to what looked like a glass shower.

  Then Randall stopped me and cut the rope off of my hands. I started to reach up and pull the tape off, but he shoved me forward before I could. I stumbled into the shower and nearly plastered my forehead into the opposite side. I heard the door closing and turned in time to see them shut me inside.

  Not wasting any more time, I pulled the tape—duct tape!—off my mouth, spit out the wad of whatever the fuck that was, swallowed, and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Uh-oh. Zoë, this is bad.

  Yah think?

  Randall moved away to a table on my right. On that table was a box with switches, a dial, and lots of blinking lights. “Mr. F said the evil resided inside of you. That if I applied my ray to your soul, it would split you in half and I would see the monster that attacked us at Web Ginn House and see the Symbiont that possesses you.”

  Monster? Symbiont?

  Hey, are you sure they don’t know you’re in here? I mean, he did say monster.

  I think he’s referring to you—when you walked astrally.

  Oh. Shit. But I didn’t do that anymore. I cleared my throat again. I was parched. And light-headed. I had no idea what time it was, or if it was the same day. “Randall, listen to me, what you saw back then was me out of body, understand? I used to be able to slip outside of my body at will and do things. It’s called a Wraith, and—”

  A bright light filled the shower and every muscle in my body seized up. I screamed and screamed until my voice ran dry. There was a wrenching feeling from the middle of my chest—I was slipping—

  And then I was on the floor of the shower. I could see but not control my vision. I could hear and I knew I was still alive and in my body—but I couldn’t move. I was propped up against the side like a rag doll.

  ARCHER! Help me!

  But he didn’t answer.

  And then I heard Randall and Ron screaming. I couldn’t move my head or my eyes to see—but I could hear them running. And shouting.

  “That’s not what we saw before, Randall!”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  There was a scream, then a crash, then a door slamming.

  And nothing.

  I tried to scream for help. Something. Anything. I couldn’t move a muscle. What the fuck had that bastard done to me? It was obvious TC had been forced out—especially if Randall had used a shower version of his Ghost Zapper. But what’s happening to me?

  Help.

  Please! Somebody!

  I heard a voice, soft and gentle, and hadn’t realized I was asleep with my eyes open.

  “. . . happened? Oh shit, she’s not responding.”

  I knew that voice. It was Dags.

  Dags was here. He’d found me!

  “They haven’t caught Kemp yet, but Beaumont turned himself in.” That was Captain Cooper’s voice!

  And then I could see him, kneeling in front of me, waving his hand in front of my eyes. “What the hell did they do to her? Drugs?”

  “I don’t know,” Dags said. “I don’t fucking know.” His voice sounded strained. Upset.

  “I’ll call an ambulance. And once I know she’s safe, I want a word with you on how you knew where she was.”

  I felt a touch on my arm, and Dags’s soft voice in my ear. “I’m here, Zoë. Everything’s okay.”

  I tried to sob but still couldn’t move. Everything’s not okay. I heard and felt Dags beside me, but I remembered a time when Daniel cared, when I felt his touch on my arm as he tucked me into bed, and he whispered, “Everything’s okay, Zoë. I’m here to protect you.”

  No.

  You’re not.

  Not anymore.

  And it’s all my fault.

  15

  March 26, 8:20 P.M.

  APPARENTLY Mr. Kemp shot me with a high dose of electricity in some sort of Tesla invention he’d re-created in the basement of the home he and Boo had just bought. Just bought—as a present to get married—and then she’d been killed.

  I felt really bad when I heard that. Poor guy needed someone to blame, and Mr. F, aka Francisco Rodriguez, had played on the anxiety and grief to make him blame me. Though from what I was figuring out, as I lay in a bed at North Fulton Hospital (yes, come with me and take a tour of all of Atlanta’s finest money suckers) and flipped channels, bored out of my skull, I don’t think Randall’s sidebar to the Shocking Shower was part of Francisco’s plan. Though it did have a very eerie similarity to the images I’d seen in Randall’s head a month or so ago, of me in a glass tube but as a ghost.

  Shudder.

  As for my temporary paralysis—they were still figuring out how that happened. My assumption was that it had something to do with TC being shoved out of my body by the Shocking Shower. I didn’t know for sure, and it wasn’t a question I wanted to ask Jemmy or Dags, especially since they didn’t know I’d had TC inside of me all that time. And I didn’t think they’d be too happy about it.

  Right now I was waiting on Dags to call me back. I had left him a message that I wanted out, and I wanted new clothes. I wanted to go see Mom. And I was seriously thinking of somehow sneaking into Rodriguez’s house and stealing back the Summoning Eidolon. I mean—that would bring Mom back, right?

  Or I thought so. I mean, someone had suggested that before, hadn’t they?

  The door opened, and I sat up, tossing the remote on the bed. “Finally.”

  But Dags wasn’t who walked in. It wasn’t the doctor, it was Cooper.

  “Uh . . . hi, Captain. Is there something I can—”

  “Just get dressed,” he said, and opened the small cupboard where my clothes from earlier had been hung up. They weren’t the cleanest clothes I had, and I really wanted new underwear. I could go commando, but I didn’t really want to.

  He threw my clothes at me before moving back to the door and cracking it, peeking through.

  This was not typical Cooper behavior. Not. At. All. And it was creeping me out. I got up, happy there were no tubes or IVs this time, and tiptoed to the bathroom. I changed, minus panties, and came back out. He was still at the door.

  “Look, Dags is supposed to be bringing me—”

  “The Guardian ain’t coming right now,” Cooper said as he glanced back at me. “That bastard’s already seen to that.”

  Then I stopped in my tracks. Guardian? Cooper would never have referred to Dags as a Guardian. Only one other person had called him that.

  I pointed at him, and yelled out, “Get out of Cooper’s body, you ass—”

  But he was on me in seconds with his hand firmly smashing my lips against my teeth. “Damnit, you idiot. I liked it better when you were quiet.”

  I fought for a second before my old training kicked in. I relaxed, waited on him to relax, and when he did, I struck. TC was behind me, his left hand pinning my arms to my body while he kept his right hand over my mouth. But there was nothing stopping my legs. I took a huge breath through my nose and brought my right foot backward, slamming my heel into the soft parts between Cooper’s legs.

  I’d hoped that while being inside of Cooper’s body, TC would have the same physical feelings. He’d talked about it once, how a Symbiont can experience the physical plane by overshadowing a body. I hoped he felt the pain down there.

  The grunt and subsequent releasing of me pretty much nailed it that I was right. I moved away from him as fast as I could, then spun to face him, in ready stance. “You bastard . . . what did you do with Dags? And where is Cooper? Did you kill him too?”

  But TC wasn’t in any real position to talk naturally. He was hunched over on his knees, his hands clutching his crotch. Hrm. Maybe I hit him too hard?

  No. Not hard enough.

  “Where is Dags?” I demanded.

  TC took several deep breaths, but his eyes were watering. “He’s . . . whoo . . . that sucks
. . .” His voice was pitched a little higher. I couldn’t help but smile. Really. Can you blame me? Though I did feel a little bad for the captain. He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs. “He’s been . . . arrested. The bastard . . . I think Rodriguez knows . . . what the Guardian is . . . and he’s trying to get him . . . ouch . . .” He took another deep breath. “When I can stand again, I’m going kill you.”

  “Try it,” I said. “Dags’s been arrested? Why? Where is Cooper?”

  “Cooper’s fine.” TC managed to stand, though a bit unsteadily. “He’s still here. And he’s going to remember you kicking him in the nuts. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Oh. Great. That’ll just improve my relationship with Cooper soooo much.

  I took a step back.

  But TC only held up Cooper’s arms. “Would you back off? I’m not trying to hurt you—I’m trying to save both our asses. There’s a Horror out there, Zoë. And it’s well hidden. I can’t sense it.”

  “And you’re scared of it.”

  “Damn straight,” he said. “Everything in the Abysmal, except the Phantasm, is terrified of them. Almost as much as a Wraith.”

  I frowned. “Okay, so I don’t get that,” I said.

  “And I don’t have time to educate you. We have got to get out of here.”

  “So you got away from Randall and Ron?”

  He grinned. Okay. I decided right then I didn’t like the way Cooper looked when he grinned. Not at all. It was damned creepy. Especially when I knew it wasn’t Cooper looking out at me. “I smoked those two bastards. Sorry for leaving your body in shock like that.”

  “Yeah . . . exactly why—”

  “Because I tried to hang on. Shock to your system.”

  “Don’t do that again.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. Now can we leave?”

  “Why?”

  He pointed to the door behind me. “The nurses’ station is right through there. Take a look for me. Just peek out there.”

  I wasn’t that happy about turning my back on him, and I think he realized my hesitation.

  “Look, I’m not here to hurt you, dipshit. If you get killed, then we’re all in a shitload of trouble.”