Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  Someone has to know what the hell's happening to me.

  Dr. Stef Grant

  Today

  "Okay," Lacey says as we step back into the elevator chamber. "This is just going to take a few minutes. We get in, we get out, and then..." She pauses, and it's clear that she's nervous; in fact, judging by the look of abject fear in her eyes, she seems to be absolutely terrified. It's as if she gets more scared as we get higher in the building, and now that we're almost at the top, she can barely control herself. "Get in," she mutters, "get out, and then leave."

  "Who are you trying to convince?" I ask, my heart racing as I realize that whatever's really going on here, it's obvious that she hasn't told me the whole story.

  "I just think it's better to have a plan," she says firmly, before taking a deep breath. Seconds later, we hear the banging sound again, and this time it's clear that it's coming from somewhere inside the building. "Fuck," she whispers.

  "What is that?" I ask.

  "Probably just the wind," she replies nervously. "Just the storm getting into some ducts somewhere."

  "Is that really what you think?" I ask.

  She nods.

  "Then why haven't you pressed the button for us to go up yet?" I continue. "Why are we waiting?"

  Almost as if she's annoyed at me, she hits the arrow pointing up, and the elevator doors slide shut. "Remember who's got the gun here," she says after a moment, as the chamber starts to rise.

  "Your hand's shaking," I point out.

  "I don't see that that's any of your business."

  "It is if your trigger finger's shaking too."

  She stares at me for a moment. "You're going to do exactly what I say," she continues eventually. "No questions. No deviation. Just follow my orders, and we'll be fine. We can do this very quickly. Fuck, we have to do it quickly. In normal circumstances, it wouldn't even be a big thing. We're going to get back to the boat, and then we're going to get out of this fucking place and never come back. You understand?"

  "Sure," I reply, as the chamber comes to a halt and the doors slide open.

  Taking another deep breath, Lacey turns and looks out at the nondescript corridor that leads away from the elevator. Whereas the level below was open-plan with glass walls, this looks like a much more conventional kind of set-up, with small windows lining one wall and a series of doors leading off to various rooms on the other side.

  "You remember that number I told you to memorize?" she asks.

  "One four eight two," I reply.

  "Good. Whatever you do, don't forget it." She pauses, as if she expects something to suddenly appear in front of us.

  "So where are we?" I ask after a moment. "Top of the building?"

  "This is where we housed the most important labs," she says, her voice tight with emotion. "The lower floors were for manufacturing, testing, product development, that kind of thing... The real work, the theoretical stuff, was up here, on this level. This is where..." Her voice trails off, as if she's distracted by some kind of remembered horror.

  "If I'm going to help you," I say cautiously, "it might be useful if I know what we're actually doing here. At least a hint. If there's any danger -"

  "There's no danger," she replies, pointing the gun back at me with a new sense of determination in her voice. "You go first. Don't try anything. You're mainly here to carry at this point, so just keep quiet and -" As she speaks, we hear the banging sound again. "Jesus Christ!" she says, turning to look along the corridor. "Why won't that goddamn fucking wind just give it a break?"

  "You could always call the storm off," I point out.

  "You're just full of good ideas, aren't you?" she replies sarcastically.

  "I guess you can't do that," I continue. "I mean, what if you call the storm off, and we still hear the noise? Then maybe you'd have to acknowledge what's really happening here, huh?" I wait for an answer. "I'm willing to help you, Lacey, but you really need to tell me what we're dealing with. I have experience, remember? You hired Cooper and me to come with you because, I assume, you felt you needed our help as more than just glorified porters. So why don't you put some trust in me and tell me what's happening?"

  "I can't call the storm off yet," she says firmly, "because the storm is the only thing keeping other people from coming here. You think the U.N. won't have boats ready to come ashore by now? Even that glorified talking shop has to spring into action eventually."

  "Would that be so bad?" I ask.

  "Once we're done here," she replies, "they can do what they like. But not yet. Not until I've removed certain things that are too delicate to leave in place. The thought of them getting their greedy hands on some of the things in this building..." She pauses, and for a moment she seems genuinely angry. "There's no conspiracy," she continues eventually. "It's just that the Compidome building has certain items that need to be evacuated before anyone else gets here. It's quite simple. We get the items, we go back to the boat, I call off the storm, and then we leave the U.N. or whoever to come and poke around to their heart's content. We'll be long gone by then, and they're welcome to anything we leave behind."

  "So that's what this is?" I reply. "A cover-up?" I stare at her. "What are you covering up, Lacey? What was Compidome doing, and how did it..." Looking over at the window, I see the storm-tossed, empty city far below us. "Where did everybody go?" I ask eventually. "What the hell did you do?"

  "Enough fucking questions!" she says, raising her voice. "I'll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it, and you'll do what you're fucking told! Do you understand?"

  "Fine," I say, "so why are we still standing here? What's scaring you? You're dragging your heels, Lacey. Why are you acting like there might be someone waiting around every corner?"

  "There's no-one else here!" she shouts, keeping the gun trained on me as she takes a step back. "Now move! Keep walking forward until I tell you to stop!"

  Realizing that she seems to be using me to check that the coast is clear, I take a deep breath and turn to look along the empty corridor. There's something about this place that feels ineffably creepy, and if the walls themselves are somehow in the wrong place and the air is completely still. As I step away from the elevator, it's as if every step risks waking up some kind of indefinable threat. Maybe I'm just buying into Lacey's paranoia and fear a little too much, and I certainly hope that's the case, but I can't help wondering what was really causing that banging sound earlier, because it sure wasn't the wind.

  "Wait," she says suddenly. "Take this."

  Turning, I see that she's holding the gun out to me.

  "You want me to take the gun?" I ask, trying to work out what the hell she's doing.

  "I'd feel safer," she continues. "Just take the damn thing!"

  Cautiously, I take the gun and feel its cold, dull weight in my hand.

  "Don't worry," she says, keeping her voice down as she reaches into one the compartments of her haz-mat suit and pulls out another gun. "I've got one too. I just figured it'd be better if we were both armed, you know?"

  "Armed against what?" I ask.

  "Nothing."

  "Do you really think it wouldn't help to tell me?" I continue. "You said you'd tell me what I need to know, Lacey. I think I need to know what we might suddenly run into."

  She opens her mouth to argue with me, but something stops her. There's genuine, palpable fear in her eyes, and I can tell that she's almost frozen in place by the panic that's filling her body. "When we evacuated," she says finally, her voice trembling, "I left one person behind. I left her here, in the building. She was... She couldn't come, and I hoped..." She pauses. "I thought she'd be dead by the time I came back, but now..."

  Before she can finish, we hear the banging sound again, and this time it sounds closer, as if it's coming from somewhere on this floor.

  "We really need to be quick," Lacey whispers. "And quiet. And I don't know if you believe in God, Dr. Grant, but if you do, now might be a good time to pray that we don't
run into the woman I left up here, because in her current state, after everything that happened to her, I'm not sure if these guns are going to be much use."

  Caroline Jones

  Fourteen days ago

  I've walked along Church Street plenty of times in the past, and I don't remember ever seeing anything related to a company named Compidome. There's the old World Trade Center site, of course, and then further north there are various stores until eventually 6th Avenue peels off to the west; Church Street continues a little further, until it hits Canal Street and comes to an end. In total, the walk can't be much more than a kilometer, but as I finally get to the northern tip, I realize that there's no sign of Compidome. It's as if the place isn't here at all.

  So I start again.

  Heading south this time, I try to study every single building that I pass. I read each sign a couple of times, determined to find even the smallest mention of this elusive company. The information on the forum was fairly vague, but there was definitely a clear mention of some kind of Compidome office on Church Street. I examine the plaques in front of every building, and I look at every sign I can find. I keep telling myself that eventually, if I just look hard enough, I will find this goddamn place. Still, by the time I get all the way down to Zuccotti Park, which is technically beyond the southernmost end of the street, I still haven't found anything, and I'm left contemplating the possibility of yet another walk along this infernal route.

  Sighing, I start again.

  This time, I make sure to keep my gaze focused on the top of nearby buildings. There has to be some kind of sign, something to give away the location of this place. I feel as if I'm losing my mind, as if somehow I'm not seeing something that must be completely obvious. Still, with each step I take, I start to lose more and more faith, and by the time I'm almost back up at the northernmost end of the street, I feel as if I'm close to tears. There's no Compidome building here, and nothing to indicate that there ever was such a building. I guess it's possible that the place moved since that forum post was made, or maybe they're just very good at hiding themselves, or maybe their building is completely anonymous. I figure my next bet is to assume that there's no sign at all, in which case I need to start off on yet another walk down the street, looking for any building that doesn't have a name on the outside.

  I take a deep breath. Time to try again.

  And then I see him.

  At first, I assume it's a mirage, some kind of hallucination brought on by stress. But if it's a hallucination, it's a totally vivid and real one, because I swear to God, John Lydecker is walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, heading south. He hasn't seen me, so as I start walking to keep pace with him, I realize that this is my only chance to find the building. He's not wearing the same clothes from before; this time, he seems to be dressed in a smart business suit, with a black briefcase in one hand, but it's definitely him, and he's walking quickly, as if he's in a hurry. Keeping up with him, while staying on this side of the street, I realize that there's no way this can be a coincidence. There's also no way that this is the same John Lydecker who shot me, and whose body is still out on the sidewalk, so this must be his twin brother, or maybe some kind of clone. Whatever he -

  And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he's gone.

  I stop dead in my tracks, desperately scanning the opposite sidewalk for some sign of him.

  Finally, with no time to lose, I hurry across the street, dodging the passing cars until I reach the far sidewalk. There are a lot of people around, so it's certainly possible that Lydecker somehow got lost in the crowd, but the way he vanished was much more sudden. There was a stretch of sidewalk, not much more than ten meters or so, covering the area where I last saw him, so somehow he vanished from this very spot. I stare at the buildings, looking for some sign of him in one of the stores, but there's nothing. He must have gone into one of them, but I have no idea which one.

  Just as I'm about to give up looking, I notice a small door set back from the rest of the facade. It's a totally innocuous-looking opening, almost as if someone designed it to not be noticed, and I'm convinced I didn't see it before. Now, however, I find myself staring at this dull wooden door, and I realize that it's the only place that Lydecker could have gone. With people milling all around me, I step across the sidewalk and take a closer look at the door, which seems kind of old and neglected. While I was expecting to find some kind of large office building, I suddenly realize that Compidome might have been hiding behind something far less elegant and impressive. Glancing up at the top of the door, I spot a small hole in the wood, and I realize that a camera is pointed straight at me.

  "Can I help you?" asks a male voice suddenly, crackling through a speaker imbedded in the door-frame.

  "I..." I start to say, before realizing that this is the first time for a while that anyone has been able to see me. "I'm looking for Compidome," I continue. "I was told their office is somewhere around here."

  "Please come through to reception," the voice says, before there's a buzzing sound and the door clicks open.

  Taking a deep breath, I step through the door to find myself in a very modern-looking, windowless room. Everything seems to be made of marble and white plastic, and the distant hum of an air-conditioner is the only notable sound. One of the walls has a large logo, featuring the name Compidome in blue letters. At the far end of the room, there's a desk, behind which a middle-aged man is sitting. He seems to be focused on some paperwork, but after a moment he glances over at me.

  "Hi," he says, "my name is Roland. How may I help you?"

  As the door swings shut behind me, I start walking toward the desk. To be honest, I'm a little freaked out by this whole experience, and although I know I'm only a few feet from a door that leads back out onto a busy New York street, I can't shake the feeling that I'm deep underground or underwater, and far from the rest of the world.

  "I'm..." I start to say, before realizing that I have no idea what to say. I can't exactly blurt out everything that's happened, so as I reach the desk, I decide to try a different approach. "Can you see me?" I ask cautiously.

  "Yes," he replies, without missing a beat. "Why? Have you been having trouble in that regard?"

  "Kind of," I tell him.

  "Did you try calling the technical department?" he continues. "They're supposed to be available twenty-four-seven, but..." Sighing, he grabs a sheet of paper. "It's Lydecker on duty again. Figures. There are always problems when they give that fool a job to do. Should I try to rustle someone up for you?"

  "Sure," I reply.

  "What's your number?"

  I stare at him.

  "Your number," he says again. "What's your Shade number?"

  "My..."

  He pauses, and I can see a moment of realization in his eyes. Before he can say anything, there's an electronic ringing sound from one of the machines on his desk, and a green light flashes on his earpiece as he presses a button.

  "Yes," he says, smiling at me nervously, "should I send her up?" He pauses, before leaning toward me. "Can you tell me your name, please?"

  "Caroline Jones," I tell him.

  "Caroline Jones," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Of course. Absolutely." With that, he presses another button and the green light on his earpiece shuts off. "Someone will be down to speak to you shortly, Ms. Jones. You shouldn't have to wait more than a few minutes. In the meantime, can I fetch anything for you? Coffee? Tea?"

  "I'm good, thanks," I reply.

  "Water?" he adds, eying me a little suspiciously. "Are you feeling thirsty at all?"

  I shake my head.

  "Huh," he says, as if he's surprised by my answer. "Well, please take a seat in the waiting area, and someone will be down very soon to speak to you."

  Walking over to a set of chairs beneath the Compidome sign, I take a seat and wait. There's something unmistakably strange about this entire place, as if it's sound-proofed from the entire city. I get the feeling that
Compidome is a very calm organization, and also very efficient. That Roland guy, for example, didn't seem too disturbed by my arrival, even after I told him I didn't have a Shade number, whatever the hell that means. I'd feel a lot better if Reed was here with me, but at least I'm among people who seem able to recognize me, which means I might be able to get some answers. Despite everything else that's happening, at least I'm no longer gripped by chaos. These people can help me. They can tell me what's wrong, and they can fix it.

  Hearing a door slide open nearby, I glance over to the desk and see that a woman has emerged from an elevator. I'm instantly struck by the smile on her face, and by the fact that she seems very compact and almost a little delicate. Thick red lipstick, set against her pale white skin, only serves to accentuate the impression that she has an almost doll-like fragility.

  "Hi!" she says as she hurries over to me, with a very strong air of nervous energy. "You must be Caroline, right?"

  "I'm hoping you can help me," I reply, standing up and shaking her hand. "I -"

  "We'll talk upstairs," she says, taking me by the arm and leading me over to the elevator. "If that's okay with you, I mean. It's just that this is only reception, and it's always better to discuss things in one of the main offices, don't you think? I always say that when you have a lot of rooms at your disposal, you should give each of them a purpose, and then make sure you use the right room each time. It's just good manners, really, and it makes life much easier to manage."

  "Sure," I reply, "but -"

  "Great," she says, clearly trying to sound as happy and relaxed as possible. To be honest, there's something a little off-putting about her voice, which is a little high-pitched. "I'm so glad you found us. You must have been going through some very distressing experiences. I can only imagine how confused you must have been."