Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  "Yeah," I mutter as we get into the elevator and the doors slide shut. The woman presses a button, and we start to move up the shaft. The walls of the elevator are made of glass, but so far all I can see is the inside of the building. "I'm still not quite sure where I am," I continue, turning to her, "but I need your help. Something really strange is happening."

  "We'll sort it all out," she says, placing a hand on my arm. "Don't worry. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it."

  "Sure," I reply, "but -" Before I can finish, the elevator shoots out of the top of the small building, and I turn to see that the shaft is in fact attached to the side of what appears to be a massive skyscraper. The city is spread out before me, with the sun dipping toward the horizon and casting long shadows. For a moment, I'm totally stunned by the view, which makes no sense at all. When I entered this building a few minutes ago, it seemed like nothing more than a fairly squat structure, but now we're rising rapidly above the city, and the elevator is showing no sign of slowing down. It's as if we're heading up so high, we'll be above rather than in the city.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" the woman says, with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "People always have that kind of look on their face when they first come to visit. It's like... Wow! You know? Gets them every time."

  "I didn't..." I turn and look out at the view of the city. We must be hundreds of meters above ground level by now, but I swear I didn't see such a tall building when I was walking along Church Street. Hell, this place must dwarf every other skyscraper in the city. "Where are we?" I ask eventually, starting to worry that maybe I've lost my mind. After all, a place like this can't exist without being noticed. I've been living in New York for years, and I swear to God, I'd have noticed such a huge skyscraper.

  "This is the Compidome building," she replies, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, "and -" She pauses as the elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. "And we're on the one-hundred-and twenty-seventh floor. Almost the very top! There's not really much above us, other than a few extra research labs and some equipment."

  I can't help but stare at the stunning view. It's as if I can see the whole city from up here, as well as the New Jersey shoreline in the distance. It's the kind of view you usually get when you're coming in to land at an airport, and it's staggering to think that this huge building could ever have been built.

  "Come on," the woman says, leading me out of the elevator. "The view from the conference room is just as good. Sometimes I find myself taking it for granted that I work in such a beautiful space, but then whenever I bring someone new up, I'm reminded how fortunate I am. That's always how life is, isn't it? You get used to something marvelous, and it doesn't seem so marvelous anymore. Sad, really."

  Still stunned by the fact that somehow I didn't notice this place from the ground, I find myself being led along a wide, glass-lined corridor that's lent a warm orange glow by the evening sun. So far, there doesn't seem to be anyone else around, and the only sound other than the air-conditioner's hum is our footsteps on the floor, particularly the woman's heels. I guess the staff must have left for the day.

  "You're probably wondering why you haven't noticed the Compidome building before," the woman says, holding open a glass door that leads into a large, open-plan room with a desk at the far end. "I'm afraid we've gone to great lengths to keep our profile low. As you can imagine, a place such as this can be rather striking. We were at risk of towering over the rest of the city and dominating the skyline, which is absolutely not what we wanted to do. Although we needed a major presence in New York, we wanted to contribute to the city without defining its appearance. Fortunately, we had the technology to build discreetly."

  "It's not invisible," I say, stepping into the office. Turning to her, I see that there's still a curious smile on her lips. "It's not, is it? It's something else."

  "It's just a little hard to notice," she replies, letting the door swing shut as she walks over to the desk. "We have more than one hundred floors in the Compidome building, dedicated to cutting-edge scientific research. Our teams have developed technology that has the potential to change the world, and the building is just one example. No-one notices us, Ms. Jones. They see this tower every day, every time they look at the city, but they don't notice it. As soon as they see it, they forget about it. The phenomenon even works when they're looking at photos or other visual representations. It's quite fascinating, really, when you drill down into the techniques that have been used."

  "On people too," I say, starting to see how this all ties together.

  "What makes you say that?" she asks.

  "Experience."

  "You've had a difficult few days?"

  "Difficult's not the word," I reply. "There's a man named John Lydecker -"

  "I know," she says quickly, as if she'd rather not hear the name at all.

  "He's -"

  "We'll get to that," she replies firmly, as if she's keen to interrupt me. "But first, I'm afraid you're going to have to excuse my manners. I've been an absolutely terrible host." She pauses for a moment. "My name is Lacey Hobbs. I'm the founder and C.E.O. of Compidome. Now, please, take a seat and tell me how I can help."

  Part Four

  The Experiment

  Caroline Jones

  Fourteen days ago

  "Gosh," Ms. Hobbs says, placing a hand on my knee in what appears to be an attempt to reassure me. "That sounds just awful. And no-one seemed to be able to recognize you at all?"

  "It's as if they could sense I was there," I reply, trying to stay calm as we sit in her office, high up on one of the top floors of the Compidome building, "but they didn't really perceive me. They didn't start walking into me, so obviously I was existing somehow on the edge of their senses, but any time I tried to talk to them, they'd just act like I wasn't there. Even Reed... I mean, my friend, or this guy I met... he was in the same position at first, but then this evening, after he'd been asleep, he woke up and I realized he'd forgotten all about me." I pause for a moment as I think back to Reed's startled look when he found me in the hotel room. "The first stage is forgetting," I continue eventually. "It's almost as if life patches over the gap where you should be. Then the second stage is when they stop seeing you."

  "And the third stage?" she asks.

  I open my mouth to tell her about the way Chloe died, but I'm still not certain how that fits into the scheme of things. Reaching into my pocket, I take out John Lydecker's Compidome I.D. badge. "This is the only clue I could follow."

  "I see," she says, visibly stiffening as soon as she sees the badge. "Do you mind if I ask where you acquired that item?"

  "John Lydecker's apartment," I reply cautiously, figuring that maybe I should withhold a little information. After all, there's something about Lacey Hobbs that makes me think she can't entirely be trusted. Ever since I sat down with her a couple of minute ago, I've felt that even though she's listening as I explain my situation, she already knows most of what I'm going to say. She's listening to me because she wants to be polite, and because she wants to take charge of the situation, but it's clear from the slightly glazed look in her eyes that she doesn't care about my situation in particular.

  "Do you mind if I take a look?" she asks, reaching out for the badge. I let her have it, and she turns it over in her hands, as if she can barely believe that it's real. "Mr. Lydecker works here," she says after a moment, forcing a pained smile that does nothing to hide her obvious stress and concern. "I imagine you've worked that out already, but I still don't understand why you were snooping around in his apartment..."

  "He didn't come to work," I reply. "I worked with him at an investment bank. Reed worked with him at an entirely different office, and so did this woman named Chloe Atkins. She..." I pause. "She died," I say finally. "The skin just seemed to close over her mouth and eyes, and she suffocated. I tried to save her, but nothing helped. She died right in front of me."

  "Did she?" Ms. Hobbs replies, visibly shaken. "Well, that s
ounds... I'm so sorry you had to go through all these horrible things, Ms. Jones. You must be absolutely frantic with worry." She pauses. "First of all, I want to assure you that Compidome exists to make the world a better place." She places the I.D. badge on a nearby coffee table, before turning to me with a sad, almost tearful expression. I get the feeling that she's practiced this type of conversation a lot. "We do a lot of work here. A lot of work. We have departments covering a whole range of areas, and almost every project is on the cutting edge of science. Some companies work on technology that's already known. They tinker with existing items, improving them incrementally and going from A to B and so on in a very logical, very boring manner, whereas Compidome's philosophy is that true progress can only come if we make bigger leaps. Conceptually and technologically, we're constantly pushing at the frontier of what can be done."

  I wait for her to continue, but she just smiles at me as if she expects me to understand.

  "Who is John Lydecker," I ask eventually, hoping to cut through her corporate whitewash and get some real answers.

  "He's..." She pauses. "He's an employee here. One of our best, in fact."

  "He seems to have a lot of different jobs," I point out. "All at the same time. You might even say that he works more hours than there are in a day. Literally."

  "Yes," she replies with a nervous smile. "He does seem to do that, doesn't he?"

  "So how's that possible?" I ask.

  "Well..." She pauses again, and it's clear that she doesn't have an answer; either that, or she has an answer but she can't let me hear the truth. Whatever's going on here, the merest mention of Lydecker's name has clearly sent Ms. Hobbs into paroxysms of nervous concern, and she visibly bristles every time I tell her some new detail of my recent experience.

  "Are you cloning people?" I ask, even though the idea sounds insane.

  "Cloning people? Oh, no, not at all. That would be... monstrous." She swallows hard. "I can assure you, Ms. Jones, that no-one is cloning anyone. I mean, cloning, is that even real? It sounds like something from science-fiction." She laughs nervously. "Isn't it just sheep they do that with?"

  "Then does Lydecker have a twin?"

  "A twin? I don't think so. I've read his personnel file, and I'm sure I'd remember if he had any siblings."

  "Then we have a problem," I reply, "because something strange is happening with that guy, and it seems to be linked to your company."

  "Yes," she mutters, visibly shaken. "Yes, it does, doesn't it?"

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  "I want to see John Lydecker," I continue.

  "I'm not sure -"

  "I want to see him," I say again, "and I want to talk to him. That's how this all started, with me looking for Lydecker, so I figure maybe he'll be able to give me some answers."

  "I can give you all the answers you need," she replies blandly.

  "I'd still like to see him," I say. "Is he here?"

  "Is he where?" she asks.

  "Is he in this building?" I wait for her to answer. "Ms. Hobbs, I've been through a lot in the past couple of days, and I'd really like all of that stuff to be over now. If this is a nightmare, I'm ready to wake up. I've seen people die, and I've seen people disappear, and I've watched as people forget that I even exist. This building is connected, and as far as I can tell, most people don't even seem to notice the biggest skyscraper in the whole city. It's as if this whole building is hidden from public perception."

  "What an absurd idea," she replies, but her voice sounds weak, as if she's not convinced.

  "I want to see John Lydecker," I continue. "I want to ask him what's really happening. Or are you going to tell me that after all of this, you won't let me see him?"

  "John Lydecker is one of our senior development agents," she replies. "He works on new ideas and new designs, but he's very much focused on his own particular corner of the company's endeavors. I don't think you'd learn much from him. Isn't it better to speak to someone who understands the company as a whole?"

  "I would have thought so," I say, "but it seems as if that approach isn't working too well."

  She stares at me. "Of course you can see him," she says eventually, with yet another forced smile. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't. I was merely expressing some surprise that you'd want to." Getting to her feet, she straightens the front of her knee-length skirt, and it's clear that she's absolutely full of nervous energy. "I'm sorry," she continues, "I hope you'll understand that this is all a little hard for me to get my head around. It's not every day that someone walks in off the street and starts telling such fantastical tales."

  "I just want everything to go back to normal," I reply. "I want my life back, and I want to be part of the world again, and I don't want people to forget me. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Not at all," she says. "It's all any of us wants, isn't it? To be noticed? Now why don't you come with me and we'll go find Mr. Lydecker? Maybe he can tell us what the fuss is all about. I'm sure we can have the whole thing cleaned up in no time at all."

  Dr. Stef Grant

  Today

  "If you tell me what we're looking for," I say, watching as Lacey rifles through the drawers of a desk, "I might be able to help."

  "It'd take too long to explain," she replies, sounding distracted as she pulls one of the drawers out all the way and tips it over, emptying its contents onto the floor. "To be honest, I'm not sure what it looks like, but I know it's here somewhere. It has to be. He can't have..." Her voice trails off, and it's clear that her focus is very much on the search rather than on my questions.

  "Must be important," I point out. "After all, you funded a transatlantic expedition, and put your own life at risk, just to get here."

  "Some things are more important than money or individual lives, Ms. Grant," she continues, tipping another drawer onto the floor and continuing her search. "If you could rule the world with little more than the contents of a U.S.B. drive, wouldn't you go to some extreme lengths to get the damn thing back?"

  "I'd probably try not to lose it in the first place," I reply. Hearing the banging noise somewhere nearby, I look over my shoulder. I keep expecting to see something coming toward us, but so far there's no sign of anything. I guess maybe Lacey was right after all when she said that the wind was playing tricks on us, although I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. "So can you at least tell me about the woman you left here?" I say eventually. "It's been, what, two weeks? If she didn't have any water, she'd be long dead by now."

  "She had water," Lacey replies, hurrying over to a filing cabinet and pulling open one of the drawers. Her search is becoming increasingly desperate, and I'm starting to wonder if she's losing her mind. After all, she keeps muttering about some kind of U.S.B. drive that contains vital information, but it's hard to believe that such a hugely important item could have been just left behind in an abandoned office. She's clearly not telling me the whole story.

  "When you say that you work for Compidome," I continue eventually, "what you mean is, you own the company, don't you?"

  "My father built this business from the ground up," she replies as she goes through the files one by one. "It was his vision. He started after the Second World War, and when he died..." She pauses, and for the first time since we came into this office, she seems to be a little distracted from the task of finding the U.S.B. drive. "When he died," she continues, with a hint of sadness in her voice, "I knew immediately that I wasn't going to be as successful as him. He was special. He was a one-off. No-one can ever replace him, not even the very best, but I knew that I was particularly ill-suited to the task. I mean, look at me. Everything's chaotic, and I let Lydecker..." Her voice trails off for a moment. "I let Lydecker run amok," she adds eventually, with a hint of resignation.

  "You knew John Lydecker, didn't you?" I ask. "That guy who was washed down into the subway station wearing Gretchen's haz-mat suit... Who was he?"

  "He was Gretchen," Lacey replies. "He was ever
yone. Her body became his body, just like he stole so many others." We both turn to look over at the door as we hear the banging sound again.

  "Is that him?" I ask.

  "I don't know," she says. "It could be. One of him, at least. But I doubt it. I think it's someone else, someone I left here." She turns back to the filing cabinet. "I have to find that drive. I know Lydecker had a copy, but I have no idea where he would have kept it. The man was a mess, but all the U.S.B. drives were alarmed, so I'd have known if he ever tried to take it out of the lab. It's just a matter of working out where the hell that bastard put the damn thing."

  "And what's on this drive?" I ask.

  "You don't need to know."

  "Something you're trying to find," I continue, "or something you're trying to hide?" I wait for her to answer, but she simply carries on with her search, as if she believes she can ignore me. "What if I refuse to help until you tell me?" I ask. "You owe me some answers."

  "I don't need you to help," she spits back at me. "I need you to wait, and I need you to be ready to use that gun if anything comes after us, and then I need you to help me get back to the boat, and then - and only then - I might be willing to fill you in on a few details so that -" As she glances back over at me, she suddenly stops speaking and all the color seems to drain from her face, as if she's seen something that has chilled her to her core.

  "What?" I ask, looking over my shoulder but seeing nothing in the doorway.

  "It was there," she says, her voice filled with fear. "Just for a second, I saw something moving. It was watching us. Fuck, I was right!"

  "Lydecker?" I ask, as I double-check the gun and make sure that the safety catch is off. "Was it Lydecker?"

  "It wasn't Lydecker," she continues. "It was..." She pauses. "It was her. I don't know how, but that bitch survived. She survived the Shades, and she survived two weeks trapped in this place." She pauses, and then finally she turns to me. "She wants me. It's the only thing that makes sense. She wants to make me pay for what happened to her."