by Terence West
"Hello?" she asked. Her voice echoed in the emptiness. "Is anyone in here?" She stood quietly for a moment, listening for the tell tale signs of another human presence, but heard nothing but the dull hum of the fan in the ceiling.
Dropping down to the floor, Morgan reached hastily into the small black bag she had slung over her shoulder. She fished out a red piece of chalk and held it tightly between her fingers. Glancing around the bathroom one more time, she leaned over and drew a circle around herself. She crossed the lines and created a pentagram. In the center of the pentagram, she hastily scribbled the image of an eye. Dropping the piece of chalk, she stood and grabbed her crystal.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. "This is a spell of protection," she said out loud. "It will protect me from whoever, or whatever, you are. No harm may come to the person standing in the circle until the spell has worn off." She swallowed hard and repeated the words eight more times silently to herself. She hated rushing spells. That had a tendency of rendering them ineffective. She hoped this case would be different.
Taking a deep breath, Morgan opened her eyes. She slowly looked around the bathroom. It was empty. Letting go of her crystal, she charged for the door. Throwing it open, she ran through the doorway and back into the main terminal. It was also empty. All the baggage handlers and attendants had gone. There was no one as far as she could see. Her heart began to race as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. Slowly turning to her left, Morgan spotted a dark form lurking behind one of the nearby palm trees. It wasn't human as far as she could tell. It had no solid mass, just darkness, as if a patch of black ink had been thrown on a white canvas. The mass undulated as it slowly left its perch behind the tree.
Morgan stumbled backwards. She had never seen anything like this before. The mass moved slowly toward her, then stopped about three feet from her. It's form mutated into that of a large animal that stood on all fours. It looked like a jungle cat, but Morgan couldn't be sure. It had no details, just darkness.
The cat turned its head toward her, revealing its glowing, almond-shaped eyes. The eyes hardened into slits as they glanced over her. The beast began to pace back and forth in front of her, all the while maintaining its three feet of separation.
"The spell must have worked," Morgan muttered. She slowly began to walk through the terminal, the shadow echoing her every move.
"You will not escape," the shadow growled.
Morgan recoiled in horror at the being's almost human voice. She quickly began to pick up her pace, and soon, hit a dead run down through the terminal. She had no idea of how long her spell of protection would last, but she knew she didn't want to be here when it ran out. The shadow was easily keeping pace with her, its glowing red eyes burning into her back.
"Leave me alone!" Morgan screamed. She was pumping her legs as hard as she could as she rounded a corner. Not looking ahead of her, Morgan hit something and went skittering to the floor. Her crystal broke, sending shards flying in every direction.
"Morgan?"
Morgan looked up, fully expecting the beast to be standing over her. Instead, she found Sam lifting himself off the floor. Jumping up, Morgan spun to look behind her. There was nothing but an empty corridor. Turning around, she threw her arms around Sam's neck. "Thank God!"
Sam was confused. "What the hell is going on?"
"Let's get out of here," Morgan pleaded. "Please."
"Okay, we're going," Sam assured her.
The two began to move through the terminal toward the exit. As the doors slid shut behind them, the shadow crept out from a corner and stood silently over the remains of Morgan's crystal. Now in human form, the phantom crushed the remainder of it with its foot. Looking up at the exit, a horrible smile crossed its face.
****
Hail was pelting the roof of their vehicle, making it difficult to hear each other. The stones had grown in size from a pea to almost a golf ball within the seconds they had been in the vehicle. They had left the house a few minutes before and retreated to the safety of their Blazer. Cane sat quietly in the front seat, twisting the edge of his mustache with his fingers while Dawn and Bishop were in the back. Dawn was slowly wrapping gauze around Bishop's hand in slow, deliberate circles. She knew he needed medical attention to treat the burns on his hand, but she also knew Cane wasn't ready to leave yet.
"How's the patient?" Cane asked without turning around. His gaze was transfixed on the house in front of him.
Dawn sighed. "It looks like he has first degree burns on his hand, Cane. We need to get him to a hospital."
"We're not leaving yet," Cane said quietly.
A massive hailstone slammed into the windshield of the SUV sending cracks webbing across the entire window. Cane threw his arms across his face to protect himself against fragments of glass. A second softball-sized hailstone erupted through the window, crushing it in like a flimsy piece of aluminum. The stone finally came to rest in the center console next to Cane.
"Abandon ship!" Cane yelled. He clumsily reached down for the handle and threw open the door. Lifting his arm over his head, he jumped out of the car and began to tear across the driveway toward the house. He tried in vain to dodge the hailstones. A large chunk of ice drilled him square in the shoulders, dropping him to the ground. Cane moaned as he tried to lift himself off the ground.
Dawn and Bishop leapt out of the vehicle just as a bolt of lightning crossed the sky and touched down in an empty lot across from the Grant House. Sparks and flames erupted from the small grove of trees that stood there.
"Jesus," Bishop said out loud, "did you see that?"
"Run, dip shit!" Dawn screamed as she headed toward Cane.
Bishop turned around to see a second flash of light in front of him. "Oh shit," he said under his breath.
The lightning arced down in front of the house, then curved up, and then down again into the trunk of a nearby tree. Bishop watched as the bolt split it in two in an instant. The mighty tree began to topple toward the ground, and Bishop realized he was in its path.
Turning toward the house, Bishop sprinted away from the SUV. No longer feeling the impact of the hail, he pushed his body hard toward his partners. Without even stopping, Bishop shoved Dawn toward the front door and scooped Cane off the sidewalk. He began to drag the older man by the shoulders toward the door as Dawn skittered to a stop on the stoop. Bishop spun around to see the tree fall into the middle of their SUV, shredding it. The metal of the vehicle offered no resistance to the tree. Grabbing the door handle with his bandaged hand, Bishop winced as pain shot up his arm. Twisting hard, he threw the door open. Dawn was first inside, followed closely by Bishop and Cane.
Bishop laid Cane gently on his back just inside the door, and dropped down next to him. "Are you okay?" Bishop pressed his fingers against Cane's throat to check his pulse.
Cane grabbed Bishop's fingers and pushed them away. "Yes, I'm fine," Cane replied. "Now stop touching me."
"That's the gratitude I get for helping you?" Bishop asked.
"I'll give you a bloody treat once we get home," Cane said sarcastically.
"Dick." Bishop said as he lifted himself off the floor. He slowly turned toward Dawn. She was leaning against the back of one of the leather couches in the living room trying to catch her breath. She was cradling her head in her hands. "Are you okay, Dawn?"
Dawn slowly lifted her head. A trickle of blood was running down from her scalp. "I'm fine."
Bishop took an uneasy step toward her. "No you're not. You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," Dawn shrugged. "A piece of hail hit me on the way in. Just a minor contusion."
Bishop pressed his hands to her head and leaned it forward. He slowly moved her long hair out of the way so he could see the cut. There was a small bloody gash just above her forehead. "You may need stitches."
Dawn shook her head. "Just get me a dry cloth to hold against it. If I apply pressure, the bleeding will stop."
Bishop started to open h
is mouth to argue, but a quick stern glance from Dawn stopped him. "Okay, I'll go find a rag or something."
Dawn watched Bishop head into the dining room and toward the kitchen. She pressed her fingers against the cut and then looked at them. A fair amount of blood was smeared on her fingertips. She quickly wiped them on her pants, and then looked over at Cane. He had lifted himself into a sitting position and was trying to rub the sore spot on his back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dawn asked.
"What?" Cane replied innocently.
"Are you just a stuffy old English bastard, or what?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Cane wondered.
"I mean, why are you treating Bishop like shit?" Dawn slowly lifted herself off the back of the couch and walked toward Cane. "He's been nothing but helpful so far, and all you've done is ride his ass."
"Why shouldn't I?" Cane stood up to face Dawn. "Do you realize we've been through five partners this year alone? When is Weiss going to stop sending us these over-privileged brats that wash out within a week?"
"Maybe they wouldn't quit the program so quickly if you weren't such an asshole to them. Did you ever stop to think some of these people may have been great investigators if you'd only given them half a chance?"
Cane laughed. "Those kids weren't investigators." He turned away from Dawn. "They were people who had seen one too many ghost movies. They weren't serious about the craft, and neither is Bishop."
Dawn grabbed Cane by the shoulder and spun him around. "How do you fucking know? You didn't even try to let them prove themselves!"
"I started this organization with Weiss! I know what makes an good investigator and what doesn't!" Cane roared.
Dawn took a step back from Cane. "You self-centered old bastard. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"
"What, pray tell?" Cane asked angrily. "What great insight have you just gained into my psyche? Please tell me Ms. 'I have degrees in psychology and parapsychology'."
"You've finally given up, haven't you?" Dawn asked quietly. "You don't care about the OPR anymore, or the cases we investigate. You've become an old, bitter man. You still can't get past the fact Weiss runs the company now, can you?"
"Why should I?" Cane yelled. "He stole it from me!"
"He did nothing of the sort," Dawn corrected him. "When Weiss decided to incorporate the OPR, he offered you a seat on the board and you refused! You thought by taking the position, you wouldn't be able to investigate anymore."
"That's bullshit," Cane said.
"I was there, remember?" Dawn put her hand on Cane's shoulder. "When you declined the seat, Weiss began to run the company himself without consulting you, didn't he?"
Cane nodded. "He never asked me."
"Why should he?" Dawn wondered. "He was chairman. He didn't need the approval of one of his investigators." Dawn let her hand slip off his shoulder. "You did this to yourself, and now you're taking it out on the world."
"I–"
Bishop emerged from the kitchen with a small cloth in his hands. "I found… "he let his sentence trail off when he saw Dawn and Cane. "Did I interrupt something?"
Cane pulled away from Dawn. "No."
Dawn shook her head. She turned toward Bishop. "Thanks for getting that for me, Bish."
Bishop smiled. "It was no problem." He handed Dawn the small white cloth.
Dawn folded the cloth in half and pressed it against the cut on her head. She felt the sting of pain under the pressure. She winced for a moment, but knew she had to keep it tightly pressed to her wound. Dawn looked around the room. She spotted a tall classic wooden radio standing in the corner. "I wonder if the local stations are still broadcasting." She moved around the couches toward the radio. Reaching down, she gently twisted the first light brown knob.
The radio was shaped like a cathedral with a high arched top. The brown and black woven mesh speaker in front looked like tall stained glass windows, and the dial looked like the front entrance. The dial immediately lit up, and the speaker squawked to life. There was nothing but static. Dawn began to slowly twist the second knob, searching for a station amidst the snow. She stopped and began to twist the dial in the opposite direction. Almost at once, she stumbled onto human voices. All three moved into the living room and hovered quietly around the radio.
Bishop couldn't help but wonder if this was what it was like before television was introduced. Families and friends huddled around a small wooden radio listening for weather and news and their favorite programs. He enjoyed radio much more than he did television. There was a station back home that played classic radio theater on the weekends. He almost never missed one if he had the chance. You were much more inclined to use your imagination with radio. You had to imagine the adventures of your favorite superhero, and follow along very carefully so as to not miss a clue during the mysteries. Bishop let his mind wander as he listened to the disembodied voices filter through the speaker.
"…Airports are closed at this time," the steady male voice reported."The Department of Transportation and the Highway Patrol are reporting that visibility is extremely low, and people should avoid travel at all cost. Once again, Hurricane Katrina has gone from a tropical storm to a full-blown hurricane as of this afternoon. She's expected to come on shore in the next hour. Authorities are asking you to close and lock all windows and doors, and use your emergency preparedness kits. You should have a small radio, a flashlight, extra batteries, and blankets–"
"We're stuck here," announced Dawn.
"It appears that way," Cane agreed.
They heard the news personality shuffle the papers in his hands. "Sorry, kids, it looks like Halloween may be cancelled this year. There's more news coming up at the top of the hour. You're listening to Stone Brook's adult contemporary alternative, ninety-one point three, W-R-"
Dawn clicked off the radio. "I am not staying here."
Bishop smiled, "We can have a pajama party."
"My pajamas are in the Blazer," Dawn admitted, "As well as the rest of our clothes."
Cane looked over at the two trunks next to the door, "At least we still have our equipment." He walked across the living room and began to pace. "After what happened to the Grants, I think it would be a very bad idea for us to stay here tonight."
"Agreed," Dawn said, "But where are we going to go? I doubt very much the taxis are still out and about in this storm. I got the idea from the radio report that most of the streets have been closed down except for emergency vehicles."
All three were startled when the power blinked off.
"Damn," Cane muttered under his breath.
"Wait!" Bishop shouted. "I've got it!"
Dawn and Bishop both turned to look at Bishop. "Well," Cane said impatiently, "are you going to share, or do we have to read your mind?"
"You said only emergency vehicles are still operating, right?"
Dawn nodded, "That was just an educated guess, but probably."
"We have three injured people, right?" Bishop asked.
"None of us are that bad… "Cane stopped.”I get it! Call an ambulance!"
"Right!" Bishop smiled. "I'm sure the hospitals have emergency generators for times like these."
Dawn stood. "I'll call 911."
Chapter 9
The Brenton Hotel was beautifully decorated. The walls were a creamy white trimmed with dark brown wood. The floor was marble, etched with tiny gray veins that spider webbed through it. The cathedral ceiling of the lobby had several gold chandeliers strung from it, and the registration desk was solid mahogany. Huge plants seemed to adorn every free space, and almost looked to be taking over the place.
A bank of elevators stood on the right side of the room, just past the registration desk, while the opposite wall contained several large archways leading to the hotel's conference rooms and dining hall. A grand staircase ran up the center of the floor to the second story. A beautiful balcony, edged with gold iron fencing, ran the length of the room and led to even more conference roo
ms and the second floor restaurant and bar.
"I'm not working in these conditions!" Rivers yelled as he tossed his glass across the room. The glass hit the wall just behind Chloe and shattered.
Chloe didn't flinch. "There's no arguing, Rivers. We go live in less than twenty-four hours." She brushed a few strands of her brown hair behind her ear and crossed her slender arms, "And you will be ready." She had changed into a pair of black pants and a tight red long sleeved shirt. Her hair was pulled up, revealing her slender neck.
Rivers stood from his seat at the Brenton's bar and staggered across the floor toward Chloe. He was drunk and she knew it. He straightened his dark gray sport jacket over his white golf shirt. He reached over and tried to steady himself against the back of a nearby chair, but slipped and toppled to the ground.
Chloe sighed and reached down to grab his hand.
Rivers batted her angrily away. "I can do it myself."
Chloe knelt down in front of him. "Then you better fucking get up right now, you piece of shit. Do you realize how big of an ass you're making of yourself?" Chloe took a deep breath. She didn't realize she was this angry. "You're a nationally syndicated TV host, and right now you're drunk, and laying face-down in a hotel bar. How do you think that's going to reflect on our show, let alone your career?"
Rivers rolled onto his back and looked up at Chloe with glassy eyes. "What are you on about now?"
"Bastard. You haven't even been listening." Chloe stood up in a huff and walked toward the bar.
Rivers stared up at the ceiling as the world began to spin around him. "Can someone help me up?" He stammered. "I think I'm gonna puke."
Chloe stopped in front of the rest of the crew and dropped her head. "Chris, can you take Rivers up to his room?"
Chris stood and nodded. "This isn't your fault, Chloe." He patted her on the shoulder and moved toward Rivers. Reaching down, he pulled the drunken man easily off the floor. "Time to go nighty-night," he told Rivers as they walked out of the bar.
Chloe looked up to face the rest of the crew. They were all seated at a small, round table in the middle of the bar. To their left were two large red felt pool tables. A long green light hung parallel over each. To their right, stood the bar. It was a long black chunk of plastic that ran the length of the room. The cliché rectangular mirror hung behind the bar flanked by two tall shelves filled with alcohol bottles. The floor was nothing more than black carpeting, while dim neon strips ringed the walls and the bar. Chloe couldn't believe this place was actually part of the Brenton. It seemed so… skuzzy.
