by Terence West
Turning, she walked out of the bathroom. Taking a right, she stopped in front of a large wooden chair and sank down into it. Morgan pressed her fingertips to her temples, aching for a moment of clarity. Leaning over, she rested her elbows on her knees as she continued to rub her head. The buzzing was still there.
****
Bishop arched his back to avoid a swing by the phantom. The creature's claws just missed his face, but reacted quickly. It swung again, this time, connecting. The long barbs on his hand ripped into Bishop's shirt, then into his chest. They cut like razors, slicing instead of tearing. Bishop stumbled back. He lifted his flashlight and swung hard toward the shadow. The light was met with no resistance as it went through the shadow. Bishop fell forward, but caught himself before he stumbled into the creature.
The shadow reacted quickly, wrapping its arms around Bishop. A terrible smile crossed its dark face, slowly exposing a toothy grin. Its large red eyes narrowed as it stared directly at Bishop. "You will not escape." Quickly, the being's arms began to grow around Bishop's body. It was engulfing him.
Bishop struggled against the folds of darkness surrounding him, but they were like coils of metal embracing him. The darkness was constricting his breathing as they tightened around his chest. His mind raced for a solution. He felt the metal of the flashlight in his right hand. Taking a chance, he lifted it up and pointed it toward the phantom. He clicked the button once, sending the bright beam of light directly into the creature's horrible red eyes.
The phantom suddenly recoiled as if it had been stung, the coils ripping away from Bishop in one fluid motion. A high-pitched scream erupted from the shadow's head.
Bishop glanced down at the flashlight. He had hurt it, but how? Looking up at the shadow, he decided this wasn't the time to determine that. Bishop turned on the balls of his feet and charged down the hallway. He pumped his legs hard until it felt like battery acid was coursing through his veins. The end of the hallway was less than three meters away now. The darkness was already beginning to transition into light. Bursting through the double doors, Bishop skidded to a stop. Turning around, he glanced back down the hall into the darkness. There was no sign of the phantom, but that didn't mean he was safe. Turning back, he ran the rest of the way. He didn't care where he was going; he just needed to be around other people.
****
Morgan leaned back in the plush wooden chair. The buzzing had finally stopped. Taking a deep breath of satisfaction, she stood and walked toward the small black mini-bar built into the cabinets adjacent to the large entertainment center. She pulled open the small door and looked across its contents. After a moment of deliberation, she settled on a small, clear bottle of vodka. Morgan stood and closed the bar with her foot. Turning around, she rested against the edge of the counter. She stared at the bottle in her hand, then unscrewed the top. Lifting it to her lips, she swallowed the harsh contents in one gulp.
She reached behind her and set the bottle with several of its cousins on the counter. She made a quick count. There were at least nine of the small, empty bottles standing quietly before her. It wasn't like her to drink this much. In fact, it wasn't like her to drink at all. She felt the warmth of the liquor sitting in her stomach. It was nice, but uncomfortable at the same time. Grabbing the bottles in her hands, she slid them off the counter and into the trash. The bottles made a satisfying clink as they hit the bottom. Looking up, she ran her hand through her long, dark hair sliding it over to the side and exposing her lovely neck. The alcohol was beginning to work its way through her blood stream. She was starting to feel wonderful.
Quickly turning away, she walked slowly across the carpeted floor toward the bed. Reaching down, she grabbed the bottom of her nighty and pulled it slowly over her head, revealing her supple naked body. Sliding back into bed, she cuddled up to the warm male body there. She began to kiss along the base of his neck as she ran her erect nipples along his back. The man slowly awoke from his slumber and rolled over. Morgan kissed him passionately on the lips.
Reaching his hand around her head, Sam kissed her back.
Chapter 13
Enbaugh finally came to. There was an odd tingling at the base of his spine, but it wasn't completely uncomfortable. A dull thud began to throb in the back of his head, obviously a repercussion of the accident.
His eyes shot open wide. He was in a car accident. He remembered that now. His mind went on full alert. Where am I? He began to look around. He was still strapped into his car. The frame was contorted and bent around him unnaturally. His legs and arms were pinned behind the dash, which had been shoved forward into his chest. Enbaugh tried to take a deep breath. To his horror, he couldn't. Leaning his head back, he looked up at a long gash in the roof. It had been partially torn back when it had crashed into the building.
Enbaugh wondered how long he had been out. He looked vainly over at the small digital clock mounted in his dashboard. The crash had all but annihilated the liquid crystal display. A large crack cut across its face allowing the black liquid to pool near the bottom. He shook his head to try and clear some of the cobwebs. He felt his metal watchband still wrapped around his wrist. If he could only pull his arm free, he could check the time, and call dispatch for help. That was assuming his radio survived the crash. Pulling hard on his left arm, he felt it budge but it was pinned tightly in a fold of the car door. He tugged again. He realized it wasn't his arm that was pinned, rather his watch.
"Figures," he said after a moment.
Pulling hard, he ripped his hand free of the door. He felt his watch fall free of his arm. Enbaugh let out a long sigh as he looked at his bare wrist. Scanning the cab, he spotted his radio perched dangerously on the edge of the passenger seat. Any sudden movement would send it plummeting to the floor and well out of his reach. Moving his hand across his body, his fingertips brushed against the hard plastic shell of the radio. He tried to twist his body ever so slightly to increase his reach, but he was pinned firmly against the steering wheel. Enbaugh strained as hard as he could, but the radio was just beyond his grasp.
He leaned back in his seat in frustration as a trickle of fresh blood worked its way down his forehead through the maze of its crusty brethren. Or was it? Enbaugh felt another drop. Looking up through the gash, he felt a third drop hit his face. It was raining. Not as hard as it had been, but it was still raining. Enbaugh marveled at the dark clouds overhead. It was calm. There were no winds, only the light drizzle remained.
The town had passed into the eye of the hurricane. Enbaugh had always felt this was nature's way of teasing, because he knew it was fleeting. The winds would soon return when the opposite side of the storm hit the town. They were only being allowed a breather. It wasn't fair.
His mind suddenly recalled something it had seen last night before he had lost consciousness. He could see the eyes, the horrible red, glowing eyes. They had been right on top of him. If they had been human, he would've felt their breath on his face. Why was he still alive? He wondered about that one for some time. Whatever the reason was, he wasn't too keen on staying here to find out. He began to push against the steering wheel with his chest. If he could push hard enough, maybe he could break the seat and slide out. He pushed harder, but it wasn't working. Even with his free hand, he couldn't generate enough force to accomplish his goal. He was stuck there until someone passed by. He knew the police and hospitals would be sending out rescue crews to try and locate trapped victims. This may be the only chance they had before the eye passed.
****
"It did what?" Cane asked.
"It ran away," Bishop said calmly.
"Because you shone your light in its eyes?" Cane asked again.
Bishop nodded.
"Extraordinary," Cane said after a moment.
Cane was standing over an operating table in one of the first floor emergency rooms. Bishop was sitting quietly in the center with his feet dangling over the side. A dark blue had replaced the green tile of the basement, while the upp
er wall color remained the same. A lone nurse was putting the finishing touches on Bishop's chest. She had given him four stitches for the cut and was just now applying the bandages. She worked quickly as she ran the gauze around his bare chest.
"This is the second time I've had to patch you up, Mr. Bishop," the nurse announced as she pressed the final strip of adhesive into place. "Don't make me do it again."
Bishop smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
Cane waited until the nurse left to continue his line of questioning. He stood in front of Bishop, uneasily shifting his weight back and forth. "The only other case of extreme light sensitivity I can think of are vampires," Cane said rubbing his beard, "but even they aren't harmed by the beam generated from a flashlight."
"Maybe it's just light sensitive in general," Bishop theorized. "Maybe these things just can't be in light period."
"Yes," Cane said, "but does it hurt them to be in light, or just bother them?"
"I'm not following," Bishop interrupted with an "I'm sorry, I'm just a rookie" look on his face.
"Take vampires, for example. When they are exposed to direct sunlight, they burn and die. It can be used as a weapon against them," Cane essayed. "What we're trying to determine is if the light harms the creatures."
"Here's the odd part," Bishop started. He slipped off the exam table and slipped his torn shirt back on. "When I first saw the creature, I shined my light directly on it, and it didn't move. It didn't even twitch."
"Odd," Cane agreed.
"It has to be something about the eyes," Bishop said after a moment. "When the light hit its eyes, it screamed and bolted."
"Very good. We've got a working theory." Cane started to pace back and forth in front of the group. "Now what do we do with it?"
"We've got to stop these things," Bishop answered quickly. "They can't be allowed to go on killing."
"Yes, but how do we know where they are? We have several reports and all of them are from different points in the city," Cane pointed out.
"I think this all goes back to the Grant House," Bishop theorized.
"Why?"
Bishop smiled. "Just playing a hunch."
The nurse popped her head back into the room. "We need you to clear out of here. We have a patient coming in."
"Another attack?" Cane probed.
"Sorry," the nurse said seriously, "this one's just a plain old car crash."
The two quickly moved out of the room to the hallway where Dawn and Montoya joined them. They watched as an ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the open emergency doors and the back end was thrown open. Two men emerged quickly and began to pull out the gurney.
Montoya gasped when she saw the familiar form lying on top of it. "Jack." She rushed toward the men and began to accompany the gurney toward the ER. She reached down and grabbed his hand. "Jack, are you okay?"
Enbaugh looked up at her with bleary eyes. "I think so."
Montoya looked across at one of the EMTs, "What's his condition?"
The man looked up at Montoya. "He may have severe internal damage. We won't know for sure until we get him into the OR." The man spoke very seriously.
Montoya let out a gasp.
The gurney reached the doors to the ER and pushed through them. The same nurse that had asked them to leave was waiting for Montoya. "I'm sorry," she said, placing her hands on Montoya's shoulders, "you can't go in there."
"The hell I can't! That's my partner!"
"Detective, you need to let the doctors do their job," the nurse argued as she forcefully tried to restrain Montoya.
Montoya looked down at the smaller woman in front of her and wondered how she was stopping her. She let out a long sigh and stopped. "You're right." She placed a hand on the nurse's shoulder. "Please take care of him."
The nurse smiled sweetly. "We will," she said softly.
Bishop, Dawn, and Cane stood at the rear of the hall watching the events unfold. They were shocked, but they couldn't find the words to express it. Dawn took a step toward Montoya. She felt she had gotten to know her better than her two partners.
"He's going to be okay," Dawn reassured her.
Montoya looked over at Dawn. Her face was a mixture of horror and pain. "I think I need to be alone right now."
Dawn nodded once and patted Montoya softly on the back. She slowly turned around and walked back to the group.
"What now?" Bishop asked.
"We can't let this stop us," Cane said after a moment. "We have to find a way to stop these things."
Dawn nodded. "I have the sinking feeling they were involved with Detective Enbaugh somehow."
"Why is that?" Cane wondered.
"I don't know." Dawn shook her head, "I just do."
Chapter 14
Chloe slowly lifted her head off the pillow as the alarm squawked next to her. Reaching over, she tapped the snooze button once. The clock must be wrong, she thought. It's way too early to be five-thirty. She lifted her gold wristwatch off the nightstand and stared intently at the dial. The numbers seemed to be written in gibberish for a moment, but then she felt her brain kick in. It was indeed five-thirty in the morning. She moaned and let her head fall back on the pillow. She needed coffee, or rather, she craved the caffeine, but she would happily settle for a few extra hours sleep. She was still suffering from jet lag and the time differential. It was only one-thirty in the morning back in California.
"Damned time zones," she cursed under her breath.
She slowly began to pull herself out of bed. Spreading her arms wide, she let out a gaping yawn. She had never been a morning person, and wasn't sure how she had survived this long. She had spent all night watching television in her room critiquing the local news coverage of the hurricane. After all, you never truly get away from work. They had done a fair job, in her opinion, but many of the cuts had been sloppy and a few of the reporters seemed downright ill prepared for the situation they had been thrust into.
She smiled for a moment. She had struggled with the decision to leave her position with her local news crew but now, in retrospect, almost six years later, things had worked out much better than she had hoped. She was the director for the Channel 2 evening news back in Pittsburgh. It was a great gig. While she was there, they were the most watched evening news in Pennsylvania. She had accepted an offer from the Ghost Chasers people after they saw a report she directed on a local UFO sighting. It had been a step down in position, but she would be based out of Hollywood. How could any director refuse that?
Of course, she had only planned to stay with Ghost Chasers until she could break into her true love of film. She wanted to be the youngest female to ever direct a big budget blockbuster for a major studio. She knew her rise to the top would be meteoric and she would become the toast of Tinsel Town. That had never happened. At least, not yet, she kept reminding herself. There was always hope. Optimism, she said to herself, optimism.
Standing up, Chloe walked casually toward the coffee pot sitting on the bar. She snatched a pack of complimentary coffee grounds from the counter and ripped open the pack. Flipping open the top of the brewer, she was pleasantly surprised to see a new filter already positioned for use. She tilted the paper package over and dumped its entire contents in. The shoot didn't start until nine, she had time to sit and drink a pot of coffee. Lifting the glass pot out of its base, she held it under the sink. She let her mind wander as it slowly filled with the crystal clear liquid.
Why is it Rivers always makes an ass of himself? She knew the answer as soon as she asked the question. He was a glory hound in every sense of the word. He needed the attention, good or bad, to feel alive. She knew he would be a troublemaker from the first day she met him. He had been hired to replace the original host of the show who had left to pursue his–quote–"budding theater career". Everyone had tried to make him stay, but he wouldn't listen. He moved to New York City where he wrote, produced, directed and starred in his one-man show about his life. He was sure he would be the next sensation
on Broadway. So sure, in fact, he spent hundreds of thousands of dollars producing and promoting the show. It was one of life's most unfair strokes. The show opened to abysmal reviews and closed two days later. After that, he found himself broke and alone. No director of producer in Hollywood would touch him with a ten foot pole. Life was harsh that way.
Chloe had been with Ghost Chasers for almost two years before Rivers was hired. She hated him. He was arrogant and egotistical from the beginning. He came in with an "I'm too good for this show" attitude that had really rubbed the cast and crew the wrong way. It seemed he and Chloe were always at each other's throats. Chloe had even found out later the crew was taking bets on which one would kill the other first. None of that stopped them from becoming sexually involved, though. The crew began referring to them as the "Sam and Dianne" of Ghost Chasers. That description wasn't too far off in reality. They loved to hate each other, but at the same time, they couldn't resist each other. At times during the relationship, she'd wished she could run off to the bar where everyone knew your name, or at the very least, just run away.
It was she who had ended the relationship. It was close to five years now. She had discovered, to her dismay, Rivers was mounting one of the new interns. She was a happy, bouncy woman named Jennifer, who was intent on sleeping her way to the top. Unfortunately for her, she never realized Rivers was a dead end. Chloe had confronted him about it on the set one day in the middle of the shoot. Several of the grips had to forcefully restrain her. She didn't know why she was so angry. They had nothing together, but he was all she had. Chloe had been so focused on her career, she hadn't made many friends, let alone allowed any time to date. In hindsight, she realized she was just lonely, and a long way from home.
