by Terence West
Dawn laughed out loud. "Be brave, Cane." She patted him once on the back as he moved past her.
Stopping in front of Bishop, Cane adjusted his glasses. "I want you and Dawn to go talk to Ms. LeFay. I've already called ahead and cleared it with Detective Montoya."
Bishop nodded. "You just want her side of the story?"
"Basically," Cane agreed. "If you can get more, do so, but don't press her." Cane retrieved a small white cloth from his pocket and began to wipe his glasses. "Take the video camera. I want footage."
"Understood."
Cane started to move toward the front door of the house.
"Good luck," Bishop said with a smile.
Cane nodded. "I think I'll need it."
Chapter 19
Enbaugh was lying on his back in the hospital bed. Several wires and tubes were running over and into his body, and he hurt. It wasn't a dull ache like muscle soreness, rather a constant throb from his head down. The nurse had given him a shot of painkillers, but over the past hour, they had started to wear off. The headache had returned. It ran from the base of his neck up through the back of his head. The pain seemed to branch off to the sides of his head near the top. The doctor said he had a mild case of whiplash. Enbaugh would hate to know what a severe case felt like. Looking over the blue hospital gown he was wearing, he felt so embarrassed. He hated wearing these things. He allowed a small smile to creep over his face. At least his dignity was intact. He tried to turn his head to look out the window, but a sharp pain shot up his neck. He stopped suddenly and held his head in place. It hurt too much to continue turning, but it was also too painful to turn back.
"I'm a freaking invalid," he croaked. He had never been exceptionally proud of his voice, but it was better than this squawk he had now. It was as if his voice died at the top of his throat and he was spitting out the carcass. Horrid.
His mind returned to the slashes on his chest. He was sure he didn't receive them in the accident. They were in all the wrong places, and his throat… How could his throat have been slashed in the wreck? he wondered. Possibly a fragment of metal was dislodged during it and flew forward into the cab, but that didn't seem right. He had a clear recollection of the accident. He remembered the steering wheel had pinned him in his seat, but nothing had cut his chest or throat. His memories of the events after the accident were slowly beginning to resurface. Bits and fragments that didn't seem to make much sense were all jumbled in his brain. Knowing it was a jigsaw puzzle, he just needed to put the pieces together. His mind had been focusing on the eyes, but something more horrible had become clear, the claws. Tearing at him. Ripping at his flesh…
"How's our patient this morning?"
Enbaugh strained his eyes to see Montoya entering the room. "Montoya," he croaked.
"My, you have a lovely singing voice," she joked. She was carrying a large, yellow, smiley-face mug with a bouquet of flowers in it. She held it in front of his face for a moment. "I saw this in the gift shop and thought of you."
"Why?"
"Because you're idiotic, just like this stupid mug," Montoya ribbed. She set it on the table next to his bed. "Dear God," Montoya said, "you look like hell, Jack."
"Thanks," Enbaugh said with a frown on his face.
"At least you're ready for Halloween. I think you could win any costume contest with that get-up."
Enbaugh slowly raised his hand toward Montoya and extended his middle finger. His face cringed. Even that was painful. "Ouch."
"What happened out there?"
"You won't believe me."
Montoya grabbed a nearby chair and sat down. "Who says?"
Enbaugh slowly turned his head to face Montoya. He felt a twinge of pain and stopped. "I saw them again."
"Who?"
"The eyes," Enbaugh said with a cough. His entire body tightened up. Every time he coughed, he felt like he burst several stitches. He lifted his arm and wiped a bit of drool from his mouth. "Sorry, the body's not working real well at the moment."
"It's okay," Montoya said. Reaching over, she took his hand into her own. "Tell me what happened, if you can."
Enbaugh nodded and took a slow, deep, breath. Montoya could hear his lungs wheezing. "Lightning struck a nearby tree. I tried to swerve out of the way, but I lost control of my car. The paramedics told me they found me partially embedded in the side of a building."
Montoya nodded. "I've read the accident report." She had been skirting around the subject. It was time for the direct approach. "I want to know about the eyes, Jack. Tell me about the shadows."
Enbaugh slowly pulled open his gown revealing the lacerations on his chest. "They did this to me."
"The shadows?"
Enbaugh nodded.
"Why?"
"I don't think they had a reason."
Montoya was shocked at his answer. Sitting back in the chair, she let his statement sink in for a moment. It didn't make sense to her. It wasn't logical. These things didn't follow any kind of discernable pattern. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"Remember when you were a little kid and you used to rip the wings off bugs?"
Montoya nodded.
"It was like that. They had no compassion for me; I was just their plaything. They tortured me for no other reason than they could."
Montoya was horrified, but in some way, it made her feel better about Enbaugh. His story fit with the one Kelley had told Bishop last night. He wasn't insane. "What are they, Jack?"
Enbaugh tried to stifle a cough before continuing. Closing his eyes, he took a long, labored breath. It wasn't his lungs that hurt, rather the broken ribs around them. Every breath felt like a knife being plunged into his chest repeatedly. He needed another shot of morphine. "Will you summon the nurse?"
Montoya reached over to the table next to the bed and grabbed the small, white remote control. It had four buttons on it. One was labeled television, and the one directly above it had an arrow on it. She assumed that was to change the channel. The two below it were marked ‘nurse’ and ‘panic'. She gently pressed the nurse button and returned the control to its original position. "You didn't answer my question, Jack. What are these shadow things?"
Enbaugh gripped Montoya's slender hand tightly. "Pure evil. They have no conscience to hinder them. They know only death and destruction."
"How do we stop them?"
Enbaugh shook his head, ever so slightly. "I don't think we can."
****
"You're very pasty," Carrie commented on Cane's complexion. "You don't see the sun very often, do you?"
Cane forced a laugh. "Ghosts don't usually come out during the day."
"I guess not." Carrie lifted a bit of powder and dabbed it on Cane's face. She repeated the process until she was happy with the results. "There," she said finally, "you look a little more human."
"Was that a compliment?" Cane asked.
Carrie smiled. "Take it however you want."
Cane thought of a witty retort, but stopped himself. The working relationship between the OPR and Ghost Chasers, Inc. was already a bit strained. He didn't want to make it any worse. "Thank you."
"Are we ready?" Chloe asked from her seat in the living room. One by one, her crew signaled their readiness.
He quickly straightened his posture and folded his hands neatly in his lap. He didn't want to look like a slouch on television.
Chloe looked up and laughed. "You look like you have a stick up your ass. Loosen up a bit."
He let out a long sigh as he relaxed his posture. These people were wearing on Cane very quickly. His tolerance level had shrunk by a factor of ten as soon as his team had joined this broadcast. He had no patience for people like this; they weren't interested in actual scientific achievement or discovery. They just wanted ratings. It was rather sad in his opinion. They had no drive to better themselves, or the world around them. Sure, they could claim some of their broadcasts actually taught viewers something, or piqued their interest in a given subject, but it wasn't very fulfilling in
his opinion. They were controlled not by the search for knowledge, but by the almighty dollar. They were no more than another cog in the modern machine, but he digressed. He had volunteered to help them. He was here of his own volition.
"Mr. Cane," Chloe said, snapping him back to reality. "Are you ready to proceed?"
"Oh, yes, sorry," Cane said.
"I'm just going to ask you some very simple questions about who you are and what you do. This is just a quick bit piece we'll use to introduce the group."
"I understand."
Chloe smiled. "Answer as honestly as possible, and this will be better for all of us." She flipped a page on her clipboard and quickly scanned over her notes. "Shall we begin?"
Cane nodded.
Jackson stepped in front of Cane holding the clapperboard. "Quiet on the set," he announced. Holding the board in front of him, he looked into the camera, then snapped it shut.
"Tell us who Zachary Cane is," Chloe probed.
"I tend to think of myself as a scholar." He slipped off his glasses and began to clean them. "Not of traditional knowledge, but of the paranormal. It is always my goal on these kinds of outings to learn and record, rather than just find something."
"Okay," Chloe said after a brief pause, "but that doesn't tell us who you are. What makes you tick? You're obviously from England, so what brought you to America?" Chloe realized this was going to be one of those interviews you really have to work for. She wasn't in the mood to fight for every word.
"I was born in London, England and moved here to America when I was very young. My family felt we could make a better life for ourselves here." He slipped his glasses back onto his face. "I realized early I had a fascination with the occult. It also helped that my parents were very open-minded. Which was odd. Especially for an English couple of their generation."
"So you began to follow the paranormal?" Chloe continued before Cane got off on a sidetrack.
"Yes. After graduating from school, I became a paranormal researcher full-time. It was then that I came upon a fellow traveler."
"Chairman Thomas Weiss?"
"Yes, Weiss." Cane shifted in his seat for a moment. "We scraped together what limited funds we had and formed the Office of Paranormal Research. We had lofty goals in those days. We were determined to prove to the world that this phenomenon really existed."
"What changed?"
"Weiss changed," Cane said angrily. "His focus shifted away from research, and more toward the business end of the company. He started his own empire from there. He became less and less of a scientist as the years passed."
Chloe smiled. This was great stuff. "It sounds as if there is quite a bit of animosity between you two. Did he steal the company from you?"
"In a sense," Cane admitted. "While it's true I still own half of the OPR, I don't really have any power in the company. Weiss created a board that controls all of the OPR's assets, and I don't have a seat on that."
"I don't follow," Chloe said. "You still own half of the company, but you have no say? How is that possible? You're the owner."
"It's not as black and white as it seems," Cane contradicted her.
"Holy shit!" Trent yelled from behind the camera. "Look behind Cane!"
Cane spun around in his seat and his eyes widened. "You're getting this on film?"
"You bet your ass I am!" Trent acknowledged.
****
It had been several hours since Morgan had been questioned. She had been moved from general holding to her own cell inside the jail. She had no roommate this time, and actually found herself missing Jack's company. Her mind had slowly started to calm down. She was now occupying her time by reading some of the more obscene graffiti on the walls. A smile almost crossed her face when she saw the cliché scratches. She quickly counted up the pairs of five and came to an answer of eighty. She could barely conceive of eighty days in jail, but she knew she was facing many more than that. She would have to count her time in years instead of days.
Morgan suddenly sat straight up in her cell. "No." A cold sweat began to run down her forehead as the chills gripped her body. "Not again…"
****
A large blue mist had formed at the base of the staircase. It was hovering about three feet off the ground and was roughly two feet in diameter at any given moment. At its center, it appeared almost solid white, while the blue aura radiated out from around it. It was hovering motionlessly and silently in the air.
Cane leapt up from his seat and swung around the edge of the couch. He began barking orders at the crew like a drill sergeant. "Chloe, take notes. Write down the time, date, what it looks like and who's in the room. Trent, keep those cameras rolling. Chris, bring that boom mic closer to the phenomenon." He dug into his pocket and produced his small EMF Meter. Switching it on, he slowly approached the mist.
"Move to the left," Trent yelled. "You're blocking my shot."
Cane slowly strafed to the left, but continued moving forward. He glanced down at the needle on his meter. It was jumping wildly back and forth. At one point, it was off the scale. He glanced behind him. Chris was slowly bringing up the rear. His boom was extended to the fullest. "Are you hearing anything?"
"No, just the ambient sounds of the room," Chris said as he adjusted his headphones. "I need to get closer."
Cane stopped. "Go, get up there."
Chris glanced uneasily at Cane. "Are you coming?"
"I'll be right behind you," he assured Chris. Digging into his opposite pocket, he produced a small digital thermometer. He wondered if it was the same phenomenon Bishop had encountered in the house yesterday. Moving the device forward, he saw a dramatic dip in temperature. "The thermometer just dropped from sixty-four degrees down to just thirty," Cane said with astonishment. He reached forward and patted Chris on the back. "Stop there. We don't know if this thing is dangerous."
"What?" Chris spun around to face Cane. "What do you mean dangerous? No one said anything about dangerous!"
"Shut up!" Cane twisted him back toward the mist.
****
Morgan jumped off her cot and charged the cell doors. Wrapping her hands around the bars, she began to scream wildly. She pulled with all her strength at the steel bars. "Let me out!" she screamed. "They're going to die!"
****
Cane slowly sidestepped Chris and moved a little closer to the mist. In one hand, he had his wildly gyrating EMF Meter, and in the other, his white digital thermometer. "Damn," he muttered to himself. "I need Dawn and Bishop here to take readings."
"It's doing something!" Chloe shouted from behind Cane.
Cane snapped his head up toward the mist. He was now less than a foot away from the event. He felt his heart sink into his chest.
The soft white and blue quickly mutated into solid black. Gone was the soft aura, replaced by hard black edges that seemed to swallow the light. The free-floating form slowly transformed from a noncorporeal shape into something vaguely human. It stood silently in front of Cane, dwarfing him by at least a foot.
Cane's EMF Meter began to squeal in his hand as the needle buried itself at the top. A thin wisp of smoke erupted from the meter as it quickly heated up in Cane's hand. The circuitry was melting inside the case. Tossing the box aside, Cane watched as it hit the floor and burst into flames. Cane glanced down at the thermometer. It looked like a stopwatch counting up time as the temperature rose. Dropping the device, Cane took a careful step back from the shadow. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Chris was frozen in terror.
"Chris! Get the fuck out of here!" Cane commanded.
Wasting no time, Chris quickly complied. Backpedaling away from the shadow, Chris’ feet became entangled in the cords on the floor. He tumbled back toward the hardwood floor and hit with a crack. He instantly wrapped his hand around his left elbow and let out a slightly muffled yelp.
Cane knelt down and tried to help Chris off the floor. They were both in the direct line of the shadow, but it wasn't moving. Just observing. Can
e slowly stood up. "Everyone to the front door."
"The door is in front of that thing!" Chloe yelled. "I'm not going over there."
Cane shot an angry glance at Chloe, "Would you rather stay in here and die?"
"Good point," Chloe said.
Moving slowly around the couch, Trent, Chloe and Jackson walked toward Cane. Jackson was bringing up the rear of the group. Carefully, the group took the few remaining steps toward the door. Suddenly, the shadow's red eyes flashed, and it vanished without a trace.
"What the fuck?" Trent said quietly.
"At this point, I don't care." Chloe said quickly. "Open the door."
Cane reached down and grabbed the handle, but quickly snapped his hand away. "The handle is burning hot!"
"Shit!" Chloe cried out. "We can't get out this way!"
****
"What the hell are you wailing about?" The guard queried Morgan.
Morgan had attached herself to the bars. She was standing on one of the connecting beams with her hands wrapped firmly around the bars. Her knuckles were white, she was squeezing so hard. "I need to get out of here!" Her hand shot through the bars. She swatted wildly at the guard. "Get me out of here or they're going to die!"
The guard reached down to his black belt and instinctively removed a small black bottle of pepper spray. Holding the bottle tightly in his hand, he took a step back from Morgan. "Settle down or I'll have to spray you!" He flipped the safety latch on the canister off. "I'm warning you!"
Morgan slowly slid down off the bars and took two steps away from them. Her eyes had shifted from green to a hollow black. Her hair and clothes were matted to her body in a sweaty mess. She lowered her gaze slightly and began to chant. Slowly at first, her body began to lift off the floor until her feet were dangling beneath her. She opened the palms of her hands as she raised her arms toward the guard, all the while still chanting. "I will not let another die," she warned. "Release me."
The guard began to panic. He stumbled back from Morgan with his spray still firmly in hand. Lifting his radio off his belt, he frantically keyed it. "I need back up, Goddamn it! Someone get down here and help me now!"
