Phantoms

by Terence West

  ****

  The group looked nervously around the living room of the Grant House. There was nothing. Only the electronic hum of the lights and equipment could be heard.

  Cane looked down at his hand. His palm had turned a bright red from the burn, but it wasn't blistering. At least that was slightly comforting. He quickly surveyed the group. Aside from some heavy breathing, they appeared to be fine. He slowly adjusted his glasses. "Is everyone all right?"

  "What the fuck was that, man?" Chris shouted. "Damn, that was some weird shit."

  "Yes," Cane agreed with Chris’ guttural interpretation of the previous events. "That was strange, but why didn't it attack? It had us all cornered."

  "At this point," Chloe said slowly as she caught her breath, "I don't care. We need to find a way out of here."

  Jackson pointed over his shoulder. "There's a backdoor through the kitchen."

  "Very good," Cane acknowledged. "Stay together and move toward the kitchen."

  They quickly moved away from the front door and across the living room. A sudden sound caught the attention of the group. It was like a floorboard squeaking, but more distant. In turn, each of the crew's lights began to snap off. They stopped. Only silence again.

  "It's toying with us," Trent speculated.

  The two solid camera pods suddenly crashed to the floor, shattering one of the cameras.

  "Ignore them," Cane said as the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. "Press on," he turned to look behind him, "quickly."

  Chloe glanced back at Cane and her eyes widened. There were two shadows standing motionlessly in front of the door. "Jesus," she gasped. "Run!"

  The crew took off in a dead run toward the kitchen just as the shadows attacked. Jackson was the first into the kitchen, followed closely by Chris and Trent. Chloe and Cane were just about in, when the kitchen door slammed shut in front of them.

  Chloe slammed her hand against the door. "No!"

  "You will not escape," the shadows promised menacingly.

  Cane spun around to see the first of two shadows almost on top of them, their red eyes glaring angrily as they approached. They were moving slowly and deliberately, as if they knew every step they took was torturing Chloe and Cane. Acting quickly, Cane pushed Chloe behind him and stood fast against the shadows. He dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small golden cross. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he thrust it toward the shadow.

  The creature stopped less than a foot from Cane and examined the symbol. A horrible toothy grin crossed its black face. With a motion almost too quick to see, the shadow snatched the cross out of Cane's hand and held it up. "Your faith means nothing to me," it hissed as it crushed the cross in its hand. With the speed of a cobra, the shadow jutted toward Cane, his claws arched forward.

  ****

  Morgan felt a surge of power flow over her body. Arching her back, she let out a long, low moan. With a sudden flip of her hands, the cell bars in front of her began to rattle violently. Screws and bolts began to dislodge themselves and fall helplessly to the floor. The bars groaned in protest as they began to lurch forward. Then the concrete surrounding them gave way, sending the door rocketing toward the deputy. Wrapping his arms around his head, the man felt the steel bars slam into him, knocking him to the floor. His head flipped back like a rag doll's and smacked into the concrete wall, rendering him unconscious.

  Morgan watched as a solitary tickle of blood ran down from his scalp. She knew he wasn't dead. Floating out of the cell, she touched down just in front of the heap of steel in the hall, but she wasn't done yet. Grabbing a scrap of metal off the floor, she slowly drew it across her right palm and watched her blood well up around it. It didn't have to be a deep cut, just enough to make her bleed. Dropping the scrap, she knelt down and began to rub the blood in a small circle around her. Once the circle was complete, she stood tall inside it.

  "Kemteh," she chanted. "Kemteh, soona, alipta. Kemteh, soona, alipta."

  Lifting her hands above her head, she repeated the chant a final time. A wave of power exploded from her body in all directions and knocked her to the ground. The very concrete walls of the jail rattled as the wave rumbled through them, then everything stopped. Lifting herself off the floor, she quickly wrapped her right hand inside her shirt to try and stop the bleeding. She glanced around the corridor. The world had become still. Dust from the explosion hung motionlessly in the air, and the trickle of blood on the guard's head had stopped in middrip. Taking a deep breath, she quickly made her way out of the jail.

  ****

  The shadow stopped. Its claws were less than an inch from Cane's face. Cane looked over the being in front of him. Its very body seemed to be frozen in time. Carefully, Cane reached his hand toward the darkness, and to his amazement, went right through it. He waved his hand through the center of the shadow. It felt as if there were nothing there.

  Chloe peeked out from behind Cane. "What the hell is going on?"

  "I don't know," Cane answered inquisitively. "This is very odd. We should be dead by now."

  "That's very comforting," Chloe reassured. "Can we leave now?"

  "I'd like to get some readings."

  "With what?" Chloe asked. "Your equipment exploded."

  "Yes," Cane remembered the smoldering heap of electronic parts on the floor of the living room. "Damn."

  "What if these things start moving again? I don't know about you, but I don't want to be here when it happens."

  Cane nodded. "Agreed." Reaching over, he pressed his hand against the kitchen door. It swung open with minimal effort. Ignoring the possible ramifications for the moment, Cane and Chloe quickly stormed into the kitchen. Chris, Jackson and Trent were standing with the back door open. They all had the door grasped firmly. They weren't going to let this one close for anything until Chloe and Cane were through it. The two weaved around the center island and burst through the door.

  Chapter 20

  Bishop ran his hand along the steering wheel as he stared at the road ahead. He had never been in a hurricane, let alone been able to see the aftermath firsthand. It was heartbreaking. He saw small shops completely decimated by the storm. Their windows were broken, their goods looted by thieves in the night, and entire sections knocked over by the gale force winds. Owners stood outside trying to get a handle on the destruction as they swept up bits of broken glass and damaged merchandise. He wondered what they were going through. He knew some of them had probably worked their entire lives to build up their businesses, then just sat idly by as they were torn down by the vicious hand of mother nature.

  As he brought the vehicle to a stop, he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He hadn't had much sleep in the past few days. First, it was the anxiety of a new job, then the storm, and finally last night, that thing that attacked him in the hospital. His mind flashed back to Kelley lying helplessly in her bed. She watched her lover die in front of her, then she was tortured, but not killed. Why? It just didn't add up in his mind. Why would they kill one, and not the other? For that matter, why was Morgan alive if it truly was the shadows that killed Sam Peters? There were too many questions, so many questions.

  He glanced over at Dawn. She had her head propped up on the armrest. It didn't look exceedingly comfortable to him, but he wasn't going to be bothering her. She had closed her eyes and fallen asleep a few minutes ago. This trip was wearing on all of them. He wondered how Cane was holding up. He quickly perished the thought though. He realized he was an old pro at this. Hell, he thought, the old man probably doesn't even sleep any more. His mind turned to more grim explanations of Cane's sleeping patterns for a moment, but quickly returned to less lackadaisical thoughts.

  She was beautiful, in every sense of the word. Dawn's body was long and slender, but not too much so. Bishop wasn't a big fan of the current "waif" trend in models. He thought it made them look like walking corpses. Something, in retrospect, he hoped he never truly encountered. That wasn't the extent of her beau
ty, though. She was also intelligent, and probably more so than many men she met, but not in the traditional sense of the word. She knew the paranormal, which Bishop found intoxicating. Most men would probably ask for the check as soon as she vaulted into stories of ghosts and goblins, but that was what he liked about her, far too much than he should. She was his co-worker, and so far, the only friend he had in the OPR. He quickly turned his attention back to the road. She had already shot him down once. He was sure he would get the same treatment again if the situation presented itself.

  It was nice of the crew to let them borrow a car. After Bishop explained what had happened to the vehicle they had been driving, they were a little reluctant though. A smile flashed across Bishop's face. He reached over and tapped the power button on the stereo. Switching it over to the AM band, he began to scan for a news station. He hoped at least one of them had survived the storm. His hopes were met when a voice cut through the static.

  "…Death toll still isn't in, and probably won't be available for several days, reports the National Guard. Residents are urged to seek shelter in their homes until Hurricane Katrina passes. We're not through it yet, ladies and gentlemen." The male broadcaster sounded frazzled. No doubt he had been at the station, and probably on the air, since the storm had been upgraded to a full-blown hurricane. "Northern Florida has officially been declared a national disaster. The President is sending every man he can spare and has promised more federal aid to all counties affected. The National Weather Service expects Hurricane Katrina to begin dissipating in the early hours of November first as strong trade winds push the hurricane back out to sea. For more breaking news, keep your radios tuned to WH–"

  Bishop clicked off the radio. It was more than he wanted to hear. Glancing out through the windows, he could see the dark clouds moving in from the west. It was just a matter of time before the outer edge of Katrina moved across Stone Brook. He checked his watch and cursed under his breath. That put it right about the time Ghost Chasers went live tonight.

  ****

  "What the hell happened here?" Montoya shouted as she made her way through police headquarters. Men were lifting themselves off the floor while rubbing their heads amidst a sea of destruction. Desks had been flipped over, filing cabinets were bent in half and half a coffee mug was embedded about six inches into one of the walls.

  "She escaped," an officer moaned as he regained his balance. A large purple bruise was forming on his left cheek and a crusty drop of blood was hanging off his lower lip. "She tore the fucking place up."

  Montoya looked around in awe. "Who did this?"

  "The murder suspect," the officer said with a cough. "The LeFay woman."

  Montoya's eyes suddenly widened. "How could one woman do all this?" She glanced to her right to see two more officers lifting themselves out from under a large metal desk. "It looks like Hurricane Katrina hit us."

  The officer mustered a laugh. "I don't think that's too far from the truth."

  "Has anyone checked the jail? Did any other prisoners escape?"

  The officer shook his head. He was still too groggy from his encounter to be of any use, so Montoya quickly left him behind. Her long leather coat made an almost comforting swishing sound as she traversed the destroyed lobby. Reaching into her pocket, she removed a small beret and pinned her hair quickly to the top of her head. Sliding her hand beneath her coat, she wrapped her fingers around the cold metallic grip of her pistol. Stopping just in front of the access door, she peered into the hallway. Debris littered the floor while a thick cloud of dust hung in the air. It was a mess. Montoya could barely see the fluorescent lights on the ceiling through the cloud, but she could tell the hallway was empty. There were no dark forms moving about. She hoped to God none of the other prisoners had escaped. They didn't have the manpower to round them all back up, especially during this storm.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked cautiously into what looked like a war zone. Bits of concrete crunched under her feet as she walked. The dust was getting into her eyes and making them water. She began to unconsciously blink to try and clear her vision. Scanning the floor, she could see parts of the cell bars bent and scattered about. She stopped and turned to her right. A small gasp escaped her lips.

  The entire front of the third cell had been torn off. Montoya took a step closer to examine the wreckage. It looked like the hinges that held the bars in place had been ripped or blown out of the wall. The concrete around the door had shredded as the long anchor bolts ripped away. The light fixture above the cell had been torn from the roof, probably when the bars ejected. A live wire was hanging exposed from the wound in the roof spitting sparks toward the ground. She took a step back to avoid them. She had never seen anything like this before. It was almost unimaginable that one person could do this.

  "Detective…"

  A voice behind her caught her attention. Spinning around, she squeezed her weapon tightly in her sweaty hands. She glanced nervously around, but could find nothing. There was no one in the hall with her. She felt something graze her ankle. Jumping back, she glanced down into the pile of rubble that stood at the mouth of the cell. She quickly made out a hand reaching out of the heap.

  "Jesus," she muttered under her breath. "Hold on, I'll get you out of there."

  Using all her strength, she began to push the rubble away with her hands. Piece by piece, she became more frantic. She knew the man underneath was dying and his time was running out. Pushing hard, she slid a large section of the cell out of the way revealing the guard's upper body. He was a mess, but he was alive.

  She reached down and grabbed his hand. She held it tightly for a long moment. "I'm going to get help."

  "Don't leave me," he pleaded. "I'm cold."

  "It's going to be all right, I promise." She squeezed his hand again. "I'll be right back. Hold on, okay?"

  The guard nodded bravely and let go. Montoya's heart was pounding. She could see that far off look in the guard's eyes; that look a person got just before they died. Recklessly standing up, she skittered through the rubble as she made her way out of the hallway. Grabbing the nearest phone, she quickly dialed 911.

  "911," the operator answered unemotionally.

  "This is Detective Caroline Montoya. I need paramedics to Police Headquarters. We have an officer down!"

  ****

  "Jesus Christ!" Chris yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him. "What the fuck was that?"

  The group had exited into a small garden at the rear of the Grant House. A tall wooden fence with no visible gate ran the length of the area. Tall green bushes sat around various willow trees and hordes of colorful flowers littered the area. A small stone path wound its way through the center of the garden toward a small stone rest and water fountain. The area was in disarray. Trees had been blown over from last night's storm, and it appeared as if some kind of projectile had damaged the ceramic fountain. Pieces were scattered about the ground near the bench as a stream of water flowed from its cracked bowl.

  The group quickly made their way toward the shattered fountain, as it was the furthest they could get from the house without actually climbing the fence. They were all still terrified, but slowly starting to come down from their adrenaline rush. Their hearts were beating wildly to try and satisfy their bodies’ need for oxygen.

  Cane dropped down onto the rest and laced his fingers behind his head. Looking up at the house, his fear began to slowly be replaced with his natural inquisitiveness. "Why didn't it attack?"

  "Who cares?" Chris said between deep breaths. "All I know is I'm alive and I am not going to question that." He held up his hand next to his face. "See that? It's a gift horse." He turned his head away from his hand. "Notice how I'm not looking it in the mouth?"

  "That's all very well," Cane said slowly, "but we need answers."

  "Mr. Cane's right," Chloe spoke up. "These things are killing people."

  "Thank you," Cane said as he rubbed his beard.

  "Yeah?" Jackson said with di
sdain. "Well, I don't give a rat's ass. I am not going back into that house, and as soon as I get out of this fucking garden, I'm getting back on the first plane to Los Angeles."

  "We can't quit," Trent interjected.

  "Oh no?" Jackson said with a smirk on his face. "Watch me."

  Trent stepped up to Jackson. "Quitter," he growled.

  Jackson brushed a piece of his blonde hair out of his eyes. "I don't think I like your attitude." He pushed Trent away from him and took a step back.

  Trent immediately rushed forward and pushed Jackson back. Jackson reacted quickly by throwing a quick jab into Trent's nose. Fighting off the pain, Trent wiped off a trickle of blood and prepared his retaliation.

  Chloe intervened. "Stop it!"

  "Bickering won't get us anywhere," Cane admonished. "We need to keep our heads about us."

  "I didn't sign up to fucking die down here. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't think this is covered by hazard pay." He took another step away from the group. "We almost died in there!"

  "We didn't though," Cane reminded him.

  "Next time, we might not be so lucky," Jackson added.

  "Look," Chloe said impatiently, "we're here to do a job. Like it or not, we go live in less than twelve hours." She crossed her arms–a standard defensive posture for her–and looked angrily at the group. "If any of you want to walk, be my guest, but don't expect to be welcomed back in L.A. with open arms. If you go, you're fired." She let her words sink in. "Any takers?"

  Jackson was scared, but he wasn't stupid. For the most part, this was a good, steady job. In the film industry, those weren't always easy to find. He looked over at Trent and Chris. They were standing firmly behind Chloe. He swallowed hard. "I'm staying."

  Chloe's face softened, "Good."

  "I want my objections noted," he added quickly.

  Chloe nodded. "Noted. Now can we get back to work?"

  "What's the plan?" Chris asked.

  Chloe thought for a moment. "We need to see how much of our equipment we can salvage from inside. If we have any footage of the activity that's usable, we have to get it. Then we need to find Rivers."