by Terence West
Dawn spun and looked at her partner angrily. "He's probably already dead." She stopped. She hadn't meant for that to come out that way. She was just angry and tired, and she had just lost her best friend. She wished Bishop could step into her shoes for just a moment, to see how this was truly affecting her, how it was ripping her insides to shreds. She lifted her hand and started to talk, but quickly bit her lip. She wasn't sure what she should say. "We need to focus our energy on helping these people, and if what you say is true, we may just have a way of doing it." She reached over and pressed her hand gently to Bishop's shoulder. "You're a good man," she paused again, "and I'm truly glad you're on our side." She could see the pain in his eyes. She wasn't sure if he had dealt with death like this before. She hadn't. She wanted desperately to reach out, to know what he was feeling, so he would open his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. She needed to know she wasn't alone now, but she was. Alone in a crowd of people, she stated. How’s that for irony? She finally said the only thing that she could. It was the only thing that made sense at the moment. "Let's get to work. We have a job to do."
"What do you need me to do?" Bishop asked warily.
"I need you to rig up some ‘ghost zappers'," Dawn said with her best–forced–smile. "Find all the flashlights you can, and make sure everyone on the crew has one before we go into the house." She patted Bishop on the back, "Go now." Turning back to Chloe and the rest of the crew, she quickly assessed the situation. "Get your crew ready," she instructed Chloe evenly. "We're going to bring you the story of the century live from coast-to-coast."
Chloe smiled broadly. That was exactly what she wanted to hear. Turning to Carrie and Trent, she clapped her hands in front of her, "You heard the lady. Let's mount up, people. We're live in," she checked her watch again, "thirty-seven minutes."
Chapter 26
"Come on, Rivers," Jackson said impatiently, "it's twenty ‘til nine. We have to get back."
"Perfection takes time, you dildo," River's announced egotistically from the bathroom in his "broadcasting" voice. "Someday you'll realize that, and then you'll be a real boy."
Jackson sighed. He hated when Rivers talked like that outside the studio. His voice dropped down to the back of his throat and boomed in that kind of "I'm a superhero here to save the world" kind of way. Jackson was seated in a thick green chair just outside the kitchen in River's room. He was running the silver blade of his small pocketknife under his fingernails to remove a few stray particles of dirt and grime that had settled there. Pulling the blade away, he studied his just off-white fingernails. They still weren't clean, but it was as close as he was going to get. Looking around quickly, he wiped the grime off his blade on the arm of the chair, then snapped the knife shut. He stood up as he slipped it back into his pocket. Walking into the small kitchen, he spotted a small bottle of alcohol sitting open on the counter. The lid was lying helplessly next to it, with a half empty malt glass as company. Jackson lifted the bottle and sniffed the contents. Immediately, he pulled back from the bottle and took a deep breath to clear his pallet. Whatever Rivers was drinking, it was strong. He tilted the bottle down and read the label, "Tennessee whiskey. Nice." Setting the bottle back down on the counter, Jackson made his way to the bathroom door.
"Come on, Rivers. We need to hit the road. It's going to take us ten minutes to get back to the Grant House."
"I don't know about you," Rivers boomed from the bathroom, "but I'm not all that eager to get back there."
Jackson had a sinking feeling. Maybe Rivers is trying to sabotage the broadcast… "We go live coast-to-coast in fifteen minutes. We can't be late," Jackson paused, "and we have to do it."
"I know," Rivers replied quickly. "That places just gives me the heebie-jeebies."
Jackson laughed under his breath. That just didn't sound right coming from Rivers. "I can't imagine why," Jackson said sarcastically.
Rivers poked his head out of the bathroom door. His lower face was covered with a thick white lather, while a lit cigarette hung awkwardly out of his mouth. The ash, which was now about an inch long, was dangling perilously off the end of the smoke, threatening every second to dive into the shaving cream. Rivers’ hair was slicked back against his head, apparently in its prequaffed state. At least it was an improvement from the way he'd looked like earlier. Rivers grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ash toward Jackson. "It's because all those people died there, you moron."
Jackson rolled his eyes back. "It was a joke, Rivers."
"Oh," he said as he exhaled a long trail of smoke from his pursed lips. "I knew that." He pulled his head back into the bathroom.
"We're down to ten minutes," Jackson announced.
"Thank you, Big Ben. I know. Just let me finish shaving."
"Hurry," Jackson advised for the millionth time. "Chloe expected us to be there a half an hour ago."
"Chloe's got her panties on too tight," Rivers said with a giggle. "I should know. I've been in ‘em. Everything's going to work out just fine. I'll make it there in time, just like I always do."
Jackson glanced down at his watch nervously. He knew if Rivers didn't make it, it would be his fault. It wasn't fair, but that was the truth of the matter. He had been charged with babysitting Rivers, and he didn't want to fail. Stephen wouldn't fire Rivers, but he would have no problem firing a grunt like Jackson, and he knew that. Jackson tapped on the door with his knuckles. "Come on," he said with exasperation in his voice. He waited. "Rivers?"
Slowly Jackson reached down and slid his fingers around the gold doorknob. Twisting it to the right, he began to open the door. He didn't want to see Rivers naked. It would probably scar his mind permanently. He wondered quickly how Chloe lived with herself after seeing him au naturel. Jackson shuddered at the thought. Peeking his head through the crack of the door, he spotted Rivers, fully clothed, standing motionlessly with his back against the wall. Jackson confidently pushed the door the remainder of the way open.
"What in the hell are you doing?" Jackson asked impatiently.
Rivers slowly lifted a hand and pointed one finger over Jackson's shoulder.
Jackson stopped. He could see a partial reflection in the large mirror in front of him of something large and dark. He snapped his head to the left allowing the dark form to come into full view.
"Oh shit."
Planting his feet like a linebacker to get leverage, he shot out his hand and wrapped his hands around Rivers’ arms. Throwing all his weight to his right, he pulled both himself and Rivers quickly out of the bathroom just as the phantom lashed out with one of its clawed hands. Quickly grabbing a towel off the floor, Jackson pushed Rivers frantically toward the door. He tossed the towel to him as they moved through the exit. "Clean up. We're getting the fuck out of here."
Rivers slapped the towel to his face and began to remove the last of the shaving cream as they moved down the hallway toward the bank of elevators. "That was quick thinking, boy," he complimented Trent.
Jackson was scanning the hall with his eyes as they went. "Be quiet."
"I just gave you a compliment," Rivers said angrily. "I demand a ‘thank you'."
"Shut up, Rivers," Jackson growled.
Rivers tossed the towel loosely into the hall and stopped. "You listen to me–"
"No, you listen to me." Jackson spun around and faced Rivers with anger in his eyes. "You have a job to do, and I'll be damned if I don't get you there. I'm not letting you die on my watch… "Jackson's eyes widened.
"What?" Rivers asked with a timbre of fear in his voice.
Without speaking, Jackson leapt forward and pushed Rivers to the ground, narrowly avoiding a phantom that had just appeared out of the wall. The shadow stopped above Jackson and lashed out with his hands. Rolling to his left, he saw the phantom's hands dig into the carpeted floor where he was just positioned. Performing a reverse somersault, Jackson vaulted to his feet with a nimbleness even he didn't know he possessed. Ducking another one of the shadow's lunges, Jac
kson ripped Rivers from the floor and began a mad dash for the elevator.
"It's right behind us!" Rivers shouted frantically.
"I know," Jackson replied coolly.
Turning left down the hallway, Jackson could see the elevators just ahead. He glanced up at the lights above them and smiled. Luck was on his side. The elevator was only three floors below and counting toward them. Reaching out, he hit the down button with his thumb and spun around. He knew until the elevator arrived, he would be on the offensive. He pulled Rivers behind him and stared down the hallway… at nothing. It was gone.
"Where the hell did it go?" Jackson muttered. "Did you see?"
Rivers shook his head. "It was right behind us when we got up. That's all I know."
Jackson tensed every muscle in his body. Until the elevator arrived, they were completely vulnerable. It could come from anywhere. Then a thought occurred to him. Even in the elevator, they would be vulnerable. "Damn," Jackson hissed. "I didn't think of that."
"What?" Rivers asked nervously just as a dark form loomed out of the wall behind them.
Jackson caught it out of the corner of his eye. Reaching behind him, he pulled Rivers around and pushed him forward. The phantom lashed out, its claws ripping into the small of Jackson's back. Jackson cried out in pain, but didn't let his focus slip. Dropping down, he spun on his heels and brought the butt of his hand up into the shadow's face, and to his amazement, connected. The phantom reeled back. It hadn't expected a counterattack. Seizing the moment, Jackson grabbed Rivers and dashed madly away from the elevator just as the door slid open.
An elderly man began to step off the elevator when he caught sight of the phantom. "Sweet mother of Mary," he muttered in a weak voice. He tried to step back onto the elevator, but his hip was apparently bad and he was fumbling with his silver cane.
The phantom jerked its head toward the man, its red eyes burning with hatred. "You have no power," it growled. It slowly began to move away from the man in the direction of Rivers and Jackson.
The elderly man fell back into the elevator to the sickening crunch of his other hip. He shrieked once as he wrapped his hands around it. At least he was alive.
Jackson skittered, with Rivers in tow, around another corner. He slowed slightly when he spotted the door to the stairs. Pushing through the door, he heard an alarm start to sound. He knew it was an emergency exit, but he didn't care. The two traversed the stairwell haphazardly as they made their way down. Jackson glanced behind them. "I think we lost it."
"How can you be sure?" Rivers asked, still moving quickly down the stairs.
"It's not behind us." Jackson was losing momentum. He could feel the wounds on his back bleeding profusely as they throbbed. It wasn't bad, but he knew it would need some kind of medical attention. He could hear Rivers wheezing as he took a breath. "Are you okay?"
Rivers nodded. "Been smoking too long. We need to keep going."
Jackson stopped. "It's okay," he assured. "You can stop and catch your breath."
Rivers nodded and slowed to a stop. He looked up at the floor marker on the wall. They were just below the fifth floor. "We're almost there. We're going to make it."
Jackson swallowed hard. "No, I don't think so."
Rivers looked up to see the phantom standing on the landing just above them. "We can run."
Jackson shook his head. "Look below us."
Rivers complied. He felt his heart sink at the sight of a second phantom standing below them on the stairs. "We're trapped."
Jackson extended his open hand to Rivers. "It's been nice working with you."
Rivers reached up and shook Jackson's hand. "Same here."
The two fast friends looked at the shadows approaching them. They were moving, slowly, deliberately, as if they knew this was torturing Rivers and Jackson. One by one, they took the stairs, their red eyes glowing brightly in the dim light of the stairwell. Jackson and Rivers pressed themselves into the corner of the stairwell, their muscles tensed and their hearts throbbing in their throats. They didn't want to go out like this. They had come so far, only to be stopped.
Jackson stepped forward and shook his fist at the phantoms. "If you're going to kill us, then just get fucking on with it!"
Rivers shook his head quickly. "Let's not be rash here, Jackson."
"You will not escape," the shadow above them moaned with pleasure.
"Yes they will," a female voice boomed from above them.
Rivers and Jackson snapped their heads up to see Morgan floating down the center of the stairwell toward them. Electricity was pulsing over her body and her black hair was flowing in waves around her. Her feet were pressed together with her toes pointed toward the ground, her arms were spread wide with palms open. A sinister grin was spread across her face and her eyes had gone completely black. Rivers wasn't sure who he should be more afraid of, the phantoms, or Morgan.
The two phantoms locked on Morgan and hissed. "Veranda," they said in unison. "You will not stop us this time."
"Veranda?" Jackson asked Rivers quietly. "I thought her name was Morgan."
Rivers shrugged. He was completely enthralled with the events unfolding before them.
The two phantoms leapt from their positions on the stairs toward Morgan, their claws fully extended. They latched onto her body like cats attacking a dog, ripping and shredding as they hung on. Yet Morgan's facial expression remained unchanged, in fact, it seemed like her smile had widened slightly. The dark forms began to merge around her, engulfing her body in a swell of darkness.
"Sweet Jesus," Rivers gasped. "They're killing her."
Before the last syllable had left Rivers’ lips, the blackness around Morgan erupted in white light. The two phantoms were thrown against the wall opposite Morgan. Their black bodies hit hard and slowly slid down to the stairs. Before they had a chance to move, Morgan was on them both. Wrapping her hands around their faces, she created another blast of white light in her palms. The shadows shrieked in pain as the light assaulted their eyes. She squeezed harder and the shrieking became worse. It was inhuman, a high-pitched squeal entangled horribly with a low frequency rumble. No human was capable of that sound. Jackson and Rivers cupped their hands over their ears and pressed themselves against the concrete walls of the stairwell. At any moment, they both expected their eardrums to burst and blood to begin pouring from their ear canals.
Morgan squeezed again and hit the phantoms with another burst of white light. Her fingertips were beginning to dig into the darkness of their heads. The two creatures were thrashing wildly below her, trying to break free. Their claws were shearing holes in the concrete around them, and yet Morgan continued to punish them. Jackson could swear he could see pure, unadulterated pleasure on Morgan's face as she tortured the two beings. One of the shadows fell limp on the ground, its body solely supported by Morgan's grasp. She turned her head slightly to enjoy her victory. She squeezed one last time and felt the phantom's head deflate in her hand like a broken balloon. It was dead… again. The second phantom took the opportunity and lashed its claws toward Morgan's face. The blow caught her off-guard as the creature's fingers sliced into the flesh of her cheek. She lost her grip on the phantom as she stumbled back, allowing it time to flee. She turned quickly and shot a blast of white energy toward the creature, but it was too late. It had already vanished into the wall and her attack impacted harmlessly against the concrete. She returned her attention to the black mass lying at her feet.
Jackson and Rivers were slowly making their way up the stairs toward Morgan. "What the hell are those things?" Rivers asked bravely.
Morgan spun around and looked at the duo nervously. "Stay back," she warned. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Who?" Jackson asked, holding up his hands. "We're on your side."
Morgan looked up into the empty stairwell and suddenly, was gone. Her body rocketed off into the darkness in front of Rivers and Jackson.
Rivers slammed his fist against the rail. "What in the hell is
going on around here?"
Jackson was staring at the motionless black figure in front of them. Its form had quickly begun to decay, melting into the ground around it. Its red eyes became hollow openings in its head, then disappeared altogether. It was fascinating, yet horrible at the same time. "That's the exact same thing I would like to know," Jackson said slowly. Leaning over, he ran his finger through the black mess on the floor and examined it. "It's like," he searched for the word, "goo."
"What do you think it is?" Rivers asked while taking a step forward. "Could it be ghost blood or something like that?"
He brought the substance close to his face and took a sniff. It smelled of burnt rubber. He immediately pushed the pungent substance away. "I don't think so." Jackson wiped the tarlike substance off on the step, "But that's because I don't think this was a ghost." He quickly glanced down at his watch. "Shit," he muttered, "we need to get going. Chloe's going to have our asses."
****
"Where in the fuck are those two?" Chloe asked impatiently. "If they're not here in fifteen seconds, I'm going to have both their asses." She paced back and forth inside her small makeshift director's booth. With the help of the local television crew, they had erected the tiny ten by ten foot booth in the middle of the garage. Small cubical walls had been placed on three sides to keep the distractions to a minimum, while a bank of three televisions stood against the back wall with a desk and mixing console in front of them. One monitor had the live feed from Trent's camera, the second was a video link to the broadcast booth back in California, and the third was the actual live television feed so she could monitor the show. Two men stood in the booth with her, one was a meek young man from the local station who assured her that he would be able to run things, and the other was the station's grisly technician, still tweaking a few last minute connections.
Chloe was wearing a headset with a microphone on it so she could keep in constant contact with Trent and the team inside. She was pacing across the small booth–which was no more than three steps either way. Her arms were crossed warily across her chest and she was playing with her fingers nervously. She checked her watch. It was three minutes until show time. She hadn't had time to prep Rivers on the way the show was going to flow. He was just going to have to wing it. She wasn't sure he was capable, but she had to keep a positive outlook on the broadcast. After all, this was her major directorial debut. Sure, she had directed hundreds of segments over the course of her years at Ghost Chasers, Inc., but she had never been in charge of an entire broadcast. What was she worried about Rivers for? It was herself that she should be concerned about. I’m digging a hole, she cautioned. Not a good way to begin a live coast-to-coast broadcast.
