by Dan O'Brien
She dashed across the slick material of the floor and grabbed the gun. Shoving it into his hand, she tugged on his arm with renewed force. “We have to go,” she commanded this time.
He looked back into the room.
The phantoms reacted to the sirens, looking out the broken window into the lights in the distance. Sighing, he grabbed Dana by the arm and pulled the door open roughly. “Fine, I’ll get you out of here. We’re going to have a talk when we get someone safe.”
She looked out into the hall. Her lithe body was barely that of an adult. She looked up into his eyes, the irises nearly clear, the azure only faint. “There is no place in Orion safe enough.”
Sighing, he looked back toward the stairwell.
“No elevators, looks like it’s the stairs again,” he grumbled and then moved forward, the girl in tow. As he moved through the hallway, he did his best to ignore the slowly emerging forms similar to those he had witnessed in the room.
They crawled across the walls, their jagged, uneven movements horrifying in a cerebral way. Marlowe could not bring himself to acknowledge them just yet. The brown paint on the walls was chipped in places. The flickering bulb he had passed on his way was blackened.
“Who exactly is coming?” he spoke, his back to the girl who cowered behind him. He had expected the ogre from before to still be sitting in the hall, but he had apparently already left. “Are we talking OrionCorps, some governmental entity?”
Her voice was a barely audible, just a faint whisper. “The Agency and the Lurking. They are always searching, peering into everyone in Orion. Already they know that you are with me.” She paused, her small arms pulling him to a stop. Her eyes were wells of emotion, deep reservoirs of hidden pain. “You are now in great danger.”
Marlowe cast a sidelong glance at the wall, only to meet the dead glare of a shadowed child. Hollow eyes watched him as it perched upon the wall, head tilted like an owl. “I am beginning to get that feeling,” he spoke. His eyes locked with the apparition that had begun to pull itself from the wall, stretching unnaturally as if to reach out to Marlowe.
A squeeze of her hand brought him back, her voice laced with urgency. “We must keep moving. They are here as a warning. Those who hunt us are already here.”
Marlowe nodded, gulping as his throat once again felt like sandpaper. The distance to the stairs was covered quickly and he pulled the door open with a sharp grunt. Dana remained a few steps behind him. Her demure figure slunk, looking one way and then the other in outright fear.
Leaning over the rail of the stairs, Marlowe looked down. Their armor was black, the silver emblem of OrionCorps stamped on their helmets and chest. Marching around each level of the stairs, it was more than a platoon of them.
They were out for the kill.
Marlowe pulled away from the railing, sucking in air sharply through his teeth. He clicked his gun against the steel of the railing. “Seems like you’re in a lot of trouble, Dana. What exactly did you do to warrant a platoon of OrionCorps?”
“Not me. We are in trouble, Mr. Marlowe,” she answered. Still standing in the hallway, she held the stairwell door open. “They’re not coming for me. I don’t exist to them. They’re coming for you because they sent them. They know that they can get to me through you.”
Marlowe backed away from the railing and out the door into the hallway once more. He surveyed his options. The cadre of soldiers would be through the door in a matter of minutes. His weapon would overheat before he could down all of them. “I could give you up. Say it was all a misunderstanding, tell them…”
Her fear turned to anger, smooth, pretty features suddenly contorted. “Tell them what, exactly? You don’t have any concept of what is going on. You would turn me over and they would still crucify you. You can run with me or stay and face the consequences for something you cannot comprehend.”
He looked at her sourly, the sweet image of a scared girl gone. “What do you think I should do?” he queried, holstering his weapon and moving deeper into the hallway.
The darkness there was quiet, except for the buzzing of the lights and the strange whispering that came from every crack and corner of the place. The haunting faces emerged from the walls en masse.
“Run and don’t look back. Get out of Orion,” she replied. The hallway cornered again and then again, rounding out the floor; a window was beyond the stairwell door that looked out at the adjacent building.
Marlowe looked at the window thoughtfully. “There is nothing outside of Orion,” he replied, not looking at her and instead removing his weapon from his holster once more.
She looked at him mutely.
Her intense gaze said otherwise.
He shot the window twice, the safety glass exploding outward. The sucking of air was a hiss as it flooded the floor. Marlowe shouted as he grabbed the girl by the arm. “When we get clear, I want answers.”
Lips pursed, she simply stared.
Marlowe shook his head and slipped his gun under his coat. “Just hang on and try not to look down,” he said as he pulled her forward into a mad dash.
“What?”
Together, they catapulted out the window.
The world rushed at them.
Marlowe tried desperately to keep his eyes open as the cold air rushed against his face. The heavy sound of cords firing filled the air. Thick nets exploded across the open space between the two buildings, catching the two twisting bodies. They bounced, head over feet, dislodging his grip on her arm.
Marlowe watched as the erratic pattern of the cords flooded his vision. He stuck out his hands to try and find some kind of grip, but he was bouncing too fast, making the cords into razors. He struggled to grab a hold, finally doing so. His bloody hands firmly held the web that the cords had created. He gulped, trying to catch his breath, and looked for the girl.
“Dana,” he called.
The distance between the buildings was dwarfed by the gulf of gloom beneath them. He stood uneasily, stepping forward with care so that his leg would not be ensnared by the net.
“Where are you? Dana?” he called again.
Her voice came slow at first. “Here.”
Marlowe bounded across the net, using its elasticity to cover the distance easier. She was huddled into the fetal position, her hands covering her face. “Are you alright?” he asked, reaching down and touching her shoulder.
She wheeled, knocking away his hands, slapping him across the face a few times before he caught her hand. “You crazy bastard, you could have killed us,” she screamed, attempting to stand upright, but only falling.
He laughed and backed away as she took another swing. “You seem fine,” he spoke with a grin.
Looking across to the tower, he saw the shadows that were no doubt OrionCorps searching the floor. Marlowe and the girl had precious little time before OrionCorps figured out that their prey had flown the coop. Reaching down, Marlowe grabbed her hand and pulled her forward.
“Let’s go,” he spoke, pointing to the opposite building. Fear pulled his hand back, as the building was covered in crawling apparitions. Wide mouths and soulless black eyes peered back at him.
Dana bounced out in front of him, making her way toward the phantom-covered tower, oblivious to what he saw. She had asked him earlier, in the room, if he could see them. He was beginning to wonder if they were seeing the same thing.
The side of the adjacent building was covered in large, clear windows. Marlowe pulled out his weapon once more. Aiming it unevenly at the closest window as they bridged the distance between buildings, he opened fire. The glass shattered inward and down the side of the building, making an entrance for the displaced duo.
The Messiah district was adjacent to Sherwood district, named for Sherwood Avenue which ran through the majority of it. From poorer beginnings, Marlowe and Dana found themselves on the threshold of more prosperous opportunities. They crawled through the newly opened window into the relative darkness of the room.
Dana d
usted glass fragments from her clothes. “What just happened? Why didn’t we hit the pavement?” she asked as she peered through the window.
Marlowe looked back at the window, swallowing hard as the apparitions poured through the opening. “Cerulean Dreams and the 1st Congress wanted to make suicide more difficult, so they installed motion sensors on the outside of all buildings from the 2nd floor to the highest floor. When someone jumps, the sensors recognize it and launch mathematically generated nets to catch him or her.”
She scoffed and continued to dust off the glass particulates from her clothing. “Your little diversion will only sidetrack them for so long.”
“Stay where you are,” challenged a hard voice.
Marlowe turned.
His hand was already on the handle of his weapon.
“Pull the weapon free and throw it toward me,” spoke the voice and then added, “slowly.”
Marlowe acquiesced with a tight smile and threw his gun toward the voice. “We have a misunderstanding here. This girl was a jumper and I went out the window after her,” replied Marlowe, turning around to gesture toward Dana.
Only she wasn’t there.
“She was here a second ago,” Marlowe mumbled, turning to face the voice. The apparitions no longer crawled. Standing still, they filled the room––so much so that Marlowe could not help but feel claustrophobic. Their faces were frozen in a dead scream, skin gray and shadowed. There were whispering voices that had no gender, but simply spoke in hushed, erratic tones.
The voice stepped from the shadows. The weapon in his hand was held tightly, the barrel unwavering as it focused on Marlowe. “I’m an OrionCorps officer and this is my home. I know who you are. Your description is being blared over every bandwidth. OrionCorps and Cerulean Dreams are looking for you. Raise your hands above your head. Turn around.”
Marlowe lifted his hands with a sigh. Turning, he spoke. “Sounds like I’m pretty popular. What are they saying I’ve done?”
The click of binders being removed from a belt was not lost on Marlowe. “Some kind of terrorist assaulting the network, out to get Cerulean Dreams. Doesn’t matter, you are a wanted man.”
Marlowe saw the shadow of Dana move along the side of the room. She was caring something heavy. “First time for everything, I guess. I think that you should…” The man clicked the binders hard over Marlowe’s wrists. “That hurt, man. Anyways, I think that you should put your gun down. Hand me my weapon and forget I ever came through your window.”
The officer laughed.
“And why should I do that, criminal?”
“Because you are about to get your ass kicked by a ninety-pound girl.” The heavy sound of something colliding with bone and the thud of a body dropping announced Dana. He felt a tugging on his binders and then eventual release.
Again, there was the smell of blossoms.
“You almost gave me away with your bravado,” she warned, looking at the heap of the officer. His body was splayed, gun vanished in the gloom. Glass gleamed on the beige carpet; shadow cloaked the interior of the room.
Marlowe bent down, massaging his wrists.
He opened the man’s coat, reaching into one of the pockets. Removing a black rectangular piece of metal, Marlowe flicked it open, reading the inscription. “Lieutenant Dane Sicirio,” uttered Marlowe. Putting it in his pocket, he added, “Terrible picture.”
Dana moved forward into the darkened interior.
Marlowe grabbed his weapon, deposited it into his holster, and turned hesitantly. Reaching down, he grabbed the lieutenant’s weapon and placed it in the wide mouth of one of his coat pockets. “Might need this later….”
“Found something,” called Dana from deeper within the dim apartment.
The apparitions were relentless. Emanating from the darkness, Marlowe could hear them whisper––see the outline of their deformed, broken bodies as they convulsed before him. “What?”
She reemerged, the flickering lights from her hands brought out the color in her face: a portable visor, OrionCorps issue. “You might want to see this,” she responded, handing the device to Marlowe.
As big as his palm and as thin as a sheet of paper, he held it with one hand, cupped. He ran his hand horizontally across the bottom, a green spectral trail following his finger, engaging the hardware once more.
“News,” he spoke.
Not as quick or reactive as the cerebral visor, the imaging took a moment, shaking and garbled as voices and faces came through. The jovial nature of the newsroom seemed unusually morose: black chair and dull gray desk.
Even Shamus appeared as a graven, caretaker version of himself. “OrionCorps and Cerulean Dreams officials are looking for an individual who has been labeled a possible terrorist. The individual in question is a former military officer and OrionCorps captain, Alexander Marlowe.” Shamus paused and they flashed an archaic picture of Marlowe: close-cropped hair and a three-day beard. A perpetual scowl was spread across his features.
It was the picture of a guilty man.
“He is being sought in connection with a series of murders involving young women. Bodies of unidentified women have been found dumped in the Messiah district over the past couple of months. Anyone with any information regarding the whereabouts of Marlowe, or any information that could lead to the capture and incarceration of the suspect, would be greatly appreciated and should be directed to OrionCorps.”
Marlowe’s hand flexed, crushing the portable visor.
“Those sons of bitches,” he growled, throwing the cracked metallic device across the room. “I was trying to find out who was killing the girls. They have it all wrong.”
“They have it right where they want it,” spoke Dana.
Marlowe brushed past her, opening the door of the apartment and looking out into the brightly lit hall. “I don’t want to hear any more of this conspiracy crap.”
The voices came again, this time their whispers rose to a crescendo. His mind panicked. Paranoia seeped through his mind slowly, like fingers tickling his brain.
They were after him.
He backed away from the door. Glancing at the apparitions that hid in the shadowed corners of the hall, their visages disappeared in the light.
“What do they want?”
“Me, dead,” she answered. “And you as well, it would appear.”
Marlowe licked his lips. Each hand was on a weapon, gently stroking the handles.
“We need to get out of this building. We have to find a way out of the city,” reasoned Dana.
Marlowe nodded.
His voice was low. “Right, we have to get out. Daytime would be better. No one is awake during the day. We can sneak past them in the day,” he repeated. His voice was a whisper, as if he were speaking to himself.
“Mr. Marlowe?” queried Dana worriedly.
Marlowe stood fast, his hands shaking a little. “We need to get out of here. I agree with you there. It isn’t safe at all, not at all. Not safe. Not safe.”
Dana placed a hand on his arm.
“Are you okay, Mr. Marlowe?”
Marlowe laughed nervously. Smoothing his hair with his clenched hand, he breathed out. “We just need to find a way out,” he said, enunciating each syllable to try and calm his nerves.
Dana peeked out into the hall, taking a small step and then another. Marlowe was behind her, holstering his weapon once more and looking down one side of the hall to the other. He saw the mirthless face of the phantoms that haunted his steps in the corners that the light could not reach. They watched him, waiting for something; what that was, Marlowe was not certain of yet.
The red light of the elevator caught Dana’s attention. “The elevator would be quicker,” she reasoned as she pushed the button.
The light changed to a throbbing yellow.
Marlowe turned quickly to it, his brow heavy in sweat. He nodded slowly. “The elevator would be quicker,” he repeated.
Dana looked at him and her eyebrows rose as the do
ors opened. She stepped in, staring as Marlowe stood there. “Mr. Marlowe, are you coming?”
The elevator was filled to the brim. Apparitions stood on top of each other, crawling, spilling from the open doors. “I’m not entirely certain there is enough room,” he managed and then gulped hard as they crawled to his feet.
Some grabbed on his legs, staring up at him with dead eyes. Marlowe leapt back, batting at his leg. Pulling his weapon, he pointed it at the ground. “I’m not sure if it is safe to take the elevator after all,” he said slowly, the barrel of his weapon wavering.
Dana watched in horror. Holding the doors open with her hand, she stepped out toward Marlowe. “What is wrong with you?”
He looked at her with wide glazed eyes.
“You don’t see them?” he asked incredulously.
She paused and smiled. Her eyes were innocent. “Of course, I do,” she answered. “But we have to get out of this building. You said so yourself.”
Marlowe took another step forward. Grimacing, he kicked at an apparition with his leg, watching as his foot passed right through it. “You see them?” he asked again.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, that is why we must keep moving. We both see them now. We are in the presence of the truth. We must flee the city or they will get us. I thought you understood this.”
Marlowe swallowed hard. Nodding, his confidence returned as he kicked off another phantom, only to have it replaced by more crawlers. “Right, right. They are coming and these people are portents of the truth. Right, right. Why are they coming again?”
“Because we know the truth,” she replied and gestured all around her. “We see the truth.”
Marlowe nodded again, biting his lip and returning his weapon into his coat. He turned to her, his eyes wide, near manic. “And what exactly is the truth?”
She spun back into the elevator and huffed.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“Right, no time. Never enough time,” he mumbled. Looking into the elevator, the apparitions were gone. Turning around into the hall, they were there no longer. “Right, now they’re gone because we know the truth and they are coming.”
