Piercing the Veil: A Supernatural Occult Thriller

by Guy Riessen

  Derrick rocked his wheelchair back and forth, peering over the side to watch the wheels. He’d just finished rattling off a litany of cards and suits from the memory test from last year.

  Doctor Anthony Harris sat at Sarah’s desk with his laptop open. “OK, Derrick, amazing as usual. Now I’m going to go back three more years to our first three-deck test.”

  A brief look of concentration crossed Derrick’s face then he said, “Shoot.”

  “All right, this time I’m just going to name some random positions in the stack of cards from four years ago. I won’t know what the cards are until I query the database. The standard method we’ve been using to rule out even unintentional telepathy. OK?” Derrick nodded then Doctor Harris continued, “This is the test you took after your first field assignment with DCV.”

  “Got it.” Derrick nodded again. He leaned over a little further, looking at the axle that went under the chair to the wheel’s hub.

  “Card 134, card 17, card 88, card 81, card 148, card 72, card 73, card 68. Brand of decks, and Jokers or no?” Doctor Harris said, noting the questions on the legal pad that sat next to the laptop. “Remember, take however long ...”

  “I said, I got it, Doc. Jack of diamonds, seven of diamonds ... red card back, trust me that’s important,” Derrick said when Doctor Harris looked up at him. Derrick pointed back at the pad where the doctor was writing and continued, “three of hearts, ace of clubs, seven of diamonds ... blue card back ... see? Told you it’d be important. Six of hearts, king of spades, and king of hearts. The test comprised of one deck of blue-backed Bicycle, one deck of red-backed Bicycle, and one custom retired blackjack deck from the Tropicana in Atlantic City.”

  Doctor Harris typed the list of card positions into his laptop and nodding, he checked off each of the cards and suits. He typed some more then said, “Excellent.”

  “And for what it’s worth, you were wearing the same suit, but your socks were mismatched and were, in fact, two slightly different shades of navy blue. Your shirt had a different collar and button count—your shirt today has seven buttons instead of eight. And the tie you wore was the dark blue one with the silver Jetsons-style flying saucers on it. Oh, and you were wearing Stetson cologne. In fact, I asked you not to wear that particular fragrance because of my allergies.”

  Doctor Harris laughed, “Well, I’ll have to take your word on that. Your mental state is rock-solid as always, and your memory just as freakishly impeccable. A couple more questions and we’ll call Sarah in to finish and sign-off.”

  Derrick nodded. He was leaning over and fiddling with the vertical axles that allowed the wheelchair’s front wheels to spin freely in any direction.

  “Alright, I need you to remember your, uh,” Doctor Harris consulted his laptop screen, “twenty-seventh R and I, recon and investigate, mission.”

  Derrick’s face went slightly slack and his eyes defocused, his voice became more monotone than it had been during the card test. “Sarah was notified via an urgent MARC report that there was a potential entity manifestation in the Atlanta suburb of New River Rock.”

  Doctor Harris typed notes directly into his laptop, “And you understand what MARC is?”

  “Duh, jeez, Doc.”

  “I’m checking your recall within these stress memories, Derrick. Like the ‘do you know your name’ questions in a lie-detector test. Just play along, you know the drill.”

  Derrick huffed, but continued, “Yes, MARC is the world-wide media, police, and military report analysis software that DCV has been using for more than three decades to track, report, and assign potential investigators when the probability of Mythos-Veil-related incursions breaches a certain level. From my own experience, I would guess the trigger level to be when it goes over sixty percent probability. But you know, I think I could improve that if I could take a look at the analysis software...I’ll talk to Sarah about that, see if she can hook me up with account access.” Derrick looked sharply at Doctor Harris. “You know if she can set up access for something like that, Doc?”

  “No, sorry, outside my bailiwick. Right now, though, let’s stay on task. Please continue your account, Derrick.”

  “Right, sure, man,” Derrick said. “Sarah assigned Howard, Mary, Phyllis, and I to investigate. We had to drive the stupid VW bus, which is way too small and uncomfortable for four people on a drive that long. I mean, really, that much weight? I think we came to a stop every time we hit a headwind.”

  Derrick’s hands were folded in his lap and he watched the doctor enter notes. “Can you tell me about the entity?” Doctor Harris asked.

  “Prior to encountering it, we just referred to it as ‘the entity,’ which is SOP until it gets assigned a number and official name. It’s currently referred to in the database as ‘the Boogeyman.’ It was humanoid and had the power to open small Veil tears at will, allowing it to step through the tear to possibly any location it desired. As per our after-action report, I believe it could only Veil-step into areas it knew ... possibly needing to visualize the place where the tear exited. Therefore, all the places where the Boogeyman struck were at ground level and had windows. The report indicates we believe the Boogeyman would case the location in some fashion beforehand, then, using its power to Veil-step, enter and leave with its prey.”

  “Its prey?”

  “It hunted children.” Derrick cleared his throat, as he remembered the young faces of the kids. He could hear a hitch in it even as he continued, “Seven missing and presumed dead before we were able to stop the predation.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “Anything. Everything. What do you want me to go over?”

  “Is it destroyed?”

  “We don’t know. The assumption is yes. I was able to close its gate exit as it tried to escape. We recovered portions of its right leg and foot when the gate collapsed, severing portions of the limb, but there is apparently some sort of space between the entrance and the exit of the Boogeyman’s gates which we still don’t understand. Howard was unable to shoot the creature before it tore through the Veil, because it had Phyllis, and because we don’t know what happens if you shoot through a Veil-gate ... if the bullets can hit anything in the midst of gating, or if the bullets would travel through the gate as well, potentially striking bystanders on the other side.”

  “So, you probably killed the Boogeyman. The mission was a success?”

  “No.” Derrick dragged his hand across his face. The room felt hot, but his skin was clammy. His long bangs had fallen over his left eye and he shoved his hair roughly back.

  “Why not?”

  “We lost,” Derrick started, then paused. He took a deep breath and tumbled the words out, “We lost, uhm ... Phyllis. And. And, uhm, each team member’s combinations of abilities and knowledge is powerfully unique and important to keeping the Veil intact and the threat of Mythos incursion controlled.”

  Doctor Harris paused at his typing and looked up, Derrick wiped tears from his eyes as he continued, “And Phyllis was a person ... and my friend. We, uhm ...” Derrick could feel a drop of sweat roll down the small of his back. “We, uhm, went to MIT at the same time. I was a year behind her, but uhm, we had the same doctoral sponsor.”

  Doctor Harris made some notes, then clicked and scrolled repeatedly using the scroll wheel on his wireless mouse. Derrick presumed he was cross-checking his account with the data in the system. “Can you tell me what happened to Phyllis, please?”

  “Doc ...”

  “Please, Derrick. What happened to Phyllis?”

  Derrick massaged his forehead. His wheelchair was completely motionless for the first time during the psych-eval. The squeak of the chair’s wheels noticeably absent, only the hiss of the HVAC system broke the silence. He looked at his hands folded in his lap. They were trembling very slightly, and he didn’t think Doc noticed.

  “The Boogeyman had pulled her into the Veil-gate with him, as a hostage perhaps, but when I collapsed the gate portal, she had o
nly passed partway through. The top half of her skull was severed, the same as the Boogeyman’s leg. It was lying there on the floor, Doc, rocking back and forth, like some bizarre bowl of gray cereal.” Derrick sighed. “Nothing else was recovered of either the Boogeyman, nor Phyllis.”

  “You closed the gate, Derrick?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Using a cultist’s spell. It’s in the Necronomicon, in our stacks.”

  “Do you remember it? And please don’t elaborate, just yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “No unusual feelings or mental disturbances when you focus on remembering the spell?”

  “None. That stuff doesn’t affect me.”

  “So far. But that’s what these psych evaluations are for.” Doctor Harris looked at Derrick with a practiced psychologist’s look of concern. He said, “Sorry for your loss, Derrick, and to make you have to relive that tragic mission. For both you and your team.”

  Derrick scrubbed at his face and nodded.

  Doctor Harris closed his laptop and said, “I’ll get Sarah and be right back.”

  Doctor Harris patted Derrick’s shoulder as he passed, walked out into the hallway, and returned with Sarah less than a minute later. Sarah motioned for the Doc to stay in her desk chair while she sat next to Derrick.

  Derrick grinned at Sarah, hoping his eyes didn’t betray the tears he’d just shed. “This part always makes me feel like when I was a kid and the allergist would bring my mom back into the room after a check-up.” He glanced toward Doctor Harris. “We’re not going to talk about puberty, are we, man?”

  Doctor Harris and Sarah laughed, then Doc said, “Well everything checks out great, Sarah. Derrick remains one of our great mysteries. I don’t know that we’ll ever understand how his memory works. The compartmentalization of horrific experiences isn’t uncommon and can help anyone cope through avoidance. But Derrick’s ability to compartmentalize, and still recall and use, the information at will is truly astounding. As you know, Sarah, your predecessor here at the MU division of DCV exhibited similar recall.” He turned his eyes toward Derrick, “That lasted for several years. But, of course, it did seem to eventually take its toll and he had to retire due to growing mental instability.”

  “And as a result, I am now head of the MU Targeted Research Team for DCV,” Sarah said, “Yes, we know the risks. That’s why we go through these psych-evals, right?”

  “Right. And Derrick is still flawless across the board. In fact, except for his abysmal sense of humor, Derrick stands out as being one of the most stable DCV members we’ve monitored.”

  “Hey! My jokes rock, you guys just need to stay in the game,” Derrick said.

  Sarah was nodding. Derrick noted her arms were crossed though, as she stared intently at Doctor Harris. “I sense a ‘but’ coming?” she said.

  “No, not really. Just the same caution I’ve been advising for the last several years. Because we don’t understand how Derrick’s brain works, the frequency of his missions concerns me.”

  “You said yourself that he is one of DCV’s most stable. He’s also invaluable due to his ability to recall the tiniest details before, during, and after missions. It allows the rest of the team to often make leaps of understanding and judgment which simply would be impossible without instant access to that kind of perfect knowledge.”

  “And, that is why I’m only cautioning. With your superhuman physical abilities in martial combat, or Howard Strauss’ preternatural skill with firearms, or Mary’s true-sight, all your minds, while extremely gifted, are normal in the way they process information. You guys are powerful, but your minds are definitely human.”

  Sarah looked at Derrick, “I believe that may have been a sort of backhanded compliment. The rest of us are just normal humans.”

  “You know what I mean. Sarah, you’re the mastermind of the whole outfit, able to take Howard’s linguistics, Mary’s medical science, and Derrick’s skill with electronics, and blend them with their special abilities into a powerful machine with undeniable results. But we’re the ones responsible for safeguarding your mental well-being ... well, we understand, quite literally how you all think. Except for,” Doc said, pointing his thick blue and gold ball point pen at Derrick, “his brain. That, we don’t understand, yet. And what we don’t understand ... well, it makes us nervous.”

  “Hey, man, nervous or not, the brain is sitting right here,” Derrick tapped the side of his head, “and it’s hearing everything you say! I’m not sure it likes being talked about in the third person.”

  “Ahem. Our team is small right now, Doc, no doubt,” Sarah said.

  “Exactly my point, actually. You’ve got to start making some use of the other resources we have available for DCV. We’ve got a whole university of highly skilled researchers ...”

  Derrick made a derisive sound.

  “Now, now,” Doctor Harris said. “They may not have the special abilities of a DCV agent, but many of them are more than qualified for much of the work. In the past, DCV has relied heavily on the MU staff.”

  “Well, I can’t justify putting the lives of a vanilla researcher on most of these missions,” Sarah said.

  “Understandable, of course. But don’t forget you can also utilize interagency transfers. There’s some skilled agents around the world who also have extremely valuable abilities.”

  Sarah shrugged noncommittally.

  “Anyway ... you’ve been running Derrick on,” Doctor Harris opened his laptop again then hit a couple keys, “about three-quarters of the total missions that MARC feeds your team. I know it’s as low as it is primarily because of mission overlap. If you can get that mission ratio down to two-thirds, I think Doctor Lundy, hell the whole psych team, would crap a brick out of sheer joy.”

  “What the psych team craps is TMI, Doc,” Derrick said, as Doctor Harris closed his laptop again and stood.

  Sarah rose and stepped over to Doctor Harris. “Just ignore him and don’t make eye contact, Doc, he’s not dangerous unless confronted, hungry, or protecting his young.”

  Doc laughed as he gathered up his things and she walked him to the door and said, “Thanks. See ya, hopefully not too soon. No offense.”

  Doc chuckled. “None taken. Hope your leg heals quick, Derrick,” he said, looking back before he walked out. Derrick gave him a thumbs-up.

  When Sarah turned back from the door, Derrick had his wheelchair balanced on its back wheels and he was spinning quick circles back and forth in front of her desk. Derrick smiled at her.

  She rolled her eyes and said, “What?”

  “If we’re done here, I’m headed to the mechanical engineering fabrication lab. MEfabLab, M’lady. I’ve got some rad-i-cal ideas for this puppy,” he said, slapping the arm of his wheelchair and letting the front wheels drop back down to the floor.

  “As you say, ‘whatevs,’ But be back at the hospital for physical therapy in a couple hours,” Sarah said, holding the door open for him as he rolled into the hall and down the corridor like a proverbial bat out of hell.

  “I’m serious, Derrick! They’ll tell me if you don’t show up,” she shouted as he rounded the corner at the end of the hall on just the two outside wheels, one hand up in a wave.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TWO DAYS LATER, DERRICK was released from his thrice-daily physical therapy sessions and could leave the hospital. Sitting in his wheelchair, he circled around the mostly empty courtyard under slate gray skies. It was late afternoon and a couple students sat on a bench on the far side, huddled together. Their breath pluming out and floating up as they spoke in hushed tones that Derrick couldn’t hear.

  A few flakes of snow drifted through the air, unwilling to commit to a full storm so early in the season. In another month or two, the real snows would start, and Derrick hoped his leg would be strong enough that he could move back into his on-campus faculty apartment. Nothing was ADA compliant around here, least of all the university faculty housing.
He was on the fourth floor and the only way up was stairs or a tiny cage-style elevator lift, the kind you might see in an old Bogart movie. It was broken more often than not.

  Howard waved a mittened hand from the parking lot and walked over. “Hey, Buddy.”

  “H.” Derrick nodded his greeting then pointed down to his chair’s oversize wheels, “Check out my mods.”

  Howard bent down and looked at the wheelchair. Derrick had modified the whole undercarriage. The wheels now had a suspension system like a downhill bike with urethane bumper shocks and a two-part rear axle, so each wheel could move independently. “Nice!”

  “I know, right? Totally tricked it out, but now phys-thrap says I have to try and get out of the chair every day, as much as I can tolerate. Disappointing you know?”

  “Phys-thrap?”

  “Physical therapy, man, aka torture.”

  Howard nodded. “Dude, you’re the only person I know who’s disappointed to get out of a wheelchair. Hey, check those tires.”

  “Yep. Studded. ‘Winter is Coming.’”

  Howard clucked his tongue and said, “You the man, dude.” Howard stood again and ruffled Derrick’s hair.

  Derrick tried to slap his hand away and said, “So before we head to your place, H, can you take me up to my office, so I can grab some books and some of my electronics?”

  Howard looked at him.

  “Yeah, I know, get it myself, right? Problem is those lifts are so small. I can roll in, but there’s not enough room to turn the chair to the side so I can’t reach the floor buttons. And if I back in, I can’t reach across to the buttons with my stupid leg sticking out like this.”

  Howard nodded, “Gotcha. I’ll stop by my office too then and grab a scroll I’m supposed to have translated for Sarah by next week. Was gonna blow it off since it’s Friday. But if you’re doing work over the weekend, I don’t want you making me look bad.”