Shadows

by Jack Dagger

  Peter glanced down, half expecting to see a holstered pistol there. He'd seen cops make the same move in a lot of films. But there was nothing there. Powell returned his gaze to the air after a long moment, frowning.

  “Alright, make it quick. Be back here in twenty minutes or I'll come looking for you.” Peter nodded and moved past him with Tony, making for the elevators.

  “What's his problem?” Tony murmured once they were out of earshot, waiting for the elevator. Peter shrugged.

  “No idea, never seen him before. He's probably in charge of security at night.”

  “How many people work here at night?”

  “I don't know...can't be too many. Just a few janitors and rent-a-cops, probably.” The elevator arrived. They stepped in as the doors dinged open and began to ride it up.

  …

  “No,” Richard whispered. He said it again, louder, as the disbelief was rattled by a surge of anger. “No!”

  Both Keith and Jackson snapped their gazes over, startled, jumping slightly. Richard let go of the trash can and began stalking down the length of brightly lit corridor towards the two. Jackson rolled his eyes, thanked Keith and began to walk away. Richard let him go. The man was an idiot, and could get fucked as far as Richard was concerned.

  But Keith? Keith was his friend, and, more and more often lately he felt, his responsibility.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Richard snapped, looking around for either Bill or Ian. They were alone in the corridor and, hopefully, the entire floor.

  “Just some simple business,” Keith replied, slipping the small wad of cash he'd received from Jackson into his pocket. “Relax, there are no cameras in this area, and no one else is around. And I've got bills to pay. Just...relax.”

  Some of the fight went out of Richard, deflating his anger somewhat.

  “Alright, fine but...really, this is stupid. We're on probation, and at work. You're not even supposed to fucking have that shit.”

  “I know, I know...I just had some leftover. Found a small stash at the house the cops didn't find. I didn't want to flush it and I could use the cash. That was the last of it, I promise.” Richard stared long into his friend's eyes, and, after a prolonged silence, sighed quietly.

  “Fine,” he said. He paused a moment, then turned and began heading back to the trash can. “I've got to finish up. You almost done on your side?”

  “Yeah, getting there. Don't worry, I'll be on time.”

  When Richard looked back, Keith had replaced his headphones and resumed pushing his own can down the carpeted hallway.

  Even a few months ago, he could have told if Keith was lying. Easily. Now? It was fifty-fifty, could go either way. Not for the first time, Richard seriously began to consider cutting ties from his best and oldest friend.

  …

  Ian rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache was beginning to well up, just behind his eyes. It was an unfamiliar and horrid feeling. He never got headaches. Rarely could he sympathize with someone complaining of one.

  But the feeling, once it returned, resonated in his memory. Not tonight. Tonight was already going bad enough...not this. Not now. He finished locking up the back entrance by poking his head out and looking around into the chill darkness for several seconds, his breath foaming upon the air, before firmly closing the door and locking it down. Just one more to go, then back up front where, hopefully, those two kids would be waiting.

  Ian hoped his judgment wasn't in error and he hadn't let two thieves into the building. Well, after they left, he could just check the security footage in his spare time and trace their route. It would take a little bit of effort, but not nearly as much as he might have thought when he first started working at Apex Tech.

  Living up to their name, they had an extensive security network, all of it stored digitally, with a quick and efficient logging system. He could bring up footage from any camera, any time over the past two days, almost instantly. Any further than that would take a little bit longer.

  Ian turned, preparing to resume his course to the final door, when his radio burst to life in a squeal of static. He jerked, muscles snapping to attention, as a jolt of primal fear shot through him. He felt his hand go automatically for where his pistol should have been as he looked around rapidly, searching for some unseen threat.

  He groaned as a thick wave of slow, dull pain rolled through his skull and instinctively glanced up, sensing something. There was nothing there, just the bland white ceiling tiles. The pain persisted, but the static fell away in increments, eventually fading out to background white noise. Unable to find anything, Ian brought the radio out of his pocket and to his ear. The noise was still there. He listened intently.

  Several seconds passed uncomfortably, apprehension still slithering through his guts, preparing to administer another overdose of adrenaline. Ian attempted to listen through the static, swearing that he could almost hear a voice spewing words. As he continued to listen, the static went dead entirely, the radio silent.

  Ian sighed and replaced it, striding with sudden purpose towards the final door. Didn't want to miss his twenty minute deadline. He resisted the urge to massage his temples, remembering that there were some painkillers in his office.

  …

  “Hey, isn't there a chick you like here?” Tony asked, knowing damn well the answer. Peter was reluctant to bring this up.

  “Maybe...why?”

  “I don't know...how long have you been single now?” The elevator continued to hum upward at what felt like a pathetic crawl.

  “Too long,” Peter replied with a quiet sigh.

  “Yeah, know what you mean. What's her name?”

  “Autumn, I already told you that in the car,” Peter said after a long moment of contemplative silence.

  “What does she look like?”

  “Nice. Very nice. Taller than average. She's a brunette. Green eyes.”

  “Is she pale?”

  “Why?”

  “You always fall for the pale ones.” Peter sighed and fell silent. Tony laughed. “She is, isn't she?” Peter remained silent.

  The elevator came to a halt, the doors sliding open to reveal a replica corridor of the one they had just left. As they stepped out of the lift and resumed their walk, Tony looked around unhappily.

  “How the hell do you know your way around this place? It all looks exactly the same.”

  “I...don't know. I guess I've just been working here long enough that I just know. And it's not like I know my way around the entire building.”

  They came to a pair of double doors, one of them still open. Light spilled out from within and Peter thought he could hear someone working within. His first thought was that it might be one of the janitors, but there didn't seem to be enough noise for a janitor. He peered in through the door, staring into the cubicle clustered room.

  He couldn't see anyone, but had no doubt that there was someone, more than likely working late, hidden in one of those squares.

  “Alright, come on,” Peter murmured, stepping into the room. Again, he was stricken by the haunting notion that something was positively wrong with the building. The ominous feeling, almost like a voice in his head, had quieted to a whisper, then faded out completely as he'd headed for the elevator.

  Now it was back, muttering darkly to him, warning or perhaps even threatening him. He began making his way determinedly towards his cubicle. Just grab his phone and get out. It'd be easy. Then he wouldn't have to think of this place for two days. Two whole days. It felt like an eternity when staring down the barrel of a five-day work week.

  The quiet sounds of someone working alone grew louder as Peter and Tony came within range of Peter's cubicle. They located the source of it in the one next to his.

  “Autumn.” Autumn turned around in her chair, looking slightly startled, then smiled. She was pale.

  “Hey, Peter. What are you doing here?”

  “Forgot my phone and I'm off for the next two days.” Autumn lau
ghed.

  “Afraid you're going to miss all those important calls?” Peter hesitated, then laughed nervously, suddenly feeling stupid.

  “Yeah, I guess so. What about you?”

  “I...got behind on some work, just trying to catch up.” Tony shifted beside Peter, fishing his cell phone from his pocket. He glanced at it.

  “Look, you can get your phone by yourself. Meet me by the front doors, I've gotta go take a piss,” he said, making for the door.

  “Leave a piss,” Peter corrected, almost offhand at this point.

  “Shut up,” Tony snapped, disappearing from the door. Autumn laughed.

  “Leave a piss?”

  “It's always bugged me how stupid the phrase 'take a piss' or 'take a shit' is. You aren't taking one, you're leaving one. I've tried to get Tony to stop saying it for years now. At this point, I think he just says it to piss me off.”

  “I know what you mean, like people who say 'I could care less', when they mean that they couldn't.”

  Peter laughed easily, the feeling of dread and tension slipping away, and forgot about his phone as he delved into conversation with Autumn.

  …

  “Wait, Bill, slow down. What's wrong?”

  Ian stood in the front lobby, the radio to his mouth, and neither of those idiot kids around. Twenty minutes had come and gone. He was just getting ready to go and check on them when Bill called for him over the radio.

  “I...I don't know. I'm not sure. It's...ash. It's ash, or soot. And it smells really strange.” The grizzled old janitor, with whom Ian had shared many a crazy tale, as the old man had seen some crazy shit in his time, sounded unusually timid.

  “Where are you?” Ian began to head deeper into the building. If those kids had burned something...he wasn't sure what he'd do to them.

  “Up on the fifth floor. I'm in the back storage room, the one that's mostly empty. Remember which one I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do. I'm on my way.” Ian sighed and stepped into the elevator, hitting the button harder than he had to and riding it up in mute frustration. It felt as if the night was snowballing, moving from one problem to another.

  How soon before he lost control?

  No, he'd maintain control. Of this, he was certain. The doors opened, depositing him onto level five. He began to make immediate and swift progress towards the room Bill had indicated. He felt anger thrumming through his veins. Six months, six months he'd been here and nothing like this had happened.

  The door to the storage room was open. Bill stood a little ways in, framed by a bleak white light.

  “Bill,” Ian said quietly, causing the older man to jump slightly. He looked frustrated at being caught off guard, opened his mouth to say something, then stepped aside wordlessly to allow access. Ian stepped past him and inspected the room. It looked normal, just a small storage room meant for excess office supplies.

  Except that it was mostly empty, Ian was never sure why it hadn't been put to better use, and that there was a fine layer of ash or soot or some curious black, powdery substance coating the back half of the room.

  “What the hell is this?” Ian whispered. He took a few more steps into the room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight he kept there, flicking it on and shining it over the ash-stricken room. The single light-bulb overhead seemed to be failing to do its job. The flashlight failed similarly.

  The ash seemed to swallow the light, leaving it curiously mute and hollow. Ian realized at once that Bill was right: there was a very strange smell in the room. It wasn't overwhelming or very pungent. It was subtle. It was merely a hint. Ian sniffed lightly, attempting to place the smell. It was familiar, of this he was certain.

  It almost smelled like...

  “Shit,” Ian growled. He couldn't place it. It danced at the edge of meaning, teasing him maddeningly.

  “You want me to get to work cleaning it up?” Bill asked.

  “Yeah...I guess-” Ian paused, noticing something. He squinted, taking a few more steps forward, attempting to stay clear of the curious substance. Finally, he realized what he was looking it. “Did you notice this?” he asked. Bill came a few more steps into the room.

  “What?”

  “The floor, and the walls, and look, the ceiling...there's a slight indent, circular, on all of them. What does that mean?” Ian murmured. He stared at it a few moments longer, then heaved a sigh. “Yeah, get it cleaned up. I've got something I've got to go take care of.”

  “Alright.”

  Ian left the storage room, massaging the back of his neck. He could feel the headache welling within his skull. What could have possibly produced such an effect as what he had seen in the storage room? He returned to the elevator. First, take care of the kids, and hopefully get that last person, the one working late, out.

  Then he'd turn his full attention to these curious happenings.

  …

  Tony zipped up and moved to wash his hands. He sighed and chuckled as he flipped on the sink, letting the water warm up a bit before running his hands in it. Peter was in trouble. He could already tell. He really had it bad for that girl.

  The problem was, she had that 'boyfriend' look about her. As in, she already had one. Didn't most pretty girls? And if they didn't, then wasn't there a good reason for that? Tony sighed again and washed his hands.

  He'd go and see if he could distract the night guard, give Peter a little bit more time. Sure, why not? While she did have that boyfriend look to her, she also had another look, the look that said: 'I kinda like you.'

  So maybe there was hope. It was known to happen. Just because someone was in a relationship didn't mean they were automatically happy. He dried his hands and made for the door. Stepping back out into the corridor, an uncomfortable feeling settled over him. He instantly glanced about the corridor, convinced that he wasn't alone.

  “Shit,” he muttered when he found it to be false, he was completely alone. He rubbed the back of his neck, shivering slightly, and made for the elevators. Peter was right, this place was creepy. Tony wondered if it was this bad during the day. He heard laughter faintly, that girl, and wished his best friend good luck.

  He hit the button for the elevator, the feeling of dread mounting as he waited. Tony continued to glance down both ends of the corridor he was in. Everything was completely silent now. Except for the elevator. The doors dinged open, making Tony jump. He let out a short, frustrated breath and stepped into the lift.

  The negative emotions persisted as he rode the lift down. He considered calling up Peter and telling him to hurry. He wanted out of the building. Bad. The lift dinged open. Peter sighed and stepped out, scanning the immediate area.

  From where he stood, he had a view of the lobby. It was empty, as far as he could tell. Where was that guard? Maybe he was busy making rounds or something. Well, whatever. Tony made for the lobby, particularly the door. He'd feel better close to the exit, just in case...of what? It suddenly occurred to Tony that he was hungry as soon as he caught sight of the pair of vending machines tucked away in a break room.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the door, far away, across the lobby. Well, it would still be there three minutes from now. He turned and headed into the break room. As soon as he did, the tension immediately broke. He blinked, confused. He physically felt different. Much more relaxed, almost happy even.

  He tried to shrug it off and made for the vending machines. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and fished out a couple of dollar bills. He stared contemplatively at the first machine. A thought occurred to him.

  “What if I hadn't had any money on me?” he muttered to himself. “They really need to start making these machines accept debit cards. No one fucking carries cash anymore...is it just 'oh the fuck well' to everyone who wants a fucking soda and doesn't have fifty goddamn cents?”

  Tony felt stupid suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. It'd be just perfect for that fucking security guard to walk in on his reverie
. But the doorway remained empty. Didn't mean he couldn't be right out in the corridor, listening. Tony sighed and returned his attention to the machine. He finally made his selection, fed the dollar into the machine and moved on to the second one. He selected a soda, grabbed it and left the break room.

  Still no guard. Tony sighed and began to make his way across the lobby. The feeling of foreboding and dread was visited upon him once more. He shuddered, again feeling the physical effects of it. What was wrong with this place?

  Tony made his final approach on the door. If the rent-a-cop hadn't locked it, then he could just go out and wait by the car. And if the car was locked, oh well. It was better than being inside this goddamn nightmare of a-there was a sound overhead. Tony glanced up as he came within arm's length of the door.

  His eyes widened several centimeters.

  He didn't have time to scream.

  Three

  -The Blood-

  Autumn felt genuinely good.

  It had been a hell of a day before this. She'd hardly been able to sleep last night, the insomnia kicking in, as it always seemed to, completely at random. Long hours of shifting and twisting beneath the blankets, complaining from Derek. But he didn't have to get up at seven AM. Technically, he didn't have to get up at all; today had been his day off.

  And she'd gone to work, bleary-eyed and exhausted. She'd gotten her work done, though, and opted to take a quick nap over lunch instead of actually eating. Something she was regretting now. All she'd lived off of today were bags of chips and bottles of soda, and that always gave her stomach problems.

  So why was she here, so much later than was necessary?

  Autumn smiled, very suddenly. It threw Peter off, sending him into a brief stuttering fit. They'd been talking for nearly ten minutes now. If there was one thing she enjoyed about him, it was his ability to just pick up a conversation with her. He always seemed to have something interesting or funny to say.

  “So, you and Tony are just hanging out tonight?” she asked, the idea striking her very suddenly and very crazily.

  “Uh, yeah. Pizza and either games or movies. Why?”