Hangar 13

by Lindsay McKenna

  Frowning, he nodded. “This way I feel about you, Ellie, I don’t want you in any kind of danger—whether I think it can happen or not.”

  “I know,” she said sympathetically. Mac was having a problem in believing any of this could happen. Still, he believed her enough to be genuinely worried, and he was obviously torn. “You just keep a steady beat on that drum, no matter what happens. If I have to combat this spirit, it’s vital that you keep me in that altered state, Mac. If I do get attacked, don’t stop beating the drum.”

  “I’ll stop when you tell me to stop.”

  “Exactly.” She took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  He wasn’t. There was such dread within Mac that he hesitated. Was he crazy? Did he actually feel the anger and hatred? Or was it his imagination? The unsettled feeling in the hangar was tightening around his neck like a noose. Was that how Ellie felt? Mac finally decided the best way he could help Ellie was by doing exactly as she asked.

  “Okay. How long do you think this will take?”

  “Probably no longer than half an hour—maybe forty-five minutes.”

  He nodded, his voice turning raspy. “Just be careful, Ellie. Please…”

  Touched to the point of tears, Ellie whispered, “I will be, don’t worry.” She turned and settled into the straight-backed chair, closed her eyes and began to take deep, measured breaths.

  Mac settled into his own chair, lifted the drum off his thighs and held it tightly in his left hand. His mouth a grim line, he began a solid, steady drumbeat. If only he could see, hear or feel what Ellie did, it would be so much easier on him! Was she in danger? An uncharacteristic chill worked up his spine, and he trembled. He might not be clairvoyant like Ellie, but in his gut, he felt something was dreadfully wrong. The beat of the drum sounded heavily, authoritatively, throughout the gloomy depths of the hangar. The sound echoed eerily through the cavernous building. His head seemed to pound in unison with the beat of the drum.

  Mac glanced over at Ellie out of the corner of his eyes. He saw her clean, Native American profile, and felt some of his ridiculous fear dissolve. She looked so serene, her hands relaxed on her thighs, her arms at ease against her body. When he gazed at her, he saw only peace, not combat, not fear and certainly not death. But as he studied her more closely, he saw, to his surprise, small dots of perspiration beginning to appear on her upper lip. What was going on? What was she seeing in that altered state?

  Dread washed through Mac, sharp and clean, like a knife twisting in his gut and then thrusting upward toward his heart. He sensed a change—an incredible, lightninglike change in the atmosphere that surrounded them. Suddenly he felt as if someone had hit him in the chest. His breath was knocked out of him, as if he had fallen hard to the ground. Blinking, Mac opened his mouth to suck in a breath of air. What the hell was going on? Quickly, he looked at Ellie. Horror washed over him. Her face, once dusky and vital, now looked pasty and washed-out. It was as if all the color had been sucked out of her, leaving her a thin, gray ghost of her former self. He saw sweat standing out all over her face. Her hands were clenched into fists resting tensely on her thighs.

  What was going on? What? He wanted to scream. He felt the surge of hatred, anger and murderous intensity reach out and slam into him. His hand faltered, and the drumbeat began to fail. No! More than anything, he had to keep drumming, or something terrible, something permanent, could happen to Ellie. In that moment he knew, with a clarity that transcended all his fears, that he was falling in love with her. But the terrible intensity of the other feelings swirled, eddied and struck at him again. He felt as if he was losing his mind.

  Mac had no chance to worry about Ellie; he was in his own battle for his sanity. The grayness of the hangar blurred before his eyes, and he felt as if he was being torn apart by invisible hands. He couldn’t think; it was as if something had ripped his rational, logical mind out of his head. All he could do as he wrestled with the strange sensations and unexpected feelings was keep beating that drum. Ellie’s life, and the life he wanted to share with her someday, hinged on his drumming.

  The desire to breathe began to be taken from him. He couldn’t believe it. Mac forced himself to think about breathing, about sucking huge, deep drafts of air into his lungs. It made no sense. How could he suddenly want to stop? Breathing was an automatic function of the physical body. Nothing short of a heart attack could make him want to stop. Again his beating on the drum faltered. Mac scrambled inwardly. Focus! He had to focus. And then, suddenly, he remembered what Ellie had said: that focus, like a laser of concentration, was the only thing that kept her safe. It could keep him safe, too. Mac had needed that kind of focus in the past, in his jet, when he was locked in a deadly game up in the sky with an enemy plane. He brought that same intense concentration to bear on himself now.

  Gasping for air, he forced himself to think about breathing, about beating the drum, keeping up that same, deep, sonorous beat. He was in such personal peril that he couldn’t even look over to see how Ellie was doing. Mac felt as if he were in a battle for his life with some unseen, yet violently dangerous opponent. Sweat popped out on his forehead, trickled down his ribs. His gasps were audible, labored. He couldn’t think; it was taking all his effort simply to keep breathing.

  What about Ellie? It took the last drop of his strength to even think the thought. No! No, she couldn’t be hurt! She couldn’t be wounded by this thing, this invisible, murderous spirit. Mac no longer doubted anything Ellie had ever shared with him. Whatever was swirling around them like a vicious, unleashed storm was real. His entire physical body was responding to it. He knew this wasn’t in his head. And if he felt this way, how did Ellie feel? Was she receiving the brunt of this attack? My God, he thought, she could die. And all he could do was keep beating the drum. His hand was sweaty, and the drumstick kept slipping out of his grasp. But he kept on, knowing that his drumming was the only thing standing between Ellie and death.

  Suddenly, the drum was like a cognizant, verbal heartbeat. It was about life. There was some subtle yet definite shift within Mac as he thought about the drum in these symbolic terms. Ellie had said that the drum echoed the heartbeat of Mother Earth. He didn’t know what that meant, but he did understand on some primal level that the drum was Ellie’s lifeline. He couldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t….

  CHAPTER NINE

  The last thing Ellie expected was that the entity would attack Mac. She had just gotten into her altered state with the steady beat of the drum when she saw a roiling, dark cloud of energy moving rapidly toward them. Instantly, her spirit guides stepped between her and the furious, attacking spirit. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, and she was simultaneously aware of her physical being and of her altered, inter-dimensional state.

  She saw the entity come speeding out of the dark, a moving cloud of negative energy, and slam full force into Mac’s chest. To her horror, she realized that it was trying to kill Mac by striking him hard enough through his aura to stop the beating of his heart.

  Ellie broke one of the most important rules of shamanic journeying. Instead of allowing her spirit guides to stop the attack against Mac, she moved between them. Her reaction was instinctive, unthinking. She was falling in love with Mac, and she had to protect the one she loved.

  Because she had stepped in front of Mac’s aura to protect him, Ellie had no protection in place for herself. Her spirit guides couldn’t move fast enough to counter the shrieking, furious entity. The spirit howled like a banshee and turned his attack to her. A blow, hard and swift, reverberated through Ellie’s being. She gasped, barely able to get her breath. Throwing up her hands, she cried out, “Stop! I mean you no harm!”

  Valiantly, Ellie tried to gather her strewn emotions and focus her badly mauled energy. She felt drained and knew instantly that the entity had struck her in the solar-plexus chakra, located in the region of her stomach. Nausea rolled through her, and she tried to ignore the feeling as she watched the entity back off—just
for a moment.

  Seizing the opportunity, Ellie said, “I come in peace. I mean you no harm. Please, tell me your name and what I can do to help you.”

  “Bah! You lie woman! You come to make me go and I won’t do it. You aren’t powerful enough to stop me!”

  Ellie saw the spirit’s face contort until it looked like a caricature of a dragon, his lips pulled away from his teeth, his eyes small and red. Desperately, she tried to stop the leak of energy from her aura, realizing belatedly just how much strength she was losing. She felt weak, very weak, and her brain was faltering from the shocking loss of auric “blood.” Her spirit guides were in place now, but if she didn’t keep her focus, the entity could attack her again. She could feel sweat forming on her face and trickling down the sides of her rib cage; her heart was hammering as if she were about to enter cardiac arrest. Ellie knew her physical body was mirroring the attack that had occurred in her aura.

  She wanted to find out how Mac was doing; she could hear the drumbeat faltering slightly, but she didn’t dare shift her focus one iota, or the malevolent spirit would take advantage of her lapse of concentration and attack—and this time, she would not survive. Ellie understood that the entity was completely capable of killing her; she could see it in his tortured features.

  As a shaman, Ellie had been taught a long time ago never to fear death; shamans in training frequently went through dismemberment in the inner dimensions to get rid of their fear of dying. She wasn’t afraid of death, but she was afraid for Mac, because he had no training, no real protection from something like this. More than anything else, she had to keep the entity’s attention and lure it away from Mac.

  Ellie moved toward the corner where it made its home, knowing she was taking a tremendous risk. As she moved closer with her spirit guides like soldiers on the front line protecting her, she saw the being turn. A howl tore from his mouth and he lunged toward her.

  “Get out! Get out!”

  Ellie steeled herself for the attack. This time, her guardians took the major brunt of the spirit’s blow. Still, her aura was shaken, and she trembled from the attempt. The entity bounced backward, flying off his feet. He scrambled upright and attacked again. With each lunge, Ellie felt herself weakening. She was so focused on the confrontation that she no longer physically heard the drum beating, although she was peripherally aware of the vibration. How badly she wanted to come out of the journeying state and make sure Mac was all right! But she didn’t dare.

  The entity made four attacks. After the last one, he stood there panting, his head hung, his fists clenched a few feet from Ellie’s guardians. The dark clouds swirled like a hurricane around him, and to her surprise and terror, they began to grow larger and more threatening. She’d never realized how much power this entity had, and it was impossible to know such a thing until she confronted him.

  “I mean you no harm,” Ellie began gently. “I am here to help you, if I can.”

  The spirit looked up, glaring at her. “You can help by leaving! You have no right to be here. This is my home! You are a trespasser!”

  Ellie raised one hand in a gesture of peace. “No, you trespass! You are dead, you have left your physical shell. You should move on, to the light world.”

  The entity snorted violently and shook his fist at her. “Stupid woman! I own this place! I don’t have to go anywhere I don’t want to go!”

  “You are attacking other people,” Ellie told him angrily, “and that is wrong.”

  The entity grinned and slowly relaxed. “It is my privilege to take what I want from whomever I want.”

  “No,” Ellie rattled in a low, off-key voice, “you don’t have such a right. What can I do to help you move into the light world?”

  “Nothing!” He made a cutting gesture with his hand. “You have not caught my murderer! I wait for him to come back, so I may take his life.” He clenched his fist and shook it at Ellie. “I go nowhere until he’s caught! He took my life without my permission. A life for a life.”

  Ellie understood the spirit’s desire to attack the man who had killed him. “Can you tell me his name?” She held her breath, hoping against hope that the arrogant being would cooperate.

  “His name is William Treadwell.”

  “What else can you tell me about him?” Ellie was relieved the spirit was going to finally give them some information. She felt herself weakening rapidly from the powerful attacks, and her concentration was slipping. Somehow, she had to get out of this state and back into the third dimension. Could she? She wasn’t sure.

  “I was off duty and came to the line shack. He killed me because I was dealing drugs, and he hadn’t paid me for what he’d bought. Cocaine is expensive, and he refused to pay. When I hit him, he struck me and I fell, hitting my head on the corner of the desk. I died.”

  Ellie nodded. She moved slowly out of the entity’s territory. “I will do what I can to bring this man to justice for you—”

  “That is not what I want!” The spirit became agitated and moved swiftly back to the unoccupied corner of the hangar. “I want him! I want to kill him slowly. He took my life. He had no right!”

  Backing away, Ellie felt the last of her reserves begin to dissolve. She felt herself drifting, her concentration faltering. If she didn’t get back, she would be caught forever in the in-between worlds.

  Her spirit guides could not help her return; it was up to her to do it. Blackness began to permeate Ellie’s vision, and she felt her physical body sag. She had to return! Honing in with the last of her strength, she listened to the drum. And finally, her fear of being trapped propelled her back into the third dimension.

  Mac saw Ellie suddenly sag in the chair, her lips parted, her body going limp. He stopped drumming just in time to grab one of her arms before she pitched toward the concrete floor of the hangar. He immediately put the drum aside. She looked terribly pale.

  “Ellie?” Mac’s voice was shaky as he got up. His own legs felt rubbery, but he forced himself to pull her off the chair and lay her down on the floor. For a brief second he thought she was dead. Wrapping two fingers across her wrist, he felt a very shallow, slow pulse. Thank God. She was still alive—but for how long?

  Mac didn’t know. His mind was shorting out, and it was tough to think two coherent thoughts. He had to get Ellie to the base dispensary for help. Crouching down, he slipped one arm beneath her neck and the other beneath her knees. When he lifted her, he realized just how weak he was. What had happened? He felt as if someone had sucker-punched him.

  Something had gone terribly wrong, Mac realized as he carried Ellie to his car. The warm desert night surrounded them, and he saw the brilliant stars above. Ellie’s comment about the stars went through his mind and heart. She had to be all right. She just had to.

  “Well?” Mac demanded of the doctor on duty, “How is she?” He was agitated and angry. They had whisked Ellie off to a sheet-draped cubicle and he’d had to remain out in the lobby, waiting.

  Dr. Gwen Johnson said, “She’s stable, Major Stanford. We’ll have to run some tests to find out what’s wrong.”

  “Is she conscious?” Mac automatically clenched his fists and tried to steel himself for the answer.

  “No. Her blood pressure is alarmingly low, but she’s breathing normally. You say she just slid off the chair she was sitting on?”

  Mac nodded. He hadn’t told the young, blond-haired doctor the whole truth, but he hadn’t lied about that. “That’s right, Doctor. Look, may I see her?”

  Dr. Johnson shrugged. “She’s unconscious, Major.”

  “But she’ll know I’m there,” he insisted, the reins he held on his temper shredding. It was now 0500, and his nerves were frayed. He was feeling a panic he’d never experienced in his life.

  “I don’t mind. Go ahead,” Dr. Johnson said. “Right now we’re taking blood samples. It could be an epileptic seizure, a stroke—”

  “It’s none of those things,” Mac growled, and rushed past the nonplussed doctor
. He hurried down the hall to the emergency room, where he found Ellie alone on a gurney, covered with a white sheet. Gripping her limp, cool fingers, Mac stood at her side. The pallor of her face hadn’t changed.

  His mouth had a bitter coating and he swallowed hard against tears. Reaching over, Mac nudged several strands of hair away from Ellie’s smooth brow. How soft her skin felt. How many times had he wanted to touch her like this, with a tender caress meant to convey how strongly he felt about her? Did Ellie realize he was falling in love with her? Would she ever know?

  Nothing mattered to Mac in that instant except to see Ellie’s lashes lift and reveal those beautiful golden brown eyes of hers that were always so full of vitality. He whispered, “Ellie, I’m here. It’s Mac. You’re going to be all right. Do you hear me, sweetheart? You’re going to be fine….”

  He had no idea if she would be okay or not, but he wanted to soothe her. Could she hear him? Probably not, but just in case, he wanted her to know he was on hand, and that he would help her as much as he could. Right now, he felt inept and helpless. Frustration ate at him. If only he knew enough about Ellie’s world to help her!

  Again he fought back the urge to cry. Tears stung the backs of his eyes and he shut them tightly. It wouldn’t be appropriate to have a major in the air force bawling his eyes out. He wrestled with his raw emotions for over a minute, but the lump in his throat refused to go away. He leaned down and rested his lips against Ellie’s brow.

  How cold her skin felt. He moved his lips softly against her forehead, so much emotion behind his chaste kiss. Straightening, he took her hand into both of his, as if to will the heat of his body into hers. Mac had no idea what he was doing apart from trying to warm her up. He suddenly remembered the story of Sleeping Beauty, and how the prince had leaned over, claimed the lips of the beautiful, sleeping maiden and awakened her. It was an absurd urge, a fairy tale, but Mac was exhausted beyond rational thought.