“Take the right side,” Blake said.
“Copy. Do you hear voices?”
“No. Do you?” Blake asked.
Riley didn't answer. Instead, she turned to face her first door. The solid wood was a barrier, a blocked portal to each room's story. Why anyone would want to cross that threshold baffled her, but she'd grown accustomed to reliving other people's misfortunes. She went to work doing something she'd mastered post Shift, picking locks. Riley had entered through the first door seconds before Blake did his. Silence greeted her. Holstering her pistol, she flipped on a flashlight finding the bed had been untouched, towels correctly folded, and the only occupant, a layer of fine dust. Untouched, the room remained abandoned. The furniture had no traces of fingerprints, the interior void of color. Not one room she entered showed life ever existed.
“This is going to take some time,” Blake whispered.
Riley and Blake met in the hallway? Riley showed him an easier way to pick the locks clearing the rooms quicker. Near the end, she stepped from a cabin finding Blake in the corridor still.
“What?” She asked.
“The lights changed.”
Ready, she stroked the trigger of her gun. The hall suddenly became cooler, and the darkness splashed a soft glow of white-blue light. Then magically a splash of bright colors took on a transparent shape, and the crimson red dress that clung to the shapely woman sparkled down to her ankles. Her lost beauty held a contrast of light and darkness.
“Ghost tour, right?” Blake said.
Riley didn't say anything. She was wondering herself, real or staged? Cascading blonde curls fell about her shoulders toward her hourglass shape. She appeared translucent though perfect enough to be human. To perform such an image took electricity, which the ship lacked. The V-neck spaghetti string dress clung to her curves, and as she moved, her dress made a swishing sound. Though her beauty was transparent, she reflected a time long forgotten. Riley experienced other unexplainable encounters. However, this woman was most believable.
“Impressive graphics,” Blake said his jaw slightly ajar. “Shouldn’t she be moaning?” He turned just as she passed through Riley. Riley felt the woman embrace her aura and as she left Riley, their eyes met. Riley smelled lilacs, the flowery scent soft and spicy. Remaining calm, Riley turned back to take one more look. The woman in red lifted her hand and motioned them forward. The lights in the hall fluttered and then held steady showering a dim glow for them to follow her by. Then, she disappeared into the darkness.
“I think we should go this way,” Riley said.
“Is that the way to go?”
“Yes.” She said.
He didn’t say anything for a minute and then caved. “Okay. Follow the woman.”
“What woman?” Jack asked. “Copy.”
Riley could see Blake’s face now under the shadows of the lights. He looked at her and Riley grinned.
“Negative. No woman.”
“Thanks,” Riley said.
Several dark non-holographic figures immerged in front of them.
“There!” One yelled out.
Exploding gunfire, expanded by steel and space, stung her eardrums. Blake grabbed her arm pulling her off her feet into another hallway. The pinging of bullets exploded polished wood surfaces splintering the shell of the ship into toothpicks. She felt Blake turn and watched the flash of gunfire leave his weapon. Seeking something more than just walls, he led her to cover behind some machinery. Her eyes had fallen victim to the darkness again leaving her dependent on Blake. His body was touching hers as she twisted outward plucking off men as they rounded the corner. She and Blake were no longer flying stealth. The black army knew the unfriendly company had boarded the ship and their compound was infiltrated.
With the last of the rooms unchecked, Riley mirrored Blake’s footsteps between blasts of gunfire. With direction forced, Riley was unsure if they were going the right way until a soft burst of blue light made her hesitate.
Riley pushed in front of Blake. “This way.”
The hallways, long thin strands like a maze, were deceiving. The further Riley led Blake inward, the more engulfed by the ship she felt.
“Two down. Level three north end.” Blake’s voice in her earpiece caused her to jump slightly.
“Copy,” Jack said.
The rapid sound of automatic gunfire restarted thumping above them as they entered the stairwell door leading to the lower level. The pops echoed above them in short bursts as they pressed downward towards a tunnel of nothingness. Blake slid in front of her descending into the belly of the ship. The sick feeling of suffocation overwhelmed Riley causing her heart to race. The air grew cooler the further they went. Gunfight continued in the darkness rounds flashed from barrels exploding to their left. Lunging for cover, they found cover behind giant sheets of ripped metal. Careful to keep limbs and digits from shearing off, Riley positioned herself next to Blake.
Thumping bullets lodged in iron and wood, the rounds expanding into liquid metal while others ricocheted wildly into the unknown. Catching splinters and shards of debris on what little skin exposed stung like small branding irons. Blake wasted not one second going to work on removing the threat. By sheer experience, she knew the tip of his barrel extended just past her. Riley covered her ears as his finger stroked the trigger. Between pauses, she slipped her night vision glasses into place. The figures, blurry outlines of red, yellow, and orange, appeared in front of her.
“Eight O Clock,” Riley said calmly.
Blake fired. His movements were precise, deliberate as he pulled the trigger twice. Riley held her ground allowing Blake room to make the way safe. "He's down." She said.
“Two down lower level,” Blake said. “One ran.”
“Copy.”
Without warning, Riley felt a warm sensation pass through her and then a flash of dim amber light shot to the front. She pulled her glasses away, her fingers trembling. "Not now,” Riley whispered switching abruptly to a panic.
That's when everything changed. Everything was happening in slow motion, but Riley wasn't moving. No longer able to hear shots fired or see the darkness around her, she was forced to another place, another time. Riley faintly heard Blake talking to her, but his voice sounded drowned out by water. Once the blackness around her settled, she realized she was no longer where she had been. This darkness was far colder, the air far denser. In the distance, she saw a dim light. It was the glow of the fire.
Now weightless moving as if guided by a soft breeze. It pulled Riley forward as if she were flying. In front of her was an open door, but she wasn't sure if it was moving towards her or she was moving towards it? With all her senses intensified, the flickering lights drew her attention to the opposite side of the room. Small circles of light flickered from several spent candles atop a table. Globs of wax had gathered at the base and into the center choking the wick and fire. The sputtering flames licked upward searching for oxygen bouncing thin streams of light off the silhouette of the man.
At first, Riley wasn’t sure if he was alive. There was no sound. There was no movement. There was nothing alive other than the glow from the candle inviting her in. Even the ship had fallen silent hushing its reverential cries. Compelled to go forward, to face whatever had called her there, she stepped through the entrance on her own two feet. Curiosity drew her towards the man. Was he dead or alive?
Thick chain and the rope bound him tightly to the chair. Riley knew how it felt to be held hostage. In the uncanny disorder of the room was the distinct aroma of blood, urine, and vomit. The smells were of death, bitter, and rusty. There was dried blood as well as fresh under her feet. Bodily fluids combined with a damp musty smell drifted towards her. She trembled. Feeling in her pocket for Vic’s, there was nothing. Why was she here? The smells burned her eyes. Thick bile rose to the back of her throat.
A low throaty growl trickled from the darkness. Riley turned slowly. The silhouette of a creature crawled out and under the light. Rile
y had a gut wrenching suspicion. The dog appeared from the shadows, the ridge on its back lifted, muzzle pulled back into a snarl exposing white teeth.
“Shift?” She whispered.
The dog heard her voice, instantly went into a submissive prone position. The man in the chair moaned. Riley jumped. His hand moved. Confused, she stepped closer. When the man's head rolled back, the wind left her lungs. Adrenaline surged through her.
“Eric," Riley whispered, but her voice was already beginning to fade. She felt a pull from one place to the next without leaving where she'd been. Then Riley was staring at the darkness from the ground. She could feel Blake's face close to hers.
“Riley... Riley” He whispered.
“Yeah.”
“What did you see?”
"Eric's in trouble." She said. Her heart was pounding and yet succeeding in remaining calm as a cold fear washed over her. "I think he's here." Then she felt her face mask getting sticky. She reached up and felt wetness knowing it was blood coming from her nose. "Shit."
“What?” Blake asked.
“My nose is bleeding.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DRAGON
Dragon leaned forward rubbing his chin with his fingers. Everyone was gone, and the silence in the room gave him time to think. He forced himself to remember. Surprised how easy it was to forget. His guilt for what he did now was constant, but in the end, his true self-would be evident.
“You hide your feelings, Teddy.” His mother would say. “You can tell me.”
Theodore Moore the very name he despised, the person he left behind. Theodore or Teddy as his adopted parents called him. Maybe suitable at the time, he'd been too young to know. It seemed fine until he progressed into grade school and then the kids taunted him. The name Theodore was for rich kids. Rich, his adoptive parents, were not. Both born into middle-class families had gambled on poor investments and ended poor as church mice.
“Theodore is a name of greatness.” His mother said. “Theodore Roosevelt for one.”
"What about Ted Bundy?" He asked one day joking, but his mother hadn't found it funny, but it was the name he'd received by the kids at school.
Pimply faced and forced to wear thick-rimmed glasses; Teddy was the perfect target for bullying. The kid whose pants were always three inches too short for him, because he'd grown too fast. The kid that smelled odd because his mother never dried his clothes enough. While other kids were wearing brand names, he was wearing blue light specials. With a bullseye placed on his back escape was impossible. The kids made fun of Teddy, and for a while, he took it. They knew nothing about him, but he made sure to know a lot about them. Those kids who tortured him had messed up lives worse than his and Teddy would wait many years before he got to see them get what was coming to them.
Teddy’s adoptive father Allen was the janitor at his middle school complicating life even further. While his father cleaned up vomit, bathrooms, and spit wads off walls, Teddy shuddered to think what the kids at school would think of him if they knew. He kept it a secret for a long time until the principal called his father to the office due to an unforeseen accident involving ketchup and mustard, not Teddy's fault. After that, the teasing intensified forcing Teddy to recoil even more from his father. His memory of his dad clouded his conscious feelings because overall, Allen had been a good man. The effects of Teddy's adolescence wasn't Allen's fault. It was Teddy’s peers.
Physically, Teddy’s adoptive mother, Susan Moore had packed on a few pounds over the years making her an innocent embarrassment to both Teddy and Allen. He should’ve been proud that his mother attended every parent-teacher conference, but he wasn’t. As he matured, he dreaded his mother’s attendance at school. Even his father had hidden from her. When Teddy turned eleven, Susan had gone to work at a collection agency. She was the call all Americans hated. Teddy became a latchkey kid.
Dragon recoiled from the jaunt down memory lane and lit another candle. Leaning back in the chair trying to distance himself from his thoughts, he took a deep breath. He sometimes wished he knew who’d given birth to him. Fantasized about what his father might look like and dreamed about a sibling he’d never know. Did he like fast cars as well or the rush felt by excess speeds?
“They didn’t tell us who they were Teddy,” Susan explained to him one day after school. Skinny lanky Teddy had stared hopelessly at his adoptive mother.
High school left him physically unscathed but mentally broken. He clung to his studies because he had nothing else worthy of the air he breathed, no football or basketball. He was above average in height and as skinny as a pole. Even worse, adolescent acne covered his face. While most kids were wearing contacts, he wore cheap thick-rimmed glasses. His height gained him little respect making his sophomore and junior year miserable. However, his senior year, Teddy grew four inches, filled out and found the gym was his best friend. His pimples went away. He'd mastered cutting his hair which was jet-black offsetting his stark blue eyes. He'd befriended a talented local tattoo artist who hired Teddy through the summer and weekends as a grunt. In return, he picked up a few kick-ass tattoos without his parents' permission. When he entered his senior year, no one recognized Teddy, and he'd saved enough money to toss the glasses and wear contacts. Not only had he grown into his body, but his body had also grown into a good-looking young man. Girls wanted to date him, and the coaches all wanted him to play for them. Stealing his wardrobe from high-end stores, he looked like a rich kid, but the only one he was fooling was himself. Then he met Monique, and his world changed.
Teddy took on two jobs as well as going to school. On top of the tattoo shop, he'd taken a job at a local tire shop and enrolled in night classes while living at home. Any extra time he had was playing with engines and sneaking around with Monique. What sparked his need was the horsepower and the love of speed. Dragon could repair any engine tuning and adjusting until every ounce of power performed.
Dragon glanced at the piles of money on his desk. He'd was in his fourth week doing stunt work on a movie in Mexico when the Shift happened. He'd felt the pull, a pull manipulating time and movement. He'd barely made it across the border alive when the violence exploded in San Diego. Evacuating the city seemed smart at the time. The atmosphere turned apocalyptic, and people grew frenzied. Until normalcy happened, the safest bet was to leave the city. Dragon, worried for his adopted parents, wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye. They were all he'd ever known even after he'd found his birth parents or at least one of them.
Returning home, he found his mother slumped forward, her face resting on the table. Deadeyes stared permanently past a bowl of soup. Crumbs of corn bread hung on her cheeks. He never found Allen. Teddy, now Dragon, calmly reached up and dialed 911.
“All lines are currently busy.” Said the recording repeatedly.
He'd sat down beside his mother burdened with a deep sorrow for the woman who'd taken care of him for over twenty years. He no longer felt ashamed. Instead, he felt horribly guilty. He tried the phone several more times, but there was no help to come. He paused long enough to kiss his mother on her cold forehead and then he too, disappeared.
The candles cast a shadow on the bundles of money. A reminder of good and bad reflected from the money. The Shift masterfully killed off the governments control over money. Its false value remained the greed of humanity. The meaning was all people knew.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Dragon.” The voice brought Dragon back to present tense. “You want me to come back later Boss?”
Dragon nodded at the man standing in the doorway gesturing at the chair. The man sat down. Dragon pressed a toothpick to his lips putting pressure into the center until he felt it bend. “What’s up?”
“I found a girl. A real beauty.” Vic said.
Dragon dreaded this part, but his acting had become faultless. “Okay?”
In the Shadow of the Tiger (The Fighter Series Book 2) Page 6
