Crucible of Fear

by D. W. Whitlock

  Shadow Trace was here.

  Dante met Dmitry Molchalin in the foyer. He was dressed as he was the other day, black suit and tie, skin pale as milk. They shook hands and Molchalin nodded to his team. Two men and one woman, as pale and humorless as their boss, dressed in black button-up shirts with the company logo over the breast pocket. Each had a hard-case on wheels and stood poised and ready, hands on the T handles.

  “What do you need from me?” Dante said.

  “Access.”

  Dante led them up through the rows of cubicles. All the monitors were dark, the seats empty. “I had everyone leave their machines on, I figured you’d want to scan them.”

  “Yes. We’ll start with the servers, then work our way through making sure each system is clean. Have you thought of a server-based system?”

  “The new building we’re moving to will be like that. Each desk will only have a monitor, mouse and keyboard. Way more secure and I don’t have to deal with upgrading the machines every three years.”

  “What security plan do you have in place?” asked Molchalin.

  “I’ll let you know.” Dante wanted to see how this went first.

  “Of course.”

  Dante punched in a code on the keypad next to the server room door and pushed inside. The blast of air conditioning blew his hair back as he stepped aside and let Dmitry and his crew in. They disappeared among the racks as Molchalin sat at a workstation next to the door. He moved the mouse to wake the computer up then glanced at Dante.

  “Password?” he said, voice raised over the noise of cooling fans.

  Dante hesitated, the vague notion of letting a vampire across his threshold tugged at him before scribbling the admin password across a Post-It pad on the desk. Dmitry input the code and the screen came to life.

  “One other thing,” Dante said.

  “Sorry?” Molchalin said, pointing to his ear.

  Dante leaned closer. “I have reason to believe that whoever is doing this is listening to me at home.”

  “We could install Shadow Trace on your home network and your phone as well.”

  “I’m not ready to do that just yet. I shut down all my smart devices and put them in a foil lined box and I changed the wireless router password. Anything else you can think of to do?”

  “Short of installing my software, it sounds like you’ve done all that you can.” Molchalin opened a command prompt window and began to type. “Give us a few hours, I’ll let you know what we find.”

  “One other thing,” Dante said. “It’s probably nothing, but a guy I hired a few years ago, Skylar Westfall, got onto the property. I’d revoked his security pass but he was in the parking structure on Monday morning, the same day the deep fake video went out. Said he wanted to help me and gave me a USB chip. I threw it away. What’s strange though, he wasn’t on the security video.”

  Dmitry stopped typing. “You saw this?”

  “Well, no. A security guard did. I asked for the video but it’d been deleted.”

  Molchalin nodded. “Anyone else I should know about?”

  Colin Murray, Dante thought. “No. Can’t think of anyone.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Dmitry said and turned back to the monitor and began typing again.

  Dante left them to their work. As he walked back through the studio, he glanced into Naomi’s office and spied Abigail curled up on a chair against the wall, bent over her sketchbook. Naomi sat behind her desk, fingers moving rapidly across her keyboard, lips set in a grim line. There might as well be a million miles between the two.

  He got a call from Colin and he stopped to answer. Dante felt a twinge of guilt at almost giving his name up to Molchalin. He had no real reason to believe Colin was involved. A feeling maybe. But the timing of his visit was…concerning.

  “Just wanted to see how you are doing,” Colin said. “That video. Nasty stuff.”

  “Yeah, I’m still trying to process it all. I’ve heard of deep fakes but nothing like this.”

  “Nobody has. The voice even sounded like you. I didn’t know you’d actually read that book back in high school. Thought you just cheated off my paper for the test. Ms. Barnes English class, third period. Remember how hot she was?”

  “I do remember. Ms. Barnes and that quote. I use it in my rah-rah speeches all the time. Just can’t remember where it’s from.”

  “It’s from Shelley’s Frankenstein. You must’ve really pissed someone off,” Colin said.

  The entire passage seeped into his brain a bit at a time, the memory clawing up through the mist like the monster himself. “Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful,” Dante said. “I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent the injuries you inflict.”

  “Damn,” Colin said. “What’s going on?”

  “Somebody’s harassing me. It started with a text on Monday morning. ‘The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain.’ I looked it up. It’s from Dante’s Inferno. Then later that same morning, the deep fake went out.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Want me to talk to some of the security guys here at work?” Colin asked.

  “No, I got this. It’s being taken care of as we speak. Somebody’s just trying to discredit me. A disgruntled employee or competitor. Maybe some Internet wacko. It’s a good reminder how important cyber security is these days, that’s for sure.”

  “Our security over here is like a steel trap. We’re doing mobile authentication as well as hardware keys when we sign in. It’s a major pain in the ass, but necessary these days.”

  “Listen, Colin, I haven’t had a chance to look at your deck, yet.”

  “Understandable. How ’bout lunch today?”

  “I can’t today, but yeah, let’s get together soon. It’s been too long.”

  They said their goodbyes and disconnected. Dante continued on back to his office, emotions churning inside. They had been best friends growing up, like brothers. No matter how much their friendship had eroded, they still shared a bond. Forged by trauma, yes, but that shared bond made Dante’s feelings toward Colin complex and difficult to parse through. He had to be careful and take it slow. Colin had disappeared on Dante before when things got tough and his instincts told him things were only going to get tougher in the near future. Dante was sure of one thing, though.

  He missed the guy.

  CHAPTER 29

  Mel Rose

  “Good morning, Briana.”

  She halted, staring for a moment before continuing into the kitchen.

  Mel sat at the table cluttered with camera gear, an unlit cigarette perched on his lower lip. His starched button up shirt was open at the throat, the lapels embroidered with black roses. He smiled, revealing those perfect white teeth as he flicked open a lighter, the flame illuminating his face.

  “Uh, hey,” Briana said, opening the fridge. She found bottled water inside and unscrewed the cap, taking long swallows before wiping her mouth. She put the cold bottle to her head, letting the cool air from the fridge wash over her.

  “Wild night?”

  “Huh?” she said, turning. “Oh, yeah it was pretty crazy, at least for me.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m here, then. This town can be like that. Chews up little girls and spits them out.” He smiled again, full wattage.

  He was downright beautiful, Briana decided. But something about his eyes was off, predatory in the way they tracked her every move. He hadn’t blinked once. “We met before. Remember? I’m Mel Rose. Call me Mel.”

  He didn’t bother to shake hands and his eyes never left hers.

  “Hi, Mel…Rose. I’m Briana.”

  “I know, I know,” he said his voice silky. “I see she’s already let you into the pack.” He reached up and pulled a lock of hair down from over his left ear and stroked it between his thumb and forefinger. It was purple, out of place against the dark black of his mane.

  Briana pursed her lips. Not a pack, sh
e thought. A cackle.

  “So. You’re Leish’s latest discovery,” Mel said. “And what a discovery you are.”

  His eyes crept over her body through a haze of blue smoke. Briana wished she’d worn more than a long t-shirt to bed. Her skin crawled under his gaze.

  “Love your music, by the way,” Mel said, clapping his hands. “Hot stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Briana said, trying to keep the disgust off her face.

  “I remember the day I first heard your voice. Told Leish about you right away. I said, ‘Leish, this is the one.’”

  Briana’s stomach tightened. Leish had neglected to mention that.

  “Great. Nice to meet you.” She turned to go.

  “I see you caught the show last night.”

  “The show?” Briana paused before turning back to face him. “The show, right.” She nodded. “Wait. The show. You were on Mulholland Hills. That reality show about rich kids trying to make it in Hollywood?”

  His eyes narrowed. “That was a long time ago. I’m a businessman now. People are my business.”

  “How do you mean?”

  His gaze slid to her bare legs and she resisted the urge to tug the hem of her shirt down.

  “Talent management. Leish is a client. My only client,” he said. “Until now.”

  “She told me her manager was somebody name Melvin.”

  He grinned. “She’s a good girl and knows I like to keep my private affairs private. Being on that little show was fun, but it was a bit too much exposure. I had to lay low for a while. You understand.”

  Briana did. She cringed, recalling his behavior on the show. After Mulholland Hills was cancelled, various Hollywood interviews of fellow cast members and victims of his predatory behavior had exposed him for the misogynist shithead that he was. Looks like he hasn’t changed much. Except now he prefers lurking in the background.

  Or the shadows.

  “See you,” Briana said, turning away. The cigarette smoke was making her eyes water.

  “Yes, you go now,” Mel said with a flick of his fingers.

  She strode down the hall, teeth gritted against the torrent of curses she longed to hurl at Mel Rose as she shattered that smug, toothy grin with her fist. But she didn’t even slow down.

  Run away, her mother’s voice said. That’s what you do. Run away.

  A sob escaped her lips as she closed the door behind her. She glared at the ugly stuffed hyenas, biting her lip.

  Her mother was right.

  CHAPTER 30

  Stun Gun

  The last of the boxes sat lined up on the edge of the driveway, no more than ten or twelve left. Gary watched through the window as they were picked up by a barrel shaped man one by one and tossed into the open door of a panel van.

  The twins were wrestling on the carpet behind him, grunting and giggling. He knew it was only a matter of time before one or both would start screeching, but he enjoyed the moment of relative calm while he could.

  Or tried to.

  Gail was happy. The thermostat kept the house at an even seventy-eight degrees now and the alarm had not made a peep. She had her spot on the driveway back as well. She’d sang to herself before leaving for work that morning. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that.

  Last night, she’d shocked him by putting one of the porno movies from the box he’d opened in the DVD player. It wasn’t very good though, lots of thick makeup and heavily shellacked hairdos and Gary had turned it off. Gail fell asleep almost immediately, but Gary lay awake next to her, anxiety making his body ache. He dreaded hearing his phone vibrate, expecting it to be them. They’d promised to contact him soon, but so far, nothing. Things seemed to be back normal but that gnawing sensation of waiting for the other boot to come crashing down frayed his nerves.

  A crash startled him back to now.

  The driver kicked the latch closed on the truck door then sauntered over and got behind the wheel. The beep, beep, beep of the truck backing up made Gary’s head pound, but at least the last of the boxes were gone. He watched the truck drive up the street and disappear. It was so quiet in the house. Too quiet. He gazed around the room as a chill coursed through him.

  The twins were gone.

  “Boys?” he said. Ears straining, he listened to the dead silence.

  Gary ran through the house, calling out for them, checking their usual hiding spots, under beds, behind doors, a million horrible scenarios playing out in his head. He heard one of them, his small voice calling out from the back of the house.

  Gary dashed down the hall and through the laundry room, eyes scanning to see if they’d climbed on the machines again and gotten to those delicious looking detergent pods. Then he saw them, small bodies limned in sunlight as they stood, noses and hands pressed against the sliding glass door to the backyard.

  “Dagonfye,” they said in unison.

  Gary crept slowly over and knelt behind them, gazing outside through the double paned glass.

  It was indeed a dragonfly. A drone similar in appearance to the one that had dropped off that ugly little sculpture of the twins screaming in agony. Gary felt the pressure of it against his leg. It hadn’t left his robe pocket.

  The dragonfly drone was perched on the arm of one of his beloved plastic Adirondacks, its four orange wings oscillating up and down in series. First the front wings, then the back, pulsating over and over.

  He would never sit on that chair again.

  It was metallic green like the others, but what made this one so striking was its size. It was big, the body at least four feet long, the wings stretching out far over the lawn. The tail curled up like a scorpion’s then relaxed again. Gary shivered as the twins cooed in surprise.

  The head was bristling with sensors and cameras and sharp little instruments that rotated and twitched in rhythmic patterns, causing Gary’s exhausted eyes to shudder. A long metallic stalk turned and focused on them, telescoping out to gaze at them through a crystalline lens that winked in the morning sun.

  “C’mon, guys,” Gary said. He stood, pulling at the twins. They protested, little fists battering his knees.

  The dragonfly’s many instruments spread with a series of harsh clicks then stopped, sharp points fanning out around its head. It sat stock still, as if it were dead. Gary watched, holding his breath. The boys had gone still as well, grasping onto his arms.

  The wings snapped to point at the sky as all the instruments tucked inside its bulbous head. Gary’s spine stiffened as he knelt and pulled the boys close to him, encircling them with his arms.

  The dragonfly twitched its wings downward and shot straight up, the Adirondack flipping over as it disappeared high above in a smear of green and orange. Lying on the patchy grass below was an L-shaped, black object, the tip encased in yellow plastic. A silver lightning bolt was embossed on the grips, gleaming in the sun.

  It was a Taser gun. Just like the one he’d been trained to use.

  Gary swallowed, heart thudding, stars shooting across his eyes with each thunderous pulse, thoughts frantic. What the fuck do they want me to do with a Taser gun?

  The twins gazed up at him, their eyes wide. They’d never seen their father look so frightened before. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he yelped, causing the boys jerk back as he looked at the screen.

  Friday night. Be ready.

  Gary dropped the phone, pulled his sons close and hugged them, vision blurring with tears. They hugged him back, small arms wrapping around his neck and he knew he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dazzle Camo

  It was strange to see the studio so dark and quiet on a workday. It was warmer than usual as well, the smart thermostat sensing fewer bodies to keep cool. Dante strode up through the cubicles to the kitchen to get a Coke from the fridge. With a flash of irritation, he saw that someone had left their dazzle camo lying on the granite counter top. He set the can down and pinched the garment at the shoulders, letting it ha
ng to the floor. It looked like children’s footed pajamas with a zipper that ran up the back from the crotch, all the way to the top of the hood. A mesh screen covered the eyes and mouth areas. The fabric was smooth and white with thick, black stripes zig-zagging from top to bottom. Dante wondered if it really worked as advertised, confusing pattern recognition software. Maybe the Maskcreants were on to something. He slung it over a shoulder and went back to his office, waving goodbye to Abigail and Naomi where they sat ignoring each other in her office.

  CHAPTER 32

  Ellis Media Building

  The construction elevator gate rattled shut and Dante punched the up button. Ian Weller staggered, throwing his arms out as the rusty cage began to ascend. His horn-rimmed glasses had slid down the bridge of his slender nose and he pushed them back into place and blinked.

  “Sorry about that,” Dante said with a grin.

  “Yeah, right. Lemme guess, you played high school football,” Ian said, tugging at the bottom of his tweed vest. He whipped out a silk handkerchief and knelt, wiping dust off his square toed shoes.

  “And you were in all the school plays. Hey, Ian. I really appreciate it. Thanks for doing this.”

  The slender man stood back up. “Yeah, great. Another fluff piece for my old buddy, Dante.”

  “Tech beat not sexy enough for you?”

  “Autonomous vehicles and drone deliveries. Absolutely thrilling.”

  Ian craned his neck to peer out of the elevator cage. His eyes scanned the floors as they rattled upward on a track that stretched up through a square gap in the center of the building. Hoses and cables snaked around stacks of building materials crowding each floor. All the tool boxes were shut tight, work lights off. He turned back to Dante and pushed his glasses up again.

  “Where’s all the workers?” Ian said.

  “Little issue with the city permits right now. It’ll be resolved soon. Shall we get started?”