Mortal Eclipse

by David Brookover

  He blinked. What kind of voodoo shit was this? He raised his gun, and leveled it at the mirror.

  Gradually, before his hazy vision, an image materialized in the mirror. A brilliant white image. Nick leaped to his feet, and slowly approached the dresser. The image sharpened. He lowered the gun. The apparition was the woman from White World in his dreams! He was dead certain. Somehow, he just knew.

  She stared at him, smiling, but didn’t speak. Her beauty paralyzed him. But, he wondered, was this woman real, or did he get into bad bottle of scotch last night?

  Slowly, his infatuation faded. “What do you want?” It was the only question he could think of; he felt foolish enough talking to a mirror in the first place.

  His question went unanswered, but he didn’t mind, because this wasn’t an official interrogations. Besides, her unmatched beauty more than compensated for her continued silence.

  “Who the hell are you?” Nick murmured. “What do you want from me?” He was hoping sex.

  Again, no verbal response, only a slight shake of her head. Her long white hair floated and fluttered about her face, as if she were a wraith in an ethereal world.

  Nick felt bewitched, not afraid. He knew she couldn’t be real, but yet seeing was believing. Strangely though, her surreal image didn’t inspire fear. He didn’t really feel anything much but . . . bewilderment and curiosity.

  “Do you want me to do something?” Nick asked again, fairly certain that she wasn’t going to answer that question either, but she surprised him.

  She smiled, and with a wave of her hands above her head, she faded away until his refection displaced hers. He scanned his skin for wounds and blood, and discovered the small lacerations were still there; only the pain had subsided. Even his head-banging hangover had disappeared. For now, anyway.

  “What just happened here?” he asked his reflection incredulously.

  There was a click behind him, followed quickly by a dial tone humming from his speakerphone. He pivoted, his gun raised again, and stared as invisible fingers pressed the phone buttons, emoting the melodious tones of a long distance call. Moments later, a phone rang on the other end of the connection. Twice. Three times. Four.

  “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice. “Hello?”

  He didn’t recognize it, but he didn’t need to be hit with a sledgehammer to know that the White World woman wanted him to speak with that woman. He moved deliberately around the bed toward the phone.

  “Who’s there?” The woman’s voice trembled, but with what? Anger? Fear? Nick couldn’t tell.

  He settled on the edge of the bed, stared at the lighted red speaker button, and cleared his throat. “This is Nick Bellamy,” he said warily. “Who’s this?”

  Chapter 5

  Thunder cracked outside and rattled the apartment windows, as Nick bent and picked up the receiver.

  “It’s about time you returned my call,” the woman said sharply. “I’d just about given up on you.”

  He shook his head. The woman’s remarks were ludicrous. She was a complete stranger. He had an innate knack for voice identification, and her voice wasn’t among his mental files.

  “Neo told me you were working on an important case and didn’t check in often for messages, but I have to admit that I thought you were avoiding me,” she rambled on in a nasal drone.

  A light flickered in his brain. She must be the woman Neo kept bugging him about, who had information on the assassin he’d been tracking. But what the hell was her name? He drew a blank.

  “I’m recording this for the archives,” Nick replied suddenly. “Please state your name.”

  The woman paused. “Are we on a secure line?”

  The left LCD indicator light in the phone base was dark. Didn’t this woman realize that it took a scrambler on each end to secure a line? Amateur, he thought intolerantly. Another nutcase with a worthless lead.

  “Yes,” he lied. “The line’s secure. State your name.”

  “Jill Sandlin,” she enunciated deliberately as if speaking to a very small child. “Would you like me to spell it?”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “Please.”

  She spelled it, then paused again. “I’m very sorry about your wife and son. It must be very hard for you.”

  His headache reappeared. He dug the heal of his left hand into his temple, and sneaked a quick glance at the mirror. No woman in white. Just the reflection of his computer and desk. And, no sign that it had even shattered. He puffed his cheeks, and then exhaled sharply. He hadn’t dreamed the shattered mirror or the self-dialing phone call to Jill Sandlin. It had been real, but how was it done? Although he had investigated some unusual phenomena for the Orion Sector, he retained his pragmatic views. There were always scientific explanations for the so-called supernatural events. It was just that he couldn’t think of one at the moment for the mirror and the self-dialing phone.

  As Nick stared pensively at the crumpled blinds at his feet, he wondered if someone was playing a high-tech trick on him. Maybe Neo had installed a self-dialing phone in his room while Nick was passed out last night just to scare him into giving up the booze.

  No, he was grasping at straws. Neo wasn’t that imaginative.

  “Are you still there?” Jill Sandlin asked tentatively.

  He snapped alert. “Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired.”

  “If you’d rather call me back, I . . .”

  “No, no! I’m coming around.” Sure he was. “What can you tell me about the assassin.”

  “The Creeper?”

  Nick stiffened. Who the hell was the Creeper? “The Creeper?”

  “Yeah, that’s what we call him around here. Like in the old Sherlock Holmes movies with Basil Rathbone. The big ugly guy who could slip into a house or hotel room like a ghost and break his victims’ backs, before they knew he was even there. That’s how I see that ruthless bastard. He appears beside his victims, and rips out their throats before they can put up a fight,” she answered, her hate for the killer apparent in her voice.

  “I see.” This woman was a nutcase. “What information do you have for me on the, uh, Creeper?” He desperately wanted to terminate the call. It was obviously leading nowhere.

  “Oh no,” she replied with a quick laugh. “I’m not taking any chances of him tapping this call. I don’t want to be his next victim.”

  “Who?”

  “The Creeper.”

  This was going badly. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to meet with you.” He studied the phone number on his digital display. “Are you calling from Ohio?”

  “Mmm mmm,” she acknowledged. “A little place called Duneden.”

  That name rang a distant bell, but he couldn’t recall it through his thick hangover. “How long will you be at this number?”

  “For a couple more days. I’m meeting with a witness who has promised me that she knows the Creeper’s true identity and history. Once I have that, I’ll get in touch with you and fill you in on everything.” She hesitated. “Then if you don’t help me, I’ll go after that monster myself. Goodbye.”

  “Wait, wait! Can’t you give something to go on, so I know you’re on the level?” He heard a sharp intake of air.

  “You think that this is all a prank!” she huffed indignantly.

  “Well, no, but I need some fact – any fact - to validate your claims. FBI procedure.”

  Silence. Rain pelted the windows, and washed away his view of the courtyard.

  “Mortal Eclipse,” she whispered quickly and hung up.

  “Wait!” he shouted, but the dial tone buzzed in his ear. He slammed down the receiver. Now what the hell was that supposed to mean? Mortal Eclipse?

  Chapter 6

  Approaching sirens screamed outside Nick’s College Park, Maryland apartment.

  The brick, four-story building was located in a quiet neighborhood well east of the University of Maryland campus and catered mostly to faculty. It was an oasis of tranquility surrounded by four-lane roads and eight-la
ne highways. After his wife’s murder last year, he desperately needed a restful retreat to brood over his guilt. Everything beyond the meticulously landscaped apartment courtyard, especially the sight of families doing anything anywhere together, prompted painful memories of what had been brutally snatched from him.

  But somehow, someone had disturbed his tranquility that morning and possibly disturbed his neighbors as well. Everything had happened so quickly that he never thought that his gunshots might have disturbed them, too. Wishing to avoid College Park’s finest, he skipped the shave and shower routine, quickly dressed and descended the four flights of stairs to the parking lot while the cops rode up in the elevator.

  A minute later, he was three blocks form the apartment, tapping the brakes of his black Ford Crown Victoria every few seconds in the morning rush hour traffic into D.C., which was slowed even more than usual by a gray shroud of rain He scrambled his cell phone and dialed Neo’s office.

  “Thompson,” he answered. His voice was as large as his frame.

  “What the hell were you up to this morning?” Nick asked.

  “My ass in paperwork,” Neo snapped.

  “Sure, and my name’s Peter Piper.”

  “I thought it was asshole.”

  There was a long silence.

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” Neo finally asked.

  “Like you didn’t know,” Nick replied acerbically.

  “Pretend I don’t. Talk to me.”

  Nick described the morning’s extraordinary events.

  “I had nothin’ to do with any of that, Nick,” Neo snapped.

  “Yeah, right! You’re the only one who knew that Jill Sandlin wanted to get a hold of me. You have to admit, Neo, that makes you look a bit dirty in this.”

  “Hey, I’m bein’ straight with you. You can booze yourself to an early grave, for all I care. And if I wanted to teach you a lesson, beatin’ the shit out of you is helluva lot simpler than pullin’ a scam like that.” He cleared his voice. “Sounds like ghost work.”

  Nick laughed uneasily. “Probably was a bit out of your league.”

  “Probably? Try definitely!”

  Nick turned sullen. “Maybe I just imagined it.”

  “Did you imagine the lacerations on your body, too?”

  He groaned. “It’s too early in the morning for you and your ghost theory.”

  “Hey bro, all kidding aside, I think you should take this seriously.”

  “For the hundredth time, I’m not your bro!”

  “Mama says you’re the white sheep of the family.”

  “Don’t get me started,” Nick warned.

  “All right.” Neo chuckled lightly. “I’ll sending a lab team out to your place. I’ll have them turn it inside out. If there’s any high-tech freako stuff in there, they’ll find it.”

  “Fine. One other thing . . . I need you to check on something while I’m with Jimmy.”

  “Shoot.”

  “See what you can dig up on something called mortal eclipse.”

  “What is it? A file? A project? A NASA mission?”

  “Yeah. Just have Crow run it through the computer. If we’re lucky, it’ll be porn site.”

  “Like we’ve been so damn lucky lately.”

  Nick grinned. “Remember, the glass is half full, not half empty.”

  “Up yours, bro!”

  Chapter 7

  The black Ford Crown Victoria was a familiar sight to the guards stationed at the front gatehouse at the Wharton Clinic. The duty guard passed Nick through the wrought iron gates with a curt wave of his hand.

  The building beyond was sterile and ominous with its gray stucco walls, narrow window slits, and the deep shade from several sprawling oak trees. Nick parked by the front walk, and ran through the downpour into the lobby. Another guard went through the motions of checking his identification for the security cameras, then buzzed the main door open.

  Nick gazed down the long, dismal corridor that divided the two coma treatment wings. So much misery in this building, he thought. And, so much hope. Anger. Grief. Although he had visited Jimmy here for the past seventeen months, the anxiety never ceased to tighten his throat and roil his stomach. Would Jimmy suddenly awake and throw his arms around him, or would the life monitors straight line? It was a dice roll whenever Nick entered the clinic, and each time the heaven or hell gambit eroded a little more of his own sanity.

  Jimmy’s room was in the south wing. Nick strode quickly past the nurses and doctors, turned right, and paused. The corridor lights were out, casting a thick gloom into the narrow passage. His hand automatically reached inside his jacket for his pistol, but he forgot that he left it in the car. Clinic policy banned weapons.

  His eyelids narrowed, and his stomach tightened. Half running, half-walking, he made it to Jimmy’s room in seconds where he found the door cracked open, a violation of clinic policy. Each room had its own ventilation and sterilization system that maximized disease protection for its vulnerable patients. Nick balled his fists, and stormed across the threshold into the twilight gloom.

  At the bedside, a tall, stooped man dressed in black with a white collar stood over Jimmy’s unconscious form, his fingers dancing a string of beads that resembled a Rosary. He turned and nodded, as if he expected Nick.

  “Good morning,” the priest said softly and smiled. “You must be Jimmy’s father.”

  Nick remained alert, as he studied the stranger. His face was cloaked by the heavy shadows, making his features indistinct. Although his stooped frame made the clergyman appear old, there was an indefinable presence that suggested that he was much younger.

  Something was amiss. Nick sensed it. The blackout in the hallway. An unwarranted visit by a mysterious clergyman who preferred the shadows to the light. Nick’s usually dependable instincts advised caution, especially after the earlier events at his apartment.

  The man continued to stare at Nick.

  “Who gave you permission to visit my son?” Nick asked finally.

  The clergyman chuckled. “Why, God, young man.”

  “Father, I am the boy’s dad, and I, and I alone, determine who visits my son. The clinic staff knows better than to let you or anyone else in here without my permission,” Nick said, tensed for a conflict, but the man remained unperturbed. “So just how did you get in here?”

  The clergyman glanced down at Jimmy. “His soul is trapped inside, you know. Dead in this world, and not yet alive in the next. You must free him.”

  “Free him!” Nick was incredulous. “You’ve got balls, father, I’ll give you that.”

  The old man smiled. “Strip your son of all these life support systems. Let God’s will be done. If Jimmy lives, it was meant to be. If not, . . .” His voice trailed.

  Nick frowned and stepped forward. “Just who the hell are you, and how did you get in here!”

  The priest stepped forward, too. The two men were nearly nose-to-nose. Deep wrinkles etched the old man’s face, sagging heavily beneath black, sunken eyes. His skin was sallow and webbed with dark spider veins, but what struck Nick as odd that every few seconds, the man’s face would blink. Nick’s hangover returned.

  Nick slowly raised a hand and rubbed his eyes. He had to be seeing things. It was as if he was confronted by a holographic image. He deliberately swung his arm wide where it collided with the stranger’s very real chest. He mumbled an apology as his arm dropped.

  The priest figure merely nodded. “I am just one of God’s servants,” he rasped. “Release Jimmy’s soul. Stop his torment. You are not to blame for what happened to him or your wife, so don’t direct all your misguided guilt onto him!” Spittle leaked from the corners of his mouth. His eyes widened, blinked out of existence for a split second, and then reappeared.

  Suddenly, Nick felt tired. His shoulders drooped as he fought to keep his eyelids from dropping. An unseen force tugged at his will. Caught off guard, he found himself struggling to think and feel.

  “Who the
hell are you, and how did you get in here?” Nick repeated. His voice was faraway and dreamlike. He stepped back.

  The clergyman ignored Nick’s question once again. “The decision is yours, of course, but I beg you to do the right thing for Jimmy.” He bent close to Nick’s ear. “Let him go, Nick. He’s making you soft,” he whispered in a voice quite different from his softly melodic clergy voice.

  Nick’s face flushed hot with anger, as the stranger disappeared into the corridor’s darkness. Nick struggled to stop him, but his body was unresponsive. By the time he snapped out of his funk and charged into the corridor, the bogus clergyman was gone. Nick rushed back inside the room, picked up the room phone, and advised security of the stranger on the premises.

  Within minutes, two armed guards, a nurse and doctor raced into Jimmy’s room. The guards got the stranger’s description, while the doctor checked all the monitoring connections to make certain nothing had been tampered with. The guards left, guns drawn.

  “Your son’s fine.” The doctor sighed and shook his head. “I hate think what that man would’ve done if you hadn’t arrived when you did.”

  “Damn lucky,” he growled. “What I don’t understand is why your security team didn’t check on the blackout in the hallway.”

  The doctor’s brows rose. “Blackout?”

  “Yeah. Outside Jimmy’s room.”

  The doctor opened the door and peered outside. Antiseptic brilliance flooded the room.

  “The lights were on when I came in,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m telling you that they were off when I got here,” Nick said too loudly, sweat beading on his forehead in the cool room.

  The doctor plucked the radio from his belt, hailed security on his radio, and questioned them about the alleged light outage. Nick heard the security man’s response.

  “Doc, we don’t show an outage in that sector all day.”

  “Okay, thanks,” the doctor acknowledged.

  Nick’s nerves were fraying at the edges, and the throbbing headache escalated. “I tell you they were off!” Nick insisted, but his voice was quieter now. Bewilderment engulfed his certainty. He felt trapped in a world of illusions.