Piercing the Veil

by Guy Riessen

  Howard leaned his head out and looked from his friend to the gray asphalt of the parking lot. He growled, “Derrick, what the hell are you doing? Get back here.”

  “No need. There’s no shade out here,” Derrick said over his shoulder. “I’m sure this is another Shadow we’re dealing with.”

  “What the hell, man, you can’t be sure about something like that.”

  Derrick looked back and smiled. “Meh. Anyway, who’s gonna worry about a poor dude on crutches.” He stopped at the end of the sidewalk where the courtyard emptied into the parking area. Leaning his weight forward on his crutches, he looked around the lot. “And ... yep. Holy crap, my poor car!”

  Howard moved forward, staying right on the edge of shadow and sunlight. “Got an idea, dude. Set one of your crutches down on the sidewalk, then keep a watch for lookieloos in the windows. If you see anyone getting nosy, pretend your crutch just crashed to the ground.”

  “Hardly sounds like a good idea, man. Then again, I ain’t got better. Sooo ...” Derrick said, laying a crutch on the sidewalk.

  Howard looked around the apartment courtyard and, seeing no one else, stepped out from the side of the building just enough to see where he’d parked Derrick’s car. Howard was driving Derrick’s car while Smokey was in the shop, and it was convenient since Derrick was crashing on Howard’s sleeper sofa until his physical therapist cleared him for a cane and OK’d him for stairs.

  Scanning the lot, Howard could see that aside from Derrick’s, there were only a couple other cars in the parking area. Most of the people in the apartment complex were at work. Derrick’s small blue Honda was parked across from the wheelchair access ramp in the sidewalk, under a large American elm.

  “Did you have to park under the tree, H?”

  “Seemed like a good idea, with the heat forecasted.”

  “Yeah, but cars get broken into when you park in ...”

  “Don’t say it ...” Howard growled.

  “The shady parts of town.”

  Howard moved across the sidewalk to the wheelchair ramp and raised his pistol.

  Derrick watched as his car rocked violently. The rear window spidered, then crumpled in. An indistinct form moved around the rear passenger compartment. Like a shadow thrown across a blowing sheet hung out on a line to dry, the shape faded in and out of sharp focus and appeared to bend and stretch in ways difficult to comprehend. He could see rips appearing on the edges of the upholstery, and splits opened in the back of the front seats. Shredded padding spewed in foam rubber fountains.

  “Aw jeez, man. Trashing the upholstery? That just seems over the top,” Derrick muttered.

  There was a thudding crack as Howard fired, the bullet jerking the sagging rear window free. The safety glass dropped into the backseat and a part of the shadow swirled away, like a hand passing through smoke. It sounded nothing like a normal gunshot, but it was louder than a crutch slamming to the sidewalk. Nevertheless, Derrick pretended to lean down to pick up his crutch, splitting his gaze between the apartment windows in the complex and what was happening in his car.

  The shadow slipped down out of sight.

  Howard moved down the wheelchair ramp into the parking lot. He walked slowly, his gun hand pulled up into his sleeve. He looked relaxed enough that a passerby might wonder what song he was whistling more than they’d notice the suppressor that hung down from his sleeve.

  The shade cast by the tree seemed to darken and slip up and out the hole where the back window used to be.

  Howard’s hand flashed up, and the pistol cracked again.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Derrick saw a curtain twitch aside on the floor above Howard’s apartment. Derrick raised his hand toward the silhouette in the window, shrugging his shoulders and affecting a goofy grin as he leaned down again and picked up the crutch.

  “Are you OK?” A female voice called from the open window. The white curtains were blowing slightly in the humid wind.

  “Ha yeah, just being my normally clumsy self, thanks,” Derrick shouted, pretending to slap himself on the forehead.

  The woman waved, and the curtain fell back into place.

  Derrick turned his attention back to his car in time to see the whole vehicle jerk and judder.

  A screech of tortured metal and the pinging of bolts onto the asphalt echoed across the parking lot. The Honda’s muffler and exhaust system clunked to the ground. A moment later the muffler itself split open spraying spun glass and broken baffles around the shadowed underside of the car.

  Howard looked around, then leaned down and fired under the car. There was a high-pitched spang, and the muffler pulled completely free and spun out from under the far side of the car. He shuffled forward, keeping his head down to the side and peering under the vehicle as it continued to rock and shudder as the shadowed area appeared to grow thicker and thinner.

  Derrick hobbled out to the wheelchair ramp and laid a crutch down again, looking over his shoulder to see which windows might have a clear view. None of the windows appeared open on this side, and from here, he couldn’t see the window where the woman called down to him.

  He turned back toward Howard and saw the unmistakable rocking of something heavy shifting inside his car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “CAREFUL, H,” DERRICK called softly.

  The afternoon had really begun to heat up and Derrick could feel the humidity was going to be a soaker. The changing weather was typical for Fall these days, but Derrick was already missing last week’s cold snap. Around the parking lot where, free from the shadows of the tall elms, the sun baked the asphalt, waves of heat rose and danced.

  Derrick dug around in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small colander for steaming vegetables.

  He spread the metal leaves of the device open with his fingernail. From his shirt pocket, he removed a short length of black-and-red wire with alligator clips on one end and a standard male mini headphone jack at the other. He flipped open a small socket cover on his calculator watch and plugged the mini-jack into it.

  Attaching the alligator clips to two wire leads soldered to the small colander, he looked back up at Howard. “Don’t get too close to the shade from the tree, H. Shadows are bad.”

  “Oh really? You don’t say?”

  Pressing buttons on his calculator watch, he bent his head down to shade the watch face, so he could see it in the bright afternoon light. He waved the tiny sieve back and forth, watching the display glow a white-yellow. He tapped buttons until the on-screen image dimmed to the point where the other sunlit cars appeared white, the asphalt surface was a bright orange, and his own tree-shaded car was a greenish blob.

  Looking at the watch face as he pointed the scanner towards the broken rear window, Derrick could see a humanoid blue-colored shape moving inside his car.

  “I’ve got a read on it, inside the car. Just one. Moving,” Derrick called.

  Howard took a quick glance over his shoulder and said to Derrick, “I don’t know what the hell you’re waving around there, D, but just tell me where to shoot.”

  Derrick moved a little further out into the parking lot, so he could get a clearer reading, while Howard was slowly circling the rear of the car.

  “It’s sort of a mini version of the QQTV scanner and ... whoa, hang on a sec there, H. Looks like it’s ducked down.”

  “Can it hear us?”

  “Don’t ask me, man. You keep telling me you’re the smart one, what do all your PhDs tell you?”

  Leaning on his one crutch to keep the weight off his bad leg, he hobbled closer and held the scanner up as high as he could and pointed it down into the rear compartment.

  Derrick looked at the display. “Uhm, it sort of looks like it might be laying down ... yeah I think it’s laying on the backseat. Wait, I can see it’s raising its knees up now.”

  “It’s raising its knees ...?” Howard began, stopping several feet from the side of the Honda.

  There was the loud crunch of
door-panel plastic and a squeal of metal hinges being twisted out of shape. The rear door nearest Howard blasted outward, flipping end over end toward him. Howard spun to the left, but the door clipped his right shoulder, knocking him off his feet.

  Howard and the rear-passenger door crashed to the ground. His elbow smacked into the window crank handle, sending a blaze of pain all the way up to his neck. He automatically switched to a one-handed grip, and he fired a shot through the gaping hole where the door used to be. A hole appeared in the far door panel. No light shined through the bullet hole since the subsonic round and the silencer meant the mid-weight bullets weren’t going fast enough to punch all the way through the metal too.

  “I don’t think you hit it, but I’m not reading it on the seat anymore,” Derrick said. He waved the sensor around again. “That’s weird,” he said.

  “What? Talk to me, D.”

  “I’m not picking up its cold reading anywhere.”

  On his watch, Derrick could see a line on the ground along the door’s path to Howard. It wasn’t much, just slightly less orange than the surrounding asphalt. “Why would the door leave a line?”

  “What d’you mean ‘a line?’” Howard asked, sitting up.

  “I mean a line ... like the door’s trajectory cooled the ... uh-oh!” Derrick’s gaze snapped up as he realized what happened. “Move! Get away from the door!”

  Howard grunted as he dropped flat and rolled away from the door that was still rocking where it landed.

  A coal-black hand shot up from under the broken door, staying in the shadows cast by the door and Howard’s body. Its fingers wrapped around Howard’s throat and yanked him back like a rag doll. Another hand rose out of the shaded asphalt and shoved the car door up off the ground at an angle. Howard fought for purchase against the ground, and dropping his pistol, his fingers scrabbled and drew bloody ribbons on the ground as his head was dragged beneath the door.

  Into the shadow.

  Derrick could see the two cold blue-colored hands on his watch display, pulling Howard’s head further under the door until they wrapped completely around the warm orange image of his neck. Howard grabbed at the Shadow’s hands, his legs kicking out for leverage.

  Derrick moved as quickly as he could. If he could use his crutch to shift the door, maybe the shadow connection would break.

  Howard twisted at the hip, trying to get an elbow under himself so he wasn’t just prying at the hands with finger strength alone.

  Derrick closed in. Standing on one leg he slipped the end of his crutch under the door and tried to push it up. It felt like the door was bolted to the ground. Somehow the Shadow was holding it flat, keeping the darkness contiguous and Howard pinned within it.

  Howard croaked something, trying to speak, but Derrick couldn’t understand the words.

  Suddenly Howard let go of the hands around his neck.

  Derrick could see his neck muscles bunch and strain against the pressure as the Shadow’s fingers tried to choke him out.

  Howard shoved his hand into his pants pocket and dragged his jingling key ring out.

  Derrick pushed and heaved against the crutch as hard as his one leg would let him. The door rocked.

  “I think I got it, H. It’s moving!”

  Rocking the door up, Derrick could slide the crutch a little farther underneath, then he pushed as hard as he could. Derrick could see the impressions of the Shadow’s fingers lessen on Howard’s neck, and he felt the Shadow grab and jerk at the crutch.

  “ACK!” Derrick shouted.

  Then, with a metallic groan, the door pulled back down, and the aluminum leg of the crutch bent at a forty-five-degree angle.

  “No!” Derrick yelled as he stumbled sideways and screamed in pain as his broken leg took his weight and twisted from the motion. He collapsed to the ground.

  Howard’s hands were still fumbling with his key ring then found the small aluminum tube of his Mini-Mag flashlight. He clicked it on and jammed it up next to his face and neck underneath the door. He waved the small bright flashlight all around under the door.

  With a hiss, black smears appeared on Howard’s neck and the pressure vanished. The car door rocked, and he twisted out from under it. He looked at Derrick as he rolled up into a sitting position, now careful to keep his own shadow away from that of the door.

  Howard’s voice was a hoarse whisper as he said, “You OK, dude?”

  Derrick’s face was covered in a cold sweat, and his entire leg was throbbing in sickening waves of pain. He could feel sweat dripping down his spine. He tried to smile at Howard, knowing it probably looked like a rictus grin.

  Hoping the pain wouldn’t make him vomit if he spoke, Derrick said, “I’m sorry ... man ...” He paused, breathing heavily, then continued, “You’re gonna kill me for this one.”

  “Huh? What?”

  Derrick dropped his head back down to the hot ground, even as the pain in his thigh raised goosebumps on his flesh, and said, “That was ... one heck of a bright idea there, buddy.”

  “Oh. My. God. Derrick, I’m going to effing break your other leg!” Howard croaked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MARY WAS SWABBING THE black, streaked finger marks on Howard’s neck. Her glasses slid down her nose as she leaned in close. The area around each distinct streak had blossomed red right after the attack and were now fading to a dull black-and-blue. Mary dropped the swabs into glass test tubes she was lining up on a metal tray in her DCV laboratory in the Basement. Like Sarah, she had an office space for regular office hours for students taking her classes, but the work she did for DCV was all done in “The Lab,” as Derrick would say with air quotes and a deep voice.

  Howard sat on a black-seated stool with bright chrome legs, each ending with wheels, so it could roll across the tile floor. The walls were a pea-soup-green and this particular room was dominated by an autopsy table and some large electrical equipment which looked similar to an MRI.

  “Why so many tubes, Mary?” Derrick asked, leaning on his crutches and looking over the metal tray on the black-surfaced workbench that ran the length of one wall.

  She stood straighter and shrugged, pushing her glasses back up. “Each tube will go in a different matrix for the MALDI,” Mary said. She pulled a Sharpie from her lab coat pocket and made a note on the white label area of the test tube, then laid the pen on the workbench, next to three other sharpies.

  “Oh yeah, of course, the MALDI. Need to keep those matrices compartmentalized. Yep,” Derrick said, lifting an eyebrow at Howard. Howard just shrugged, as Mary leaned back down over Howard.

  They all turned toward the door when it beeped and unlocked. Sarah pushed the door open and walked in with her tablet tucked under one arm.

  “How’s it going?” Sarah asked.

  “Getting the individual samples ready. You know, lining up those matrices, compartmentalizing. Mary says we’re gonna seriously rock the MALDI,” Derrick said.

  “Uh ...” Mary stared at Derrick, then turned to Sarah. “It’s going good, Sarah. We’ve got some great samples here, and I’ll be able to run a number of laser desorption tests on them. These are less than an hour old, and I’m hoping to get even better results than what we saw from the baggie collected after the office break-in. Although Howard did a good job on the basic mass spectrometry, by the time we got back, and I ran the protein tests, there was already significant molecular breakdown. Not to mention, it was collected in an unsterile container and scooped off the ground.” Mary leaned down, so she could look at Howard, and added, “No offense of course. It’s not like you had conditions for DNA collection.”

  “None taken,” Howard said. He kept his neck still while Mary swabbed another sample. She pulled another sharpie from her pocket and made a note on the tube.

  “Anyway, the DNA analysis I ran on the baggie sample showed a lot of different DNA sources,” Mary said, laying the pen on the workbench.

  “But,” Sarah said, “It was collected off the ground
, in the middle of the Quad where hundreds of students, dogs, cats, and pigeons walk every day.”

  “Exactly.” Mary nodded. “So, this is a pretty nice sample—just the Shadow and Howard’s neck cells. We’ll get clear results.”

  Howard kept still, but his eyes slid over to Sarah. “Did the site get locked down OK?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yeah, the Sweeps were arriving just as we were pulling out of the lot. Local police were headed off with verified rumors and never showed up.” She flipped open her tablet cover and tapped the screen. “Report says the Sweeps called for a flatbed for Derrick’s car as we left the scene. Cleanup was smooth, just one witness from within apartment building, uh,” She flicked her pen across the tablet saying, “building C. She came out while the sweep was in progress.”

  Derrick said, “I think it was your upstairs neighbor, Howard. She looked out the window after your first shot.” He nodded toward Sarah and explained, “I threw her off with the ol’ dropped crutch trick.”

  Sarah said, “Don’t tell me ... you missed it by that much?” She held up her hand with her finger and thumb close together.

  Oh my god, she’s fast on the “Get Smart” references—adorable! Derrick thought. Then he said, “Would you believe ... maybe not so much after the Shadow dude kicked the door off my poor car and halfway across the parking lot? That was easily ten times as loud as any of Howard’s gunshots.”

  “That’s Mrs. Claire Ashton-Smith. She’s an author. Lives upstairs from me and usually works from home,” Howard said.

  Sarah dragged her pen along the screen’s surface. “Yep. A Sweep Cop took her statement. Let’s see. Mrs. Smith, age sixty-two, lives on the third floor. She, uh, didn’t see anything that happened in the parking lot. She did say there was a handsome young man on crutches headed toward the parking lot, but she wasn’t certain how much time had elapsed between then and when she came downstairs.”

  The Sweeps were deep-cover, mostly ex-military units funded through an untraceable maze of line-item costs filtered through the budgets of national defense, FBI, CIA, DEA, and ATF. They generally followed research teams into HAs, or Hot Areas, around the world to keep the general population unaware of the horrors being investigated around them. Due to the specific DCV team of research investigators, and the overall focus of Miskatonic University in general, the town of Arkham had a Sweep team permanently embedded.