Supernatural--Joyride

by John Passarella

  A shadow without a source.

  Cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t regret it, Dean extended an arm, but not in greeting. In exploration. His mind fought the logic of what his eyes saw, producing a headache more confounding than the one from the EDM mixes. Impossibly, something insubstantial appeared to have a degree of substance. Throwing caution out the window, he took a tentative step forward—

  And it shifted toward him in the blink of an eye, an aggressive move. Instinctively, Dean backed away, aware that he might be leading—or luring—it back toward the dance floor. What little substance it had must be unaffected by inertia. And Dean had no desire to become its new host.

  It edged closer, inches from Dean, who took another quick step backward. Reflexively, he held his palms up, a defensive posture which had zero chance of preventing the shadow from slipping through his pores. Any square inch of exposed flesh could be vulnerable, but he was fresh out of hazmat suits.

  The roving spotlight fell across Dean’s shoulders, slicing through the shadows at the perimeter of the conversational nook, but revealing nothing of the inkblot silhouette hovering before him. Unlike a normal shadow, light couldn’t dispel it. Instead, it obstructed light.

  Come a little closer, he thought. Maybe the light will reveal a weakness.

  With that in mind, Dean slipped a little further into the light, inch by inch. And the dark shape came with him, as if pulled along in his wake. Maybe curious. Possibly hungry. But a moment later, the automated spotlight whipped away from them and the flashing strobe lights dominated.

  The cat-and-mouse spell broken, the dark shape skittered away, retreating from the dance floor, heading toward the bar—and the exit.

  “Wait!”

  Dean sensed a missed opportunity, that he’d been about to learn something important if he managed to avoid possession followed by a potential murder spree and guaranteed amnesia. The shadow slipped through the crack between the doors with no more trouble than a puff of air.

  “Did you see that?” someone on the dance floor asked. “What was that?”

  But the questions went unanswered. Apparently, nobody else had noticed the shape.

  Groggy, the man whose body had played host to the parasitic shadow, sat up and rubbed his ribs. Dean had hit him hard enough to crack a few of them but obviously the man would not remember that.

  Dazed, he looked around, brow furrowed, finally settling on Dean’s face. “Where—how did I get here?” Then he noticed the bloody knife and examined his own hand, arms and legs. “What happened?”

  “It’s okay, man,” Dean said. “You weren’t yourself.”

  “Did somebody drug me?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Dean said. “What’s your name?”

  “Jasper James,” he said. “But how—?”

  “Stay here.”

  With a quick nod, he raced toward the lobby.

  “Wait! I don’t…” the man called after Dean, his voice trailing off.

  Jasper might technically be innocent—if not in the eyes of the unknowing law—but he’d used that knife before heading to the Gyrations dance floor and Dean had a bad feeling he’d find a dead body at the hostess station.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her. Alive. Sitting against a wall near her black hostess cart, legs splayed, holding her right hand by its wrist, staring as blood flowed from a gash in her palm to spatter her silver dress.

  “He—He—He…” Tears streaming down her face, she looked up at Dean, as if seeking help with the words that eluded her.

  Dean went down on one knee beside her, gently took her hand and examined the wound. The cut ran diagonally from the gap between her index and middle fingers down to the corner of her palm, deep enough to require stitches. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be fine?”

  Dean nodded.

  “That’s good,” she said softly.

  “Hold on.”

  Rising, he examined the shelf in the back of the hostess cart. Cash box, wrist bands, tablet with an attachment to swipe credit or debit cards for those who chose to pay digitally.

  “I must have passed out,” she said. “I woke up here, against the wall. Think I hit my head. I was woozy, tried to stand and fell again.”

  Possible concussion, Dean thought as he opened a bottom compartment on the cart and—bingo! Rolled cloth napkins.

  “Then this man came in. I raised my arm, asked him to help me up, but he—he slashed me with a knife! Why would he…?”

  Dean knelt beside her again and flattened the napkin. “Hold out your hand.” As he wrapped it, she winced in pain. “Never got your name,” Dean said.

  “Mia,” she said.

  “Okay, Mia,” he said. “I need you to apply pressure here. That should stop the bleeding.”

  “It burns,” she said.

  “I’ll call for help,” Dean said. “Get you something for the pain.”

  The doors opened behind Dean. The bartender approached. Dean rose to meet him. “Call 911,” he said. “She’s been cut.”

  “Bad?” he asked softly.

  “She’ll need stitches.”

  The bartender removed a cell phone from his vest pocket and promised to return with the first-aid kit he’d retrieved from the office. “There’s antibiotic cream and some gauze left.”

  “Thanks,” Dean said. “And have somebody turn off the damn music.”

  To call Sam, Dean stepped outside—and into a world gone mad.

  Car alarms whooped, and people shouted, calling for help. Over a block away, a family stood silently outside a house fire raging out of control while their dog barked at the flames. He heard the rapid thwupping sound of an approaching helicopter, probably a news station’s “eye in the sky” chopper. Press moths to the flame.

  Looking left to right, Dean spotted several car crashes with at least one car’s engine block aflame. About what he’d expected, but it could’ve been worse. Shaking his head, he called Sam’s cell.

  After two rings, Sam picked up, his voice calm. “Dean?”

  “Sam? You’re okay?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “You sound surprised.”

  “After the blackout…” Dean began. “Wait—Where are you?”

  “County hospital,” Sam said. “Reviewing security footage with Gruber.”

  “And the hospital—Where is it, exactly?”

  “You don’t remember?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Dean, you dropped me off here.”

  “You’re not in Moyer, are you?”

  “Not technically,” Sam said. “Hospital’s over the town line, in Bakersburg.”

  “So, you don’t know yet.”

  “Know what? Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

  “I was in Moyer at midnight,” Dean said. “I’m in Moyer right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sam, it happened again,” he said. “Another blackout. Only two minutes this time.”

  Dean waited a moment while Sam relayed the news to Gruber. “And you?” Sam asked, concerned. “Dean, did you—?”

  “Hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.”

  In the distance, Dean finally heard the wail of approaching sirens. By now, emergency dispatch would be flooded with calls.

  “Before you ask, I’m fine. Couple bruises. But you might want to warn the emergency room staff. They’re about to have their hands full. Again.”

  FIFTEEN

  According to Sam, Gruber offered to drop him off at the Moyer Motor Lodge to save Dean the trouble of circling back to the hospital. Dean guessed that Sam worried about him driving more than necessary after having the consciousness rug pulled out from under him. When Sam stepped through the door, the concerned look on his face confirmed Dean’s suspicions.

  “Sam, I’m fine,” Dean said. “No side effects.”

  “So far.”

  “Anything changes,” Dean said, “you’ll be the first to know.”

  “No matter
how small?”

  “Sure,” Dean said. “But what about Gruber? Running on fumes.”

  “On his way to buy a case of energy drinks,” Sam said. “He may have had a one-hour power nap in the last twenty-four hours. Feels guilty for taking vacation.”

  “Why? All he missed was the blackout.”

  “Both times,” Sam said.

  “Well, I don’t recommend it.”

  “Dean?”

  “It’s okay, Sam,” Dean said. “I’m okay.”

  “So, let’s do this.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Humor me,” Sam said. “A minor detail could—”

  “Okay,” Dean said to skip the sales pitch. “Well, it’s the same as everyone else. Not much to tell. Except, I thought it might happen again.”

  “After?” Sam asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Before,” Dean said. “I saw the time. Two minutes before midnight. And I had the thought, what if it happens again?”

  “Like a premonition?”

  “No. Nothing like that,” Dean said. “Coincidence.”

  “What if it wasn’t coincidence?”

  “Tomato, tamale.”

  “That’s not—Never mind,” Sam said. “Go on.”

  “I tried to warn everyone at the dance club,” Dean said, “to get down. In case it happened again. Which it did.”

  “How did it feel to you?”

  “Same as the others. Like somebody flipped a frigging switch in my brain,” Dean said. “As fast as a room goes dark when you switch off the light.”

  “So, no dizziness, headache or nausea before the lights went out?”

  “Nothing. No warning,” Dean said. “Down and out. Or out and then down. Then, two minutes later, I woke up on the floor. Same as everyone else in the club.”

  “I thought, maybe, with your experience…”

  “I know,” Dean said, frustrated that he could add nothing to the investigation even after falling victim to the second blackout. “One odd thing…”

  “What?”

  “We all took a while to come to our senses,” Dean said. “Like waking up suddenly from a deep sleep. But Jasper, the possessed guy with the knife”—Dean had described the knife attacks to Sam over the phone—“walked into Gyrations as if nothing had happened to him.”

  “So, anyone already hijacked is immune to the blackout event.”

  “Unless he recovered much faster than the rest of us.”

  “What about his shadow?”

  “Came from inside him,” Dean said. “But it wasn’t his shadow.”

  “Was it like the shadow movement we saw after Luther killed Davick?”

  “No,” Dean said. “Something about its exit from his body—it struggled and forced itself out. Nothing graceful about it.”

  “And it hung around?”

  “For a minute,” Dean said. “Couldn’t decide between attacking me or cutting its losses.”

  “You think it could have possessed you?”

  “Who the hell knows, Sam? Maybe whatever causes the blackout unlocks something in the brain,” Dean said.

  “So, what if the blackout is just a side effect of that?”

  “Again, who knows?” Dean said. “But something was off. Whatever it is, it showed itself, unintentionally.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “After Gruber tasered Luther, the shadow darted away from him, almost like a trick of the light. Hardly anyone noticed.”

  “Unless you were looking for something odd,” Sam agreed.

  “Think about it,” Dean said. “How they look, whatever they are, I bet they hide in the shadows, an invisible enemy.”

  “Natural camouflage.”

  “But the one at the club, not so much,” Dean said. “Maybe it was sick or stunned. Acted like I felt after the blackout. As if it needed to get its bearings. But why?”

  “Maybe resisting the blackout took a toll.”

  “Maybe,” Dean allowed, but he thought there was something more there he was missing. “What about Gruber’s security footage? Anything useful?”

  Sam told him about the incongruities in the fighting between Moyer residents and those from outside of the town. Bakersburg residents were immune to possession, while the possessed from Moyer were impervious to pain. At least until the fighting—and the possible possessions—ended.

  “Mia, the hostess, blacked out along with the rest of us,” Dean said. “She’s from Bakersburg. So, no blackout immunity for… Bakersburgers?” Dean frowned. “Damn. Now I’m hungry.”

  “You and Mia,” Sam said. “Let’s assume no immunity for anyone within Moyer’s borders during either midnight event. Anyone in town is fair game. And, officially, they’re Bakersburgans.”

  “Still hungry,” Dean said. “That stuff we grabbed from the hospital cafeteria was a failed chemistry experiment. Not food.” Should’ve ordered two slices of that blueberry pie.

  “Want me to drive you somewhere?”

  “Not happening.”

  “I could check the front desk for menus.”

  “Didn’t see any when I checked in.”

  “I could ask.”

  “Forget it,” Dean said, covering a yawn as he rubbed a kink in his neck he hadn’t noticed before. Might have pulled something when I collapsed—or when I tackled Jasper. “I’m wiped out.”

  “Side effect?”

  “Long day,” Dean countered. He climbed on the bed, lying on his back, right forearm across his eyes. “Catch a few hours’ sleep, I’ll be good as new.”

  “Sure, Dean,” Sam said as he sat at the narrow desk and flipped open the laptop. “Got something I want to check out.”

  “What?” Dean yawned again, the feeling of lethargy swamping him. Maybe it is a side effect.

  “Traffic cam coverage,” Sam said, his voice already fading to Dean’s ears. “Had an idea.”

  “That’s…” Another yawn. “Good.”

  Dean closed his eyes, hearing only faint keyboard clicks as Sam hacked the traffic cams.

  “Bakersburgans?” he murmured. “How could you know that?”

  “Town’s website,” Sam said. “Old article. Saw it earlier. Apparently, they had a debate about what to call…”

  * * *

  Sam looked over his shoulder. “Dean?”

  No answer.

  Out like a light, Sam thought. It had been a long day. And having your consciousness forcefully switched off had to take a toll on your mind, regardless of Dean’s protests that he was fine, no side effects.

  Turning back to the traffic cam live feeds, Sam skipped his way around town, mostly through the business districts, commercial centers and public transit stops. The camera views were black-and-white, dark and grainy. If he’d been seeking a human suspect, the cameras would have provided little detail beyond the subject’s general height and shape and possibly what type of clothes he or she wore, a face obscured by a cap, hood or ski mask. But Sam was not looking for a human suspect. He wasn’t looking for humans at all.

  Within a few minutes, he began to spot them, dark shapes sliding through the shadows. Streetlights couldn’t penetrate their darkness. While normal shadows faded to gray, they remained black as obsidian. Yet when people walked within range of the cameras, Sam had trouble spotting any unusual darkness sifting through the shadows. They hid within the surrounding darkness or remained preternaturally still in the presence of humans.

  Some displayed a complete, distinctive human silhouette—head, torso, two arms and two legs—while others were malformed or blurry at their extremities. On some he could distinguish individual fingers. Others had fuzzy stumps or smoky mist beyond forearms and wrists.

  Sometimes they seemed to ride the currents of air, like plastic bags caught in a breeze, displaying no sentience. But they often switched direction, darted from place to place, slipped into real shadows when a human approached.

 
Sam wondered about the human form mimicry. Clearly, they were not human and would never pass for human, so why make the attempt? A creature of darkness hiding in the shadows made sense. Many animals had natural camouflage to disguise themselves from prey. Or maybe it was as simple as assuming the shape of a human shadow, a second layer of camouflage allowing proximity to humans. And yet Sam had no idea how a human could hurt or kill one of these shadow creatures.

  On a hunch, Sam called Gruber, who agreed to meet him at the police station, even though he was officially off-duty. Apparently, the police department frowned on their senior patrol officers working more than twenty-four consecutive hours.

  “Some nonsense about impaired reflexes and risks to public safety,” Gruber joked. “So, what’s this about?”

  “We can do this in the morning.”

  “C’mon,” Gruber said, “I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. Besides, tonight’s blackout cluster bomb was bad, but not nearly as bad as the first one.”

  “Why?”

  “We got lucky,” Gruber said. “Shorter duration, fewer car accidents, bleeders had less unattended bleeding time, same for accident victims and, frankly, I think a lot of people who were up and about at midnight stopped to reflect on what had happened to themselves or others the night before.”

  “Mindfulness saves lives.”

  “In this case,” Gruber said. “Now tell me what you need.”

  “Security footage.”

  “Thought you’d have had your fill of that at the hospital.”

  Tempted to tell Gruber what he had witnessed through the hacked traffic cams, Sam decided to wait. Sometimes, seeing is believing. And, sometimes, denial was eternal. Instead, Sam told him what footage he wanted to see.

  Before leaving for the police station, Sam approached Dean and almost called his name, but his brother was sound asleep. After the blackout, he probably needed the rest. If Sam woke Dean to tell him he was leaving, he’d insist on accompanying him. Besides, Sam was following a hunch, not responding to an emergency. Dean could sit this one out. So, Sam left a note on the bedside table.