by R. R. Virdi
Not a big issue until you factored in that these things weren’t the only monsters roaming around the place. Chief Freakzilla was going around giving people heart attacks and conjuring the fog of doom.
A hollow knocking sound destroyed what silent thinking time I had. My heart adopted a jackhammer-like beat. The audible clicking of a doorknob filled my ears and I rushed to stow my journal.
Ortiz’s face broke into view. She was blinking more frequently than normal as she fought to stay awake. Slipping into the room, taking care not to make any noise, she sat beside me. My arm throbbed from her punch. I rubbed the area as I shot her an accusatory glare.
“I could’ve punched you in the nose.” She smiled, but it looked strained—tired. “You’re making a habit of keeping ladies waiting, not a good one to get into.”
Don’t I know it?
“Find anything, Charles?”
“Lots of something on one hand,” I answered, “and lots of nothing on the other.”
She let out an unladylike snort. Ortiz arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate.
Bowing slightly, I flourished my hands. “Ladies first.”
“Fine. Apparently you were right. We’re not the only ones to see or feel weird stuff. People claim to have seen shadows running all over the place. Of course the staff dismiss it as hallucinations.”
“Wait,” I chimed in, “can’t the staff see them?”
Ortiz shook her head. “Only patients.”
“Fits,” I added and Ortiz gave me a curious look. “I’ll explain when you’re done.”
She gave me a satisfied nod. “Some of them said they’re feeling worse—more depressed, and negative. And then there are the cold spots and chills—”
“What?” I snapped, drawing a glare from her. Ortiz wasn’t fond of being interrupted.
“Cold spots,” she repeated, “sudden drops in temperature. I was speaking to someone when all of a sudden it felt like I was thrown into a pool of ice water.” She visibly shuddered.
Lyshae was right. These things were picking off ghosts. Hell, for all I knew they might’ve been pushing people toward becoming ghosts. If I was right, they were responsible for people feeling depressed. It was possible they were psychically pushing people to commit suicide. More dead patients, more ghosts, more food.
“Charles, what’s going on?” Ortiz’s fatigue seemed to be melting away. She had an inquisitive look in her eyes. She was a hawk when it came to info. “You’ve got this look on your face.”
“Yeah.” My throat felt raw. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, and you’re definitely not going to like it. I’m not sure as to how much you’re going to believe actually.”
“Charles, within the last six months I was almost burned alive, nearly buried, and thrown out of a hotel window. I was murdered, brought back to life, witnessed black fog kill a young woman… I think at this point I’m willing to believe a lot.”
Ortiz was right. I had put her through a lot—it wasn’t fair. And yet here she was, by my side, again, and willing to help. She may not have been aware that I was the same person from six months ago, but I knew it. Her last adventure had landed her in a mental hospital. Part of me was afraid of what might happen this time. Ortiz didn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this. She had the chance for a normal life.
But I was losing time and, as much as it pained me to admit it, I needed help. A silent prayer ran through my head. I begged forgiveness for dragging her into this. I’m not a spiritual person, but for Ortiz’s sake, I didn’t think it’d hurt to pray a little.
I let out a resigned sigh and spilled what I had learned. “These shadows aren’t really shadows. They just look like ‘em. I don’t think they’re killing the patients either. Well, not entirely.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hang on.” I raised a hand in a gesture for her to slow down. “There are stories of these things all over the world. Heck, radio stations have talked about them. The stories about shadows like this go back ages. Some have said they’ve been attacked by them. I don’t buy that—that’s rare. These things don’t go after people’s physical forms.”
“Physical forms? What the hell are you talking about?”
It’s a tough thing to explain what ghosts are, mostly because they’re so interconnected to souls. I still don’t know why I ended up retaining my soul and not winding up a ghost. But don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right? The largest difference between a soul and a ghost is that souls are complete and whole identities of a person. Ghosts are the broken fragments. They linger in our world, lost and confused. Souls don’t stay here; they move on. I should’ve moved on too. Church still needed to tell me why I hadn’t.
I worked out what to say and how to phrase it. “These things go after their ghosts,” I said, letting the words settle in.
Ortiz’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Her face went through an array of motions. I remained silent, letting her work through them. There’s no easy way to come to grips with the idea that shadow beings are hunting down the ghosts of murdered patients.
Tingle. Another hour had passed. Twenty-eight.
“Ghosts,” she said moments later.
“Yeah. The cold spots you’ve been talking about—dead giveaway. When people die the way they have here—terrified, lost, confused—their spirits cling on. Ghosts are broken-up pieces of the people they were, fragments of emotions and ideas. Sometimes sorrow, other times—rage. It’s not pretty. The angry ones can lash out and hurt people. Most of the time they’re harmless. But these things, they’re preying on the victims’ ghosts, giving them no chance to move on. What’s worse, they’re trying to make more.” Barely audible pops rang out as my fist tightened.
She arched a curious eyebrow. “How?”
“These things are making people feel despair, pushing them along to the ultimate form of desperation.”
“Suicide,” she breathed.
I nodded. “These freaks poke and prod at your mind. They’re drawn to negative thoughts and feelings, and this place is banquet hall for them. But it’s not going to be enough. They’re picking up the scraps for the moment. That won’t keep them content for long.”
Ortiz read between the lines. “Picking up the scraps... Something else is here, killing the patients.”
“Something worse,” I added.
Her eyes clamped shut for a moment. When they opened, they glowed with something hot. She set her jaw. “So, we’re going to stop these shadow things and whatever’s killing the patients.”
“Damn straight we are,” I growled.
“How?”
Movement caught my eye and I rubbernecked. The way the light was shining in the room cast our shadows behind us—bedside. Across from us, however, there was a silhouette of black. It didn’t appear flat or part of the wall. It protruded. Ripples flowed through its mass as it rose, giving it a Jell-O like consistency.
Ortiz caught sight of it. “What the hell is that?” She scrambled to her feet, adopting a fighting crouch.
The figure stretched to its full height. It didn’t look like the other shadow beings I’d seen earlier. It took on a noticeably different shape. The sound of drying glue pulling from paper filled the room. The creature stepped forward, peeling its body from the wall. It shuddered as shadows bent around it. They spread over its neck and sides, giving the appearance of a tattered cloak of midnight. Black strands raced from its shoulders like ivy, weaving around its head into a hood. All it needed was a scythe to be the Grim Reaper sans a bony ass.
My eyes ballooned and I reeled away from it. “It’s a frickin’ Nazgul!” I couldn’t very well call it a shadow-being or person. That’s what they were referred to throughout history. It lacked creativity.
Ortiz didn’t appreciate my creative naming solution. “You can’t be serious?” She remained on guard with her fists balled tight and muscles coiled.
It was good enough for Tolkien, but I decided to come up with a differen
t name lest I be sued.
“Shadow men,” I muttered. “Damned shadow men.”
“What?” Ortiz blurted. “Now is not the time to be naming things!”
The shadowy creature surged forward. No, surged was the wrong word. It was fast and disjointed, like watching gelatin stretch and snap toward you.
I dove to the side, avoiding its grasp. The creature turned to face me. Directly in the center of its sternum was a hole, almost see-through. I say “almost” because something occupied the basketball-sized cavity. No larger than my fist, it was grim, black and pulsating. It hung connected by wispy tendrils to the surrounding mass. The strands fluctuated in size as a black, ichor-like gel coursed through them.
A heart. A black, morbid, and ever-so-disgusting heart. Ugly, yes. But it was still a vital organ. One that could be attacked. Myths about shadow beings said their hearts were only exposed at night.
The shadow being’s wrist twisted and deformed, rolling around in a manner that confirmed it had no bones. Its mass rearranged itself, and soon, its hand changed shape altogether. It increased in size to become something like a dustpan, wide and unnaturally large. The new appendage sported serrated talons. They looked like tactical knives.
It was the sort of thing to make your eyes go wide. Mine certainly did. Drywall cried in protest. Flecks of it went everywhere as the creature’s hand swept toward me. “Fuck off!” I yelped, ducking to avoid a follow-up swipe. “The One Ring’s not here!” The shadowy fiend ignored my genius quip. Something about genius never being celebrated went through my mind.
“Holy—” I blurted as another swipe came my way. The creature’s hand lodged itself in the floor. I capitalized, sending a haymaker into the thing’s face. My fist met what I assumed was the creature’s jaw, and sank in. The shadow being didn’t fall to the ground. My fist impacted and stuck there. It was like punching a memory foam mattress. Pulling my fist from the spot, I shot my arm straight up, bringing my elbow down hard. I connected with its neck—again to little effect.
“Ooomph,” was the only sound that came out of me as the air rushed from my lungs. A weighty blow from the shadow man’s free arm drove me back. I shook it off and rocketed toward the monster, arms spread wide. My arms tightened around it as I charged. My momentum carried us to the wall, which crunched. The creature peeled itself from the dent and stepped forward, its attention focused solely on me. That was a mistake.
“Ortiz! The heart!”
She blurred into motion the instant I found myself in an unrelenting grip. The pressure around my throat was unbelievable, but I could still breathe—just. The muscles in my neck begged for mercy. This thing wasn’t trying to choke me. It was trying to crush my friggin’ throat.
Ortiz disagreed with that idea. Even from where I hung suspended, I could see her move. Lashing out with a fist, she struck the creature’s heart. The pressure ceased. I crumpled to the floor and developed sympathy for Lyshae. Being choked is not fun.
The shadow figure’s body spasmed and contorted in silent agony. It shifted shapes as it writhed. Ortiz’s leg arced with a flexibility I didn’t think was possible and impacted the organ again.
Holy Chuck Norris, could she fight.
The creature howled in mute distress, moving with disjointed and startling speed as it hit the wall. It sank into the material and darted out of sight. Panting, I rose to my feet. “Well, that sucked. Nice moves by the way.”
“Aiki Bujutsu,” she commented.
“Uh…gesundheit?”
“It’s a martial art.”
“Didn’t know you studied kick butt fu.”
Ortiz rolled a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Dad made me.”
Thank you, Papa Ortiz.
“So…” she said, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen between us. “That just happened.”
“Yeah, we were jumped by a—”
“Don’t name it.”
I sniffed. “Fine, we were jumped by a shadow being. That’s what they’re called in mythology. So uninspired,” I muttered.
“And there are more of them,” she added. “Lots more.”
I gave a grim nod.
“Ghosts, shadows and something worse...all here,” she said more to herself than me. An invisible weight overcame her and she sank to the bed. Part of me wanted to give chase to the shadow creature. I shut that part down and sat next to Ortiz. She slid further back on the bed, adopting a cross-legged position, hands limp on her thighs. Reaching over, I took one of them in a reassuring grip.
“You okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She released a deep sigh. “It’s just like six months ago. I thought I was free and clear of this stuff. I knew it was still out there. We dealt with it earlier….”
“But?”
“But, that thing.” She shuddered. I squeezed her hand harder and she gave me a weak smile. “It made things sink in more, you know?”
I nodded.
“The thing is, I feel—not lost—uncertain, maybe. Somewhere between no idea and part of one, if that makes sense?”
“It does.” I kept my voice whisper soft. “I feel like that a lot.”
“With the life you tattoo guys lead, I bet. I don’t know how all this can be out there and for me not to be a part of it. That’s why I joined the FBI. To solve crimes and help people. But who helps the people dealing with this stuff?”
“I do.” My voice cracked a bit.
She shot me another smile, a bit warmer than before. “I know. I haven’t met many of you people. How many are there? What about me? I know things go bump in the night now. I don’t know if I can just sit on the sidelines and watch.”
After everything Camilla Ortiz had been through, she still wanted to get out there and fight monsters. She didn’t have to; she wanted to. I didn’t know how to take that. It was hard. She had suffered so much already. It wasn’t my call. It was hers. Still, I didn’t want to put her through anymore of this stuff.
It was like she could read my mind. “You’re not making me do anything. That’s what you’re thinking, right? Men are idiots like that. Taking responsibility for stuff out of their hands. It’s me, I guess. I can’t sit back and watch. It’s not who I am. I may not be used to it, but…I am involved.” Her words brimmed with steely resolve.
My voice shook. I was in awe of her strength. “Fair enough.”
She returned the pressure I exerted on her hand with a squeeze of her own. “So, are we going to sit here holding hands, or are we going to get this thing?”
Snorting, I slipped my hand out of hers. “Hell, yeah. Let’s gank us some shadows!”
“What do we know? Or what do you know?”
“About shadow beings? Well, apart from the fact they have the most uncreative name in history, I mean that’s what they look like for…” I trailed off as I noticed the irritated and somewhat deadly glare Ortiz was giving me. Clearing my throat, I resumed from a more appropriate point. “Erm, well, they feed off ghosts, almost in a vampire-like manner. These things drain their essence into nothingness.”
Ortiz’s eyes flickered when I said that. No doubt a series of disturbing thoughts and images were going through her mind.
“The stories say they’re supposed to be hurt by light—”
She let out a light snort. “The bedroom lights didn’t do much to it.”
“Because,” I said, drawing the word out, “bedroom lights aren’t real light.” Her face lost focus at that revelation. I waved a hand, motioning for her to slow down as I explained. “It’s manmade, not part of the natural world. I’m talking about direct sunlight.”
“We can’t wait for morning, Charles.”
“I know. The other option—which I’m not too fond of—is fire.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Fire isn’t just a purifying source in the magical world. It’s one of the purest forms of light besides the sun. Don’t get me wrong. Fire is great, but I’m not keen on running around this place wi
th torches.”
“What about that black heart in the center?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure about that bit until I saw it myself. The stories talk about them having black hearts. They’re only visible and vulnerable at night.”
Ortiz gave me a knowing look, gesturing to the window and the dark skies outside.
“Yeah, I know. They’re vulnerable right now. That doesn’t mean they’ll be easy to take down. Although we could have you going all Crouching Tigress, Hidden Dragon on their shadowy butts. Feel like ripping out some hearts?”
“Maybe.” She smiled. “I’d rather find a better way to deal with them than tooth and claw. Any other ways we can hurt them?”
“Well, we know they’re not really after us—”
“Uh, all evidence to the contrary there, buddy. It might have slipped your mind while you were getting your butt kicked—”
“I was not getting my butt kicked,” I countered with a growl.
She waved me off like I hadn’t said a word. “I saved your ass.” Ortiz smiled and her eyes danced with amusement.
I scowled. I can fight too. I’ve inhabited all manner of great fighters in the past. I can’t come across as badass all the time.
“Fine,” I relented. “Yes, technically they...one of them came after us. I think that’s because we’re getting involved in their business.”
“How do they know that?”
A chilling notion crossed my mind. “Well, they can pose as shadows. They’ve been darting around the place, listening, picking up conversations—”
“Including ours,” Ortiz finished.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“They’re that smart?”
I nodded. “They can rationalize. They can understand human speech from what the lore says. They’re nearly human level intelligent—well, the leaders are.”
“Leaders?” She blinked.
“These things are pack animals. Somewhere in this hospital, there’s a chief creepy running the show. The older these things get, the smarter they get. The eldest are normally in charge.”
“So…if we take him—it—out?” Ortiz left the question hanging.
“Chances are the rest will bail…or kill us in retaliation.”