Shadows

by Jack Dagger

  “Well...what would I have to do to convince you to let me come along?”

  “Not much, honestly. But we'll probably be up pretty late...” He wanted to say more, she could tell. He wanted to ask, don't you have a boyfriend? Well, yeah. But that didn't mean she couldn't go hang out with her friends.

  Was Peter a friend? Well, duh. Of course, they spoke almost every day and she genuinely enjoyed his company. But they'd never spent any time together outside of work. Well, except for the occasional trips to UltraBurger during their lunch break.

  “Well, I'm pretty ahead on my work for this week,” she replied.

  “I thought you said you stayed late to catch up on it.” Autumn hesitated. Did she really want to go into why she was here? She went ahead and lied, and immediately felt bad for it.

  “I did, but I decided to just keep going...and now I'm ahead.”

  She could see Peter struggling visibly. It was obvious that he had a crush on her, though she seemed to think he'd moved on to the 'admire from a distance' phrase, and accepted his role as her friend.

  “We'd love to have you, but like I said, we'll be up really late...”

  “I can just call in tomorrow. Psh, Gus won't care. All I have to do is flash him some cleavage and he just smiles and nods and goes along with whatever I say,” Autumn replied, smirking. Her smirk turned into a full grin as she saw the look on Peter's face. She had an effect on him that was comical.

  Abruptly, a cold shudder passed through her so powerful and so suddenly that she nearly yelled. From the way Peter faltered, stepping forward as it to catch himself from falling, she saw that he felt it, too.

  “Uh...” he looked around, blinking, almost as if coming awake. “Maybe we should get going...oh shit. I forgot, we told that security guard we'd be back in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh...I'm sorry. Here, lemme log off and we can get going.”

  “And I'll grab my phone.”

  Autumn turned around and hurried through the process of shutting down her computer. Should she call Derek? Or just text him? Would he even care? He'd been distant lately. She finally opted to text him after she got into her car.

  Peter reappeared with his phone in his hand, punching in a number.

  “Gonna call Tony, tell him to tell the guard that we're on our way,” he murmured. He put the phone to his ear. Autumn finished up, then shut off the lamp at her desk and stood, grabbing her coat and shrugging into it. She slipped her purse on. As she stepped out of her cubicle, Peter cursed, then hung up.

  “Not answering?”

  “No. Probably forgot to take it off silent,” Peter muttered.

  “Alright, let's get down there.”

  …

  Ian stepped out of the elevator.

  Two things became immediately apparent to him. The first was a cell phone. It was ringing, an annoying little tune that was no doubt popular this week and would be gone the next. It was coming from the lobby.

  The second was a smell that he had become intimately acquainted with in his line of work. It was the smell of blood. And of death. It made his hand drop automatically to where his pistol should have sat, holstered at his thigh. Ian's eyes widened several centimeters and he turned and made swiftly for the lobby.

  The first thing he noticed was the blood. There was a lot of it. A fuck-ton of it. It was more blood than he had ever seen. There was, some small, rational, or maybe wholly irrational, part of him, decided, no way all of that blood could come from a single human body. He stood there, shocked and numb, the world seeming to go pale and mute. Except for the blood. It was like a pure red stain on a pale, white reality.

  The sound of the cellphone ringing came back to him just as it stopped. He could see the small, rectangular piece of technology lying there, soaked in fresh blood on the ground just feet from the front doors. The blood was everywhere. It sprayed across the front doors and windows, it pooled on the ground, it dripped from the ceiling.

  Ian grabbed for his radio, dropped it, shakily knelt to retrieve it. He looked around wildly. Something had killed...someone. His mind was racing. He fought viciously for control. Out, he needed to get everyone rounded up and out.

  How many were in the building?

  “Bill,” he said, his voice coming out as a harsh, stifled whisper. There had been those two janitor kids, a couple of idiots, Ian thought. But they got the job done at least. And Bill. And his moron sidekick, Jackson.

  “Bill!”

  There were those two kids...and that girl, staying late. Working.

  Ian was backing away from the scene of the crime, the only sound was the dripping of the blood and the horrible splat sound each drop made as it slammed into the floor. Suddenly, his radio began screaming wildly, static shooting forth from the tiny speaker. He cried out and nearly dropped it, fighting not to just run.

  Ian retreated from the lobby. There were no weapons in the building, they hadn't let him carry one, but he'd made due. He always had. He just had to gather everyone up and get them to safety. And the cops, some rational part of his mind said, quite calmly, you still have to call the cops. Ian came to the elevator and hit the button.

  He waited, trembling, still staring wide-eyed at the lobby.

  …

  Jackson massaged his temples, pausing in the corridor he happened to be in. Damned headache. Why tonight? He rarely ever got headaches, but this one was a malignant bastard. It had started near the beginning of his shift, right after he'd picked up that soda. It was a slow burn of a headache, beginning low and dull, almost imperceptible.

  Now it was thick and painful. It rose and fell in waves. Sometimes, he'd be sure it was gone, then it would suddenly flare back up. He'd already popped a thousand milligrams of painkillers, but they seemed to have no effect.

  Jackson was tempted to smoke the weed, legitimately tempted. It had always eased his pain, whatever that pain had been, in the past. But that would be insane. Toking up at work? With a hardass like Powell for a boss?

  He'd been going out of his way to avoid Ian tonight, because of the weed in his pocket, but the old man had been unusually unseen so far. Did he know? No. Jackson was willing to bet he didn't. Ian wasn't the type to sit on something and let it stew. If he saw you breaking the law, he'd damn well let you know, right away and unpleasantly.

  “Fuck,” Jackson snapped as a fresh wave of pain hit him. It slammed into him so hard he nearly lost his footing. He leaned up against the nearest wall and groaned thickly. It felt as if his brains were ready to leak out his ears. When the intense pain began to subside into something more manageable, he could hear Ian's voice screaming from his radio. He grabbed it, listening. Ian was screaming for the older janitor.

  Why?

  Jackson began to replace the radio, but something made him hesitate. Ian sounded...panicked. Really, seriously panicked. It was strange to hear genuine fear in that voice. When Bill didn't answer, however, Ian called out Jackson's own name.

  Jackson hesitated, then brought the radio to his lips.

  “What's going on, boss?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He failed. Some fear had slithered into his voice.

  “We've got a fucking killer in this building, Jackson. Someone went and got the fuck murder out of themselves all over the lobby.” Jackson felt a cold hand seize his guts. There was no way Ian would joke about something like this.

  “How?” he managed. “What happened?” A long pause, then,

  “I...I don't know. There's no body but...a hell of a lot of blood. It's everywhere, Jackson. Go and find the janitors. Those two idiots, take them to the security center. And fucking watch them.”

  “Do you really think one of them did it?”

  “I'm not ruling out anything at this point, Jackson. Just do it. And do it fast. And watch your back. If you find Bill on the way there, take him with you. Tell them what happened. Just get to the goddamned security center and lock the door. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Uh...yeah, okay. I can do
that.”

  Ian didn't bother to respond, the line going dead. Jackson felt fear, real fear, boiling in the pit of his stomach, icing up his spine.

  A killer? A fucking killer? Here? Now?

  He hurried to find the others.

  …

  Peter sighed. Where the fuck was Tony? Autumn had just finished getting her things together. He felt strangely detached from himself, as if in shock. Autumn was coming to his house with him to eat pizza and play video games.

  The sentence could hardly be formed in his mind, and he was certain he wouldn't be able to say it aloud if pressed. But why? He hated to ask that question, but it was a question that demanded to be asked. And answered. Autumn had a boyfriend. He'd seen the guy a few times, and he was for damn sure in better shape than Peter himself was. And he seemed pretty confident. Why would Autumn bother spending any real time with Peter?

  He finally decided that the night might give him the answers he sought, in one form or another. He shouldn't press the issue and scare her off.

  “Ready to go,” she said, stepping out of her cubicle. She looked very beautiful, Peter thought, trying not to let his gaze linger on her.

  “Alright. My place isn't far from here. It's an easy drive,” he replied, turning away and making for the corridor. They stepped out into it, and as they did, another level of unpleasant chill settled over Peter. This place was really creepy at night. He wondered why. Maybe it was the emptiness, the vast loneliness of a huge building without hardly any people in it. When he was here during the day, there were people everywhere.

  Somewhere, an elevator door dinged open. Peter felt like shrinking into the woodwork. Chances were, it was that security guard, come looking for him with murder on his mind. He hoped it was Tony, coming to get him.

  The security guard stumbled out into the corridor, looking around frantically. His eyes fell on Peter and they widened several centimeters. He began striding towards the pair, who fell still under his intense gaze.

  “You, come with me. Both of you,” he said. “Where's your friend?” he asked, stopping suddenly and looking around.

  “Uh, um, he said, um, that he was going to wait for you by the front door,” Peter replied, trying not to stutter. Something about the man had changed; he looked wild and uncertain, clinging grimly to control. His eyes widened further.

  “Christ, that's who it was,” he muttered.

  “What?” Peter asked.

  “Look, kid...I don't know how to tell you this but...your friend is dead.”

  “What?!” The security guard winced.

  “Yeah...I'm sorry, something happened...look, I need you to come with me. Both of you. It's not safe.”

  Peter found himself at a loss for words. There was simply no way Tony would be dead. It was literally impossible, to him at least. He was just down in the lobby, waiting. Autumn was speaking, and he felt hands on him.

  “Come on, Peter,” she said quietly, her voice subdued. “Come on.”

  She led him away, and he began walking, but felt as if he were floating. Suddenly, they were in the elevator. One minute, he was in the corridor, the next he was inside the elevator and it was moving down.

  “Tony isn't dead,” he said, suddenly. “I don't believe you.”

  “Look, kid, I know it's fucked up. But you're gonna see otherwise in about ten seconds,” the guard snapped.

  “Come on, he's in shock,” Autumn said softly. The guard sighed. There was silence the rest of the way down. Peter felt completely detached from himself. His entire body had gone numb. The notion of Tony's death being utterly impossible was relentless, ceaselessly assaulting his mind. No, he'd just seen Tony like, twenty minutes ago.

  He had to be alive.

  He was twenty-fucking-three.

  He couldn't be dead. There's no way the universe operated like that.

  The elevator door dinged open, and the strange normality of the sound startled some of the numbness away. The world became less mute, he felt slightly less detached. And then he stepped out of the elevator, turned, looked into the lobby and was unable to move.

  The blood. It was everywhere. Fucking. Everywhere.

  “What happened?” Autumn asked, her voice coming out a sharp gasp.

  “I have no idea. Come on...come on, kid, to my office.”

  “His name's Peter.”

  “Come on, Peter. The others are gathering there.”

  “Others?” Peter mumbled, still staring at the blood. He took a step towards it, but the guard grabbed him.

  “Others, there are some janitors, and another security guard. We're all going to gather in my security office. For safety.”

  “What...how did this happen? Where's his body?” Peter heard himself asking.

  “I...I don't know, okay? Just, come on.”

  Peter relented, feeling a little less dislocated. The blood helped ground him to reality. But only a little. He felt light-headed and he thought his vision might be graying out. He turned around. Autumn grabbed his arm, hugging it a little.

  “I'm so sorry,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Peter couldn't think of anything to say. He just stared at nothing in particular and allowed himself to be led down the corridor.

  Tony was dead? Really dead?

  Was that possible?

  His brain seemed to be reluctantly allowing him to consider the possibility, but it was ready to reject it at a moment's notice.

  Suddenly, they were in the security station. Peter blinked. The guard, Peter caught another glimpse of his nametag and remembered his name was Powell, or his last name, at least, was talking into a radio.

  “Yeah, Jackson, did you find them?” A tinny voice came back.

  “I found Keith and Richard, but I still haven't found Bill.”

  “That old fuck probably turned off his goddamn radio,” Powell growled. Panic was beginning to slip into his voice.

  “I heard that, you fucking whippersnapper...now what's all this shit about? I just turned it off to take a quick shit, what's going on?”

  Peter tuned Powell's voice out as he relayed the situation once more. He opted to stare at the monitors instead. They all showed generic, alternating views of the office building. Corridors and break rooms and big cubicle complexes. Views he'd all seen a hundred times bef-was Tony really dead? Was he really? Was that all his blood out there?

  No, that was crazy...but, could it be?

  Peter rubbed his head with his free hand. Autumn still clung to his right arm. Some distant part of him registered that a very pretty girl was touching him. All the other parts of him told that part to shut up, they were conferring about something much more important.

  He continued staring at the screens.

  …

  Ian put the radio down and turned to face the others. Everyone was on their way. Just a matter of time now. The girl looked shaken, but fighting for control, and the kid still looked shell-shocked. Bad. He'd seen the look on others before, that same fucking look, right after a hard-as-hell firefight. Hopefully, he'd recover.

  Hopefully.

  He turned to the phone. Now to call the cops. He picked it up and punched in 911. It was picked up almost immediately. They gave the obligatory inquiry, asking about the nature of his emergency.

  “My name is Ian Powell. I'm the night security guard down at the Apex Tech office building, 501 Grandview Drive. I'd like to report a homicide.” Ian was surprised at how level and controlled he sounded. For a second there, well, maybe for more than that, he was unsure if he was going to be able to hold together.

  He'd seen people die. Came with the job when you went into the Corps. He'd seen gunshot wounds and a couple of guys get ripped to shit by a roadside IED. But this...how was it possible for there to just be...blood there? Just blood? Where'd all his skin go? His bones? His clothes? Where the fuck was everything else?

  The cops told him everything he wanted to hear. He answered their questions. Gave them the number of people in the building, tried his be
st to describe the nature of the incident, etc, etc. As he thanked them and hung up, something caught his eye.

  One of the screens was acting up again.

  He frowned and walked over to it. Something about that screen seemed to make something click in his head. Something was very, deeply wrong here. He continued to stare at the screen, which flickered and rolled and blacked out periodically. Suddenly, it snapped back into focus, as if there had never been anything wrong.

  A thought occurred to him. As he sat down at his desk and began to go through the footage, the door opened behind him. He spun around, expecting something besides what he saw: everyone else filtering into the room. None of them were covered in blood. Which, in his mind, cleared them. With the amount of blood out there, there was no way someone could have killed the kid and not be soaked in it.

  He stared at them and his frown deepened. Something was wrong with this picture...

  “Fuck!” he snapped, causing everyone to jump.

  “What?!” Jackson cried.

  “Nick, I fucking forgot Nick! Where is he! Doesn't he have his radio on him!?”

  “Oh shit, he's halfway to deaf...” Bill muttered, he turned to the screens and stared at them. Ian joined him. None of them showed Nick, but there were a thousand blind spots in the building.

  “Where could he be?” Ian whispered, he turned suddenly to Keith and Richard. “You guys have to have the routine nailed by now. Where would he be?” Keith looked stymied but Richard was thinking.

  “He'd...” he looked at his watch. “I think he'd have finished up trash a little while ago, and would be taking it out to the dumpster.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Not a hundred percent, but-” Ian cut him off, turning to the elder janitor.

  “Bill?” Bill seemed to be thinking hard himself. Finally, he nodded.

  “Yeah, it sounds about right. I also know which door he'd use, it's not covered by a security camera. I'll go look.”

  “Jackson, go with him. And take this.” Ian turned and pulled open one of his desk drawers. He fished something out and handed it carefully to Jackson.

  “Is this...a tazer?” he asked finally.