Shadows

by Jack Dagger

  “Peter! Stop thinking about that!” she cried. Peter turned away from the window, stumbling, until he fell flat on his ass. The pain abated, but the malignant presence remained overhead. It hovered, and Peter almost thought he could hear a low, ominous growl.

  “Come on,” Autumn whispered, still staring up, offering Peter her hand. He took it and she pulled him up. Carefully, they backed out of the room until they were in the corridor. The presence seemed to remain in the room. Autumn let out her breath in a sharp heave.

  “Shit, I guess we can't doubt Jackson's theory at all now, huh? You were thinking about leaving that window, weren't you?” she asked. He nodded, shakier than ever. “Well, try not to think about that anymore, okay?”

  “It's hard not to,” Peter replied miserably.

  “Come on,” Autumn said, taking his hand again. She led him to an empty office, flicked on the lights and sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk. Peter pulled up another chair in front of the desk and sat. They stared at each other for a few seconds until Autumn opened the bottle of soda she'd bought from the machine and drank. She put it on the desk, offering it to Peter. He stared at it for a moment, it was a brand he didn't care for, but he took it and drank anyway.

  “I'm going to tell you something I probably would have told you later on tonight, anyway,” Autumn began, accepting the bottle back. She stared at it for a moment, as if meaning to drink from it again, then set it down.

  “Things aren't going good with Derek. He's irritable and distant and spends a lot of time away from the apartment. I'm pretty sure we're headed for a break-up and...well, it's probably for the best. I don't love him, and he doesn't love me, we've both known that since the beginning and the relationship was never much beyond lust and then comfort. But I'm the kind of person who...God, this feels so weird to just talk about this. Just abandon the social contract and just talk about it, plain and simple.”

  “It's alright...I don't really feel like adhering to any social contracts at the moment, anyway. After what's happened tonight, I don't think there's much room for political correctness or all the regular rules people apply to themselves and others,” Peter replied. Autumn laughed, suddenly.

  “I'll give you that, Peter. It's something I've always liked about you. You rarely adhere to the social contract when we're talking. You don't fuck around, you say what you mean.” Peter chuckled.

  “I guess I usually do, which results in me talking to as few people as possible.”

  “There would be that problem...anyway, I'm getting off track. We've been friends for like, what, a year now? I'm going to break if off with Derek if he doesn't break if off with me first and, well, I'm the kind of person who needs the boyfriend position filled pretty constantly. It used to be a big problem for me. I'd hate feeling that loneliness, and that pathetic need, and hate myself for needing someone like that. It's not as bad as it used to be, but, well, after what the fuck happened tonight I'm sure I'll be scared as well as lonely.

  “Anyway, I've come to terms with that part of myself. I just get lonely, and I need companionship, and obviously I'd like it to be with someone I enjoy spending time around. And I don't want this to paint me as a whore, you know? I mean, I don't just go around fucking guys ‘cause I'm lonely. I'm not like that. I go for committed relationships; my shortest relationship has been eight months.

  “Once I'm in it, I'm committed. For as long as I can stand it, I guess. Until it all goes to shit...like it always does.” She broke off and sighed, suddenly. She was looking at the desk now. Peter remained silent. Despite their regular conversations, he'd never seen her so thoroughly cut through the topical banter straight to the bone of raw emotion.

  Autumn seemed to compose herself.

  “What I'm saying is, if we get out of this godforsaken office building, I'd like to go somewhere with you and maybe see about dating. I mean, we've been friends for long enough and, God, Peter, you're terrible about hiding how much of a crush you've got on me.” Peter opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't think of anything to say, and felt his face flush hotly.

  Autumn laughed loudly.

  “And that's another thing I like about you. You're so adorable when you're embarrassed. And before you ask, no, I wouldn't be dating you to use you to fill my boyfriend slot and wow I just realized how sexual that sounded.” They both laughed then, Peter until he had tears in his eyes. When they regained control of themselves, Autumn continued.

  “So I really like you Peter and I hope this isn't too forward of me.”

  “No, it's music to my ears honestly. I've been hoping for something like this pretty much since we started talking.”

  “Why haven't you gone after anyone else? I mean, there's plenty of hot chicks in the office. Some of them are single.”

  “Well, besides the fact that I'm not very confident at all? I don't know, I guess I was just too focused on you. None of them seemed to measure up.”

  “Wow...that's, really nice of you to say, Peter.”

  “I'm glad you didn't think it was creepy. I swear, nowadays it seems like if a guy has a crush on a girl, and the girl doesn't find him attractive, he becomes a 'creeper'.”

  “God, I know. I think women just use it as an excuse...hey, I bet you're not thinking of leaving now, are you?” Peter opened his mouth, hesitating, then frowned.

  “Well, I am now,” he replied. And then laughed.

  He felt a lot better.

  …

  “I think I should see this ash room,” Banks said. Ian glanced over at him. He'd already told his story to the cops outside, of which there was a small army. It wouldn't be long before the news showed up and word of this...this...demon? Alien? Monster? got out. What would they tell them? Probably something mundane, like a psycho serial killer was loose in the building.

  “What difference would it make?” Ian replied, finally.

  “Got anything better to do?” Jackson muttered irritably, without looking up. Ian felt the urge to punch him in the jaw, but restrained himself.

  “I suppose not. Come along.”

  Jackson and Richard remained in the security center, lost in themselves. Ian wondered where the other two had gone as he led Banks down the corridor, towards the elevator. Probably off to fuck. Isn't that what young twenty-somethings did in situations like this? 'We're probably going to die so we should just fuck.' Sure, why not?

  He found the lift, hit the button and stepped in when the doors opened. Banks followed and they rode up in silence. Ian shifted uncomfortably while he waited for the doors to open once more. The idea that there was something that could move with such terrifying speed, such impossible precision and that could kill you so fast it was like flicking a switch instilled in him perhaps the greatest terror he had ever felt.

  He'd fought men before. He'd killed men before. In Iraq, then in Afghanistan. It had been bad then. He was certain that he was visiting his own personal circle of hell as he stalked those sweltering cities, hunting insurgents with a better knowledge of the area and, in more cases than not, the help of the locals.

  But this...in some ways it was better, in some ways it was a hundred thousand times worse. At least there was air conditioning in this battle. Ian chuckled grimly, a dark sound that startled the cop. He began to ask what was so funny when the elevator reached its appropriate level and deposited them thusly.

  “This way,” Ian said, making his way down the corridor. So many corridors in this wretched building, all of them looked alike. Banks followed nervously. So Jackson had cracked it...Ian wondered if the moron could come up with a plan.

  He doubted it.

  “Here, it's here,” Ian murmured, opening the door to the rarely used storage room. It was how he had last seen it over an hour ago. It felt like much longer. Time seemed to pass in swollen fragments now.

  The room was still covered in a fine layer of black ash. The indentations were somewhat more visible now, soft dents in every wall, the floor and the ceiling. There was nothin
g new here, just the footprints left by Ian when he had first ventured into the room. Banks stared long into the ash, as if trying to conjure some message or meaning from it.

  “I bet there's a lot of scientists who'd love to get their hands on this shit,” he muttered suddenly. Ian thought the man was probably very correct, this stuff might be from another dimension or maybe from Hell itself. Sure, why not? A demon seemed to fit this evil, nightmarish monstrosity that presently plagued their office building.

  Ian began to say something, but Banks' radio squawked to life in a shriek of static, causing them both to jump.

  “Banks, you still alive in there?” They both stepped out of the ash room, Ian closing the door firmly behind them, as Banks reached for his radio.

  “Yes, Sergeant, what's going on out there?”

  “A man showed up...uh, says he's CIA. He wants to talk with that security guard you got in there. Powell.” Banks and Ian glanced at each other, confused.

  “Um...okay.” Banks handed the radio over to a confused Ian. He took it and brought it to his lips.

  “This is Ian Powell, night watchman. Who's this?” There was a brief pause, tinged with spits of static, like audio sparks, then,

  “This is Agent Baker of the CIA, Mister Powell. I have been apprised of the situation and I need you to describe to me, in painful detail, exactly what the creature looks like.” Ian hesitated further, contemplating the situation. A CIA Agent, here? All of a sudden? There was no fucking coincidence about that.

  He could easily envision this man, this Agent Baker: a tall, pale, frowning man in a jet-black suit and slick back jet-black hair with jet-black sunglasses on, despite the darkness. He was tempted to walk to the lobby and look, but settled on making for the elevator.

  He ran through the description as calmly and thoroughly as he could. He could easily recall the malignant thing. A dark, puffy nest of seething shadows that almost seemed to be taking form. Almost, but not quite. A sentient shadow. Baker asked him a lot of questions as he rode the lift down to the second floor.

  “Did it make a noise? Any noise?” he asked.

  “I...well, when it first appeared, there was a noise. But I think it was the ceiling tile...wait...”

  “What?”

  “I was going to say it pulled the ceiling tile back, only that isn't right. It seemed to be just coming through the ceiling itself, as if it weren't there. I can't really describe the sound it made though...”

  “Alright, it's not too important. Besides the blood explosions and phasing, does it have any other abilities?”

  “Phasing?”

  “Moving through physical objects.”

  “Oh...now that you mention it, yeah. It does. It can fucking read our minds.”

  “I had gathered, though its actions so far indicate that it may be reading your emotions more than your minds.”

  “...you sound like you know a lot about this thing.”

  “Merely educated guesses.”

  “Who are you? Really?” The elevator came to a halt, he stepped out and began making his way to the front windows.

  “We've been over that already, Mister Powell. Any other abilities?”

  “Well, it seems to interfere with electrical equipment. I've been having malfunctions with my radio and cameras all night. I've also had a headache that seemed to rise and fall in waves, which I guess we can chalk up to this thing.”

  “Have the others been having headaches?”

  “I don't know for sure, but I'd bet yes.”

  “I see, anything else?”

  “No, I can't think of any other 'abilities'.” Ian came to stand at the end of the corridor, where a window overlooked the parking lot. He gaped as he realized his prediction had been dead-on. Agent Baker stood out like a painfully swollen thumb against all of the other cops, of which there were two dozen now. The parking lot had been blockaded and there was a crowd gathering at it's edge.

  “Got you, fucker,” Ian whispered. Baker's gaze snapped sharply up, causing Ian to jump. From behind obsidian sunglasses, he smiled and waved.

  “Hello to you, too, Mister Powell. Now, describe this ash room to me.” Ian turned away from the window, retreating to a nearby office and sitting down in it. Banks sat quietly in another chair, content to be a bit player.

  Ian ran through his description of the ashen room he'd discovered and seen twice now. The memory of it gave him fresh chills. Baker was silent for several moments. Ian was tempted to get back up, but he was very tired, very abruptly. He wanted to fall asleep in the chair he sat in. That thought filled him with a bit of anger, and he sat up straighter.

  The radio crackled to life.

  “Powell, I have a plan. I want you to listen to me closely.”

  Ian listened.

  Six

  -The Game Plan-

  “So, if we get out of this, what would you want to do?” Peter asked, lounging in the chair as best he could. It was an uncomfortable chair. All office chairs seemed to be. Autumn was grinning, but it broke into a wide yawn.

  “Honestly? Sleep. I'm exhausted. Being terrified for so long is exhausting.”

  “Where would you want to sleep?” There was a brief silence, broken soon by Autumn's laughter.

  “Where did all that lack of confidence go?” she asked. Peter opened his mouth to reply, but felt his words cut off by the all-too-familiar feeling of his cheeks burning. Autumn only laughed more. “My God, you are adorable when you're like this.”

  “Well...I-goddammit,” Peter muttered miserably. Autumn stifled her laughter.

  “Relax, Peter. Provided you don't ask for anything more than cuddling, I can completely see sharing a bed with you if we get out of this.”

  “Really? That wouldn't seem...too forward? I mean, I was half-joking...”

  “Relax. Everyone has different levels of comfort with how fast they're willing to move and, well, to be honest, I already am past that 'getting to know you' stage. I trust that you'll make great boyfriend material, provided you're not hiding anything huge...you don't have any corpses under your bed or you're not living with your mom still, are you?”

  “No, nothing like that. The biggest problem you'll find with me is that I'm boring.”

  “Well...I can deal with boring. And I'm sure I can talk you into doing not boring things.”

  “No argument there.”

  They both glanced over as the door abruptly opened. Ian leaned in, the cop behind him. They both looked excited, Ian more so than the cop.

  “What happened?” Peter asked unhappily.

  “We have a plan to get out,” Ian replied. Peter shot to his feet and made for the door, Autumn not far behind. They stepped out into the corridor and began to follow the other two.

  “So, what's the plan?” Peter asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

  “In a minute. I want us all to be together when I spell it out,” Ian replied. Peter fell silent, contemplating the situation. Could they actually have a plan? It didn't seem likely. This...thing, whatever it was, seemed unbeatable. He realized that he'd been avoiding thinking of the creature for as long as possible.

  What was it? He'd read enough books and seen enough movies in his time that he could imagine half a dozen different likelihoods of the origin of this creature, especially after hearing Ian's tale about the ash-stricken room.

  But even then, where could it have come from? What were its motives? He found himself thinking a pair of unhappy thoughts, one more unsettling than the other. The first was that it was extremely likely they were never going to discover the true nature or origin of this impossible entity. The second was that he was being far too calm for this, and he was more than likely in shock, and might have a mental breakdown sooner rather than later.

  The idea was more than a little frightening.

  They came back to the security office, where the other two still sat, now talking quietly amongst themselves. They looked up apprehensively as the quartet entered the office.r />
  “So...what's the story?” Autumn asked. Ian glanced around uncertainly before talking. He looked at the bank of glowing monitors for several seconds in mute fear before finally turning to face them as a group.

  “I've been talking to this guy, this CIA Agent who's showed up, for a little while. I very seriously doubt he's CIA, or even with the government. This reeks of some kind of paranormal cover-up group or something. Anyway...he's got some theories on this thing, and he thinks he might be able to get us out of here. It's pretty simple...but can go pretty wrong. The gist of it is this: we don't think about leaving, while we leave.”

  There was dead silence for several moments. Finally, Jackson spoke up.

  “That is the stupidest idea I think that I have ever heard.” Ian sighed.

  “It's the best idea we've got, idiot. Look, Baker thinks that this thing can't read our minds, but rather, our emotions, or only the basest gist of what our wants are. If we can keep a poker face, we can make it out. Baker has already told me he, personally, has propped the front doors open. Nearly bought it, too, from the sound of his voice. He said even the two seconds it would take to open the door might make the difference.”

  Again, another bout of silence.

  “Well, I'm game,” Peter said with an unexpected enthusiasm.

  “Me too,” Autumn added.

  “Sure, why not?” Jackson muttered glumly. Richard shrugged indifferently.

  “Alright then, let's do this.”

  …

  They stood in the blood-soaked lobby, six of them in a long line, staring at the front entrance. It was almost like a portal to another world. Beyond it was a fleet of police cruisers with an army of cops to back it up. Further beyond them a crowd, complete with media, had gathered. Ian chuckled.

  “Wonder how they're gonna cover this one up,” he muttered grimly.

  Agent Baker stood at the front of it all, maybe ten feet from the propped open front doors. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his sunglasses on, staring at them with a small, vaguely hopeful smile on his face.