by Glenn Porzig
"Wipe that grin off your face. You might be getting off without an extended suspension, but you will be going for a mandatory psyche evaluation. I want you to schedule an appointment with Doctor Hatcher and I want you to get a clean bill of health from her before you report back for duty. Do you understand?"
"If that's what you want, Chief."
"Damn right that's what I want! Now get out of my office, and this building. When you come back I don't expect you to be so trigger happy!"
***
The Clarke's had been fully moved in to their new house a few days and were finally settling into a routine. Jessica walked up to her husband, he was kneeling and nailing down some molding.
"Chris, you know how you've been misplacing tools?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I don't think it's you getting forgetful in your old age…" Jessica squirmed, not ready to be forthcoming about what she wanted to say.
"What are you getting at?" Chris arched an eyebrow at his wife.
"You ever feel like you're being watched? When I'm home alone, or you're asleep… I just kind of get creeped out… like someone is watching me."
"You just aren't acclimated to the house yet, honey. It's always hard to get used to a new place, especially an older house like this one."
"But… it feels like more than that… and sometimes I hear things."
"I just said, it's an old house. Old houses settle. They pop and creak as the weather fluctuates. It's normal. You'll get used to it. Before long you won't even notice it any more."
"I think there's more to it than that…"
"Look, even on that one ghost show the guys were plumbers because most of the hauntings ended up being bad plumbing!"
"Sometimes, early in the morning—before the traffic picks up outside—I swear, it sounds like I hear a man's voice coming up from the basement…"
"This overnight shift is just messing with you. I know it must be rough, and I'm sorry you have to do it." Chris put the hammer down and stood up by his wife.
"No, I really don't think that's it. I know my sleep schedule is still all messed up, and the work is exhausting… but that wouldn't make me hear things, would it?"
"Bad sleep, or not enough sleep, has been scientifically proven to really mess with your health—and sleep deprivation can certainly mess with your thought processes. But you're the RN, I thought you would have known that."
"So, you really never hear anything? You think I'm crazy?"
"Jess, honey—I never said you were crazy."
"Well? Have you heard anything or not?"
"Nothing that can't be explained," he said confidently.
"Seriously? You think I'm imagining things?"
"You have been working twelve hour shifts—and your work can be stressful. Maybe it's taking its toll on your nerves."
"What happened to my supportive husband?"
"He's standing right here with you. I am supportive, it's just that your nerves are a little frazzled from all of the changes in our life and you're letting it get to you. Just try to relax and I promise everything will be better soon."
"Okay… maybe I am over reacting. I mean, I don't really believe in ghosts. I've seen people die in the ER and I've never seen any spirits, or anything like that…"
"See? That's the rational woman I married. Everything will be all right, I promise." Chris pulled his wife closer and hugged her, but the look of worry on her face persisted.
***
Cruising downtown was a welcome homecoming. It had been nearly a year since she left. But now she was back. She was back to the town that had made her career. Until now everyone had known her as the anchor for WYKN news, but now the world would know her as the woman who had seen the Face of Evil and lived.
It was only natural that she would return to the scene of the grisly murders that were her first big break in TV, and now the inspiration for her new book. A book she was sure would catapult her to the top of the list of best sellers. A book that would get her a guest spot on TV programs across the country. That single book would make her in demand for interviews and speaking engagements for years to come. This was her ticket to the top. The National success that had always been just out of her grasp.
She had given up on any real relationships. She had foregone having a family. She was a career woman. Her life had been the newsroom. It had been a fast paced and demanding life. She had thrived under the pressure. But now easy street was ahead of her. A book deal with a big advance. There would be royalties and residuals for years to come. She was sure that this story would capture the imagination of the public once she shared the sordid details.
She had sold everything and moved to New York. She had been living there the last few months. Rubbing elbows with all the right people. It was who you know, no matter where you were, so she called in favors with connections that had passed through her newsroom over the years. At first it was a blow to her ego, coming from Pennsylvania where she was a household name to the Big Apple where she was just another face in the crowd. But eventually the right word to the right person got her a chance to pitch her book.
If there was one thing that she knew how to do it was pitch a story. She could make you see, hear, feel, and taste it. But most importantly—she could make you buy it. Her years as a reporter sensationalizing stories paid off big with a book contract and a six figure advance. It had made the gamble of leaving her old career behind her worth the risk.
She spent the next few months polishing up her manuscript. Normally it would have taken longer to secure a book deal and write a non-fiction book. But she was tenacious, and the story was provocative. Torn from the headlines, it had practically written itself. Lee Miller was a young man accused of brutally murdering a family, but he had never been officially charged. Thirteen years later another family is slaughtered and he is found to have been the killer all along. It doesn't get much more shocking that that.
She didn't care about writing the next great American novel. She knew what sells, and so did her publisher. True crime stories always appealed to the masses. And this story was sensational.
Now she was ready to share it with the world. And this was the perfect time, and the perfect place, to launch her book. In the city where the nightmare began, on the anniversary of the murders.
Her new sports car pulled up to the valet at the posh hotel her publicist had booked for her. It felt like success. She checked her luscious blond hair in the rear view mirror then snatched up her designer purse from the car seat next to her and slid out the door. She flashed a quick smile at the valet.
"The keys are in it, have my bags brought up to my room. The name's Taylor, Vicki Taylor."
***
"Hey buddy, how you doin'?"
Officer Hector De La Rosa's eyes fluttered open. The lights in the hospital room were bright and he squinted until his vision could adjust. He smiled when Detective Drake's face came into focus.
"I hear I have you to thank for being here today… I mean, here as in alive." De La Rosa smiled, making the breathing tube in his nose move around and feel funny. It was the first time he'd smiled since he'd been shot.
"You hear? Don't you remember what happened?"
"I vaguely remember your big black car pulling up… and who could miss your white hair?" he chuckled, but the laugh turned into a cough making him wince in pain. "But seriously, it's all kind of a fog, everything after I got shot." He looked away, his eyes welling with tears. "I never got shot before. It was so strange. A white hot pain in my side and then everything seemed to be going in slow motion."
"Well, I assure you—you never get used to it," Drake smiled warmly.
"I was out there on the cold street—blood leaking out of me. My hands couldn't stop it. I just kept thinking that this was it for me. Help wouldn't make it in time, and either I'd bleed out—or one of those bastards would walk over and finish the job," he swallowed hard. "I thought I'd collected my last paycheck, you know what I'm saying?" He
looked up at Drake who slowly nodded his head. "This job… this job takes everything, and sometimes it takes your life. I was afraid I'd never be able to propose to my girlfriend… that we'd never have any kids for my parents to spoil…"
"So what went down out there?"
"I rolled up on these teens, they were acting suspicious when they saw me. Looked like a drug deal going down. Kids are so stupid out on the street. Possession charges? Dealing charges? Nothing compared to shooting an officer. It just doesn't make any sense."
"Seems like a human life isn't worth much these days. I feel like we're slipping into the Dark Ages again," Drake mused.
"I stepped out to talk to them, didn't plan to bust them, just going to give them a warning… try to talk some sense into them. Before I knew what was happening one of them had a gun out. I didn't expect it to escalate so quickly—and I certainly didn't think he'd actually shoot me. These kids are feral." De La Rosa slowly shook his head in disbelief, reliving the moment that he was gunned down.
"Between being scared and trying to look tough, it's surprising that more encounters with gang members don't end up like this," Drake tried to put on a smile for his recovering friend. "The important thing is you made it. I hear they expect a full recovery."
"And I hear those punks won't be causing any more trouble. Look, I'm part of the community outreach. I'm trying to show them a better way—to make a difference. But I'm glad those punks are off the street. Glad they aren't out there pushing their poison. Glad they won't be shooting anyone else—ever again."
"I just did what I had to do. I take no pleasure in killing, especially someone so young. But you put down a rabid dog. I may have taken three lives, but no telling how many lives were saved by taking the trash off the streets."
"I hope Underwood didn't give you too much shit over this…" De La Rosa said, his eyebrow cocked.
"Nothing I can't handle," Drake replied. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"Just tell the guys back at the precinct that instead of sending flowers they should send money… or strippers, yeah, tell them to send strippers!"
"Will do. You rest up, we need you back on the streets."
Just then the door to the hospital room opened and a perky young brunette nurse came in.
"Excuse me fellas, it's time to change mister De La Rosa's bandages."
"It's okay, I was just leaving."
The nurse walked over to De La Rosa and gently placed her hand on his forearm. She leaned over him and looked in his eyes.
"I'm nurse Bennett, but you can call me Brandy. I'll be here with you overnight."
"Brandy, you're a fine girl…" De La Rosa weakly sang.
Brandy held up her hand to stop him from embarrassing himself further. "I've heard it all before, Sailor."
"Looks like you're in good hands, Hector. I'll leave you two alone. Be gentle with him," Drake smirked as he walked out of the room.
***
A loud noise jolted Jessica, waking her from a deep sleep. Disoriented she looked around the room for the source of the sound. "Chris?" Her husband's spot on the bed next to her was empty. She ran her hand across the sheets, they were cold. "Chris, was that you?"
Slowly she pulled back the covers and stepped out of bed. "Where are you?"
"I don't appreciate you working while I'm trying to sleep." She yawned and made her way out into the hall. "You know I've had a long day and I've not been getting enough rest…"
"Did you hear me? Chris?" She looked around, the light was dim, she had no idea what time it was. "You know I'm having trouble sleeping."
She continued to walk down the hall until she reached the steps. "Chris, was that you making all that racket?"
Still no response, she began to worry. What if he wasn't home? What if it was an intruder? She had left her phone on the charger in the bedroom.
Deciding she was only being paranoid she continued down the stairs. The stairs creaked in the otherwise quiet house as she cautiously descended them. She paused to listen when she reached the last step. "Honey, are you home?"
Suddenly a loud thump, like a heavy book being dropped on a wooden floor, echoed through the house. Startled, she grabbed at the handrail and looked around rapidly. Nothing.
"Whoever you are, you'd better leave. I've called the police!"
Still nothing. She strained to listen for any movement in the house. It was almost a murmur, but she swore that she heard the talking again. The faint sound of a man's voice that she had been hearing come up through the air vents. Hearing it clearer than usual, it almost sounded like some sort of chanting. This time she was going to get to the bottom of it. This time she would follow the voice to its source and put an end to this harassment.
Emboldened, she made her way to the cellar. Slowly opening the door, she peered down into the darkness. Just as quickly as her bravado had arrived it faded again. It was scary down there. She had made a point to spend as little time down in the cellar as possible, and she only went down there when Chris was home.
But she couldn't stand it any longer. She couldn't live with the whispers drifting up from the cellar when she was trying to fall asleep. It was driving her mad. It was probably nothing. Maybe an old clock radio set to some talk radio station coming on, or something foolish like that. There had to be a rational explanation. All it would take is her going to investigate it now while it was happening.
A little bravery now would lead to a lot of peace of mind in the future. She took a deep breath and slowly made her way down the darkened stairs into the cool damp cellar. Finally reaching the bottom, her hand couldn't move fast enough to pull the chain and spark the single exposed bulb to life. Its weak light illuminated a circle in the middle of the room, but still left many dark nooks. The chain swung wildly from the fixture, jumping around and tinking against the bulb until it finally lost momentum.
The piled up junk formed scary shapes in the shadows that preyed on her heightened fears as she looked around the room. She tried to calm herself. She was rational. There was no intruder. She didn't believe in ghosts. So what was there to be afraid of?
Just then the hairs on her arm began to stand up. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly and a chill ran down her spine. She shuddered and exhaled, her breath forming a faint mist as it escaped her lips. It was like someone had turned on the air conditioning full blast, but it was October and the heat would have been on. Besides, she was downstairs with the furnace and she didn't hear it running.
A low pitched growl echoed off the concrete walls, making her recoil in fear. Instinctively she withdrew into herself, making her body a smaller target. She stood there, immobile. Trembling.
Had an animal somehow gotten in the house? Maybe that was it. She'd heard stories from her grandmother about her grandfather winning a bet to stay overnight in a supposedly haunted house. The homeowners had heard footsteps overhead and a chain rattling in the night. But he didn't believe in ghosts. He stayed awake and investigated the source of the noises. It had been a raccoon. It was wearing a collar with a chain attached to it. The poor creature must have been someone's pet that got away and took up residence in the attic, only coming out at night to scavenge for food.
But this was no raccoon.
The voice started again, it was louder. Closer. She looked around frantically. One of the shadows began to move. It seemed to come alive. A living shadow, shaped like a man. Time seemed to stand still. Her heartbeat raced as terror gripped her. She wanted to flee, but her limbs refused to respond.
The shadow man hovered across the room, passing right in front of her and vanished into one of the walls in a puff of oily black smoke.
Jessica screamed and then passed out.
***
"You were seriously passed out on the basement floor?" Brandy was incredulous.
"Yeah, Chris came home from buying supplies and found the door to the cellar open. He said when he saw me down there he was afraid I'd tripped down the stairs and fallen to my deat
h!"
"Wow. How long were you down there on the floor like that?"
"I can't say… I really don't know when it was that I woke up and wandered down there. It's a good thing I didn't actually fall down the stairs and hurt myself. Like an idiot I left my phone up in the bedroom."
"Why did you even go down there? Were you sleepwalking?"
"I feel silly saying it… I just, I just heard something, and I went down to check it out. That's all." Jessica looked away nervously.
"Was it a ghost?" Brandy asked excitedly.
"A ghost? Don't be silly. Don't tell me you believe in ghosts?" Jessica peeked back at her friend, eager to hear her response.
"Sure do!" Brandy announced loudly, her brunette hair bounced as she nodded. Her perkiness was getting on Jessica's nerves. How could she be so peppy working this shift? And after the time that Jessica had spent passed out on the cold floor… she wasn't sure she could handle Brandy being so sickeningly positive.
"Wait, you seriously believe in ghosts?"
"You know it! I watch all of those shows; the one with those students from Penn State, the one with the plumbers, and especially the one with the hot guy that's always shouting at the ghosts—daring them to attack him!"
"But that's all just reality TV. You don't really believe it, do you?"
"Hello? R-E-A-L-I-T-Y TV. That stuffs real, or they couldn't call it reality."
Jessica shook her head.
"You saw a ghost didn't you? Yes you did! I know you did! You need to tell me all about it!"
"Okay, okay. Calm down. Let's keep this quiet—just between you and me." Jessica leaned in towards Brandy.
Brandy rapidly nodded her head in affirmation. She was ready to hear the juicy details.
"Spill it! This will be my first time getting a first hand account of someone that's really seen a ghost—you did see one, right?"
"It started out I was in bed asleep and something loud woke me up. I went downstairs to investigate. I thought it was Chris working on some project… but he wasn't home."
"Go on!" Brandy said eagerly.