Peter scratched his head, and said, “He showed me a couple books on mythology, but . . .”
“I know he kept a lot of stuff on his laptop,” interjected Jack. “In his message he said he’d been doing some research. Maybe there’s something on his computer.”
“It’s worth a shot,” replied Samantha, heading toward the back office door.
Chapter Twenty
With his face bathed in the pale blue illumination from the laptop’s screen, Jack Allyn carefully scanned the words of the ninth document he had found during his search of Bryan Salisbury’s computer. His bedroom was dark despite it being only five in the afternoon. Jack had pulled the drapes closed when he returned home several hours ago to safeguard himself from any further floating female apparitions. He had been surprised that Samantha had let him walk out of the comic book shop with the laptop under his arm, but the detective had stated that she didn’t want it gathered up in evidence when forensics and the FBI arrived.
When they had examined the computer at the shop, it had been password protected, which, Samantha admitted, would mean having to hand it over to the police department’s Cyber Crimes division. That was something, the detective stated, that she wanted to avoid at all costs. Her partner, Peter Thornton, had been quick to question her motives.
“Two reasons,” she had replied. “One, there’s no rushing the guys in Cyber Crimes. It could be several days before they return with anything. Second, we’d have to tell them what we’re looking for. Do you want to be the one to tell them to look for information on a mythological monster?”
“Wilkinson’s not gonna be happy,” commented Peter.
“Wilkinson can kiss my ass,” came Samantha’s abrupt response.
Despite Peter’s early reservations, Jack could tell that the detective was slowly beginning to open his mind to the possibility of the existence of these terrifying creatures. Like Samantha, the young detective had seen far too much to doubt the evidence before his own eyes. Although he couldn’t be sure, Jack sensed that the death of the comic book shop owner had hit Peter Thornton harder than the detective was letting on.
Hindered by an unknown password, Samantha grew increasingly agitated and had shown no qualms about vocalizing her agitation. “Damn it!” she had shouted loudly after her fourth attempt at guessing the password had failed. She turned and glared at Jack and Peter, who had been standing behind her watching over her shoulders.
“Whatever happened to the days when everyone’s password was password123?” she asked.
Glancing at his watch, Peter asked, “How much longer do you think we can sit on this without reporting it?”
Samantha’s answer had been short and curt. “Until we crack this password.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Jack. “I don’t know if you’d go for this, but . . .”
The two detectives had turned to stare at Jack when he paused. After a moment, he continued, “I could take the laptop back to my apartment while you two get working with forensics. I can try to work on the password while you comb through the crime scene.”
Samantha looked at Jack with dubious eyes. “Is this another of your hidden talents? Computer hacking?”
“I’m just trying to help,” replied Jack. “I didn’t know Bryan terribly well, but maybe I can have some luck at guessing the password. If I can’t, there’s no harm done.”
Samantha said, “See what you can come up with. I’ll swing by tonight around seven.”
Ten minutes later, Jack was on his motorcycle with the laptop stashed in the black leather saddlebag hanging over the rear wheel. In another thirty minutes, he was in his darkened bedroom staring at the screen trying to decide where to start. Jack tried various comic book character names to no avail. Then Jack entered the names of characters from as many science fiction movies as he could think of without success. After that he tried superheroes, and then movie monster names. He wracked his brain trying to visualize the comic book shop in his mind, searching for clues to the right combination of letters and numbers that would open access to the files on the laptop.
After three hours, Jack had just about reached the point of giving up. With the laptop still sitting on his bed, he had been pacing back and forth across the bedroom floor. Jack had cursed out loud when he took his frustration out on a white tennis shoe that was resting on the floor by the bed. The kick had sent the shoe smashing into the wall with a loud bang, leaving a small dent in the drywall. That was when he had his epiphany. Jack could remember the conversation as if it were yesterday.
“It’s one of his seminal works,” Bryan had said. “A cult classic. My all-time favorite.”
Jack’s fingers danced across the keyboard as he entered “THX1138” into the password box. Smiling as the computer screen unlocked, Jack muttered, “Got it!”
After he finished reading the document, Jack closed the lid of the laptop and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. The aching in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten lunch. He drew back the drapes slowly, just enough to look out upon the street below. The activity level below his apartment seemed normal for a Monday evening with a scattering of revelers heading down South Street to get an early start. He scrutinized the faces, looking for any sign of Adonia. Not finding the redhead among the pedestrians below, Jack decided it would be safe to venture forth for dinner.
_______________
With his meal from Geno’s Pizza settling in his stomach, Jack Allyn was feeling particularly placid as he strolled up South Street toward his apartment. There had been something overly comforting about his chicken cheesesteak that evening, and Jack found himself pushing aside thoughts of mummified corpses and mythological creatures. Dusk had fallen across the city, bringing a cool breeze from the east, and the sky was clear and star-filled. It was a beautiful evening, which Jack didn’t want to spoil with thoughts of impending danger or doom. He drew a deep breath and allowed the cool air to fill his lungs. Expecting Samantha Ballard’s arrival at seven, he glanced at his watch, noting that he still had almost twenty minutes.
A block and a half from his apartment building, Jack barely noticed that he had passed a small alleyway between two buildings. The city was full of small alleys like it, most leading to side or back entrances of the buildings. A few even ended in small, perpetually shadowed courtyards, sheltered from the sun by looming brickwork on all sides. Some, like this one, were closed to the world outside by a rusting wrought iron gate. As he passed the shadow-filled passageway, Jack thought he heard the faint cry of a child.
“Help!”
He halted suddenly and looked behind him. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a step forward only to hear another faint cry. It was definitely a child, he thought.
“Somebody help me!”
Taking a step backward, Jack gazed between the bars of the gate into the shadowy darkness of the narrow ingress. Listening intently, he heard nothing but the sound of passing cars and the occasional pedestrian behind him.
“Hello?” he said.
“Help me! Please help me!” came the faint response of a young voice.
“What’s wrong?” he replied.
“Please! Help!” was all he heard in reply.
Gripping the gate, he was surprised to find it unlatched. The rusty hinges creaked loudly as he swung the gate open, stepped into the passageway, and was enveloped in darkness instantly. The alley was narrower than he had realized with his shoulders gently brushing on the brickwork on either side. Ahead of him he could see the opposite end of the passageway, but the shadows surrounding him made it next to impossible to even see where to place his feet. He tread cautiously, feeling gingerly with his foot before taking each step forward. The sound of his footsteps impacting the cobblestones echoed so loudly off the walls that they seemed to block out any other noise.
When he had traversed halfway down the dark passage, he halted, h
aving suddenly realized how foolish he had been. As his heart began to race, Jack watched as a shadowy figure rose from out of nowhere before him, blocking his forward progress. He could see nothing of the features in the darkness—just a dark apparition silhouetted against the dim light from the opposite end of the alleyway. Before he could move, something hard forcibly slammed into his chest, knocking Jack to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as his back smashed onto the hard cobblestones below. He gasped for air as the black silhouette leaned forward and fiery red eyes appeared, filling the passage with a red iridescence.
“My sister let you off far too easy,” said a husky female voice.
Still wrestling to draw oxygen into his lungs, Jack could say nothing in reply. He gazed up into the bright red balls of fire, and felt a hopelessness beyond all hopelessness. Knowing what he knew about the powers of these creatures, Jack was certain he had made the last mistake of his life by walking down the dark passageway. Now he was staring death itself in the face as retribution for that mistake. He had never been a religious man, but he began to recite in his head the only prayer he had ever known, the Lord’s Prayer. It brought momentary comfort to him until he realized that he couldn’t remember any of the prayer past the line “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done”.
The burning eyes moved closer as the husky voice said, “It will be such a pleasure to take your life. Even more of a pleasure than your friend at the cartoon shop.”
Waiting for death to descend on him, Jack was shocked when a white beam of light illuminated the figure before him. He could clearly see the face of the alluring woman who he had seen once before. The long black hair surrounded a face of exquisite complexion and beauty that was only hampered by the fiery red eyes and spike-like teeth. She jerked back and let out a loud ominous hiss. Suddenly, the narrow alleyway erupted with what seemed to Jack like three thundering explosions in rapid succession. The woman standing before him jerked backward as three crimson red spots appeared on her chest, sending a small splattering of red, viscous substance down upon Jack. Hissing with an indignant fury bordering on mania, the woman turned and fled toward the end of alleyway. Before he could move, rapidly approaching footsteps from behind him announced the arrival of another figure, which leapt over him in pursuit of the fleeing creature. Moments later, the figure returned and, grabbing his hand, pulled him up off the ground.
“Come on, Jack. Let’s get out of here before I’ve got to write a twenty-page report on why I discharged my firearm,” said Samantha.
_______________
Jack and Samantha had spent the next twenty minutes scurrying around corners and down side streets to ensure that no one from the growing crowd of gawkers, which had formed at the entrance of the alleyway, could identify where they had gone. When they had dashed out of the alley, Jack remembered hearing someone scream and felt at least one pair of hands try to grab him. But Samantha had simply bowled through the melee half-dragging Jack behind her. A precisely placed elbow and a few rigorous shoves with Samantha’s free hand had driven a wedge through the people, creating a clear channel for their escape. They had even avoided entering through the front entrance to his apartment building, choosing a seldom-used fire exit in the alley behind the building.
When Jack finally closed the door of his apartment behind them, he leaned back against it to catch his breath. Samantha shed her grey overcoat and dropped it onto the sofa. Unclipping the leather holster from her belt, she dropped it on top of the overcoat, and then gave a long sigh.
Finally having caught his breath, Jack said, “That was the woman I saw at Pulsar.”
Nodding, Samantha replied, “Her name is Calithea Panagakos, or so she claims.”
“You saved my life.”
Samantha nodded again. “Probably. At least for now.”
Jack pushed off from the door, walked into the living room, and slid down into the Lazy Boy across from the sofa. “You make it sound like she’ll be back.”
“There was a small courtyard behind that building. The alley was the only way out. She wasn’t in the courtyard. “
Jack gaped in surprise. “What?”
“It was empty.”
Shaking his head, Jack replied, “That’s not possible!”
“Neither is a naked woman floating twenty stories up, but you believe that.”
“Don’t remind me,” replied Jack, holding up his hand as if to signal her to stop.
“I put three bullets straight into where her heart should be, and she—that thing—ran off as if nothing had happened,” said Samantha.
“How’d you find me?”
Samantha smiled. “I’d parked about a block up the street from that alley. You’re lucky I caught sight of you when you started walking in. I ran up the street as fast as I could.”
“How’d you know I was in trouble?”
Samantha laughed. “You were in a dark alley on South Street. Need I say more?”
Jack suddenly rose from his seat. “Do you want a drink? I can certainly use one.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Same as I had last time you were here.”
Samantha thought for a second back to her last visit, and finally replied, “A glass of wine.”
Jack returned moments later from the kitchen carrying a bottle of Sam Adams Boston Lager and a glass of chilled Chardonnay. Taking the wine glass from Jack, she put the rim to her lips and took a long, slow sip, allowing the somewhat austere and tantalizing flavors to flow over her tongue.
“Mmm . . . This is very good. What is it?” she asked.
With a smile, Jack replied, “It’s a Lynmar Estate 2010 La Sereinité Chardonnay. Only the best for the woman who saved my life.”
Jack returned to his place in the Lazy Boy while Samantha took a seat on the sofa. They drank in silence, each deep in thought. Jack wondered why these creatures had suddenly taken such a deadly interest in him. He had never feared for his own safety before, but now he wondered if it was wise to even venture from his apartment. Yet, in light of what had happened at the radio station the previous evening, he was concerned that the perceived safety of his own apartment was an illusion. His brush with death drew his lifelong regrets once again to the surface, in the same manner as a quiet night with too much alcohol often did. Of all of them, one always seemed to overshadow all of his other regrets. And it always brought with it the underlying guilt that accompanied his regrets related to Emma. The guilt alone had kept him from returning to his hometown of Schenectady to visit his parents. He had allowed it to fester for so many years that it had simply become second nature to him, like the mild ache of arthritis that one simply grows to live with. Was it fair to deprive his parents of their own son’s company because of what had happened? He often wondered if Emma’s parents ever knew the truth. Jack had never spoken to them after that night, and he wondered if they would understand.
Samantha’s mind had drifted into the recent past with thoughts of Faulkner and Anderson, the two officers who had died in the elevator at the hands of Calithea Panagakos. She couldn’t help but cast the blame on herself for placing the two officers in the situation that had resulted in their deaths. With thoughts of what she should have done differently racing through her mind, she found her emotional barriers faltering at her own recriminations. She questioned her actions, asking herself why she hadn’t ridden in the elevator with the two officers. Had it been prideful thinking that perhaps she thought that “suspect escort duties” were beneath a detective of her standing? No, she had always been willing to take on the most insignificant task if it needed to be done. Or perhaps, she thought, it was the way that Calithea Panagakos made her feel. She would never admit it publicly, but there was something about Calithea that intimidated Samantha in a way she had never experienced before. It was impossible for the detective to put her finger on exactly what it was. Perhaps it was the impossibly good looks t
he woman exuded, or the inexplicable persuasion that she had over her male counterparts. Whatever it was, it was unsettling Samantha to the extent that she could feel the cracks widening in her proverbial armor. The creature called Calithea had struck a ferocious blow by adding the death of two police officers to Samantha’s tally. Now there were three for which the detective felt responsible.
“I’ve been kicked off the case,” she suddenly said.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t playing well with others. Particularly the FBI.” Samantha paused, and then added, “Speaking of the feds, you’re all they’re talking about these days.”
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he simply said, “Huh?”
“Among their many theories, they think the killer has some kind of connection to you. It’s a neat little theory, ties up the Pulsar murders as well as Bryan and Jason’s deaths all in a neat little bow.”
“They think I’ve got something to do with all this?”
“Not anymore . . . at least not directly. Perhaps it’s someone who knows you, or an obsessed fan. At least, that’s their theory. For now, I suggest we try to avoid running into Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.” Samantha emptied her wine glass with a long, slow sip and then said, “As good as the Chardonnay may be, I didn’t come here to share small talk over a few drinks. Tell me you discovered something so I don’t feel like I saved your life for nothing.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. And you won’t believe what I found.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Carrying the laptop, Jack returned from the bedroom and sat down next to Samantha on the sofa. Tapping on the keyboard brought the dark screen to life, and Jack typed in the password at the prompt on the screen.
“What was the password?” inquired Samantha.
“THX1138” came Jack’s reply.
Sirens in the Night Page 18