by Mac Flynn
I raced past the unconscious Mr. Bellamy and through the doors, but stumbled to a stop outside. The cold night air greeted me, and so did a familiar figure from the shadows.
"Where's the fire?" Osman spoke up as he walked up to the door. He wore the same overcoat as last night, and I swear he had the same cigarette between his lips.
I jumped back and stumbled into a trash can. I would've fallen, but Osman leapt forward and caught my hand. He righted me and chuckled.
"I always seem to be saving the day for you," he commented.
I glared at him and pushed him away. "Well, you're a little late tonight. I saved myself from the phantom that you were supposed to have killed-"
"Destroy," he corrected me.
"That you were supposed to take care of last night, and there's still this pale guy following me!" I snapped.
He smiled and folded his arms across the front of his overcoat. "I know. I told him to follow you."
My mouth dropped open. "You WHAT?"
"The pale man you mentioned in your phone message is my-well, you can call him my assistant," Osman admitted. "I told him to keep an eye on you during the day."
I narrowed my eyes and took a step backwards and away from him. "What the hell for?" I growled.
"To see if you were really a Phantom Whisperer," he told me.
My face twisted into disbelief. "A what?"
"A person who's capable of controlling phantoms," he explained.
"But I was attacked by one last night, and tonight," I reminded him.
He shrugged. "I thought perhaps our friend from last night was one of your toys who'd gotten out of hand. It's been known to happen."
Our conversation was interrupted when the door to the store swung open and the pale man stumbled out. He rubbed his neck one last time and dropped his arm when he sidled up to Osman.
"We have a problem," I heard him whisper to Osman. His voice was deep and tense.
Osman raised an eyebrow and his cigarette hung limp in his mouth. "How so?"
The pale man turned his eyes on me. "She destroyed a phantom with one of my spells."
Osman frowned. "That's not possible. Even with a spell a human can't destroy a phantom."
The stranger continued to look at me without blinking. "This one can."
Osman turned his gaze on me so they both stared at me. I raised my hands in front of me and took a few steps back.
"Listen, this was all an accident. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to touch that guy's thing," I defended myself.
"You're not supposed to be able to use it," Osman commented.
"Well, whatever I did wrong, I didn't mean to do it," I insisted. I made a bit more distance between me and their serious stares. "So now that the phantom's gone and you know I'm not its master or anything, we're cool, right?"
Osman dropped his arms to his side and shook his head. "We're far from cool. You need to come with us."
I rolled my eyes and gestured to the pale guy. "Like I told that guy, I'm not going anywhere with anybody. I'm going home, to bed, for a nice, long weekend break."
"You don't understand," Osman protested. "You're a threat to them, and they don't like threats."
"A threat to who? I made that phantom into ooze! He isn't coming back this time!" I pointed out.
Osman closed his eyes and shook his head. "That wasn't the same phantom."
My mouth dropped open. "But it-"
"All Black Phantoms look alike," he told me. He held out his hand to me. "Now you have to come with us."
I'd had enough. Enough phantoms. Enough orders. Enough freaky fun. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides and glared at the pair.
"I'm not going to repeat myself," I warned him as I dug into my purse. I pulled out my phone and hovered my fingers over the numbers. "I'm going to give you guys a ten second head start, and then I'm going to call the cops. Deal?"
"You don't understand what's happened," Osman insisted. "This Phantom won't be the last. The Whisperer who controls them will wonder why they haven't returned, and they will find you themselves if they have to."
A brief, uncomfortable memory came to mind. The man from that morning, the one who'd gotten into the clinic through the locked doors. His missing friend. Another attack by a phantom. The Whisper had already found me himself. My eyes widened and I lowered my phone.
"Oh shit. . ." I whispered.
Osman frowned and took a step towards me. "What's-"
He didn't get a chance to finish his question before a blast of wind blew over us from the street. I was knocked off my feet and onto my butt. The two men planted their feet against the ground and threw their arms over their faces. The gale dropped as quickly as it came and I looked in the direction of the wind.
The man in the white suit stood in the middle of the street opposite the grocery store. He had a wide smile on his lips and his hands were tucked into the pockets of his suit pants.
"Well, well. I'm no longer surprised my little pet didn't make it home last night," the man in white commented.
Osman lowered his arm and frowned. "You're the Whisperer," he guessed.
The new stranger shrugged. "I prefer the term master, but that will do."
"I don't think we've been introduced," Osman commented.
The man in white's smile widened. "Oh, but I know you, former Detective Osman. You've given yourself quite a name in the paranormal world."
"I don't think I have the pleasure of your name," Osman returned. I noticed his hand slipped into his overcoat.
The man shook his head. "Your little toys won't help you hear, detective."
"I'm willing to try," Osman retorted as he pulled out two of the scraps of paper.
The detective's partner grabbed Osman's arm and shook his head. "You can't," the man warned him.
Osman wrenched his arm free and glared at his companion. "Why the hell not?"
His companion looked past him at the man in white and pursed his pale lips together. "Because this one is different."
Osman frowned and cast his eyes in the direction of the new stranger. "How different?"
"You can't defeat him," the man replied.
Osman sighed and tucked the scraps of paper into his overcoat. He flicked his cigarette onto the ground and shrugged. "Then we'll have to make a break for it."
"I feel very left out of your conversation," the man in white called to us. He opened his arms and strode towards us. "And why did you put your toys away? I would have enjoyed watching your look of disappointments as they failed to save you." He was only ten feet from us.
"Because we're playing a new game. Tag," Osman quipped.
Osman turned away from the man in white and sprinted towards me. He leaned down and scooped me into his arms. I gasped and clung to him as we sped down the sidewalk at a speed that made everything look like a blur. The wind and night air whipped my long hair into my face and chilled my cheeks. I looked up into Osman's face and noticed his eyes had that strange orange color to them.
"How are you doing this?" I yelled at him.
"Hold on," he ordered me.
He took a sharp turn into a nearby alley and leapt into the air. A large dumpster stood against the right-hand wall of the building, and his feet slammed onto the lid before he pushed off higher into the air. I looked down and my eyes bulged out of my head as I watched us sail twenty feet above the ground. We landed halfway up a fire escape. The metal grates rattled beneath Osman's feet, but the vibrations didn't slow him down as he zig-zagged his way up the rickety stairs and onto the roof. We were in the jungle of flat roofs with their stairwell entrances, cooling and heating systems, and tall walls to keep people from taking a slow drop to a quick stop. He sprinted across the black tar-papered roof and raced through its jungle of air vents and tar.
"What the hell are you? Superman?" I yelled.
"Hold on and prepare to fly," he called back.
I looked a
head at where he faced and gasped. He ran past a stairwell entrance and towards the two-foot tall ledge. Another building stood beyond the one we were on, but the alleyway criss-crossed the block and cut between the buildings. That meant there was a twelve-foot gap to cross.
"Stop!" I screamed.
"Hold on!" he commanded me.
I clutched onto him and turned away from my fate as a splatter on the crumbling alley pavement. Osman sailed onto the ledge and jumped into the air. I watched in slow motion as we sailed over the fifty-foot deep chasm beneath us. An alley cat looked up and blinked at us.
Osman's feet skidded onto the opposite roof with a yard to spare, and he hit the ground running. This time he took a sharp right and raced towards the adjoining building. Again, the alleyway cut us off from a safe transfer of roofs.
"Let's have an encore!" he shouted.
"Let's not!" I yelped.
Osman didn't listen to me, and we sailed over another death-promising gap and landed cleanly on the next building. The he-man didn't take a breather, or even slow down, as he sprinted towards the next, connected building. I whipped my head up and glared at him.
"Are you trying to get us killed?" I growled at him.
"No, but that thing might if it catches us," he countered.
"Only a madman would follow us," I argued. Something over his shoulder caught my eye and I looked behind us. My eyes widened and I choked on a yelp. "Run faster!" I ordered him.
"Why?" he asked me.
"Because that phantom's back!" I told him.
The cloaked figure had appeared over the far edge of the roof we just left and floated towards us. Its cloak billowed behind it and it stretched its pale, clawed hands towards us. The red lights of its eyes blazed like the coals of hell. My heart quickened its tempo when the phantom floated over the chasm between the roofs without losing any altitude or speed.
"That isn't the same phantom," he corrected me. "You have witnessed three separate phantoms."
"Well, how do I un-witness this one?" I shouted.
Osman skidded to a stop just short of hopping onto the connected roof next door. He set me down and turned us so we stood beside each other and faced the dark menace that flew towards us. The detective reached into his overcoat and pulled out another of those scraps of paper. He held up the paper between us and looked to me.
"This is how you un-witness phantoms. It's the only thing that works," he told me. "Now make it work for us."
Osman stuffed the paper into my hands and pushed me forward. I clutched the paper in both hands against my chest and looked over my shoulder.
"Are you nuts?" I snapped at him.
"Slightly, but I suggest you throw the spell to destroy the phantom right now," he suggested.
"But I didn't throw it last time! I slapped it on his forehead!" I revealed.
His eyes widened. "That would be a problem," he agreed.
I heard an ungodly screech and returned my attention to the problem that raced towards us. The phantom crossed the long roof and was within a yard of us. I shrank from its awful scream and cowered behind the talisman paper. Osman rushed forward, snatched the paper from me, and threw it like a dagger at the phantom.
The distance was too close for the dark creature to dodge, and the talisman lodged itself between its red eyes. The phantom slid to a stop and clawed at the paper, but like last night that only accelerated its disappearance in a slow snowfall of specks, and even those disappeared into the roof.
We were safe, but still on a roof in the middle of a cold, dark, long night.
CHAPTER 8