Secrets in Shadow: Chapter 3
Title: Secrets in Shadow
Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist,loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Chapter 3
Wednesday January 11, 1995
“What happened?” Peter demanded looking around the snow-covered quad as police officers swarmed about like bees, keeping back the crowd of students.
“Another girl was taken this morning.”
He glanced to his right, where Professor Nancy Jenkins had sidled unnoticed in the melee. She was pale and her mouth drawn tight. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, offering what comfort he could.
“Who?”
“Chloe Roark. Sophomore.” Professor Jenkins shook her head, tears in her eyes. “This is terrible! How can this be happening again?”
Peter didn’t have time to answer before she moved away and was lost in the crowd. He scanned the faces, noting the numerous expressions of curiosity, confusion, and fear. No one seemed out of place. But then, he hadn’t had time to really start getting to know the student body or the other professors. With an inward sigh, he pushed his way through the milling students towards Pennsylvania Hall. So much for spotting anyone acting suspicious.
Thanks to a five o’clock phone call from Lilly, Peter had been made aware of Chloe Roark’s disappearance. So while the police investigated, Peter kept his cover in hopes of seeing or hearing something helpful when he arrived on campus with everyone else. So far, no luck.
He cut across the frozen lawn, hoping to intercept Hummel. The college president looked ill and was slowly walking back to his office presumably to make some phone calls.
“Sir, wait,” he called, holding up his hand in hopes the man would stop. Hummel’s steps slowed to a crawl and it wasn’t difficult for Peter to catch up. Opening his mouth to speak, it promptly snapped shut as Hummel turned and looked him in the eye.
Quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry, sir. But I need to speak with you.”
“Deputy Pierce just finished questioning Roark’s roommate, Webb. Start there.”
Peter watched the older man walk away sadly. Hummel was a good man, a worthy president of the college, more so because he cared deeply about the students and giving them the best education possible. He was going to find out who was behind this and put them away for a long, long time, Peter vowed. For everyone’s sake.
Finding Miss Webb took much longer then he’s thought it would. No one seemed to know precisely where she went after the police finished interviewing her. In the end, Peter found her rather by accident in the gym.
A familiar voice caught his attention. Bad Boy Leather aka Paul Jones! Stealthily, he crept closer the voices and paused outside a small exercise room. The two were inside, talking quietly. One was breathing heavily, crying, and Peter assumed that was Miss Webb. A gruff male voice was soothing her.
“Sarah, I know this is hard, but please. You have to tell me what you know.”
“I already told the police everything!”
“No. No, you didn’t.” Bad Boy Leather’s voice was quiet, calm, and soothing. Just the right tone to take with a scared witness. “Tell me what happened, Sarah.”
“Its nothing,” the girl dismissed. The quaking in her voice betrayed her. That nothing was definitely something.
“Do you really believe that?”
There was no verbal response and silence fell. Peter waited patiently. It smelled like old sweat and dirty socks in here.
“Last night, we-we were talking about our classes. Chloe was in the bathroom and…” Sarah faltered.
“What did you see?”
If he could smell fear, Peter did not doubt in that moment he would have. The pitch of her response rose; her breathing faster, and he could here a soft swishing like she was rocking back and forth.
“A soldier,” she gasped. “A soldier. You know, like one of those Civil War reenactment guys. Only he was really, really pale and…an-and bloody and dirty. And his eyes…oh, his eyes!”
Ice chunks seemed to be forming in his lungs. Sweat tickled the back of his spine. No, it couldn’t be. Sarah continued shakily, unaware of the effect of her words on the eavesdropping detective.
“They were blood red. And it was so cold. So cold.”
A pause. His hands and feet felt like blocks of lead, weighted and immobile. He was trapped, waiting with bated breath for Sarah Webb to finish.
“Go on,” Bad Boy Leather urged, oddly gentle.
A sharp inhale. “Chloe screamed and I went running into the bathroom and…it was reaching for her. Then it was gone. Like, like it was never there. We both agreed that it was probably just a prank to scare us.” Another pause. “It was, wasn’t it?”
It was, wasn’t it? Peter’s mind echoed Sarah’s desperate question, needing the answer as badly as she did. There was none. Sarah started to sob quietly. That was answer enough.
Finally, Peter managed to regain movement in his limbs and he stumbled silently down the hall to another empty room. He promptly collapsed against the wall, unable to control the shakes.
The rest of the story flashed through his mind. Chloe had dressed and then headed out to meet her boyfriend for a late dinner. She’d never made it. Her purse had been found beside her car, contents spilled everywhere. Sarah had found it in the morning after she discovered Chloe had not returned. The police were combing the area for evidence and witnesses and Sheriff Wayne had promised to fax him everything they learned as soon as possible. But, apparently, a crucial piece had been edited out of Miss Webb’s account. Just what was going on?
Sometime later, he heard the sound of footsteps and Sarah’s voice. Weakly, he pushed up to his feet and peeked out. The pair was retreating back to the main lobby of the gym. Shoving his fear aside, Peter straightened. He was getting to the bottom of this now, today.
Carefully, he followed the pair to the lobby, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn’t be noticed.
They split up as they walked outside, Sarah heading back towards the dorms and Bad Boy Leather heading towards the library. Peter kept his distance, making sure his walk was casual as he meandered along parallel to the young man. Bad Boy Leather didn’t notice as he bypassed the library and moved off the campus.
He was heading down a small side street, Peter observed. Probably to where he’d stashed his car.
Peter waited a minute or so before walking off campus and down the side road. All his senses were on high alert. The road was empty except for the coating of fresh snow and ice. An occasional overturned trashcan or empty beer box littered the side.
The attack was swift and without warning. A hard punch to the face had Peter seeing stars; another to his chest knocked the wind out of him. He managed to bring up his right arm and block a second punch, landing a successful blow of his own judging by the answering grunt. He tried to keep the momentum going, but his next punch was easily blocked. The next minute he’s feet were swept out from under him, and Peter landed on his back with a solid thump, desperately gasping for air.
Blinking his eyes, Peter got his first real good look at his attacker. Green-gold orbs that looked too old and jaded for one so young bore into him, harder then granite and steel combined. The Desert Eagle professionally leveled at his head only reinforced the fact Peter had really screwed this up.
He held up his hands, palms up, in surrender. Wheezing, “Whoa, easy Jones. Just want to talk.”
A mocking eyebrow went up. The gun didn’t waver, steadily aimed at his head. Peter struggled to stay calm, taking several deep breaths while he collected his thoughts.
“I swear,” Peter added.
“Why should I believe you?”
Peter’s stomach dropped. He offered the most innocent a look he could muster. “Huh?”
His attacker wasn’t biting. “Don’t play stupid, Professor,” he mocked.
“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, kid, but-”
“Oh, really, Detective Peter Burke?” Bad Boy Leather sneered.
Peter couldn’t mask his shock completely in time. Bad Boy Leather’s head bobbed; clearly satisfied that he was correct. The situation was rapidly spiraling completely out of control. How did the kid know who he was?
“And your name sure isn’t Paul Jones,” Peter countered with a glare, temper flaring. But the effect was ruined by the fact he was still flat on his back in the snow. Bad Boy Leather didn’t seem bothered at all. He merely shrugged, confirming Peter’s hunch was right. But it was a hollow victory. His cover was blown.
“So, now what?” Keep him talking. Distract him, the voices of his police academy trainers whispered. Maybe Peter would have a chance to take knock the gun away.
“Now, you tell me why you were followin’ me and Sarah.”
“Professional concern.” Peter carefully schooled his features. No need to give the gun-wielding man any more leverage. “She’s a student and you’re not.”
“That so?”
“Yes,” Peter snapped, gritting his teeth. Okay, so maybe his self-control wasn’t very good right now. He did have a gun pointed at him! Bad Boy Leather’s calm, slightly mocking demeanor wasn’t helping either. “Why were you talking with Miss Webb?” He moved to push himself up, instantly freezing as he heard the click of the gun hammer.
“Getting the truth. How about you? Care to share why you didn’t interrupt?”
NO! Peter immediately thought. No way was he telling this kid about the incident in the men’s room. Something must have shown in his expression though because Bad Boy Leather was eyeing him with increased suspicion. He gave himself an internal shake. Focus.
Voice still rough from loss of air, Peter reiterated his earlier sentiment. “Look, I just want to talk. Can I get up?”
“Nope,” Bad Boy Leather said, the “p” popping.
Yeah, Peter figured as much. He tried a different tactic. “I’m just trying to find the missing girls before it’s too late. Sarah Webb was the last person to see Chloe Roark and I needed to talk with her. Its imperative that Chloe is found as soon as possible.”
It was barely noticeable, but Bad Boy Leather’s face softened a fraction.
“Doesn’t explain you tailing me, Professor. You should have been following her to make sure she got back safely.”
Blast it! Using his own logic against him. So much for that. “You stole a confidential police file from me after our little, ah, run-in outside the library. I need it back.”
The young man gave him a disbelieving look. “And?”
“And,” Peter conceded grudgingly, “I wanted to talk to you, specifically, not Miss Webb.”
Bad Boy Leather’s eyebrow went up. Peter huffed, resigned to playing along a little longer.
“I wanted to know how you knew she didn’t tell the police…everything.” Like how he knew Miss Webb and Miss Roark saw something the day before, something that was so impossible; something Peter had seen himself not twelve hours before.
The kid tilted his head, puzzled for a moment. Then his expression eased with sudden understanding. Too late, Peter realized he’d not only confirmed he was eavesdropping, but what he’d heard had been disturbingly familiar.
“You’ve seen it too?”
It sounded more like a statement than a question. He vehemently shook his head, opening his mouth to retort when his attacker raised a hand.
“Don’t bother to deny it, Professor. You saw it. I know.” The last words were uttered with a soft conviction that reached deep into Peter’s heart. Whoever the kid was, he really did know. But Peter’s rational mind would not concede the point.
“No,” he declared, pushing up from the ground so at least he wasn’t completely flat, ignoring the gun “You don’t know, kid. You’re irrational. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Bad Boy Leather’s mouth quirked into a bemused smirk. “The room got really cold all of a sudden. So cold you could see your breath. The lights flickered for no reason. You heard something.”
Peter’s eyes grew wide, a familiar cold sweat sweeping him. No. It wasn’t possible. The stranger continued with quiet certainty. “You heard a funny scratching or thumping sound. And then, you saw it.”
“No!” Peter cut in, shaking his head while his mind worked furiously to come up with a counter argument. “No, I didn’t see anything. It was just-just a reaction to too much caffeine and too little sleep.”
There was no mistaking the pity on the young face. Then resignation followed. He sighed heavily, as if he was all too familiar with Peter’s protest. The detective wasn’t ready for Bad Boy Leather to suddenly grab his arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Whatever, man. Now, if we’re done here I have a job to do.”
Peter’s brain seemed to stutter, scrambling to catch up. By then the boy turned and was walking away. “Wha-wait! What does that mean?”
Bad Boy Leather didn’t even break stride. In moments, he vanished around the corner.
~*~
“I didn’t see anything,” Peter grumbled for the hundredth time as he paced around his apartment. He paused at the window overlooking the street, rubbing his forehead. This whole thing was getting to be too much. Another student gone, a man dressed like a Civil War soldier, a strange man brought in to the hospital, and a young man who seemed to know more then him.
After Bad Boy Leather disappeared, Peter retreated to his apartment. All morning classes were canceled, thankfully, so he didn’t have to go back to the campus. He should be working on the case, figuring out what happened to Chloe Roark and the other two girls, but his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, replaying over and over again what happened in the men’s room, Sarah’s frightened explanation, and Bad Boy Leather calm recitation.
It had to be a hoax. There was no such thing as ghosts! A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, steadily and with the same quiet confidence Bad Boy Leather had. But what if it is? They described exactly what you saw, how you felt. How could they?
“Because one of them is behind it!” Peter protested, turning away from the window, pacing back towards the kitchen. Oh, really? The voice scoffed. Webb was too upset to be lying and Bad Boy Leather isn’t a local resident who seems to prefer straightforward confrontation to elaborate ruses.
Doesn’t mean he’s innocent, he argued back.
Doesn’t mean he’s guilty either.
Peter flopped down on the couch, grabbing up yesterday’s newspaper. No more arguing with the little voice. He needed to think objectively. Flipping it open to the unfinished crossword, he started reading the clues. Two down was basketball. Eleven across was paranormal. He scowled. Really? Like he needed to be smacked in the face more with this…foolishness!
Throwing the paper down, he went to the bathroom. Cupping his hands underneath the warm water, Peter splashed his face a couple times. Maybe he just needed to take a step back, and sleep on it. Start fresh in the morning on the case. But Chloe Roark may not have that kind of time. Why was it so cold all of the sudden? The heater was running…
“AH!”
Peter stumbled backwards, crashing into the doorframe. The soldier stared at him, its eyes as blood red as remembered. Heart hammering, he edged his way out of the bathroom. The whole apartment seemed to have transformed into a freezer. Turning to run, Peter gasped, skidding to a halt as the soldier appeared in front of him.
His eyes were inexplicitly drawn downward, zeroing in on the stained knife in its hand. The soldier was moving forward, body flickering like Peter’s old rabbit-eared television set used to when the signal was bad. Peter backed away, hands instinctively held palms out to show he was harmless. The soldier-ghost-it didn’t stop coming toward him. Then it looked down at the knife. Mesmerized, Peter followed the glance.
The knife was no longer clasped in its hand, but was resting on the open palms of its hands, extending towards him.
“What?” It looked like there were…initials on the top part of the blade. “I.S?”
As suddenly as it appeared, the soldier vanished.
Slowly the room began to warm again. The heater turned on, coughing a little before it began running steadily.
For a few minutes Peter stood there, stunned. Then he grabbed his navy blue trench coat and headed out the door.
He had to find Bad Boy Leather.
Now.
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Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist,loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Chapter 3
Wednesday January 11, 1995
“What happened?” Peter demanded looking around the snow-covered quad as police officers swarmed about like bees, keeping back the crowd of students.
“Another girl was taken this morning.”
He glanced to his right, where Professor Nancy Jenkins had sidled unnoticed in the melee. She was pale and her mouth drawn tight. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, offering what comfort he could.
“Who?”
“Chloe Roark. Sophomore.” Professor Jenkins shook her head, tears in her eyes. “This is terrible! How can this be happening again?”
Peter didn’t have time to answer before she moved away and was lost in the crowd. He scanned the faces, noting the numerous expressions of curiosity, confusion, and fear. No one seemed out of place. But then, he hadn’t had time to really start getting to know the student body or the other professors. With an inward sigh, he pushed his way through the milling students towards Pennsylvania Hall. So much for spotting anyone acting suspicious.
Thanks to a five o’clock phone call from Lilly, Peter had been made aware of Chloe Roark’s disappearance. So while the police investigated, Peter kept his cover in hopes of seeing or hearing something helpful when he arrived on campus with everyone else. So far, no luck.
He cut across the frozen lawn, hoping to intercept Hummel. The college president looked ill and was slowly walking back to his office presumably to make some phone calls.
“Sir, wait,” he called, holding up his hand in hopes the man would stop. Hummel’s steps slowed to a crawl and it wasn’t difficult for Peter to catch up. Opening his mouth to speak, it promptly snapped shut as Hummel turned and looked him in the eye.
Quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry, sir. But I need to speak with you.”
“Deputy Pierce just finished questioning Roark’s roommate, Webb. Start there.”
Peter watched the older man walk away sadly. Hummel was a good man, a worthy president of the college, more so because he cared deeply about the students and giving them the best education possible. He was going to find out who was behind this and put them away for a long, long time, Peter vowed. For everyone’s sake.
Finding Miss Webb took much longer then he’s thought it would. No one seemed to know precisely where she went after the police finished interviewing her. In the end, Peter found her rather by accident in the gym.
A familiar voice caught his attention. Bad Boy Leather aka Paul Jones! Stealthily, he crept closer the voices and paused outside a small exercise room. The two were inside, talking quietly. One was breathing heavily, crying, and Peter assumed that was Miss Webb. A gruff male voice was soothing her.
“Sarah, I know this is hard, but please. You have to tell me what you know.”
“I already told the police everything!”
“No. No, you didn’t.” Bad Boy Leather’s voice was quiet, calm, and soothing. Just the right tone to take with a scared witness. “Tell me what happened, Sarah.”
“Its nothing,” the girl dismissed. The quaking in her voice betrayed her. That nothing was definitely something.
“Do you really believe that?”
There was no verbal response and silence fell. Peter waited patiently. It smelled like old sweat and dirty socks in here.
“Last night, we-we were talking about our classes. Chloe was in the bathroom and…” Sarah faltered.
“What did you see?”
If he could smell fear, Peter did not doubt in that moment he would have. The pitch of her response rose; her breathing faster, and he could here a soft swishing like she was rocking back and forth.
“A soldier,” she gasped. “A soldier. You know, like one of those Civil War reenactment guys. Only he was really, really pale and…an-and bloody and dirty. And his eyes…oh, his eyes!”
Ice chunks seemed to be forming in his lungs. Sweat tickled the back of his spine. No, it couldn’t be. Sarah continued shakily, unaware of the effect of her words on the eavesdropping detective.
“They were blood red. And it was so cold. So cold.”
A pause. His hands and feet felt like blocks of lead, weighted and immobile. He was trapped, waiting with bated breath for Sarah Webb to finish.
“Go on,” Bad Boy Leather urged, oddly gentle.
A sharp inhale. “Chloe screamed and I went running into the bathroom and…it was reaching for her. Then it was gone. Like, like it was never there. We both agreed that it was probably just a prank to scare us.” Another pause. “It was, wasn’t it?”
It was, wasn’t it? Peter’s mind echoed Sarah’s desperate question, needing the answer as badly as she did. There was none. Sarah started to sob quietly. That was answer enough.
Finally, Peter managed to regain movement in his limbs and he stumbled silently down the hall to another empty room. He promptly collapsed against the wall, unable to control the shakes.
The rest of the story flashed through his mind. Chloe had dressed and then headed out to meet her boyfriend for a late dinner. She’d never made it. Her purse had been found beside her car, contents spilled everywhere. Sarah had found it in the morning after she discovered Chloe had not returned. The police were combing the area for evidence and witnesses and Sheriff Wayne had promised to fax him everything they learned as soon as possible. But, apparently, a crucial piece had been edited out of Miss Webb’s account. Just what was going on?
Sometime later, he heard the sound of footsteps and Sarah’s voice. Weakly, he pushed up to his feet and peeked out. The pair was retreating back to the main lobby of the gym. Shoving his fear aside, Peter straightened. He was getting to the bottom of this now, today.
Carefully, he followed the pair to the lobby, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn’t be noticed.
They split up as they walked outside, Sarah heading back towards the dorms and Bad Boy Leather heading towards the library. Peter kept his distance, making sure his walk was casual as he meandered along parallel to the young man. Bad Boy Leather didn’t notice as he bypassed the library and moved off the campus.
He was heading down a small side street, Peter observed. Probably to where he’d stashed his car.
Peter waited a minute or so before walking off campus and down the side road. All his senses were on high alert. The road was empty except for the coating of fresh snow and ice. An occasional overturned trashcan or empty beer box littered the side.
The attack was swift and without warning. A hard punch to the face had Peter seeing stars; another to his chest knocked the wind out of him. He managed to bring up his right arm and block a second punch, landing a successful blow of his own judging by the answering grunt. He tried to keep the momentum going, but his next punch was easily blocked. The next minute he’s feet were swept out from under him, and Peter landed on his back with a solid thump, desperately gasping for air.
Blinking his eyes, Peter got his first real good look at his attacker. Green-gold orbs that looked too old and jaded for one so young bore into him, harder then granite and steel combined. The Desert Eagle professionally leveled at his head only reinforced the fact Peter had really screwed this up.
He held up his hands, palms up, in surrender. Wheezing, “Whoa, easy Jones. Just want to talk.”
A mocking eyebrow went up. The gun didn’t waver, steadily aimed at his head. Peter struggled to stay calm, taking several deep breaths while he collected his thoughts.
“I swear,” Peter added.
“Why should I believe you?”
Peter’s stomach dropped. He offered the most innocent a look he could muster. “Huh?”
His attacker wasn’t biting. “Don’t play stupid, Professor,” he mocked.
“I have no idea what you’re insinuating, kid, but-”
“Oh, really, Detective Peter Burke?” Bad Boy Leather sneered.
Peter couldn’t mask his shock completely in time. Bad Boy Leather’s head bobbed; clearly satisfied that he was correct. The situation was rapidly spiraling completely out of control. How did the kid know who he was?
“And your name sure isn’t Paul Jones,” Peter countered with a glare, temper flaring. But the effect was ruined by the fact he was still flat on his back in the snow. Bad Boy Leather didn’t seem bothered at all. He merely shrugged, confirming Peter’s hunch was right. But it was a hollow victory. His cover was blown.
“So, now what?” Keep him talking. Distract him, the voices of his police academy trainers whispered. Maybe Peter would have a chance to take knock the gun away.
“Now, you tell me why you were followin’ me and Sarah.”
“Professional concern.” Peter carefully schooled his features. No need to give the gun-wielding man any more leverage. “She’s a student and you’re not.”
“That so?”
“Yes,” Peter snapped, gritting his teeth. Okay, so maybe his self-control wasn’t very good right now. He did have a gun pointed at him! Bad Boy Leather’s calm, slightly mocking demeanor wasn’t helping either. “Why were you talking with Miss Webb?” He moved to push himself up, instantly freezing as he heard the click of the gun hammer.
“Getting the truth. How about you? Care to share why you didn’t interrupt?”
NO! Peter immediately thought. No way was he telling this kid about the incident in the men’s room. Something must have shown in his expression though because Bad Boy Leather was eyeing him with increased suspicion. He gave himself an internal shake. Focus.
Voice still rough from loss of air, Peter reiterated his earlier sentiment. “Look, I just want to talk. Can I get up?”
“Nope,” Bad Boy Leather said, the “p” popping.
Yeah, Peter figured as much. He tried a different tactic. “I’m just trying to find the missing girls before it’s too late. Sarah Webb was the last person to see Chloe Roark and I needed to talk with her. Its imperative that Chloe is found as soon as possible.”
It was barely noticeable, but Bad Boy Leather’s face softened a fraction.
“Doesn’t explain you tailing me, Professor. You should have been following her to make sure she got back safely.”
Blast it! Using his own logic against him. So much for that. “You stole a confidential police file from me after our little, ah, run-in outside the library. I need it back.”
The young man gave him a disbelieving look. “And?”
“And,” Peter conceded grudgingly, “I wanted to talk to you, specifically, not Miss Webb.”
Bad Boy Leather’s eyebrow went up. Peter huffed, resigned to playing along a little longer.
“I wanted to know how you knew she didn’t tell the police…everything.” Like how he knew Miss Webb and Miss Roark saw something the day before, something that was so impossible; something Peter had seen himself not twelve hours before.
The kid tilted his head, puzzled for a moment. Then his expression eased with sudden understanding. Too late, Peter realized he’d not only confirmed he was eavesdropping, but what he’d heard had been disturbingly familiar.
“You’ve seen it too?”
It sounded more like a statement than a question. He vehemently shook his head, opening his mouth to retort when his attacker raised a hand.
“Don’t bother to deny it, Professor. You saw it. I know.” The last words were uttered with a soft conviction that reached deep into Peter’s heart. Whoever the kid was, he really did know. But Peter’s rational mind would not concede the point.
“No,” he declared, pushing up from the ground so at least he wasn’t completely flat, ignoring the gun “You don’t know, kid. You’re irrational. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
Bad Boy Leather’s mouth quirked into a bemused smirk. “The room got really cold all of a sudden. So cold you could see your breath. The lights flickered for no reason. You heard something.”
Peter’s eyes grew wide, a familiar cold sweat sweeping him. No. It wasn’t possible. The stranger continued with quiet certainty. “You heard a funny scratching or thumping sound. And then, you saw it.”
“No!” Peter cut in, shaking his head while his mind worked furiously to come up with a counter argument. “No, I didn’t see anything. It was just-just a reaction to too much caffeine and too little sleep.”
There was no mistaking the pity on the young face. Then resignation followed. He sighed heavily, as if he was all too familiar with Peter’s protest. The detective wasn’t ready for Bad Boy Leather to suddenly grab his arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Whatever, man. Now, if we’re done here I have a job to do.”
Peter’s brain seemed to stutter, scrambling to catch up. By then the boy turned and was walking away. “Wha-wait! What does that mean?”
Bad Boy Leather didn’t even break stride. In moments, he vanished around the corner.
~*~
“I didn’t see anything,” Peter grumbled for the hundredth time as he paced around his apartment. He paused at the window overlooking the street, rubbing his forehead. This whole thing was getting to be too much. Another student gone, a man dressed like a Civil War soldier, a strange man brought in to the hospital, and a young man who seemed to know more then him.
After Bad Boy Leather disappeared, Peter retreated to his apartment. All morning classes were canceled, thankfully, so he didn’t have to go back to the campus. He should be working on the case, figuring out what happened to Chloe Roark and the other two girls, but his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, replaying over and over again what happened in the men’s room, Sarah’s frightened explanation, and Bad Boy Leather calm recitation.
It had to be a hoax. There was no such thing as ghosts! A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, steadily and with the same quiet confidence Bad Boy Leather had. But what if it is? They described exactly what you saw, how you felt. How could they?
“Because one of them is behind it!” Peter protested, turning away from the window, pacing back towards the kitchen. Oh, really? The voice scoffed. Webb was too upset to be lying and Bad Boy Leather isn’t a local resident who seems to prefer straightforward confrontation to elaborate ruses.
Doesn’t mean he’s innocent, he argued back.
Doesn’t mean he’s guilty either.
Peter flopped down on the couch, grabbing up yesterday’s newspaper. No more arguing with the little voice. He needed to think objectively. Flipping it open to the unfinished crossword, he started reading the clues. Two down was basketball. Eleven across was paranormal. He scowled. Really? Like he needed to be smacked in the face more with this…foolishness!
Throwing the paper down, he went to the bathroom. Cupping his hands underneath the warm water, Peter splashed his face a couple times. Maybe he just needed to take a step back, and sleep on it. Start fresh in the morning on the case. But Chloe Roark may not have that kind of time. Why was it so cold all of the sudden? The heater was running…
“AH!”
Peter stumbled backwards, crashing into the doorframe. The soldier stared at him, its eyes as blood red as remembered. Heart hammering, he edged his way out of the bathroom. The whole apartment seemed to have transformed into a freezer. Turning to run, Peter gasped, skidding to a halt as the soldier appeared in front of him.
His eyes were inexplicitly drawn downward, zeroing in on the stained knife in its hand. The soldier was moving forward, body flickering like Peter’s old rabbit-eared television set used to when the signal was bad. Peter backed away, hands instinctively held palms out to show he was harmless. The soldier-ghost-it didn’t stop coming toward him. Then it looked down at the knife. Mesmerized, Peter followed the glance.
The knife was no longer clasped in its hand, but was resting on the open palms of its hands, extending towards him.
“What?” It looked like there were…initials on the top part of the blade. “I.S?”
As suddenly as it appeared, the soldier vanished.
Slowly the room began to warm again. The heater turned on, coughing a little before it began running steadily.
For a few minutes Peter stood there, stunned. Then he grabbed his navy blue trench coat and headed out the door.
He had to find Bad Boy Leather.
Now.
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