Secrets in Shadow: Chapter 4
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 4
Peter searched all over town for hours with no luck. There was so sign of Bad Boy Leather or his Chevy Impala. It was a quarter past nine when he sat down in, ironically, the Coffee Den for a hot cup and a snack.
He sat at one of the little tables near the counter, absently picking apart a blueberry muffin and sipping a black coffee. Carding a hand through his hair, Peter sighed. What am I doing? I need to be focusing on finding Chloe, not some punk kid.
“Dude, what happened to you?”
Peter jumped-nice going Sherlock, letting your guard down when you’re supposed to be working a case!-And turned to see Bad Boy Leather standing a few feet away. The young man studied him for a moment before he sat down in the chair across from him. He was paler then before, Peter noticed, and bags were forming under his eyes.
“You’ve been looking for me.”
Peter really wanted to know how Bad Boy Leather knew that. Though, he supposed, he hadn’t exactly been as subtle as he should have. Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Bad Boy Leather cocked his head, studying his face closely. “You saw it again, didn’t you?”
Peter exhaled sharply. “Yeah, yeah I saw…“ he glanced down, fingers tearing another piece of the muffin off. “I need your help.”
The young man didn’t look convinced. Peter swallowed his pride. “Please.”
“Professor-“
“Look, I think what I saw…I think it’s connected to-to what’s been happening. The girls who have disappeared. ”
“Really?”
Peter nodded slowly. He knew it was crazy. Absurd even. O’Brien’s comparison to the supposed fable Lost Creek Cutter, however, would not leave his mind. It was right after the confrontation with his student that he saw that-thing for the first time. Then Sarah Webb, the roommate of the kidnapped girl from this morning described seeing the exact same thing. Not four hours ago he saw it again to boot. That could not be coincidence! And the kid sitting across from him now knew something about it. What precisely, Peter couldn’t be sure, but he believed it would help save Chloe, and maybe the other missing girls too, if they still lived. Bad Boy Leather had said he had a job to do and Peter was gambling on that job being to put a stop to what was happening.
A low exhale drew Peter’s attention from his muffin. Bad Boy Leather looked tired, and even paler if that were possible. Weary. “Can’t believe I’m even considering this,” Bad Boy Leather muttered. Then at normal volume, “So what, you want to team up? Work as partners?”
Clearly Bad Boy Leather had as much affinity for the idea as Peter himself had, judging by the derision. He sighed. “Look, just tell me if the…soldier I’m seeing connected to the disappearances.”
Green-gold eyes studied him for a long moment. “What do you think?”
The question was entirely serious. No joking or sarcasm at all. Peter considered. “I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that you seem to have some idea about what’s going on around here, and you may know how to stop it.”
“Gut feeling, huh?” The young man asked, resignation coloring his tone. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you Professor?”
Peter didn’t answer, opting instead to keep his silence. No, he wasn’t-couldn’t-let this go. Not after what he had seen and heard. He was taking an incredibly dangerous risk pursuing it, but he sincerely doubted he’d ever sleep soundly again if he didn’t.
“Yes, I think it is.”
Closing his eyes, shoulders slumping, Peter couldn’t decide whether he should be relieved or terrified.
“All right, listen up, Professor,” there was no mistaking the emphasis on his title. “If we do this, I’m in charge. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Capiche?”
Peter hesitated. Give this kid full control? Not likely. But if he didn’t agree then he might well lose the only chance he had of solving this bizarre case.
“Capiche.”
“Good.” Bad Boy Leather stood. “Lets go. Unless, of course, you’d rather sit here and continue to dismantle that muffin piece by piece?”
Peter glared at the leather-clad back, but tossed the mess in the trash. Coffee in hand, he followed his new partner out of the shop.
Outside the cold wrapped around them, causing their breath to fog.
“So, what now?”
“The first girl who went missing disappeared from the alley around the corner, right?”
“Yeah. What do you know about it?” Peter asked, following the younger man as he walked to the mouth of the alley. Bad Boy Leather already had Fisher and Hernandez’s file, so he should have some idea what happened here too.
A flashlight lit up in Bad Boy Leather’s hand.
“Not much,” he admitted, walking slowly down the alley, light swinging from side to side in a grid-like pattern. “Jennifer Stewart was last seen November nineteenth. Her purse and some blood were found here, in the alley. Cops don’t have squat.”
Ignoring the jab, Peter asked one the questions that had been on the tip of his tongue since the younger man sat down in the coffee house. “What’s your name, kid? Cause it sure isn’t Paul Jones.”
The young man paused, studying the large dumpster about halfway down the alley. “Dean.”
Peter studied the young man’s profile. Dean. Yeah, that suited him. No last name, but Peter didn’t blame Dean for being cautious. Names had power. He would have to earn the right to know Dean’s full name. Dean moved closer to the dumpster, flashlight passing slowly over every inch.
“What are you looking for?”
“What you and the other cops missed.”
Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What do you expect to find?”
“Don’t know,” Dean answered, kneeling down beside the rear of the dumpster. In the reflected light from the flashlight, Peter could see his frown. “Hold this,” Dean ordered, shoving the flashlight into his hands.
Peter obeyed, clenching his jaw. Bossy punk. Maybe this really wasn’t a good idea. He should just arrest the kid and haul him down to the station and let the sheriff deal with him. Before Peter could dwell further on the merits of handing the young man over to Sheriff Wayne, Dean was pulling something out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a Walkman. A busted one at that.
To his surprise, a bunch of lights at the top blinked on. First green and then little bulbs flashed red as Dean held the walkman closer to the wall and the corner of the dumpster.
“Something’s back here.”
“Wha-how do you know? What is that thing,” Peter demanded, confused.
“EMF meter,” Dean tersely explained as he stuffed it back in his jacket. “It reads electromagnetic frequencies.”
“And?”
Dean didn’t respond, instead pushing the dumpster a few inches to the left. “Flashlight.”
Peter dutifully handed it over, leaning over the younger man to see. There was something black stained on the wall. “Is that…tar?”
“I don’t think so,” Dean replied, sounding puzzled. A knife appeared in his hand and he scraped a few shavings off the wall into his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers and hummed.
“Well? Any ideas?”
“I think its…ectoplasm.” Dean seemed rather surprised.
“Ectoplasm? What’s that?” Again his questions went ignored. Peter huffed and straightened. This was going to be much more difficult if Dean didn’t explain anything.
After a minute, the young man stood and tilted his head back. Confused, Peter followed his gaze up to the moon, which was nearly full. He glanced back at his young companion and saw a dark frown on his face.
“What wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dean dismissed easily, the wary expression gone. “Let’s go.”
Right. Nothing. But Peter didn’t push any further.
They stepped out of the alley, the glow from the coffee house and street light a welcome sight.
“So, what now?”
Dean was staring off into the distance, thinking. “We need to check out the other two crimes scenes. See if there’s any more ectoplasm.”
“Okay,” Peter drew out the word. “Where to first?”
“Chloe Roark was taken from the college parking lot this morning. We’ll start there.”
Seemed like the logical next step. Peter dipped his head in agreement.
Silently, the pair started walking.
The Gettysburg College student parking lot was only half a mile away, across the road. He hadn’t realized the newest scene was so close to the coffee shop. It certainly seemed his earlier theory that the Coffee Den was possibly a connecting point between the missing girls held some merit. Should he share this with his ‘partner’? No, not yet. Visiting the other crime scenes would give Peter more time to study Dean. Since Chloe had only been kidnapped that morning, the police should still have the area around her car cordoned off. It would be quite interesting to see what Dean did. Dean didn’t strike him as someone who cared much for the law or law enforcement.
He could see the yellow crime tape now as they approached.
“You gonna snitch on me if I cross the tape?”
“I don’t know, should I?”
Dean muttered to himself something about stingy cops. Then he ducked under the tape and headed to the parking spot. Peter shook his head and reluctantly followed. At least he had probable cause as officer of the law. Hopefully if they got caught, it would be by the campus head of security, Mason.
The Walkman was out again, the little light show on top blinking away.
“So, where’d that meter come from? I don’t think they sell those at the local paranormal paraphernalia store.” Peter wondered, sarcasm dripping.
“I made it.” Dean answered shortly.
Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
There was no reply, not that Peter really expected one. But he filed away the information as yet another piece of the puzzle that was Dean.
The young man paused, turning in place. Then he walked over to a bench underneath the lamplight, Peter trailing behind. As Dean stepped next to the bench the light show started blinking faster, making a strange whirring noise.
“It was here too.”
“It?” Peter didn’t like the implications of that.
“Yep. Left a calling card.” Dean held up his index finger, covered in familiar black goop.
“Oh, perfect.” Peter groused. “What exactly does that prove?”
“That the same spirit that took Jennifer, took Chloe.” Dean stood, making a face as he wiped his finger on his jeans. Peter’s mouth went dry.
“Wait, that goop is from a…a ghost?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. How was that even possible?
Dean dropped his head, and then snapped it back up to face him. “Look, Professor, I know this all sounds a little crazy.”
“You think?”
A muscle in Dean’s jaw jumped, but he continued firmly. “You asked for my help. You’re getting it.”
“I just want an explanation, that’s all!” His frustration and confusion rising getting the best of him. Peter didn’t need the youth to remind him of what he’d seen earlier or that he sought the kid out. What he needed was an explanation. Running around to the crime scenes was not giving him answers; in fact it was only bringing up more questions.
“Professor, we don’t have time. I promise to explain everything later, but not now.”
Peter exhaled sharply, scowling. “Fine.”
“Come on. We’ve got one more scene to visit.”
~*~
The walk to the parking garage gave Peter time to get a handle on his emotions. He needed to keep it together. Getting worked up would do him no good in the long run. Rather then brooding, he focused instead on his strange companion, cataloguing everything he knew about the youth, which wasn’t much.
As they walked, Peter realized Dean’s breathing sounded different. The kid was taking rapid, shallow breaths that Peter only noticed because he was trained to. He even caught the youth covertly rubbing his chest once, as if it ached. Coupled with the steadily dropping temperature, a seed of worry was planted in his belly.
Entering the parking garage, they headed towards the service corridor at the back.
“This is where the body was found.” Peter knelt down next to a dark stain on the concrete. The service corridor was dimly lit, the yellow light creating an eerie look. “Hernandez’s truck was found inside the parking garage, keys in the engine.”
“He and Melissa were out on a date. What did he come here for? Not to park obviously.”
“The police couldn’t determine any reason.” Peter gestured to the stain and the corridor behind it, ignoring the innuendo. “They checked the whole corridor from top to bottom. There was no prints or fibers or even a boot print other that didn’t belong to the victim. But of course you already know that.”
Dean didn’t rise to the bait, pacing slowly down the hallway, studying the walls. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Peter stood up and followed. But this corridor was painted eggshell white, and despite water stains and dirt it should have been easy to spot some black tar stuff that didn’t belong. Except there wasn’t any.
“There was no trace of Melissa at all, right?”
“Only a couple hairs in the passenger seat of Hernandez’s truck. Her purse, her jacket-gone.”
They came to the end of the corridor, which led to a back alley running behind the buildings and stores in the area.
“See? Nothing.”
Dean however, didn’t seem to share his disappointment. The younger man was looking down the alley, frowning. “Hey Professor, you remember where Hernandez worked?”
“He was a part time clerk at City Hall.”
“That City Hall?”
Peter followed Dean’s finger toward the large brick structure on the other side of the alley where a block of steps that paralleled the building lead to a large black door. He mentally kicked himself. It was so obvious! The police were too close to the murder, and it seemed so was he.
Dean suddenly started coughing hard. Concerned, Peter stepped closer, hands coming up instinctively to support the younger man. At the last moment he pulled back, letting his hands hover around Dean’s shoulders.
“Hey kid, you all right?”
“’m fine,” came the deep, raspy answer. Sure, Peter thought dryly. First the shallow breathing, now coughing. If he wasn’t careful and paid attention to his body, Dean could wind up in a lot of trouble. Somehow, Peter got the impression Dean really didn’t care about his health. He silently vowed to watch out for the kid himself.
Dean shuffled away, surveying the door, steps and the surrounding area. Peter followed his example.
“Hey, check this out.” Peter walked over to the other side of the steps, where it was solid concrete at the base under the door. Scratches marred the side and the ground. He stooped down for a better look. Running his fingers over the imperfections, Peter frowned. They appeared to be made by claws.
Dean came around beside him. He cursed, spinning around to face the rest of the alley.
“What is it?”
Peter came to stand at Dean’s back, searching for a threat.
“I don’t suppose you’re armed, Professor?”
“No.”
“Peachy. All right, take this.” The Desert Eagle that had originally been held on him was put in his hand. Startled, Peter fumbled to get a proper grip on the weapon. It was a lot bigger then the standard cop issue weapon.
“Wh-what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Keep it handy until we get out of here.”
“You’re trusting me with your gun?” That coughing fit must have dislodged some of the kid’s brain cells.
Dean pulled a pearl-handled 1911 Colt from his jacket, skilled hands checking the chamber and cocking it. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice,” Dean growled in response, his body language telegraphing his wariness and intent. Whatever put Dean on edge, it was enough for the young man to give him-a man he knew to be an officer of the law and didn’t really trust-a weapon.
“We need to go. Now. Stay close, understood? And be ready.”
Peter was only partially surprised to hear the military bark in Dean’s instruction. The kid did have a father who served. He nodded, holding the gun easily in his hands. Automatically, he replied, “Yes sir.”
“Let’s go.”
They made it out of the alley and back inside the service corridor of the parking garage without incident. Peter instinctively fell into step with the younger man, guarding the rear as Dean cautiously led the way into the main parking area.
Peter really wanted to ask his companion what precisely about the scratches set him off, but some instinct made him hold back. There would be time afterwards, he reminded himself. Peter remained guarded, trusting Dean’s silent cues.
“Where was the car parked?”
Peter waved one hand to the side. “Over there. Second spot.”
Without another word, Dean strode over to the spot. The Walkman was in one hand, while at the same time supporting Dean’s gun hand. Peter stayed close, scanning the deserted garage continuously.
In his periphery, he noticed Dean kneeling down near the corner column that the painted parking lines lined up with.
“More goop?”
“Yeah, more goop. This is just getting better and better.” Dean said, dark humor coloring his words. He rejoined the undercover detective.
Green locked with brown, silently communicating.
Minutes later the parking garage was empty except for the wind.
Back
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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 4
Peter searched all over town for hours with no luck. There was so sign of Bad Boy Leather or his Chevy Impala. It was a quarter past nine when he sat down in, ironically, the Coffee Den for a hot cup and a snack.
He sat at one of the little tables near the counter, absently picking apart a blueberry muffin and sipping a black coffee. Carding a hand through his hair, Peter sighed. What am I doing? I need to be focusing on finding Chloe, not some punk kid.
“Dude, what happened to you?”
Peter jumped-nice going Sherlock, letting your guard down when you’re supposed to be working a case!-And turned to see Bad Boy Leather standing a few feet away. The young man studied him for a moment before he sat down in the chair across from him. He was paler then before, Peter noticed, and bags were forming under his eyes.
“You’ve been looking for me.”
Peter really wanted to know how Bad Boy Leather knew that. Though, he supposed, he hadn’t exactly been as subtle as he should have. Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Bad Boy Leather cocked his head, studying his face closely. “You saw it again, didn’t you?”
Peter exhaled sharply. “Yeah, yeah I saw…“ he glanced down, fingers tearing another piece of the muffin off. “I need your help.”
The young man didn’t look convinced. Peter swallowed his pride. “Please.”
“Professor-“
“Look, I think what I saw…I think it’s connected to-to what’s been happening. The girls who have disappeared. ”
“Really?”
Peter nodded slowly. He knew it was crazy. Absurd even. O’Brien’s comparison to the supposed fable Lost Creek Cutter, however, would not leave his mind. It was right after the confrontation with his student that he saw that-thing for the first time. Then Sarah Webb, the roommate of the kidnapped girl from this morning described seeing the exact same thing. Not four hours ago he saw it again to boot. That could not be coincidence! And the kid sitting across from him now knew something about it. What precisely, Peter couldn’t be sure, but he believed it would help save Chloe, and maybe the other missing girls too, if they still lived. Bad Boy Leather had said he had a job to do and Peter was gambling on that job being to put a stop to what was happening.
A low exhale drew Peter’s attention from his muffin. Bad Boy Leather looked tired, and even paler if that were possible. Weary. “Can’t believe I’m even considering this,” Bad Boy Leather muttered. Then at normal volume, “So what, you want to team up? Work as partners?”
Clearly Bad Boy Leather had as much affinity for the idea as Peter himself had, judging by the derision. He sighed. “Look, just tell me if the…soldier I’m seeing connected to the disappearances.”
Green-gold eyes studied him for a long moment. “What do you think?”
The question was entirely serious. No joking or sarcasm at all. Peter considered. “I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that you seem to have some idea about what’s going on around here, and you may know how to stop it.”
“Gut feeling, huh?” The young man asked, resignation coloring his tone. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you Professor?”
Peter didn’t answer, opting instead to keep his silence. No, he wasn’t-couldn’t-let this go. Not after what he had seen and heard. He was taking an incredibly dangerous risk pursuing it, but he sincerely doubted he’d ever sleep soundly again if he didn’t.
“Yes, I think it is.”
Closing his eyes, shoulders slumping, Peter couldn’t decide whether he should be relieved or terrified.
“All right, listen up, Professor,” there was no mistaking the emphasis on his title. “If we do this, I’m in charge. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Capiche?”
Peter hesitated. Give this kid full control? Not likely. But if he didn’t agree then he might well lose the only chance he had of solving this bizarre case.
“Capiche.”
“Good.” Bad Boy Leather stood. “Lets go. Unless, of course, you’d rather sit here and continue to dismantle that muffin piece by piece?”
Peter glared at the leather-clad back, but tossed the mess in the trash. Coffee in hand, he followed his new partner out of the shop.
Outside the cold wrapped around them, causing their breath to fog.
“So, what now?”
“The first girl who went missing disappeared from the alley around the corner, right?”
“Yeah. What do you know about it?” Peter asked, following the younger man as he walked to the mouth of the alley. Bad Boy Leather already had Fisher and Hernandez’s file, so he should have some idea what happened here too.
A flashlight lit up in Bad Boy Leather’s hand.
“Not much,” he admitted, walking slowly down the alley, light swinging from side to side in a grid-like pattern. “Jennifer Stewart was last seen November nineteenth. Her purse and some blood were found here, in the alley. Cops don’t have squat.”
Ignoring the jab, Peter asked one the questions that had been on the tip of his tongue since the younger man sat down in the coffee house. “What’s your name, kid? Cause it sure isn’t Paul Jones.”
The young man paused, studying the large dumpster about halfway down the alley. “Dean.”
Peter studied the young man’s profile. Dean. Yeah, that suited him. No last name, but Peter didn’t blame Dean for being cautious. Names had power. He would have to earn the right to know Dean’s full name. Dean moved closer to the dumpster, flashlight passing slowly over every inch.
“What are you looking for?”
“What you and the other cops missed.”
Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What do you expect to find?”
“Don’t know,” Dean answered, kneeling down beside the rear of the dumpster. In the reflected light from the flashlight, Peter could see his frown. “Hold this,” Dean ordered, shoving the flashlight into his hands.
Peter obeyed, clenching his jaw. Bossy punk. Maybe this really wasn’t a good idea. He should just arrest the kid and haul him down to the station and let the sheriff deal with him. Before Peter could dwell further on the merits of handing the young man over to Sheriff Wayne, Dean was pulling something out of his jacket pocket. It looked like a Walkman. A busted one at that.
To his surprise, a bunch of lights at the top blinked on. First green and then little bulbs flashed red as Dean held the walkman closer to the wall and the corner of the dumpster.
“Something’s back here.”
“Wha-how do you know? What is that thing,” Peter demanded, confused.
“EMF meter,” Dean tersely explained as he stuffed it back in his jacket. “It reads electromagnetic frequencies.”
“And?”
Dean didn’t respond, instead pushing the dumpster a few inches to the left. “Flashlight.”
Peter dutifully handed it over, leaning over the younger man to see. There was something black stained on the wall. “Is that…tar?”
“I don’t think so,” Dean replied, sounding puzzled. A knife appeared in his hand and he scraped a few shavings off the wall into his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers and hummed.
“Well? Any ideas?”
“I think its…ectoplasm.” Dean seemed rather surprised.
“Ectoplasm? What’s that?” Again his questions went ignored. Peter huffed and straightened. This was going to be much more difficult if Dean didn’t explain anything.
After a minute, the young man stood and tilted his head back. Confused, Peter followed his gaze up to the moon, which was nearly full. He glanced back at his young companion and saw a dark frown on his face.
“What wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dean dismissed easily, the wary expression gone. “Let’s go.”
Right. Nothing. But Peter didn’t push any further.
They stepped out of the alley, the glow from the coffee house and street light a welcome sight.
“So, what now?”
Dean was staring off into the distance, thinking. “We need to check out the other two crimes scenes. See if there’s any more ectoplasm.”
“Okay,” Peter drew out the word. “Where to first?”
“Chloe Roark was taken from the college parking lot this morning. We’ll start there.”
Seemed like the logical next step. Peter dipped his head in agreement.
Silently, the pair started walking.
The Gettysburg College student parking lot was only half a mile away, across the road. He hadn’t realized the newest scene was so close to the coffee shop. It certainly seemed his earlier theory that the Coffee Den was possibly a connecting point between the missing girls held some merit. Should he share this with his ‘partner’? No, not yet. Visiting the other crime scenes would give Peter more time to study Dean. Since Chloe had only been kidnapped that morning, the police should still have the area around her car cordoned off. It would be quite interesting to see what Dean did. Dean didn’t strike him as someone who cared much for the law or law enforcement.
He could see the yellow crime tape now as they approached.
“You gonna snitch on me if I cross the tape?”
“I don’t know, should I?”
Dean muttered to himself something about stingy cops. Then he ducked under the tape and headed to the parking spot. Peter shook his head and reluctantly followed. At least he had probable cause as officer of the law. Hopefully if they got caught, it would be by the campus head of security, Mason.
The Walkman was out again, the little light show on top blinking away.
“So, where’d that meter come from? I don’t think they sell those at the local paranormal paraphernalia store.” Peter wondered, sarcasm dripping.
“I made it.” Dean answered shortly.
Peter quirked an eyebrow. “Impressive.”
There was no reply, not that Peter really expected one. But he filed away the information as yet another piece of the puzzle that was Dean.
The young man paused, turning in place. Then he walked over to a bench underneath the lamplight, Peter trailing behind. As Dean stepped next to the bench the light show started blinking faster, making a strange whirring noise.
“It was here too.”
“It?” Peter didn’t like the implications of that.
“Yep. Left a calling card.” Dean held up his index finger, covered in familiar black goop.
“Oh, perfect.” Peter groused. “What exactly does that prove?”
“That the same spirit that took Jennifer, took Chloe.” Dean stood, making a face as he wiped his finger on his jeans. Peter’s mouth went dry.
“Wait, that goop is from a…a ghost?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. How was that even possible?
Dean dropped his head, and then snapped it back up to face him. “Look, Professor, I know this all sounds a little crazy.”
“You think?”
A muscle in Dean’s jaw jumped, but he continued firmly. “You asked for my help. You’re getting it.”
“I just want an explanation, that’s all!” His frustration and confusion rising getting the best of him. Peter didn’t need the youth to remind him of what he’d seen earlier or that he sought the kid out. What he needed was an explanation. Running around to the crime scenes was not giving him answers; in fact it was only bringing up more questions.
“Professor, we don’t have time. I promise to explain everything later, but not now.”
Peter exhaled sharply, scowling. “Fine.”
“Come on. We’ve got one more scene to visit.”
~*~
The walk to the parking garage gave Peter time to get a handle on his emotions. He needed to keep it together. Getting worked up would do him no good in the long run. Rather then brooding, he focused instead on his strange companion, cataloguing everything he knew about the youth, which wasn’t much.
As they walked, Peter realized Dean’s breathing sounded different. The kid was taking rapid, shallow breaths that Peter only noticed because he was trained to. He even caught the youth covertly rubbing his chest once, as if it ached. Coupled with the steadily dropping temperature, a seed of worry was planted in his belly.
Entering the parking garage, they headed towards the service corridor at the back.
“This is where the body was found.” Peter knelt down next to a dark stain on the concrete. The service corridor was dimly lit, the yellow light creating an eerie look. “Hernandez’s truck was found inside the parking garage, keys in the engine.”
“He and Melissa were out on a date. What did he come here for? Not to park obviously.”
“The police couldn’t determine any reason.” Peter gestured to the stain and the corridor behind it, ignoring the innuendo. “They checked the whole corridor from top to bottom. There was no prints or fibers or even a boot print other that didn’t belong to the victim. But of course you already know that.”
Dean didn’t rise to the bait, pacing slowly down the hallway, studying the walls. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Peter stood up and followed. But this corridor was painted eggshell white, and despite water stains and dirt it should have been easy to spot some black tar stuff that didn’t belong. Except there wasn’t any.
“There was no trace of Melissa at all, right?”
“Only a couple hairs in the passenger seat of Hernandez’s truck. Her purse, her jacket-gone.”
They came to the end of the corridor, which led to a back alley running behind the buildings and stores in the area.
“See? Nothing.”
Dean however, didn’t seem to share his disappointment. The younger man was looking down the alley, frowning. “Hey Professor, you remember where Hernandez worked?”
“He was a part time clerk at City Hall.”
“That City Hall?”
Peter followed Dean’s finger toward the large brick structure on the other side of the alley where a block of steps that paralleled the building lead to a large black door. He mentally kicked himself. It was so obvious! The police were too close to the murder, and it seemed so was he.
Dean suddenly started coughing hard. Concerned, Peter stepped closer, hands coming up instinctively to support the younger man. At the last moment he pulled back, letting his hands hover around Dean’s shoulders.
“Hey kid, you all right?”
“’m fine,” came the deep, raspy answer. Sure, Peter thought dryly. First the shallow breathing, now coughing. If he wasn’t careful and paid attention to his body, Dean could wind up in a lot of trouble. Somehow, Peter got the impression Dean really didn’t care about his health. He silently vowed to watch out for the kid himself.
Dean shuffled away, surveying the door, steps and the surrounding area. Peter followed his example.
“Hey, check this out.” Peter walked over to the other side of the steps, where it was solid concrete at the base under the door. Scratches marred the side and the ground. He stooped down for a better look. Running his fingers over the imperfections, Peter frowned. They appeared to be made by claws.
Dean came around beside him. He cursed, spinning around to face the rest of the alley.
“What is it?”
Peter came to stand at Dean’s back, searching for a threat.
“I don’t suppose you’re armed, Professor?”
“No.”
“Peachy. All right, take this.” The Desert Eagle that had originally been held on him was put in his hand. Startled, Peter fumbled to get a proper grip on the weapon. It was a lot bigger then the standard cop issue weapon.
“Wh-what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Keep it handy until we get out of here.”
“You’re trusting me with your gun?” That coughing fit must have dislodged some of the kid’s brain cells.
Dean pulled a pearl-handled 1911 Colt from his jacket, skilled hands checking the chamber and cocking it. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice,” Dean growled in response, his body language telegraphing his wariness and intent. Whatever put Dean on edge, it was enough for the young man to give him-a man he knew to be an officer of the law and didn’t really trust-a weapon.
“We need to go. Now. Stay close, understood? And be ready.”
Peter was only partially surprised to hear the military bark in Dean’s instruction. The kid did have a father who served. He nodded, holding the gun easily in his hands. Automatically, he replied, “Yes sir.”
“Let’s go.”
They made it out of the alley and back inside the service corridor of the parking garage without incident. Peter instinctively fell into step with the younger man, guarding the rear as Dean cautiously led the way into the main parking area.
Peter really wanted to ask his companion what precisely about the scratches set him off, but some instinct made him hold back. There would be time afterwards, he reminded himself. Peter remained guarded, trusting Dean’s silent cues.
“Where was the car parked?”
Peter waved one hand to the side. “Over there. Second spot.”
Without another word, Dean strode over to the spot. The Walkman was in one hand, while at the same time supporting Dean’s gun hand. Peter stayed close, scanning the deserted garage continuously.
In his periphery, he noticed Dean kneeling down near the corner column that the painted parking lines lined up with.
“More goop?”
“Yeah, more goop. This is just getting better and better.” Dean said, dark humor coloring his words. He rejoined the undercover detective.
Green locked with brown, silently communicating.
Minutes later the parking garage was empty except for the wind.
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