The Prophet of Starfall: Episode 30

On the roof of the Pearson Plasma building, as Martin Armstrong held a gun on Elizabeth insisting that she fly him to safety, Nathan saw three possible outcomes to the events unfolding before him. He hoped he could guide Armstrong to the best one, which really wasn’t that good.

“I’m not helping you escape, Armstrong,” Elizabeth growled. “Now get that gun out of my face before I tear it from your hand!”

“Martin,” Nathan said, trying to sound calm.

His nerves growing more and more frayed, Armstrong’s eyes darted back and forth from Elizabeth to Nathan.

“You have kids don’t you?” Nathan asked.

Armstrong nodded.

“A boy and two little girls. Am I right?” Nathan asked.

At the mention of his children, Armstrong began to focus on Nathan more than he did Elizabeth.

“How long has it been since your wife passed?” Nathan asked.

Armstrong hesitated then said, “Three years.”

“Renee was only two at the time, wasn’t she?” Nathan asked.

Armstrong nodded, tears filling his eyes.

“She won’t remember her mother. Do you really want her to grow up without a father as well?” Nathan questioned.

Armstrong shook his head.

“What was your wife’s name?” Nathan continued.

Armstrong swiped at a tear running down his check and answered,

“Annabel.”

Nathan smiled and said, “Annabel. But she didn’t like that name, did she?”

Armstrong lowered his weapon just a hair as he replied,

“Said it made her sound like a fairytale princess. She preferred the name. . .”

Armstrong trailed off and Nathan finished his thought with,

“Bells.”

Armstrong nodded and smiled at the memory for a moment. Then he looked up at Nathan and said,

“I didn’t hurt anyone. I couldn’t hurt anyone. Jessica came onto me. It was during a field trip Hastings had arranged for his class. I didn’t take advantage of her I swear. She made the first move.”

Nathan nodded as he slowly moved closer.

“You’re being set up, Martin. I know that. But if you don’t turn yourself in, you’ll not only make it easier for whoever murdered Lincoln and Hastings to get away with it but you may also deny your kids their father,” Nathan said.

“What kind of a father could I be from prison?” Armstrong asked.

“You won’t be there for long, Martin. I promise. Whoever is doing this has targeted me as well. They’ve tried to take me out because they know I’m getting closer to finding out who the real murderer is,” Nathan said.

When Armstrong began to lower his weapon, Nathan’s instincts took over causing him to suddenly duck and turn out of the way just as a rifle fired somewhere behind him. The bullet sliced through the air striking Armstrong in the shoulder and throwing him backwards. As he fought to regain his balance, he fell over the side of the building. Elizabeth took three steps and dove after him.

Slowly Nathan got to his feet and looked around him. The shot could have come from only one direction. Nathan knew the sniper was long gone, so he ran toward the stairs and headed for the ground floor.

* * *

Elizabeth felt the wind rush past her as she quickly caught up with Armstrong and matched his speed. She grabbed his leg then moved to his side. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she spread her wings and slowed their descent.

The moment she touched down, she shouted,

“Need a medic here!”

Detectives Shields and French hurried over and saw that Armstrong was unconscious. Blood from the bullet hole in his shoulder soaked into his shirt.

“You shot him?” French snapped as he applied pressure to the wound.

“No!” Elizabeth defended. “If I had, he would need a priest not a medic.”

“Calm down,” Shields said. “What happened?”

“He—,” Elizabeth began.

“Move aside,” the EMTs interrupted.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” French barked, stepping out of the way. “She tried to kill our suspect!”

“If I had tried to kill him, he’d be dead. I don’t miss,” Elizabeth retorted.

“Everyone quiet now!” Shields ordered as the ground rumbled.

“I’ll ask again,” she said. What exactly happened?”

“Somebody shot him,” Nathan said jogging up to them, “but the bullet was meant for me.”

“What? Someone tried to shoot you?” French asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes,” Nathan said, ignoring the insolent remark. “Apparently I’m a difficult target.”

“Thanks for bringing him down safely,” Shields said. “Armstrong has a lot to answer for.”

“I don’t think he’s guilty,” Nathan offered.

“Trust me,” Shields said, patting Nathan on the back, “he’s guilty.”

The moment Shields touched Nathan’s back, his vision went white.

* * *

When his vision cleared, Nathan was standing in the street across from Sapphire City Park. Frantic parents grabbed their kids as uniformed police hurried everyone to safety. Nathan stepped back when a vehicle roared past. Printed on the side in bold letters was CBPD Bomb Squad.

Nathan slipped through the crowd and headed into the park. No one seemed to notice him. A fallen banner announcing the Crescent Bay Founder’s Day Picnic lay across his path. Up ahead on a stone bridge a few feet near a monument dedicated to the sailors who founded Crescent Bay stood Jericho, a bomb strapped to his chest. Nathan saw that it was identical to the ones that had killed Lincoln and Hastings. Detective Cassandra Shields stood just in front of Jericho with the sun behind her.

“I need to get out of here,” Jericho said. “The bomb won’t hurt me, but it could kill hundreds.”

“No, Jericho. Don’t move,” Shields pleaded. “If you don’t stand still, the bomb may go off.”

“I can’t risk anyone getting hurt. If I jump high enough, the bomb should go off in midair,” Jericho explained.

“It’s too risky,” Shields said. “Let the bomb squad try and remove it first.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let anyone else get hurt,” Jericho said, bending his knees to jump.

“Jericho, wait!” Shields pleaded.

“Perhaps I can help,” a voice boomed from behind them.

Nathan turned around to see a figure floating in midair. The sun behind him obscured him from clear view, but Nathan could see that the sunlight reflected off his suit.

Before he could get a better look, Nathan’s vision went white again.

* * *

When Nathan came to, he saw Detective Shields staring at him with a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You kind of wandered off there for a moment.”

Nathan laughed it off and said,

“I’m fine.”

“Good, good,” Shields said. “Okay you need to spin by the station later to make a statement. I don’t know about you, but the chief will be glad to hear this is all over.”

As Shields walked away, Elizabeth stepped close to Nathan and asked,

“What did you see?”

Nathan paused still trying to take it all in.

“This is not over,” he sighed. “Not by a long shot.”

Advertisements

The Train: Episode 84

Michael threw his weight against the door as someone on the other side pushed, trying to force their way in.

“We need to find something to pin these doors shut, or the butcher and the baker are going to keep on following us,” Michael said as he looked around for something to use.

“The butcher and the baker?” Serena asked confused.

“You know the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker,” Michael said, waiting for Serena to catch on.

When he saw from her expression that she didn’t understand, he added,

“From the nursery rhyme ‘Rub a Dub Dub’.”

Serena just stared at him.

“What kind of childhood did you have anyway?” Michael asked, struggling to keep his feet from slipping as he held the door.

“Here. Try this,” Nicole said, running up to him with a sharpened piece of wood.

“That would be great if they were vampires,” Michael said, turning and pressing his back against the door.

“Wait!” Michael said. Then looking at Serena, he asked, “They’re not vampires are they?”

Nicole groaned, “No, you idiot.”

Bending down, she shoved the piece of wood under the door. When Michael cautiously released the door, the piece of wood held it in place.

“Same as a rubber ball that rolls up against a door. Acts like a wedge, holding it shut,” Nicole explained.

“Thanks,” Michael said, straightening up.

Down the hallway, they saw a faint red light. Cell doors lined the walls, and hands reached out between the bars as cries of pain and anger filled the air.

“Stick to the center,” Michael instructed, “and stay directly behind me.”

Keeping a safe distance from the bars, Michael glanced into the first cell on his right. In the corner, restrained with a straight jacket, sat a weeping woman, her dark, matted hair falling across her face. The cell on the opposite wall held a bald, toothless man, his eyes bulging as he pressed himself against the door, reaching out and mumbling incoherently.

Michael shook his head in deep pity at these miserable souls.

Spotting a bright light pouring out of one of the rooms up ahead on the left, he told Serena and Nicole,

“Let’s keep going.”

In the next set of cells, a man struggled to free himself from the metal bands that bound his hands behind him. Blood oozed from open wounds on his forehead as he banged his head against the cell door.

“Let me out!” he screamed.

The cell across from him held two men, one tied to a chair with the other standing over him. The man in the chair was writhing in pain as he stared at Michael with eyes whose light was only a flicker. Blood dripped from his mouth, and the man by him held a pair of pliers with a bloodied tooth caught in the pincers.

Serena gasped and shuddered, grabbing Michael’s arm. There was one more cell door to pass before they reached the end of the hall. Michael did not want to look, but he could not help himself. On one side of the cell was a large open furnace, its fire blazing. When Michael touched the cell door, he jerked his hand back from the hot metal. Two chains with weights stretched out from the wall were attached to shackles around a man’s wrists. In his desperation to move away from the rising flames, his strength was rapidly waning.

“Please! I am certain we can reach a peaceful arrangement,” came a voice down the hall.

“Father Salvatore!” Serena exclaimed.

“Serena! Wait!” Nicole ordered as Serena ran up ahead and disappeared into the light of the open room.

Michael and Nicole hurried after her.

The room was filled with candles, and covering the walls were odd markings, scrawled in what Michael hoped was red paint. On the right, an older man rested on his knees, his hands bound to the wall. When Michael and Nicole entered the room, he lifted his eyes, weary from a long struggle with little hope. Across the room from him stood a younger man, his short black hair pulled back into a ponytail with a bit of twine.

“Stop!” the younger man yelled to Michael and Nicole. “Drop your weapons!”

Michael dropped the shotgun, and after a pause, Nicole reluctantly dropped her pistol.

“Suriel! What are you doing?” Serena asked the younger man.

“It is time for the ascension when he must pass his power onto me. His time has ended, and he refuses to let me become what I am meant to be, to take my rightful place,” Suriel protested.

“Listen to me, Suriel,” Michael said. “I’m sure this all makes perfect sense, plenty of reasons why what you say should happen. But have you considered the reasons why it shouldn’t?”

“Quiet!” Suriel said. “You are an outsider! You know nothing of our beliefs.”

Suriel’s head twitched as though struck by sudden pain. He turned his pistol away from Salvatore and began to strike himself on the forehead as he said,

“I have to think.”

“Son, trust me. This is not the answer. Please let me help you,” Salvatore begged.

“No! You will only lie to prevent the ascension. You refuse to give up the power that is no longer yours. I am the rightful heir,” Suriel insisted, slamming his hand against his chest. “It is my place to rule our people.”

Suddenly there was a loud crash out in the hall behind them. When Nicole jerked her head in the direction of the noise, she saw the two men who had been slowly moving toward them in the other hallway.

“Michael,” she said through gritted teeth, “this situation is getting worse. We need to do things my way.”

“I can still fix this,” Michael said, desperately trying to think of an answer.

All at once, a shot rang out and Michael and Nicole dropped down. As Michael rose to his feet, he saw that Suriel’s hands hung limply by his sides as blood from a bullet wound in his chest soaked into his shirt. Serena stood next to Michael, Nicole’s gun in her hand.

“What happened?” Michael asked.

But when he turned to Nicole, she was gone. Hurrying out to the hallway, he looked up and down but could find no trace of her.

“Nicole!” he shouted.

“Are you all right, Father Salvatore?” Serena asked.

“I am, my child,” he assured her, “but you should not have killed him.”

“I am sorry, Father Salvatore, but I had to keep you safe,” Serena explained.

Then she stepped back and said,

“Everything I did, I did to make you happy. Are you happy?”

“I am, child,” Salvatore replied.

“Then I am at peace,” Serena smiled.

With that, she lifted the gun and pressed it under her chin.

“Wait!” Michael exclaimed.

But before he could stop her, Serena pulled the trigger. She dropped the pistol and fell to the floor dead. Michael looked down at Serena’s body as her blood pooled around his shoes.

“Dr. Ricer, Lucy, and now Nicole. They’re gone,” Michael said in defeat.

“Not yet,” Salvatore said. “There is still a chance to save them.”

Published in: on May 17, 2018 at 1:45 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Prophet of Starfall: Episode 29

Martin Armstrong sat in his office nervously typing away on his keyboard, paying no attention to his fingers as they pounded the keys. He just needed something to keep his hands busy while he figured out what to do next. His relationship with Jessica Alexander had been a stupid mistake. Yeah, it was completely mutual. In fact, she had come onto him. But now she was talking to the cops saying he had taken advantage of her, claiming he was responsible for the deaths of Daniel Lincoln and River Hastings.

“That’s not possible!” Armstrong snapped as he suddenly struck his desk. “Lincoln was a little toad. Why waste my time killing him? And Hastings? Hasting was a dear friend of mine. No way would I kill him. Besides, I had far too much to gain from the position he was in. Killing him would only hurt me financially.”

Someone knocked on his door.

“Not now!” he yelled.

“I need to talk to my lawyer,” Armstrong told himself.

Turning the chair around, he snatched up his cell phone off the desk and punched in the number.

After three rings, voice mail picked up.

“Pierce, this is Martin Armstrong again. I need your help. Where in the world are you? Call me back as soon as you get this. I don’t pay you to sit on the beach and seduce interns.”

When Armstrong ended the call, he thought about how good it would feel to slam down a phone handset a couple of times.

The knock at the door sounded again.

“I said not now!” Armstrong yelled.

“Jessica probably just wants money,” Armstrong said. “Well fine. When Pierce calls me back, I’ll just tell him to pay her off. This whole thing is ridiculous!”

When the knock came again, Armstrong stormed over to the door and jerked it open shouting,

“What’s your problem? I said not now!”

Standing just outside the door was a large man with short-cropped hair clutching a large manila envelope. He shoved the package into Armstrong’s arms and turned to leave.

When Armstrong stepped out of his office to watch where the man was headed, he saw his secretary Charlotte lying dead on the floor, a bullet hole in her chest. He froze in horror then looked up to see that the large man had stopped and turned toward Charlotte’s body. He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Waiting for what?” Armstrong wondered.

Inside the envelope, a phone began to ring. Armstrong tore open the package and jammed his hand inside. As his fingers fumbled for the cell phone, they brushed against something metal. Once he pulled the phone free, he held it up. The caller ID read Unknown.

Lifting the phone to his ear, Armstrong answered,

“Hello?”

“Martin Armstong.”

The voice on the other end was scrambled, making recognition impossible.

“Y-y-es?” Armstrong stammered, glancing down at Charlotte’s dead body, its blood soaking into the thick carpet.

“The police are on their way to arrest you, Martin,” the voice said.

“For what? I didn’t do anything wrong,” Armstrong defended.

“That doesn’t matter now, does it?” the voice said. “Daniel Lincoln is dead, River Hastings is dead, and soon Jessica Alexander will be dead, a victim of your terrible vengeance. All that’s left to complete our tale is the fall of the villain.”

“What villain?” Armstrong asked.

“You, Martin. Don’t you see? All this is for you,” the voice said.

“Are you insane? Why me?” Armstrong asked.

“In time, Martin, in time. Right now there are only two choices left for you. You can leave the building in handcuffs or a body bag. Choice is yours. I know what I would prefer, but if you choose handcuffs, you must understand that anything less than a full confession will result in a very uncomfortable time for you in jail. If you do survive the ordeal, I doubt you will choose to remain among the living afterwards,” the voice said.

“Who is this? You have nothing on me. I have a great lawyer, pal, and he will—”

“Sue me?” the voice interrupted. “Ruin my reputation? There is nothing he can do that you haven’t already done. And before you ask that inevitable, cliché question ‘why you’, I will tell you the answer. Because you are a bully. You hide behind the law and manipulate it for your own gain. But now you’re done, toppled. Okay so maybe I had to break a few rules to do it, but that was necessary.”

Armstrong could hear the man on the other end of the call stop to catch his breath. He seemed to be trying to calm himself.

“There is no one who can help you. In case you were stupid enough to reach into the envelope instead of looking inside or emptying it out first, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. You have left your fingerprints all over the very pistol that shot your precious Charlotte and your favorite bloodsucker Pierce. There’s no one left for you, Martin. Do yourself and the rest of us a favor. Take yourself out of this world!”

Suddenly the line went dead. Armstrong felt clammy and nauseous. He slowly looked up and saw that the man who had been watching him had disappeared.

“What should I do? What should I do?” Armstrong cried out in his mind.

He fled down the hall toward the elevator, but when he turned the corner, he saw two men dressed in identical suits standing by the elevator door. He stopped himself and slowly backed down the hallway until he was out of sight.

Retreating to his office, Armstrong paused at Charlotte’s desk to think what to do next.

“I’m ten stories up, but taking the stairs down won’t be so bad. I can do that,” Armstrong assured himself.

He ran for the stairwell and breathed a sign of relief when he saw that the stairwell door was unguarded. But when he pulled it open, he froze. A guard was positioned by the stairs going down. As he closed the stairwell door and turned back toward his office, he saw two men standing in the hallway. The only escape now was the roof, just above the floor of his office. Aware that he was being herded, he pulled open the stairwell door and made his way up the stairs to the roof.

When he reached the door to the roof, he opened it and slowly stepped out, the wind whipping his hair.

Walking to the edge, he looked over and felt his legs go weak. Police cars filled the parking lot below. Armstrong reached into the envelope and pulled out the pistol. Five shots left.

 

*          *          *

 

Nathan pulled up outside Pearson Plasma’s office building. Police cars were out in full force. As he turned off the bike’s ignition key, Elizabeth touched down next to him.

“You think Martin Armstrong is being set up?” Elizabeth asked.

“Someone is going to a lot of trouble to make sure Armstrong and Jericho are killed, or at the very least ruined,” Nathan said.

Nathan walked past the cops as they cleared out employees and gawkers. When he reached Detective Shields, he saw that she was busy giving orders to a group of officers.

“Detective Shields,” Nathan called.

“In a minute,” she replied.

“It’s important,” Elizabeth pushed.

“She said not now,” Detective French snapped, moving them back out of the way. “Interrupt again and I’ll arrest you both for obstruction.”

As French walked away, Elizabeth returned,

“Try it.”

“That won’t do any good,” Nathan said.

“Who cares? He deserves it,” Elizabeth sneered.

Nathan closed his eyes, trying to focus on Martin Armstong. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and said,

“We need to get to the roof.”

“All right, brace yourself,” Elizabeth advised.

“Wait!” Nathan protested. But before he could resist, Elizabeth had wrapped her arms around his waist, spread her wings and shot into the air so quickly that Nathan felt his stomach plunge.

In only a moment, Elizabeth had covered the distance to the roof and released Nathan.

Nathan looked at her and asked,

“Why is it I needed to save you from falling off the Crescent Bay Queen?”

“Because my wings were bound. Shut up,” Elizabeth said.

When Nathan and Elizabeth took a step toward Armstrong, he warned,

“D-d-don’t try to stop me!”

“Armstrong, look. I know you’re being set up,” Nathan said.

“Can you prove it?” Armstrong asked.

“Not yet, but I will. You’ve got to give me time,” Nathan pleaded.

“There’s no time left. He said either I leave here in cuffs or in a body bag. I can’t go to jail. I’ve seen TV. I know what happens to guys in prison. I won’t survive!”

“You don’t have to go through that,” Nathan said. “Give me time, and I’ll find the one responsible for this.”

“No, no. It’s too late. There’s no way out now,” Armstrong said.

Nathan saw two possible endings to this scenario. Neither were good. His only chance to stop this was to get through to Armstrong.

“Please, Armstrong, I need you to trust me.”

Armstrong looked at Elizabeth, and after a moment he realized something, something that gave him hope.

“You have wings. You could fly me out of here to safety.”

“I’ll fly you to the police department, but I won’t help you escape the police,” Elizabeth declared.

Suddenly Armstrong pointed the gun at Elizabeth and said,

“I’m sorry about this, but I’m desperate, and there’s no time to ask nicely.”

Coming Soon. . .

Published in: on May 6, 2018 at 8:33 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Coming Soon to Unsettled….

The Prophet of Starfall: Episode 28

In a panel van parked a good distance away, Graham Prescott watched four monitors, each with a clear view of the courtyard outside Crescent Bay University’s Anderson Hill Dormitory. Each monitor was being fed video from a different drone circling the courtyard.

“Sir,” one of Prescott’s men said.

“What?” Prescott snapped imperiously.

“Why is such an elaborate plan necessary? Why not just walk up to him and kill him?” the man asked.

Prescott slowly turned to the man and glared, quickly looking at his nametag.

“Marc, is it? Look, Marc, I would love nothing more than to walk right up to Nathan Nichols and nuke him till he looked like an overcooked burrito, but unfortunately I can’t. Our employer insists on secrecy, so we have to keep our distance and do things the hard way,” Prescott explained.

After a pause to consider, Marc asked,

“But why, sir?”

With a low growl, Prescott ran the fingers of his left hand over his cane that rested on the seat.

“Do you know what people have started calling Nathan Nichols?” he asked.

Seeing the growing anger in Prescott’s eyes, Marc decided to drop the subject.

“Never mind, sir,” Marc answered.

“No!” Prescott barked. “You started this, now let’s see where it goes. Answer the question!”

Marc hesitated for a moment then mumbled, “The prophet?”

“And do you know why?” Prescott asked.

Marc started to step back but Prescott snarled,

“Why?”

“Rumor has he knows things. That he can tell you anything about a person,” Marc replied.

“Just by being around them. Correct?” Prescott added.

Growing increasingly nervous, Marc merely shook his head.

“Which means?” Prescott continued.

Marc gulped, sweat beginning to form on his brow.

“He would know who hired you if you got too close?” Marc softly answered.

“That’s right!” Prescott said with mock glee.

Then with a sudden blast of blue energy from the cane, Prescott reduced Marc to a pile of ashes. Turning his attention back to the monitors, he grumbled,

“Idiot.”

“Nichols and the girl are exiting the building,” a voice said over the speaker.

“Good,” Prescott responded into a walkie. “Let them get to the parking lot. Too many obstructions in the courtyard.”

Prescott turned to the pile of ashes that was once Marc and sarcastically explained,

“Now by obstruction, I mean trees and fountains and people. Stuff they can hide behind.”

Just then the wind picked up, blowing the ashes away.

Prescott adjusted one of the drones to get a better view of Nathan and Elizabeth as they crossed the courtyard. Nathan led the way with Elizabeth a few steps behind.

“Wait till they get to the parking lot. Sniper 1, you ready?” Prescott asked.

“Check,” sniper 1 replied.

“Sniper 2 ready?” Prescott asked.

“Sniper 2, check,” the other sniper replied.

“Truck ready?” Prescott asked.

“Yeah, boss,” came a response.

“Bruiser ready?” Prescott asked.

“I have a name,” a voice returned.

Prescott rolled his eyes and corrected,

“Coil ready?”

“Ready,” the same voice replied.

As Prescott kept his eyes on the monitors, suddenly sniper 1 said,

“They’ve stopped.”

“You got a clear shot?” Prescott asked.

“It’s a go,” sniper 1 answered.

“Then take the shot,” Prescott ordered.

“Goodnight,” sniper 1 said.

Just as the rifle fired, Nathan moved to the side, sending the bullet into the concrete. He instantly pulled out his revolver and returned fire in the direction the bullet had traveled.

“Sniper 1, report,” Prescott ordered.

“Sniper 1 down, sir,” sniper 2 said.

“Sniper 2, fire,” Prescott barked.

“Yes, sir.”

As the rifle fired again, Nathan spun on his heel, once again dodging the bullet then returning fire.

“How is he dodging the bullets?” Prescott yelled.

“He’s not dodging the bullets, sir. He’s moving out of the way just as the bullet is fired,” a voice explained.

“Who said that?” Prescott snapped.

There was a pause before the man came back with,

“Addams, sir.”

“That wasn’t me, sir. It was Marley,” a second man said.

Prescott dropped the walkie and rested his head in his hands.

“Why do I surround myself with idiots,” he moaned.

Then looking through his fingers at Nathan, Prescott grabbed the walkie and ordered,

“Send in the truck.”

 

*          *          *

 

“What was that?” Elizabeth asked, scanning the area with both of her pistols out.

“An ambush,” Nathan replied. “Remember what I told you just before we stepped outside the dorm back there?”

“What?” Elizabeth asked.

Before Nathan could refresh her memory, Elizabeth spotted a large out-of-control truck barreling down on them. Quickly stepping in front of Nathan, Elizabeth firmly planted her feet and bent her knees.

When the truck jumped the curb, its front end lifted just enough for Elizabeth to catch it by the grill.

“Throw it!” Nathan shouted.

With all her strength, Elizabeth tossed the truck high into the air. It flipped over end-to-end then exploded, destroying two remote drones nearby.

Stepping back to Nathan’s side, she asked,

“Are you okay, Nathan?”

“I’m fine but hold on. This isn’t over yet,” Nathan warned. “Look at that.”

The ground began to rumble as a giant of a man ran toward them, roaring like a beast.

“I’ll get him,” Elizabeth said, popping her knuckles and neck. “I’ve been looking for a good brawl all day.”

Estimating that the running man was around 7 feet tall, Elizabeth calmly walked toward him.

Stopping to bend her knees, she settled her weight on her back foot and watched as the man raised his giant fists over his head. When he was close enough, Elizabeth struck him in the chest with her open palm.

The sound of the impact was so loud it echoed off the concrete. Doubling over with pain, the man clutched at his chest and gasped for air. Elizabeth grabbed him, lifting him as easily as she would a basketball, and threw him across the parking lot into a line of trees.

“Where are the rest of them?” Elizabeth asked, her blood pumping.

“Retreating,” Nathan said.

“Seriously? After one punch?” Elizabeth complained. “I think I may have to crack a few ribs before I can go home.”

“They aren’t retreating because of you,” Nathan said.

“What?” Elizabeth asked in confusion.

Nathan pointed toward the sky, and when Elizabeth looked up, she saw 4 21 hovering overhead. He floated down, landing next to them, and said,

“Ms. Hayes. Prophet.”

Nathan nodded his greeting and 4 21 said,

“When Jericho convinced me and the other heroes in Crescent Bay to give you opportunity to come into your own, I assumed he meant that you would be handling matters such as solving murders or preventing future disasters in your own way, dealing with problems I did not have time for. Every hero in Crescent Bay has a special skill, a strength to bring these problems to a solution, but I am afraid I must interfere when your solutions involve shooting into crowds or throwing lethal exploding devices into the air, especially this close to a college campus.”

“Those were not problem solvers,” Nathan corrected. “We were simply defending ourselves.”

“Explain,” 4 21 said.

Once Nathan had recounted Prescott’s attempted ambush, 4 21 said,

“I understand that you are new to this. You must be careful. A soldier does not fire on innocents nor does he act without regard to the safety of others.”

“Sorry,” Nathan said.

“It seems you had no choice,” 4 21 admitted. “Just be careful.”

Without another word, 4 21 lifted into the air and flew off.

“I don’t like being scolded,” Elizabeth said. “Not one little bit!”

Deciding to ignore her comment, Nathan proposed,

“Let’s go find Detective Shields and tell her about Jessica.”

The Train: Episode 81

After three solid kicks, the door finally came open. Michael recoiled at the heat pouring from the burning cabin.

“You can’t go in there!” Marvin Clark warned.

“I have no choice! My friend is in there!” Michael yelled back.

Shielding his eyes from the heat, Michael took a step into the burning cabin but was pulled back when a strong hand grabbed his collar. As he struggled to keep his balance, he looked up and saw a figure, silhouetted by the light from the fire, close the door and turn to face him.

“What kind of idiot goes running into a burning building?” Elliot barked.

“Ricer’s in there!” Michael snapped.

“And Lucy is missing,” Nicole added.

“First off, the doc ain’t in there. I’d have gotten him out if he were. And secondly, Lucy tends to go missing a lot. You just never noticed it before. It’s what she’s good at,” Elliot pointed out.

“Well somebody grabbed Ricer. I saw it,” Michael insisted.

“I know. That’s why I’m here,” Elliot said.

When Michael saw Serena running toward them, he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Who was that? Who took Ricer?” he demanded.

Serena’s eyes were wide with fear as Michael refused to release her.

“Tell me!” Michael growled, losing patience.

“I can’t say his name out loud,” Serena said. “Legend has it he’ll come for you if you misbehave or call his name.”

“I don’t give a squat about legend! Tell me or you’ll have bigger things to worry about than that!” Michael snapped.

Elliot placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder and moved him away.

“Easy, son,” Elliot said. “You’re scaring her.”

Elliot turned to face Serena and asked,

“Who was the man that grabbed the doc?”

“It was Abraham,” Marvin Clark’s youngest boy yelled.

“Quiet, Gordon!” Susan Clark warned.

“Who is Abraham?” Michael asked.

“He used to be the groundskeeper for Summerhill Medical Center,” Serena said.

“Where is that?” Michael asked.

Serena clamped her mouth shut, her eyes full of fear as a bead of sweat ran down her forehead.

Michael remembered Serena being dragged away when they had first arrived.

“Wait a minute,” Michael whispered. “Was that where they were taking you when we showed up?”

Serena nodded.

“I know where to go,” Michael said.

“Good,” Elliot replied. “Stay here and figure out what’s going on. I’ll find Ricer and Lucy.”

“I’m going with you!” Michael insisted.

“No, you’re not. Stay here where you’re safe and let me do my job,” Elliot ordered.

Michael was reluctant but saw that Elliot meant business.

“Last thing I need is more missing people to worry about,” Elliot grumbled as he walked away.

When Elliot was out of earshot, Michael turned to Serena and glared,

“Take us to Suriel now! I’m not asking anymore.”

* * *

Elliot made his way through the woods to Summerhill Medical Center. Across the grounds, the brown grass lay in patches and the dying trees dropped their limbs in great number. With revolver in hand, Elliot walked toward the rotting front door, sagging on its rusty hinges. As he stepped inside the building, he was assaulted by the sour stench of mold and decay. Gingerly stepping across the creaking wooden floor, he peered into every dark corner.

“Why don’t people just tear these places down instead of letting them fall into ruin?” Elliot asked aloud.

Suddenly the wind picked up, its blast slamming the splintered door.

Elliot whirled around then shook his head.

“All right, Doc, where are you?”

He headed for what had been the main hallway and looked inside the first room. It was empty except for a pile of mildewed rags in one corner. He covered his nose against the smell. As he moved to the next room, he heard movement behind him, footsteps across the floor and a door closing.

When he turned toward the noise, he saw no one but decided to follow the sound. At the door, he reached out and kicked it open, his weapon raised to fire.

“I’m not much for playing games. Never have been,” he called out. “Why don’t you step out here and let’s get this over with?”

Silence hung in the air.

“Come on, Abraham,” Elliot said. “Show yourself.”

When he heard the sound of heavy boots on the creaky old wood, Elliot slowly turned.

Opposite him stood a tall man in a long woolen coat, his face obscured by an old brown hat, its brittle straw frayed at the edges. His left hand gripped the handle of a long eaves knife.

“Now that’s something I haven’t seen in a while,” Elliot said, pointing to the knife.

“Abraham?” Elliot asked.

The eaves knife had a straightened scythe blade attached to a three-foot long wooden handle.

“You planning on killing me with that thing?” Elliot asked, aiming his pistol at Abraham’s heart. “You’d better be faster than me.”

From behind him, Elliot heard a weak voice whimper,

“Elliot?”

In a momentary lapse of judgment, Elliot turned toward the voice, taking his eyes off the man. When he turned back, he saw the eaves knife coming straight at him.

Published in: on February 19, 2018 at 12:38 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Unsettled: Episode 8

It was late evening when Ray and Rory pulled up outside the city capitol building. Work had just been completed to stabilize the building’s foundation and repair damage from the recent hurricane that had blown through town. The street lamps cast a soft glow onto the three-story red brick building as the wind stirred the towering pines that formed a border across the front.

As Ray and Rory climbed the front steps, Rory asked,

“Aren’t these places usually closed after five?”

“Some,” Ray said, testing the door.

When he found it unlocked, he smiled at Rory and added,

“But sometimes people work late.”

Rory followed Ray inside, stopping at a directory to find the listing of Councilman Parker’s office.

“Third floor, room 304,” Rory said.

At the lobby elevator, Ray tapped the button, and after a moment the doors opened.

“What if he’s not in?” Rory asked as he punched the button for the third floor.

“He’s in,” Ray assured him.

“What makes you so certain?” Rory asked.

“Oh just a feeling,” Ray replied.

“More like wishful thinking,” Rory commented as the elevator doors opened.

When they stepped off the elevator, the only sound was the tap of their shoes on the highly polished tile floor. The white sterile hallway was empty as they headed for Parker’s office.

At the door of 304, Rory turned the knob. The door was unlocked, so they stepped inside. The front office was empty.

“See,” Rory laughed. “No one here.”

Ray saw a second door just past the secretary’s desk. The gold lettering on the door’s frosted glass panel read Councilman Owen Parker. Ray listened for a few moments then knocked. He heard a loud thump and a man’s voice yelled,

“Just a moment.”

After the sound of muffled voices stopped, the door opened and a young woman came out of the office. She quickly smoothed her hair and began to close the three open buttons on her blouse.

“May I help you?” she smiled.

“Yes. I’d like to speak with Councilman Parker, please.”

“I’m afraid he’s busy right now,” the woman answered.

“I can see that,” Rory said. “But this is important.”

When Ray glanced past her, he saw Parker quickly throw on a pair of glasses then grab a gold wedding ring off the desk and jam it onto his finger. He was around middle age with graying hair and a slight paunch.

“Now is not a good time,” the woman insisted.

“That’s all right, ma’am. I’ll just go have a word with Mrs. Parker. This matter concerns both of them,” Ray returned.

“What matter?” Parker asked, walking to his office door.

“Nothing that can’t wait. I’ll speak with your wife first. Of course I do tend to share too much and may tell her what I saw here. Hope she doesn’t misunderstand,” Ray said.

“It’s okay, Veronica,” Parker said. “I can speak with them now.”

Ray sweetly smiled and excused himself as he walked past Parker’s secretary.

In a huff, Veronica marched toward her desk, loudly closing the councilman’s door behind Ray and Rory.

Parker offered Ray and Rory a chair and sat down behind his desk.

“Now what can I do for you gentlemen this evening?” he politely asked.

“I am a voter,” Ray said, “and I have a few questions.”

“Well I’m here to help. My door is always open,” Parker said.

“Excellent,” Ray replied. “My first question is what is the city council doing about the crime rate?”

“Crime is down,” Parker said, leaning back in his chair as he laced his fingers across his chest, “and City hall will continue to work with the police department to guarantee it stays down.”

“Next question,” Ray said. “Does the name Charles Heath mean anything to you?”

Suddenly Parker’s friendly expression changed to a scowl.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“Name is Raymond Slats, and I was wondering why is it you hired Charles Heath to in his own words ‘burn the city to the ground?’ ” Ray asked.

Parker stared at Ray for a moment then said, “Wait a minute. Raymond Slats. I know that name. You’re from Whitelake not Coldwater. Why did you tell me you were a voter?”

“Well technically I am a voter, just not in your district,” Ray said.

“I don’t have anything more to say, Mr. Slats. You can find your way out. Bother me again, and you’ll need an attorney,” Parker threatened.

As Ray stood to leave, he said,

“This kind of thing usually doesn’t end well, Councilman. If I were you, I’d get help before things get away from you.”

“Out!” Parker barked.

Turning to leave, Ray noticed a photograph of Councilman Parker with three other men on a golf course. Three of the men were laughing as the fourth retrieved his golf ball from the hole.

When they reached the elevator, Rory asked,

“That’s it?’ We just walk out?”

“I already got all he was going to give. His reaction said enough. Plus, I saw a photo of Parker with the mayor, the police commissioner, and another guy I didn’t recognize. I’d bet my social security check that those men are on Heath’s hit list. We need to find Billy and the others,” Ray said.

As they stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby, Rory asked,

“And by the others you mean?”

“Mavis and Kristina,” Ray replied.

“Good,” Rory said, relaxing a bit.

“And Billy’s other personalities,” Ray added.

Rolling his eyes, Rory groaned as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

As Ray and Rory pulled up outside the Coldwater Chronicle, a uniformed police officer stopped them and told them to stay behind the cordon tape. Squad cars filled the lot as officers and Crime Scene worked the area.

“What’s happened?” Rory asked.

“More importantly,” Ray said as Rory parked near the street, “where are Mavis, Billy and Kristina?”

“Hey, there they are, across the street,” Rory pointed out.

They got out of Rory’s Bronco and crossed the busy street.

“What happened here?” Rory asked.

“I have no idea,” Billy said.

Mavis looked around to see if anyone else could hear before she explained,

“When we got here, Lucas told us to stay outside while he went in. He told us to wait a bit, turn the power off and on, then get into our car, which we did. A few minutes later, we saw the lights of a helicopter as it lifted off the roof. Next thing we know, Billy’s walking out of the building and asking us what happened?”

Rory looked at Billy and inquired,

“What happened inside?”

Billy shrugged and said, “I honestly don’t know. Last I remember, we were at the diner.”

“Wait a minute,” Ray said with skepticism. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember anything?”

Mavis nodded and said, “I believe him, Ray. Sometimes the others block out Billy completely, like when they do something they don’t want him to remember. That way, he stays completely innocent.”

“In that case, I need to speak with the others,” Ray said. “How do I get one of them out here?”

“Won’t work,” Kristina said. “Afraid we already tried. They’ve gone into hiding, I’d guess until things calm down.”

Before Ray could continue his questioning, a slender young woman in a crisp suit, her brown hair pulled back in a bun, walked up to them, her eyes on Billy.

Removing a police badge from her suit, she introduced herself,

“Detective Joeslyn Márquez, Coldwater PD.”

As she slipped the badge back into her pocket, she watched Billy.

“I saw you at the police department earlier. You were there just before detective Ethan Snow was murdered.”

“Detective Snow is dead?” Billy asked in surprise.

Márquez studied Billy’s face as though the answers were there.

“You were there. You didn’t kill him, but you know something. First Snow’s murder, then this? You’re involved all right.”

“What happened in there, Detective,” Ray asked.

“Dale Tanner was murdered. We also found several armed men unconscious and tied up. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Márquez asked Billy.

“Tanner is dead?” Kristina asked, her hand covering her mouth.

Seeing her grief, Márquez said, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“I honestly have no clue what’s going on. Last I remember, I was at a diner with these guys,” Billy said, an innocent look on his face.

Márquez watched Billy for a moment then ordered, “Don’t leave town. I may have other questions.”

As Márquez returned to the crime scene, Jack suddenly spoke up.

“So much has happened. We need to get to safety and figure out Heath’s next move.”

“What happened in there?” Mavis asked.

“Not here, love,” Jack replied. “Later, where it’s safe.”

* * *

Irritated by Ray’s visit and threat to tell his wife, Parker gathered his papers, shut off the desk lamp and walked to the door. As he closed and locked it, he said,

“Veronica, I’m sorry, but I’m too upset right now. I’m heading home for the night.”

When he turned around, he froze. Veronica was face down on the floor in a pool of blood. Standing over here was Charles Heath with his bodyguard.

“Hello, Councilman,” Heath sneered. “It’s time for phase two.”

As Heath’s bodyguard pointed a pistol at Parker’s head, Heath asked,

“Won’t you join me for the rest of the evening?”

The Prophet of Starfall: Episode 25

In a blur of motion, Elizabeth spread her wings and withdrew her weapons. Closing her eyes to block visual distractions, she used her natural radar to move with grace and precision.

Four of Prescott’s men, their rifles raised, surrounded Elizabeth but just seconds before they fired, she dove for the two who were closest. Hooking one with her wing, she spun and hurled him across the bar and through a front window. Then tossing the other into the air, she raised her pistol and shot him before he hit the floor.

“The King?” Nathan asked as he circled Prescott.

“Stay out of my head!” Prescott ordered.

“Why? What are you afraid I’ll find?” Nathan asked.

When Prescott swung out, Nathan ducked and rolled. Then jumping to his feet, he asked,

“Who are you protecting?”

“Stay out of my head!” Prescott snapped.

As Prescott started to move forward, Nathan advised,

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Prescott sneered and just as he took a step closer, one of his men came flying across the room, crashing into Prescott and knocking him over the bar. When Nathan glanced over to check on Elizabeth, he saw she was lifting one of the men in the air by his throat.

“Don’t kill him,” Nathan said.

Elizabeth growled and dropped the man to the floor.

Prescott saw his chance and ran for the exit.

“No!” Elizabeth roared, running after him.

“Wait!” Nathan yelled as he followed her.

When Prescott reached the parking lot, he stopped behind one of his SUVs and struck the fender with his cane. A burst of blue energy flashed, and the SUV went flipping through the air towards Elizabeth.

Just before the vehicle crashed through the front wall of Eight Balls, Nathan grabbed Elizabeth and pulled them both to safety.

When they hurried outside through the gaping hole left by the SUV, they saw that Prescott had fled.

Police cruisers tore into the parking lot and Crescent Bay’s finest jumping out, weapons drawn.

“Freeze!” one officer yelled at Elizabeth. “Drop your weapons!”

Elizabeth, her adrenaline still pumping, tightened her grip on her weapon.

“Wait, Elizabeth,” Nathan said, placing his hand over hers.

“Get down on your knees and place your hands on your head!” Detective French demanded.

“They’re innocent,” Jericho said, stepping in front of Nathan and Elizabeth.

“Jericho, move out of the way,” French ordered.

“Are you okay, Jericho?” Nathan asked.

“My head’s going to be ringing for a while, but I’ll live,” Jericho said.

Just then, Detective Cassandra Shields arrived on the scene.

When she jumped out of the cruiser, she ordered the officers,

“Stand down! He’s with us.”

Shields walked over to Jericho and looked past him to Nathan.

“What happened?” she asked.

“They started it,” Nathan said with a sheepish smile.

 

*          *          *

 

After being questioned most of the night about the scene at Eight Balls, Nathan was finally sent home.

He spent the next eight hours trying to catch some z’s, but when dawn’s light peeked through the draperies of Elizabeth’s condo, Nathan gave up and hopped into the shower.

As he quickly dressed, he made a plan then left the building, hopped on his bike, and headed for Pearson Plasma Technologies.

Pearson Plasma stood tall and bright, its panels glistening in the morning sun. The long public pool that ran from the parking lot to the stairs leading up to the front door was filled with kids playing and splashing, their innocent laughter lifting Nathan’s spirits.

Nathan left his bike in the parking lot and headed for the front entrance. When he passed a placard posted near the pool, he stopped to read.

Pearson Plasma Technologies’ public pool and playground are dedicated to all the children of Crescent Bay. These facilities were built by Milford Pearson, Crescent Bay’s beloved hero known as Knightlight. Mr. Pearson loved children and said their laughter always gave him strength.

Nathan looked across the street at the playground, swarming with happy children, and breathed deeply, taking it all.

“So what is this place?” Elizabeth asked.

Nathan turned to face Elizabeth.

“Are you following me?”

“Yep,” Elizabeth replied. “Don’t trust you on your own.”

Nathan shook his head in mild exasperation.

“So tell me what this place is,” Elizabeth repeated.

“Started by one of Crescent Bay’s earliest superheroes, Milford Pearson, also known as Knightlight, Pearson Plasma Technologies uses an engine invented by Pearson that could generate super-heated plasma for use in weapons and engines. When he retired, Pearson put his engine designs to use in ridding Crescent Bay of its dependency on fossil fuels. His empire invests in hospitals, aeronautics, and shipping. Plus, over the years, it has secured a lot of government contracts. Today, Pearson’s company is worth $10 billion. When he died, sixty per cent of the company stock went to investors he had handpicked with the other forty per cent going to his son Brian Pearson.”

Elizabeth watched Nathan as he shared the information,

When he finished, she said,

“You know, you should be a tour guide.”

Ignoring her comment, Nathan added,

“This is where Martin Armstrong works. He’s chairman of the board of directors.”

“What about Brian Pearson?” Elizabeth asked.

“Retired a few years ago. His grandson Brian hasn’t fully assumed control. Right now he still answers to the board of directors,” Nathan explained.

Elizabeth followed Nathan past the pool and through the front doors. The inside of Pearson Plasma was clinical white with neutral tone back accents. Monitors throughout the main floor played videos advertising the company’s goals and current projects. As soon as Nathan and Elizabeth stepped forward, a young man approached with a smile of welcome.

“Hello. I’m Jeff. How may Pearson Plasma help you today?” Jeff asked.

“We’re here to see Mr. Armstrong,” Nathan answered.

“Do you have an appointment?” Jeff asked.

“No, we do not. Just tell Mr. Armstrong it’s regarding Daniel Lincoln,” Nathan said.

“One moment please,” Jeff responded.

Jeff moved away a few steps as he spoke into an earpiece. A minute later, he returned and said,

“I’m afraid Mr. Armstrong will not be able to speak with you at this time. But if you would like to make an appointment, I can help you with that.”

Nathan glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was almost 9:30 a.m. He looked back at Jeff and said,

“I’d like to make an appointment for 9:30.”

“I’m afraid that time is already filled,” Jeff apologized, after checking a tablet he held in his hand.

“That appointment is about to cancel,” Nathan informed.

“Really?” Jeff said in surprise. Then checking his tablet again, he said,

“I don’t see. . .,” Jeff began. After a pause, he said, “It would appear that Mr. Armstrong’s 9:30 just canceled. Let me fit you in.”

Jeff punched in something on the tablet before saying,

“All set. Mr. Armstrong will see you now.”

“Thanks,” Nathan said with a smile.

As Nathan and Elizabeth rode the elevator up to Mr. Armstrong’s office, Elizabeth said,

“I remember my dad telling me about Knightlight, but I never really knew much about him until now.”

“Milford Pearson was ahead of his time with the invention of his plasma engine. He named the hero he created Knightlight because a nightlight is used to comfort children. By using the word knight, he hoped to create a sense of bravery and chivalry that kids could aspire to. Pearson really loved kids. That’s why he had that pool and playground built in front of Pearson Plasma.”

When the elevator doors opened, Elizabeth followed Nathan through a series of busy hallways and crowded offices until they came to a large door. Just as they reached out for the handle, the door swung open and a man stormed out.

“I don’t care what you think! We’re doing it my way!” he shouted.

As the young man headed down the hall, Elizabeth asked,

“Who on earth was that?”

“Brian Pearson, grandson of Milford Pearson and heir to the family fortune.”

“He seems pretty angry,” Elizabeth said.

“Frustrated for sure. He’s not old enough yet to take control of the company, and right now the board is fighting his every decision,” Nathan explained.

When they stepped inside the office, Nathan and Elizabeth heard Martin Armstrong instruct his secretary,

“Nancy, cancel my 9:30. I’m going to be on the phone for a while.”

“That would be me, Mr. Armstrong,” Nathan called out.

Armstrong looked up and when he saw Nathan and Elizabeth, he said,

“No supers. I have nothing to say about the bombing. Talk to my attorney.”

“It’s about Daniel Lincoln,” Nathan explained. “I have just a few questions.”

“As I said, talk to my attorney,” Armstrong instructed.

“In fact,” Armstrong said, pulling out his cell phone and hitting the speed dial, “You can talk to him yourself.”

Nathan was close enough to hear ringing, but no one answered.

“Why isn’t he picking up?” Armstrong wondered.

Suddenly, Nathan got a flash of a man wearing a cardigan sweater jammed over a bomb vest. He was sweating profusely, and panic filled his eyes as the phone strapped to the bomb began to ring. Nathan snapped out of his vision and leapt at Armstrong’s phone.

“Wait!” Nathan yelled.

Surprised by the aggression, Armstrong pulled back the cell phone.

“What’s wrong with you?” Armstrong asked.

Before Nathan could answer the question, an explosion went off nearby, shaking the building and blowing out the windows.

Unsettled: Episode 7

His hand gripping the bloody hammer, Charles Heath looked down at what remained of Dale Tanner. He watched as Tanner struggled to draw his last breath. Heath had to admit this attack had been just the stress relief he needed after William Brannon almost ruined his escape. From the look of Tanner, a couple more strikes was all he could hope for. Just as he raised the hammer, the lights went out.

Heath froze then looked up toward the ceiling.

“What is it, sir?” Heath’s security guard asked.

“Brannon’s here,” Heath said.

“In that case, sir, I recommend we leave at once,” the guard advised. “There’s a helicopter waiting on the roof to take you to safety.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Heath said. Then after a pause he added,

“I’m done here.”

Heath handed the claw hammer to the security guard, exchanging it for his pistol. Then turning to Tanner, he smiled,

“Thank you. This was just what I needed.”

Tanner looked at Heath through his swollen bloody eye. He saw Heath raise the pistol and heard the shot just before he slipped into eternity.

After holstering the pistol, Tanner removed his gloves and stuffed them into his pockets. Running his fingers through his short hair, he said,

“Now we can go.”

Exiting Tanner’s office, they headed for the stairs leading up to the roof and the helicopter.

 

*          *          *

 

 

When the lights cut out, Rowan felt his heart race. With trembling hands, he reached out and switched on his tactical flashlight, at the same time ordering the men to follow suit. A surge of panic ran up his spine when he saw that Brannon had disappeared.

“Sweep the room,” he ordered. “Keep your radios on. Target is in the area.”

After searching the room twice, Rowan called out to his men,

“Anyone see anything? Check in.”

Four of the five men gave an all clear. After a moment, Rowan called to the man who had not responded.

“Alexander, check in.”

“Sorry, sir. Thought I saw something. All clear,” Alexander answered.

Rowan ordered the men,

“Keep your eyes open. He’s here somewhere.”

Suddenly Alexander’s tactical light went out.

“Alexander!” Rowan called out.

When no answer came, Clark, the man nearest Alexander, said,

“I’ll check, sir.”

Rowan watched as Clark’s tactical light turned in the direction Alexander had last been seen. Clark did a quick sweep and came back on the radio,

“There’s no sign of him, sir.”

“Keep at it. He has to be there somewhere,” Rowan replied.

Before Clark could respond, another tactical light on the opposite side of the room went out.

“Carter, turn your light back on,” Rowan ordered.

When Carter did not answer, Rowan knew he was losing control of the situation.

“Someone check on Carter.”

Before anyone could respond, Clark’s tactical light went off.

With three men missing, Rowan slowly backed up towards the wall. There were only two men left.

“What are you?” Rowan asked into the darkness.

“There’s no sign of Carter, sir,” Briggs replied.

“Keep looking!” Rowan snapped.

Before Briggs could answer, his light went out.

In a panic, Rowan began frantically to sweep the room.

“Please don’t kill me,” he whispered.

“Forget this,” Granger said. “I’m out of here!”

Rowan watched as Granger’s tactical light moved toward the front door. Suddenly it stopped. Rowan tried to shine his light toward Granger but was terrified of what he might see. Then he heard a slow click that echoed off the walls as Granger’s light went out.

Rowan could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he slowly stepped toward the front door. The only light in the room was his tactical light and a low glow from the streetlamp outside. He figured that if he could just make it to the front door, he could escape with his life. The other men were on their own. His knees shaking, he inched his way toward the front door of the lobby, moving his light from left to right as he went. When he was about halfway to the door, the lights suddenly came on, blinding Rowan for a moment before he adjusted his eyes to the light. The room was empty. No sign of his men. No blood. No equipment.

As a chill ran up his spine, Rowan did what he’d seen every stupid teenager do in every horror movie he’d ever watched. Instead of running for his life, he slowly turned around, sensing something was behind him.

Standing just a couple of feet behind him with one fist clenched and the other open was William Brannon.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Rowan whimpered.

Then he screamed as the last thing he saw was Brannon diving for him.

 

*          *          *

 

 

Leo Walker and Chad Burns, two of Heath’s men, were stationed in the second floor hall leading to the editor’s office. Both were under orders to stay behind and cover Mr. Heath’s escape. A few moments after the lights came back on, they heard someone downstairs crying for help.

“What is that racket down there? Sounds like a bunch of little girls,” Walker sneered.

“With Rowan in charge, could be anything,” Burns said.

“In charge? That guy is useless!” Walker said.

“All they have to do is deal with one guy while the boss escapes,” Burns said.

“Leave it to Rowan to make a mess. No telling what he’s up to,” Walker said.

At the entrance to the hallway, a man suddenly appeared. Taking a few purposeful strides, he stopped in full view of Walker and Burns.

“Hey! Isn’t that the Brannon guy Mr. Heath warned us about?” Walker asked.

“Well he’s not one of our idiots,” Burns replied.

“That’s far enough. We’ll shoot if you come any closer,” Walker ordered Brannon.

“Heath said not to kill him,” Burns whispered.

“If it’s down to my life or his, I’m shooting the guy,” Walker said.

“Turn around now!” Burns yelled.

Keeping a steady eye on the two men, Brannon did not move.

“Who is this guy?” Walker asked.

“I don’t know. Mr. Heath didn’t say much about him. Just said he’s important and not to kill him,” Burns replied.

All of a sudden, Brannon began walking forward.

“Stop right there! Don’t come any closer!” Burns demanded.

Brannon ignored the warning and kept walking.

“Forget this! I’m shooting him!” Walker said, taking aim.

Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the hallway into darkness.

Published in: on January 22, 2018 at 5:53 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,