***
The next morning, Luther was back in the Camaro, blazing down the interstate toward central Illinois. After he returned home from the Music Box the night before, he’d checked the news sites on the Internet for any information about the school shooting Whitey had mentioned. One had just occurred last week, in a small town called Green Meadows.
Unlike most shootings, it did not end with a confrontation with police or a suicide. The perpetrator was still at large and authorities had no leads on either his identity or his motivation. According to the articles Luther read, the local police responded quickly. And even though they had the school surrounded, somehow the perpetrator escaped without being seen.
The trip from Chicago to Green Meadows was a three hour drive on the interstate. Luther arrived at the school around noon and pulled into the parking lot, bringing the car to a stop right in front of the school’s main entrance, waiting in the fire zone. He shifted the car into park and looked at the building, peering into each of the classroom windows.
Normally at this time of day, there would be much more activity around the building. But the classrooms were all empty. He couldn’t see anyone roaming the halls through the glass entry, and there was still police tape across the front. The school was still closed in the aftermath of the tragedy, and it was unknown when it would be reopened.
But Luther could detect some sort of presence on these grounds. What that was would need to be investigated. He shut off the engine and stepped out of the car, approaching the front doors. Luther calmly broke the police tape and pushed on the door. It was locked.
“Aperio.” At his command, the lock turned and Luther stepped inside. A receptionist window was to his right and through that he could see the desks belonging to the front office staff. The foyer ended in a T-junction, and hanging from the ceiling was a banner made with yellow construction paper. The words “GO MUSKRATS!” were painted on it in green. Below it was a glass case containing numerous trophies and plaques. Virtually all were for sporting events.
Luther removed his sunglasses and in his reflection in the glass, he saw the glow of his eyes. He gently laid his hand on the case and felt waves of anger emanating from around the objects.
“Looks like you were right, Whitey,” he muttered.
Luther walked down one of the corridors. The negative energy was thick in the air, almost like a fog clouding the building. He closed his eyes, allowing the energy to take him back to that time. When he opened them again, he could see the events of that day, but they were hazy, clouded, and everything had a red tint to it.
He stepped to one of the classroom doors and peered through the window. In his vision of that day, he saw students huddled under their desks, covering their ears, their fear palpable. Luther moved further down the corridor. He could see the trail of negative energy as a splash of yellow floating against the red and he followed it.
The vision faded out momentarily, and Luther stumbled, but stopped himself from falling by bracing his hand against the wall. There had been a force here, one that didn’t want to be discovered. Luther shook it off and closed his eyes, focusing in on the energy once more. He flashed back to the day in question and continued down the hall.
He followed the yellow trail and it brought him to the cafeteria. Even though time had passed, he could still feel the same things the victims experienced that day. The scent of the food in the cafeteria, the sounds of conversation and gossip going on all around him, almost becoming white noise. And then the booming shots that silenced everything. The screams that erupted next. Tears and cries brought on by terror.
The bright yellow trail coalesced into a single form. The students hid from this form as it fired at them one by one with a weapon of some kind. Luther focused on the energy, but he couldn’t make out a single detail. But he was sure of one thing—it definitely wasn’t human.
The vision faded and Luther fell to one knee, panting. He reached for one of the cafeteria tables, pulling himself onto the bench. With his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands. Luther pulled his fingers away from his head and saw the moisture from his sweat on them.
“What happened here?” he asked, staring at the spot where he had gotten a glimpse of the perpetrator.
Luther collected his bearings and rose. He saw the trail had resumed, going back out from the cafeteria. Luther followed it to the next corridor and, after taking a deep breath, closed his eyes and allowed himself to be transported back to the events of that day. He walked after the trail, retracing the steps of the monster responsible.
This trail was even brighter than the previous one. A much stronger dose of negative energy. Luther continued down the path until he was brought to a pair of doors with the LIBRARY sign adorning the frame.
Pushing both doors open, Luther was suddenly hit with the full force of the negative energy. Here was the greatest concentration of both fear and anger. The being was in the center of the library, firing wildly, but still Luther couldn’t determine any sort of details about it. What it looked like, not even what it was. The entire scene played out in slow motion, projectiles blowing into bookshelves, tables, and computers, trying earnestly to take out as many innocents as possible.
The sheer weight of the event struck Luther with such power that he was thrown off his feet. Luther lay there for a few moments, just staring at the ceiling. Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Luther realized he wasn’t alone in the building. Quickly standing, his right hand snaked inside his suit jacket, his fingers brushing the butt of the modified revolver resting in the shoulder holster. But he relaxed once he caught a glimpse of his company through the window in the library’s door.
Two police officers entered, both in their uniforms of beige shirts, black slacks, and black brimmed hats. The man who led the other was tall and broad, with a thick brown beard. “Haven’t you vultures had your fill of human suffering yet? This place is off limits.”
“Excuse me?”
When Luther faced the two cops, the younger one flinched upon seeing Cross’ red eyes. But the older officer was unfazed. “You a reporter, right?”
Luther grinned. “No.” His hand went to the outside pocket of his jacket and he took out his monogrammed card case. Flicking it open, he handed one of the cards to the officer. As the cop took the card, Luther focused on what was printed on the officer’s badge—SHERIFF.
“Luther Cross…” The Sheriff then scoffed when he read what came next. “Paranormal Investigator?”
“That’s right, Sheriff…?”
“Gardner.” The Sheriff motioned to the man behind him, who had his hands resting on his gun belt. “And that’s Deputy Fletcher.”
Deputy Fletcher, who appeared to be just a few years out of high school, gave a nod.
“So Mr. Cross, why don’t you tell me what a,” the Sheriff had to stifle a laugh, “‘paranormal investigator’ is doin’ at the site of a school shooting? You think we’ve got some ghosts around here?”
“If I said yes, would you believe me?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’d be wasting both your time and mine. To be honest, I don’t expect people like you to understand my work, Sheriff. You’re far too limited to conceive of something beyond your understanding.”
Gardner gritted his teeth. “Buddy, you got some nerve. I should throw your ass in jail just on general principle.”
Luther folded his arms over his broad chest and stepped up to Gardner. “Go ahead. My lawyer loves filing wrongful arrest lawsuits against backwater sheriff departments.”
“Funny that. See, the ‘backwater’ judges in Green Meadows, they love it when uppity out-of-towners come trespassing and then try throwing their weight around. ‘Backwater’ juries love it, too.”
Luther stifled a growl. “Did I just hear you use the word ‘uppity’?”
“Did I?” Gardner grinned and called to his deputy. “Hey Fletcher, did you hear me say ‘uppity’?”
“Pr
etty sure I didn’t, Sheriff.”
“That’s what I thought.” Gardner never took his eyes off Luther. “Maybe your ears need some cleaning, Mr. Cross. There’s a pharmacy where you can pick up some Q-tips. It’s right near the on-ramp to the interstate.”
“Suit yourself, Sheriff.” Luther moved past Gardner. “Curious how you have no suspects yet. And when your men had the school completely surrounded, too. Almost like the shooter just vanished into thin air.”
Luther cast a glance at Fletcher, whose own eyes were moving around with uncertainty. Gardner spun and faced Luther, his arms crossed. “You can either walk out of here, or we can drag you out in cuffs. Choice is yours, Mr. Cross.”
Luther donned his sunglasses. “Nice meeting you, Sheriff.”
He left the library and quickly strode down the corridors until he reached the front entrance. He stepped out of the glass doors and into the afternoon sun. Fishing in his pockets, Luther drew out a gold cigarette case, monogrammed like the one for his business cards. He opened it, took a single cigarette and placed it between his lips, then snapped the case closed and placed it back in his pocket. When he drew his hand out, he’d replaced the case with a matching lighter that he used on the cigarette.
Standing in front of Luther’s Camaro was a teenage boy of about seventeen. He had a shaggy mop of dark hair and as Luther approached, he turned. The boy’s skin was pale and he was dressed all in black, wearing a Lamb of God t-shirt. There was something about the boy that drew Luther’s attention, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Like the car?” he asked.
The boy shrugged. “It’s okay. Who are you?”
Luther took a long drag on the cigarette. “Suppose I stand out a bit in Green Meadows, huh?”
“Might say that.”
Luther gave the boy a once-over from head to toe. “One might also say that you know a thing or two about that.”
The boy evaded Luther’s gaze, looking back at the car’s onyx surface. Luther stepped closer and leaned against the hood of his vehicle, sliding his free hand into his pants pocket. “You go to this school?”
“Did.”
“You see the guy responsible?”
The boy shook his head.
“Imagine word must spread fast in a town this size.” Luther glanced at the kid. “Hear anything about the guy? Talk to anyone who saw him?”
The boy looked at the school, stuffing his hands into the pockets. “Why you asking so many questions?”
“I’m curious by nature.”
“Matt!”
The boy flinched at the sound of his name being shouted. The voice belonged to the Sheriff, who was now marching right toward the pair from the school’s entrance. Gardner rested his hands on his belt, with Fletcher following close behind.
“Thought I told you to get off the premises, Mr. Cross,” said Gardner.
“Just having a chat with the kid,” said Luther with a gesture.
Gardner now turned his attention to the boy. “The hell are you doin’ here, Matt? I told you to stay away from here.”
“I was just walkin’ by, saw the cars and got curious,” said Matt.
“You know what curiosity did to the cat, boy,” said Gardner. “How many times do I gotta tell you to do something before you do it? Now get your ass back home before I start to lose my temper!” Gardner pointed off into the distance.
“Fine, Jesus…” Matt turned his attention and started to walk toward the street.
“And don’t blaspheme!” Gardner’s final bark caused Matt to flinch, but he didn’t turn back around, just kept walking.
“Bit hard on him, sir,” said Fletcher.
Gardner shot his deputy a glare. “Kid needs to learn respect and discipline. Sometimes that means chewing his ass out.”
Luther scoffed and Gardner turned his attention to the interloper. “You got somethin’ to say, Cross?”
Luther shook his head. “Not at all. Have a good day, Sheriff.” He unlocked the Camaro and sat behind the steering wheel. Luther started up the car and gave a casual wave to Gardner and Fletcher.
The two officers watched as the Camaro pulled away from the school and drove onto the main road.
“Weird guy,” said Fletcher. “What d’ya suppose he was doing here?”
“You know the type,” said Gardner. “Nosy bastards who don’t know how to mind their own business. Probably should’ve beat a warning into his head.”
Fletcher shrugged. “I dunno, sir. He’s kinda big.”
Gardner threw his deputy a dagger-stare. “Go to hell, Fletch.”