****
Hours later I’m sitting in a white nearly sterile interogation room. I stay silent and unmoving as I am approached by two cops. One is an older man with a strong, muscular build and a military style haircut for his wheat colored hair. He wears a comfortable white shirt with a striped tie and casual gray dress pants, boasting a badge of some sort on his belt. Probably a detective.
The other person is a woman with short, messy blonde hair that is so pale it almost looks white. She has cool blue eyes and nice full lips with a lean athletic figure that is mostly hidden by loose pin-striped dress pants and a long-sleeve gray shirt. Surprisingly young, she looks like a model who decided to kick ass instead of walking the run way. She has no visible badge but has a sidearm in a shoulder holster with a much small gun that would fit perfectly in her slender hand. She cradles a large coffee in both hands.
Approaching me confidently they look me up and down, debating whether being kind or hard asses would give them the answers they seek. The man sits downacross from me, his chair scrapping on the floor as he pulls it back.
“I’m detective Brist from homicide this is Officer Clifford,” he says, gesturing toward the woman. She takes a wallet out of her jacket pocket, flashing her badge. “We have a few questions for you,” the man continues.
I say nothing, not wanting to give anything away. I debate on asking for a lawyer while simultaneously wondering if it would do me any good.
“You are Jerry Price, correct?” He asks, looking at a notepad he had taken out of his shirt pocket. I simply nod not looking at him, focusing on the bits of dried blood on my hands wishing I could wash up. After a few seconds of silence I raise my head, facing him. His eyes widen at my appearance, after all I do look like a crazy person, but he recovers quickly.
“Jerry, a few weeks ago you witnessed a homicide and gave a rather creative explanation as to what occurred. I had a chance to talk to the officer on that case on my way here. I was told all about your… history at Greenbroch Mental Institution. I will need more from you than a carnivorous wall this time.”
Officer Clifford continues to stand next to Detective Brist and says. “Detective, even if he has an extensive mental history we could still get some useful facts for this case. The crime scenes is similar to the others that have no connection to this boy.” She turns to me, “Jerry, please tell me what happened.”
I do. I’m not sure what is going to happen to me but at that moment I don’t care. I need someone, anyone, to believe me.
“I woke up around 5am when I heard some screaming. So I went to the door and pulled my dresser away from it to take a peek.”
“You barricaded yourself inside?” Detective Brist asks, suspicion thick in his voice.
“I always do that when my mom…” I say pausing, not sure what I want to say. “Parties.” I finish lamely.
“Do you party also?” He asks mechanically taking notes on a small pad of paper.
“No.” Then I quickly add, “You can have me tested.”
“Well you’re probably on lots of medication so I doubt it will tell us much,” he grumbles.
“Detective Brist, you are not helping the situation. Go get a lab tech to collect a sample. I want the entire story without your constant interruptions,” Officer Clifford says. He turns to her, not caring that I am listening or not believing I can properly understand him and the situation that I am in.
“Clifford, the boy has been in the mental hospital more often than home or school. From just a cursory glance at his file he has gone through tons of doctors. Several even quit their jobs after just one session with him. I seriously doubt you will get anything from him, or at least anything that makes sense. You’re better off just sending him back to the institution and going back to the crime scene instead. Let the professionals at Greenbroch help him.”
Gazing coolly at Brist she replies, “A witness with mental issues is still a witness and we need every scrap of information. Please go and get a lab tech for a blood sample.”
“Ok, but I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time,” the detective says, standing up and walking out of my line of sight.
“Thanks,” I say. “This will be hard enough.”
“I’m not judging you on your mental history, I just need a few facts. Did you see the briefcase with the yellow crystals in your home?”
“The one on the counter? Yes, my mother got that from someone yesterday afternoon.”
“Who did she get it from?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. My mom does a lot of drugs. I never want anything to do with them.” I feel a bit guilty for saying it, like I’m betraying her memory.
“What did he look like?” She asks, taking a pull from her coffee.
“Very big, like he played a lot sports,” I say thinking back. “He was bald or shaved his head with red tattoos on his face running down to his chin.”
“Do you have a name or anything they said ---?”
She is interrupted by the detective returning with a man in a white lab coat trailing behind him. Excited, Clifford looks at him and says, “The same guy with the tattoos. We might have something here.” The man in the lab coat sits his small kit on the table, taking a blood sample while the two continue to talk like I‘m not even here.
“You can’t trust anything he says,” counters detective Brist. “He might not be lying on purpose, but anything he says will be in question. No prosecutor will allow him to testify, provided that he didn’t kill them himself.” Raising his hands at a look from Clifford he continues, “I agree, it is unlikely, but it should be considered.”
Seeing who is potentially on my side I quickly chime in. “The tattoo man told my mother not to use it, if that helps.” They pause, considering me carefully.
“Did you kill them?” The detective asks me.
“I shot the man at my bedroom door when he tried to kill me and ….” I pause, shameful tears filling my eyes and my voice cracking. “And my mother when she came at me…she was eating the man on the ground.” They look disgusted but not surprised, as if they expected such an answer. “I don’t know what happened to their faces and arms though,” I add.
At this they pause, regarding me closely. “What do you mean?” Officer Clifford says.
“The claws their hands changed into and the way their faces look like snakes,” I say.
“Told you, Clifford. The kid is crazy and he did kill two people in self defense. Let’s just lock him up at Greenbroch. Let the state deal with him. He needs long term mental health care. It’s out of our hands. Besides he is still a minor. Let’s just ignore this lead and focus on the hard evidence,” Detective Brist declares in expected defeat getting up from his chair.
Agent Clifford frowns at me. Shaking her head, she seems resigned. “The first eye-witness I get and he’s a loon.” She sighs, taking another pull from her coffee. “I need more coffee to deal with this.”
After that things go predictably for me. I am carted off to the Greenbroch Mental Institution again, a personal record for me. Brought back within twenty-four hours and, from the reception I get I think my stay might be much, much longer this time.
As the first week passes by doctors come and go, taking only quick glances at me. Ensuring my physical needs are met, they make no real attempt at conversing with me. With only my shadow for company I eat and sleep, waiting for something to happen. After another week, Detective Brist comes by and takes my complete statement. When I ask him when I will be released he gives me a piteous look. Two more weeks and a case worker comes by informing me that I won’t be let out of my padded room until I turn eighteen, at which time I will be reevaluated. Apparently I have been classified as dangerous to myself and others. A dark gloom settles over me and I stop eating, refusing to talk with anyone, even my shadow. After my second day of refusing all food, my shadow, having grown tired of my company, spe
nds as much time away as possible. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. Mostly I try to sleep, burying myself in blissful nothingness. I never dream when I sleep. It’s like I cease to exist which is exactly what I want.
In the middle of the night I am abruptly forced out of my empty state. At first I think my hunger woke me but then I hear a scratching in the window high above. Tonight I believe I am delirious for I see a huddled, white shape the size of a cat staring down at me. Not sure if I am really seeing what I dearly hope I am, I stand up on weak legs and approach the window.
“Whisper?” I say, not daring to believe.
“Yes Shifter, I have come to rescue you,” he says, giving me a wide ferret grin.
“WHSIPER!” I shout not caring who hears me.
“Silence,” hisses my shadow, passing through the window next to Whisper. “All you do is sit there and mope. It’s more pathetic than the white rat here licking his privates all day. At least he’s doing something. We are getting you out of here since you are too incompetent to do it yourself.”
“I do not lick my privates all day tar puddle,” Whisper says giving my shadow a nasty look. “I’m merely cleaning my fur.”
“Your fur down there is sparkling clean then, isn’t it?” My Shadow says.
I laugh, my first real laugh since the night everything went wrong. I laugh my relief at not being alone anymore. It is mad, frantic laughter, the kind I hear all too often here.
“Stay here, Shifter. We will return shortly,” Whisper says, leaping from the window out of sight. My shadow moves to the door and slides under it. I am left alone. But for the first time since I got here I don’t feel despair or all consuming depression. I feel hope.
I wait for almost twenty minutes. I’m so excited that I dance back and forth, waiting to hear something. Finally when I feel like I am about to lose all bladder control like a hyperactive dog I hear a jingling of keys along with soft cursing from the other side of the door.
“Careful, flea bag, don’t drop those keys.”
“Shut up, shit stain. I’m working on it.”
“Well work on it better, mole spawn. We need to hurry.”
“I can’t reach it, you do it.”
“I have trouble touching too much in this world except for brief moments. Stretch your neck close to the lock and I’ll take over.”
Some scrabbling and scratching on the door followed by a sharp click and the door swings open, pushed by Whisper’s furry front paws. Dropping back to all fours he runs to me. I want to pick him up and hug him, never letting go, but the straight jacket won’t let me.
“Shifter, you look awful and smell awful,” Whisper says, eyeing me critically.
Dropping to my knees Whisper charges me. Leaping onto my chest he nuzzles his face to mine. I am so happy I thinkt my heart will burst from the intensity of it. Tears fall in fat drops from my eyes, splashing on Whisper’s ears and fur. I would have been content to stay like that forever but my shadow interruptes.
“Shall I leave you two alone so you can make out?” My shadow asks, swinging in behind me to study my restraints.
“You’re just jealous,” replies Whisper, who reluctantly disengages, joining my shadow behind me.
“Lay down and we can free you. I’m tired of being here. The residents are all insane. It’s no fun tormenting them,” my shadow says.
I gracelessly fall forward, allowing my friends easier access to my bonds. Friends? I’ve never thought of my shadow as a friend before. He is more like the darkness inside me manifested in the real world. As if my dark nature is too great to be contained. Whatever the case may be I am glad he is here now.
Two minutes later I am free. I immediately scoop up Whisper, hugging him tightly as my shadow drifts into the hallway.
Placing Whisper on my shoulder I head into the hall, closing my cell door behind me. The hallway is what you would expect from any place with the word “institution” in it. Plain, nonthreatening white walls stretch before and behind me with humming fluorescent lighting. I know from experience that we are in the back end of the asylum and the only way out will be through the front gate that is guarded at all times.
“How did you get in here, Whisper?” I ask.
“There was a small hole in the wall. It led to some pipe works and I found my way here. I’ve been scouting the area for the last few days. You are much too large to fit that way. We will have to go out the front.” Resting my hand on Whisper I feel how abnormally thin he is. He must have gone hungry trying to get me out while I did nothing at all. Shame creeps up my face. I resolve to get out of here and take care of my friends.
Heading around a corner I keep close to the wall, staying as silent as I can. I kept expecting a security guard to appear before me, taser in hand. I pass gray steel doors similar to mine with small glass windows, their residents hoot and holler at me like I am the show of the century. I ignore them until a blood curdling cry echoes all around me, making me jump backwards. What the hell was that?! It can’t be human there was too much evil in it. It came from the room directly across from me. Cautiously I make my way over to the window, peering in.
The room is dark but the man in chains seems to produce his own reddish haze. It’s as if his blood were vaporizing on his very skin, surrounding him in a wet, red cloud. He’s a small man, even smaller than me with lank, dead-looking, long black hair hiding his features as he hangs limply in his chains. I am about to turn away when his head suddenly snaps up and I am looking into a pair of red eyes lit with the fires of hell. The air around him distorts like looking at the world through a wide curved mirror. My shadow zooms out of this room. Apparently he went in for a closer look.
“We should go, this one is dangerous. He has the reek of pure corruption about him,” my shadow says. For the first time in my life I hear something besides his standard mocking tone. My shadow has seen everything, from packs of watchers to snakes one hundred meters long and this is the first time he has shown any traces of fear. Leaving the man behind, we near the corner where Whisper and my shadow stop me.
“Shadow and I will make a distraction. When we call for you run. Get out here immediately and wait for us around the next corner,” Whisper says, hopping down from my shoulder.
I nod at them and my shadow goes first. A minute later he calls out to Whisper who whips around the corner, his nails clicking rather loudly to my ears as he goes. I wait, counting the seconds. Once I reach sixty the lights go out and colorful cursing can be heard along with the squeak of metal on metal. More cursing erupts along with a startled cry and a heavy thud.
“Now, Shifter!” Cries Whisper.
Sprinting silently down the darkened hall I move like a marathon runner to the chain gate separating this section of Greenbroch off. The door, usually magnetically locked, is ajar and the security counter surrounded by a thick metal cage is empty. Lights dance back and forth as the guard, busy with his flashlight, is fiddling with something under his desk. The loud hiss of static from the monitors that surrounded his station feels rather ominous. Walking swiftly and silently to the unwatched gate I keep expecting a shout of protest. Moving the gate only the minimum amount necessary to fit through I squeeze by, rounding the corner to where Whisper is already waiting. I see that all the lights are off in the entire complex. The renewed cursing of the guard reaches my ears.
Grinning I pick up Whisper, heading toward the front doors when running feet and the crackle of hand held radios fills the air. Spying a bathroom door I rush inside, silently shutting the door behind me. Moments later heavy footsteps pass by and I see dancing trails of light from under the door. A voice rings out, distorted by the speaker it pours out of, “Check the inmates. The power failure might have released a few of the doors.”
A pause then a loud beep reaches my ears, and I nearly jump. “Ok, we are on our way. Keep two men at the gate at all times. We don??
?t want anyone to escape.” Their voices are no longer distinguishable as they get further and further away.
I let out a relieved breath nearly screaming in surprise as my shadow speaks from right next to me.
“The entrance is free of guardians. All have left to deal with the power issue. I don’t really understand why. The dark is so pleasant.”
Not commenting I exit the bathroom, doing a fast walk to the main doors. I desperately want to run but I am afraid the sound might travel. Heart thudding in my chest I just make it to the doors when a man’s scream reaches my ears, followed by the now familiar sounds of gunfire. Not daring to look back I break into a full run, bursting onto the cement sidewalk. The cool night air fills my lungs, rejuvenating me as I run off into the night.
“What is going on in there?” Whisper says over the sounds of my pounding feet and labored breathing.
“I don’t know,” I pant thinking of the man with red haze. “And I don’t want to know.”
Getting home is nerve-racking. About ten minutes into my escape sirens fill the night air and I can’t help but imagine that they are all coming for me. Taking cover behind some shrubs I watch as four police cars zoom past, lights flashing. The mess at the institution must be much worse than I originally feared. Guilt tugs at me. I hope no one died because of my escape. Once the road is clear I return to my path after picking up a few pieces of quartz from the gravel beneath me, a useful incentive for later. Jogging slightly I sincerely hope my excitement is done for the day.
An hour later I stand outside my building, looking at the horizon. The dim rays of morning light illuminate the landscape in front of me like a cheap oil painting.
Moving out of sight of prying eyes with Whisper on my shoulders I place my palm against the building’s gritty exterior. Closing my eyes I focus, sending my shifting power out across the various levels of reality that the building occupies. What I have determined is that all objects exist; at least to some degree in the other worlds. But if I look deep enough it’s gone, like it was erased from reality. I suppose for anything living down there it simply didn’t exist at all. This applies to people as well. We exist in more than just the world we perceive and just because we can’t see something don’t mean it can’t see us. Just ask my neighbor. Humans do not occupy much space being both narrow in perception and reality. I seem to be the exception to this rule. I perceive and interact with more than the world my body occupies. The being I am now trying to contact exists in the next distinct level of reality but can freely travel here. He’s from a desolate world that was little more than a endless desert, no wonder he perfered this world. A few seconds later I am rewarded when a basketball sized face forms in the red brick in front of me. I smile.
I’ve always gotten along well with the beings that live in the walls and streets. As a general rule they are friendly and cheerful, spreading gossip like 1950’s housewives. Watching peoples private lives and activities can make for great entertainment apparently. Until that large one ate my neighbor I thought they were harmless. I often converse with this particular face, which is one of the many reasons people think I am mad. Normal people don’t talk with walls.
“Hey Brick, how’s it going?” I ask.
Generally these beings are nameless, traversing between buildings in ways I don’t understand. They coexist with the walls themselves, eating small portions before moving on. Since this particular face has grown rather attached to me he allowed me to name him. At first he wanted to be known as Sinbad or McStone, the influence of too much television. In the end I convinced him “Brick” was cooler and more accurate. Curiously enough I find the fact that he can watch TV while I can’t to be strange. It’s not because I don’t own one, rather that the emissions from the screen exist entirely in the human level of reality and my eyes don’t function there. Computer screens, ATMs, and TV are all blank displays to me. I can hear them just fine. I guess that the sound waves travel across dimensions easier.
“Jerry, Whisper, good to see you again. Things have been crazy around here.”
“You have no idea!” Exclaimes Whisper from my shoulder.
Brick grins at him. Unlike the face that ate my neighbor this one holds no trace of malice, just genuine warmth. Adopting the characteristics of the material around him, Brick’s face is coated slightly in dirt and dust, including his granite eyes but not his surprisingly white teeth.
“Did you see what happened to Mr. Sullivan from 3C?” I ask, curious about the differences between the two faces.
Brick’s face darkens, a look of intense anger filling his granite colored eyes. “The intruder. Oh yes, I found him after he had his snack. Got several of my relatives together and we managed to drive him away. Can’t believe the damn thing managed to invade my territory without me noticing it.”
“Perhaps you were too busy imitating the rat by licking your balls all day.” My shadow remarks, condensing near Brick as a spot of darkness. “Or do you call them your family stones?” He chuckles darkly.
Frowning at my shadow Brick says, “Oh, you’re back too. Well I guess I have to take the bad with the good. And my autonomical makeup is no concern of yours.”
Not wanting them to get distracted I quickly interrupt. “What was it? I’ve never seen one before.”
Turning back to me Brick’s features soften a bit. “It’s like an angler fish. They live in the buildings like my kind does, preying on the occupants. It’s rare for one to be that close to your reality, Jerry. They don’t chase down prey but lure them in close with small, fascinating objects and the like.” The pink elephant I think. It was trying to lure me in and got my neighbor instead. Another question occurs to me.
“How do you know about Angler Fish?”
“The old lady in B5 watches animal planet for half the day. The other half she watches porn.” He says, grinning at me.
“Can you scout out my apartment to see if it’s all clear?” I ask, pushing the mental image out of my head.
“Sure,” Brick says, looking closely at me. “I might need some incentive though.” He gives me a wide grin.
Giving my own smile I reach into my pocket, retrieving the quartz I had picked up earlier. Bring my hand close to the wall Brick opens his mouth and a dark, rather dexterous tongue slithers out, nimbly scooping the bits from my palm. Brick’s eyes light up with pure delight as he chews the quartz. Moaning slightly in pleasure he recedes back into the wall leaving no trace behind.
“Shifter, what is porn?” Asks Whisper, looking at me, confused.
“Ugh…” I begin, but my shadow interrupts.
“It’s like when I’m stuck watching you lick your nether regions all day,” my shadow exlains.
“You watch me?” Squeaks Whisper in a high alarmed tone.
“Sometimes.” My shadow says, shrugging. “You really should clean other areas also.”
“I do clean other areas!” Protests Whisper, who I think is turning a bit red under his fur. “Spending five minutes on the rest of your fur doesn’t count. I’m surprised you didn’t suffocate down there. Can you breathe out your ass? Or were you cleaning that also?” My shadow grins mischieviousy at Whisper, obviously enjoying his discomfort.
Whisper is spared the embarrassment of replying by Brick’s return. “Your apartment is clear. No one is inside. Also C2 is currently empty. Chucky got called into work so you can get some fresh clothes and food from there. He won’t be back for some time,” Brick says, eyeing Whisper and me critically.
“Thanks Brick, you’re the best,” I say, turning to leave. At the end of the alley a plain, nondescript man is watching me like I am crazy. It might be the fact I am in a dirty white uniform with the words “Greenbroch Mental Institution” stenciled in red on the back, or how I look so unkempt and hungry, or the fact I was just talking with the wall and a ferret, while addressing my own shadow.
Waving to him I yell,
“I was just talking to a Brick in the wall.” My shadow laughs as the man hurries out of sight. Is it any wonder everyone thinks I’m mad?
Entering the building without any additional encounters the silence in the early morning is rather reassuring. Standing outside of C2 I wait patiently as my shadow slipped under the door. One second there is a black pool at my feet, like someone had spilled a jar of ink then it recedes, moving past my line of sight. With a sharp click the lock is undone and I enter the dimly illuminated space before closing the door in my wake.
I really should pick up some more treats for Brick. This is exactly what I need after so much neglect. The apartment is spotlessly clean and has warm, comfortable furniture. My stomach decides my priorities and I move to the refrigerator. It is a boring shade of white that is standard issue for these apartments, although it is in much better condition than my own. Opening the door I discover that it is well stocked. Vegetables of all sorts occupy the lower two shelves, while milk and a half empty bottle of cola rest on top. The contents of the middle three shelves draws most of my attention. Hotdogs, some homemade fried rice and a leftover bucket of KFC fill my vision and then my stomach a few minutes later. Whisper and I tear into the KFC in a manner that would make a starving wolverine nervous, devouring it in minutes. Giving the package of hotdogs to Whisper I make do with the fried rice, moaning in pleasure at every mouthfull. We eat everything cold, not wanting to spend the time required to heat it.
A few minutes later, feeling vastly better with a full belly and some borrowed clothes, I scoop up Whisper and head home a few doors away. My good feeling doesn’t last long.
I stand before my door, the place of so many dreams and nightmares, tying to muster the courage to enter. For a brief moment I wonder if my mother’s corpse was still in there. I imagine the body turning putrid and rank from long exposure. A ridiculous thought. I’m sure the police sent her to the morgue shortly after they were done at the crime scene but still I wonder and hesitate. “Well, you going or what?” My shadow asks with an annoyed huff.
Nuzzling my neck from his perch on my shoulder Whisper purrs loudly in my ear. Taking strength from his presence I take a deep breath, hold it, and open the door. No demonic whispers reach my ears, no foul odor assaults my nose, and no ghastly mayhem etches itself onto my retinas. In fact, there was nothing offensive at all. The place has been scrubbed clean either by the police in search of evidence or the landlord preparing to rent it out. I’ve never seen the place so clean. Despite my own tendency toward cleanliness I feel saddened at the sight, as if this is absolute proof that a chapter of my life has come to a close. Not wanting to linger I head to the stove. Like everything else it is spotlessly clean, but neither bleach nor any amount of scrubbing could reach into the other worlds. Focusing my sight in the depths of the stove I find my goal. Sure enough, I find the untouched bag full of money. Reaching inside I pull the small handbag back into my level of reality. I hope this is enough to keep me out of jail and get me a place to live for awhile. I just finish retrieving the bag when a paniced voice fills the air.
“Jerry, bad guys are coming!”
Startled I bang my head on the top of the stove. Yelping, I yank my head out, already feeling a lump on my skull. Brick is above me, no longer the dull red color of the bricks outside, instead his features take on the white and green tiled wall of the kitchens surface.
“They were in another apartment. They moved in shortly after you were taken away! I didn’t know they were waiting for you, I swear!” Brick is scared. Who are these men? What do they want with me? Looking at the money I suddenly have a horrible suspicion.
Leaving the handbag in the stove I stand upright as my door opens. It doesn’t bang open like someone breaking in, nor is it a slow creaking as portrayed in horror books. Instead it is opened casually, like the people on the other side have every right in the world to be in my former home. Dressed in expensive tailored suits the men look like dangerous professionals.
The taller of the two steps forward. He has a slightly larger build than his comrade and more lines in his face. Directing his uncaring gaze toward me he takes in everything about me in an instant. He clearly isn’t impressed. By the dismissive look I get he ranks me at a threat level similar to a teething toddler.
“Are you Jerry Price?” He asks in a husky tone that suggests that his voice doesn’t get much use. I debate about lying. These guys might be waiting for just anyone to show up but more likely they were waiting for me. No doubt they know what I look like.
“Yes. What do you want?” I ask, preparing to dive behind the counter if they drew their guns.
“Why did you say that the people changed after taking the drug?” The tall man asks coldly, studying me carefully.
It’s not the question I expect. No one else could see the change. How do they know? Not sure how to answer and flustered by their presence I stupidly tell the truth. “I saw them.”
The tall man turns to his partner who gives him a simple nod. That short brisk nod could have meant anything, anything at all. But just as I know the sun will rise tomorrow I am sure it means I am dead. Drawing their guns in unison they level them at my chest.
Despite the fact that I was anticipating such an attack their cool demeanor and seeming indifference to the life they are about to take leaves me dazed. How can they be so calm? Am I seeing things again? Was this real? My life almost flashes before my eyes in the world’s most fucked up replay reel but I am saved by my shadow and Brick. Appearing beneath the foot of the tall man Brick opens his mouth wide, sucking in his entire foot. With a cry of surprise the man topples to the ground, his shot going wide with a muffled thump. Brick doesn’t bite or eat the foot, he just holds firm while the man watching in horror, sees his foot sink into the floor without making a mark. The other man, not daunted by the felling of his companion, takes steady aim at my head when my shadow attaches himself to his sunglasses. Cursing, the man bats at his face, confused at the sudden blindness.
“Do something, you fool!” Yells my shadow as he switches from the sunglasses to the gun, pressing the safety switch. Heart pounding I dash toward the first man, unsure of what I was going to do. I feel like a slow, lumbering idiot who can’t even tie his shoes let alone take out two professional killers. Aiming his gun at me he presses the trigger only to find that nothing happens.
In a graceless and rather pathetic move I tackle him. Tumbling to the floor we collapse on top of his comrade who has finally managed to free his foot from Brick. Shoving his gun away with both arms I completely fail to block his left fist as it connects with my head. A ringing sensation fills me, blurring my vision but I don’t release his arm as he continues to strike my face. Pain explodes at each blow and I taste coppery blood as my lip splits open. I can do nothing more than hold his arm back.
Joining the fray, Whisper bites down on the man’s nose, which finally makes him stop hitting me. He lets out a cry of pain, desperately tugging on Whisper who stubbornly refuses to let go. Head throbbing I turn to see the other man now on his feet, aiming his gun at me. Suddenly utter darkness coveres his face as if the light had been extinguished forever. Dropping his gun the man tries to pull at the insubstantial nothingness that is on him.
“Fuck!” The man cries only to have my shadow flow into his mouth. Covering his mouth like a child who just swore loudly in class he is unable to stop my shadow. Eyes wide and frightened beyond reason he tears open his shirt and furiously claws at his belly, leaving long, blood fingernail tracks. Swelling, his stomach grows large and a disturbing ripple like bad gas rolls over his flesh. He heaves over, vomiting out his lunch along with an inky darkness.
Fearing for myself and Whisper I do the only thing that comes to mind. Reaching out to both men I place a single hand on each and shift them. I’ve shifted plenty of objects before but never have I felt such resistance. It’s like reality is a
nchoring them here, unwilling to let go. But I do it. I shift them so far that the building is no longer there for them.One moment they were in their standard reality, where logic and reason rule, the next they are falling into an unfamiliar landscape. Their screams fill my ears as they crash in a tumbling mess onto soft black sand. A wave of exhaustion hits me from the shifting.
“Where did they go?” Asks Whisper looking around for the men. To him and Brick it seems as if they simply vanished, their vision is more limited at viewing other levels of reality than my own, my shadow however cackles madly. Looking down I focus my sight to the level of reality I sent the men into. It is the next distinct level of reality. Both are alive but definitely not well. Outwardly I see no broken bones or limbs at odd angles but I hope they still have their guns handy… to use on themselves.
I try to avoid looking into the other world around this apartment. I find it absolutely terrifying. The normal, everyday landscape of our human world, which is filled with buildings and scattered trees where children play on tire swings, is gone. None of that even registers in this nightmarish world. A blood red sun illuminates endless stretches of sand with thick black tentacles, taller than a man, sporadically sticking out of the sand with hundreds of rows of small, sharp-hooked barbs on each. They thrash about as if caught in a violent wind yet no dust or sand stirs. Most of the sand is the typical type you expect to see at the beach, colored red by the sun. A few patches of shiny black sand exist in sparse locations. Looking into that world now I really hope the tentacles grab the men before the black sand does. My shadow, still cackling, drifts through reality for a better, close up view.
The men gape at my shadow who is more substantial at that level of reality. He looks like a dark silhouette that haunts your nightmares, rippling with menace. Laughing his glee he dances around the men as they watch, terrified. Soon their attention is fixates on a more immediate issue. I watch as one of the tentacles finds the tall man, latching onto his leg with the sound of tearing cloth and flesh. Screaming his pain he thrashes wildly as the hook barbs draw blood. Suddenly he’s dragged out of the black sand, deeper into the desert. The sand ripples and parts as the tentacle glides through. With a great hoist the tall man is lifted into the air, fully suspended by the enormous tentacle. Struggling like a worm on a hook the tall man’s leg is ravaged, with blood soaking his clothes and face. If I thought he was terrified before when the tentacle first grabbed him now I realize how wrong I was.
Directly below the man the sand parts and an immense maw appears. The man shrieks at the horror below him, and I can almost feel the moment his mind snaps, unable to process the fate before him. Stunned, I watch as what could be best described as a large insect mouth appears out of the sand. A large black beak parts as several arm-length appendages, with far too many joints, reach out of the chasm and begin pulling the man into it. His shrill screams of terror can be heard across realities. The damn thing doesn’t even take a single bite, it just keeps slowly, almost lovingly, swallowing the man. Even as the mouth slowly closes on him I can still hear his muffled cries of terror. It doesn’t chew him but takes him down whole… lucky bastard. The man in the sand was having it much worse.
My shadow, dancing around the man, seems disappointed that he can’t be next to both men as they die, but he settles on the man in the black sand. I’ve had occasion to watch the black sand do its thing. I’ve avoid looking into this level of reality since.
I turn away, bringing my sight back to my level of reality and tune out my shadow along with the dying man. Scooping up Whisper I get back to my feet.
“He’s gone Whisper. I shifted him.”
“Oh, can he come back?” Whisper asks.
“He fell into the black sand,” I answer.
“Stupid fool, he’s in for a painful death,” Brick says.
“Thanks, Brick. You saved my life,” I say gratefully.
“No problem, Jerry. You’re my favorite human. All the others can’t even talk to me. Once you get settled in at a new place I’ll join you there. Seems like you could use an extra pair of eyes.” Grinning at me he adds, “It will, of course, cost you some more quartz. Can’t let people think I’m cheap.”
“You’re worth every piece,” I say and Whisper nods his agreement.
Returning to the kitchen counter I retrieve the handbag full of money, and after brief hesitation I also scoop up one of the men’s guns from where it laid abandoned on the floor. One of the men must have dropped it before I shifted them. Suddenly my shadow appears before us. I swear he is darker and thicker than usual as if he is drinking in the dying man’s pain.
“Oh, let’s stay here for the night. Such pleasures are to be had down below,” my shadow says, appearing to shimmer and ripple slightly.
“Stay here?” Says Whisper, outraged at the mere mention of it. “Forget it!”
“I wasn’t talking to you, rat,” my shadow says slowly, almost lethargically, like he had just had a large meal and was content to just sit and watch life drift by.
“No,” I say. “I don’t want to listen to screaming all night. Besides it isn’t safe.”
My shadow seems disappointed. “Fine I’ll catch up later. I want to savor this some more.” Then he is gone, presumably to continue to watch the man die. I don’t watch, although some small part of me agrees with my shadow and delights in the thought of the man’s suffering.