James Swain - Shadow People

“Very well. It’s Wednesday evening. Happy now?”

Today was Wednesday. The shadow people hadn’t taken him to Westchester County on Friday night like the previous times. Instead, they’d transported him to a Westchester County in the present. Had Rachael’s encounter with Dr. Death been moved up two days?

“Close your eyes, and I’ll make this painless,” the serial killer said.

Dr. Death glanced at his watch as he spoke. Was he going to meet someone? Then it hit Peter why the shadow people had brought him here.

“Rachael is coming out tonight instead of Friday, isn’t she?” Peter said. “You’re going to the train station to pick her up, aren’t you?”

Dr. Death blinked. Peter had nailed it.

“You know too much,” Dr. Death said. “Shut your eyes, and I’ll get this over with.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. I’m not shutting my eyes.”

Dr. Death shoved the barrel of the gun against his temple, its muzzle still warm. “I’ll splatter your brains across the road.”

“You don’t have the guts.”

“I didn’t have the guts. But I do now. Let me show you why.”

Reaching up with his free hand, Dr. Death undid his necktie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and jerked back the collar. Tattooed to his neck was the shimmering symbol of the Order of Astrum. The tattoo looked alive, and glowed mysteriously in the dark. “I have the Order of Astrum on my side,” he said with a sick smile. “Now say good-bye. I have a train to meet.”

He’s really going to shoot me this time. The expression “three strikes and you’re out” came to mind, and he prayed for Liza to pull him back to the other side.

Then the shot rang out.

Peter had always wondered what it felt like when you died. He’d imagined the sensation would be similar to hurtling at the speed of light through the universe with no idea of his final destination, if there even was a final destination. A journey that would be both amazingly beautiful and terribly frightening at the same time.

Wrong.

The afterlife felt surprisingly like this life. In fact, it felt exactly like it. He was still kneeling on the side of the road, with blood streaming down his leg. Dr. Death had not moved either, and was still holding the gun to his temple.

Nothing had changed.

Except the look on Dr. Death’s face. The sick smile had been replaced by a mask of fear. His eyes were trained on the forest directly behind them.

“Munns-let him go!” a woman’s shrill voice called out.

Peter turned his head to see a rather small woman in hiking clothes burst through a dense wall of shrubs. In one hand was a flashlight, in another a smoking handgun. Moments later a panting chocolate Labrador with a huge stick clenched in its mouth came through behind her.

“Gladys Hadden,” Dr. Death said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking my evening constitutional with Brewster, just like I do every night.” She stopped a few yards from where they stood, her gun pointed at the ground. “Oh, my God, you shot him.”

“He was breaking into my house,” Munns said defensively.

“You don’t say. Do you know who he is?”

“I think he’s a drug addict. He was going through my things when I caught him,” Dr. Death lied, his gun still pressed to Peter’s temple. “He ran away, and I got into my car and chased him. I was just about to shoot him when you fired your gun.”

“Why were you going to shoot him, Doc?”

“I just told you, he was robbing me.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to shoot him. I’d suggest you call nine one one, and let the police deal with this. I’ll call them myself if you like.”

Gladys Hadden was talking down to Munns like he was a child. Munns acted confused, and didn’t seem to know what to do. His cell phone rang. He jerked it from his pocket to stare at the face.

“I need to take this,” he said, and stepped away.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“You’re not a drug addict, are you?” Gladys Hadden asked. “You certainly don’t dress like one.”

“It’s a long story. I’m helping the FBI catch your neighbor.”

“Really? What did Doc do?”

“His name’s Doc? Is he a doctor?”

“No, it’s just his nickname. He likes to pretend he’s one. He’s really the janitor over at the local college, has been for God knows how long. Now, tell me what he’s done.”

“He’s a serial killer,” Peter whispered. “He brings women to his house, and kills them.”

Gladys Hadden gasped. “No.”

“Yes.”

Munns was talking excitedly into his cell phone. They heard him say, “Your train is running ahead of schedule? I’m glad you called to let me know. Yes, I can be at the station when you pull in. I’m sure the dean won’t mind if we show up for dinner a little early.”

“Who’s that?” Gladys Hadden asked in a whisper.

“His next victim,” Peter replied.

“Oh, my Lord. What should we do?”

“Shoot him.”

“You want me to shoot him?”

“Yes. Otherwise, he’s going to kill her.”

“You’re certain about this?”

“On my parents’ graves.”

Flipping his cell phone shut, Munns stared at Peter and his neighbor. The glint in his eyes said a decision was being made. Peter didn’t have to use his psychic powers to know what that decision was. Munns was going to shoot them in cold blood, and deal with the consequences later. Rachael was drawing closer, and he could practically taste his next kill.

Munns stepped forward, prepared to gun them down.

Brewster stopped him.

The Lab had been lying in the grass gnawing on his stick. Sensing that his owner was in danger, Brewster jumped up and tried to bite Munns’s hand off. He jumped back in fear. Brewster kept barking, and Munns started backing up.

“He’s getting away,” Peter said.

Gladys Hadden aimed her gun. “Stay right where you are.”

“Gladys, you can’t shoot me,” Munns begged her.

“I’m calling the police, Doc. Don’t you dare move.”

Munns turned his back and ran to his car. He pulled away in a swirl of rubber and raced down the twisting hill. Gladys Hadden lowered her gun to her side, and sadly shook her head. She was a good person, and good people did not shoot their neighbors.

Peter felt an invisible tug on his shoulder. Liza was pulling him back to the other side. He resisted, knowing he must stop Munns from picking up Rachael at the train station. He was dealing with real time now, and every second counted.

“Call nine one one,” he said.

“What do I tell them?” Gladys asked. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Tell the police that Munns is a serial killer. If they call Special Agent Garrison with the FBI in New York City, Garrison will confirm it.”

“The police will think I’m a nut.”

“Do it anyway. Please.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“But you’re wounded. You need to get help.”

She punched three numbers into her phone. An operator came on, and she said that a man had been shot, and requested an ambulance. She gave her address and Peter memorized it. His world started to change, the image of his dressing room taking soft focus.

“Do you walk your dog every night?” Peter asked.

“Why yes, I do,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

It explained everything. The shadow people had brought him here twice, and both times it had seemed that Munns was about to shoot him in the head right before he was pulled back. But that hadn’t been the situation at all; the gunshot he’d heard each time had come from Gladys Hadden’s gun, and had been meant to stop Munns from killing him. His life had never been in danger at all.