James Swain - Shadow People

“Do I repulse you?” the dead cop asked.

“That’s one way to put it,” Ray said.

“This is nothing, Ray. I can show you things that will twist your soul inside out, and make you wish that you had never been born. Would you like that?”

“No thanks.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, let me explain to you what the future holds. Munns is going back to his house with Rachael. The police will soon follow. Not long after that, a black FBI agent and Peter Warlock will appear. Warlock and Munns will square off, and fight to the death. We need the police and the FBI agent kept out of the way. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

“You own a hunting rifle with a telescopic lens, yes? Go get it, and perch yourself on the neighboring hill. Keep the police and the FBI at bay, while Munns and Warlock do battle. That doesn’t sound too hard, does it?”

“You’re nuts.”

“Are you afraid of being caught? Don’t be. We will whisk you away and give you a new life. You will become one of Dante’s disciples, and have powers beyond your wildest dreams. Doesn’t that sound good to you?”

“What kind of powers?”

“Prescience, incredible strength, the ability to live forever. Do those things excite you?”

Ray nodded, even though he didn’t know what prescience was.

“Would you like a taste?” the dead cop asked.

Ray nodded again, this time more enthusiastically.

“Step forward so I can touch you.”

Ray moved closer to the man he’d killed a short while ago. The dead cop lifted his arm and stuck his cold palm against Ray’s forehead. A sharp current passed between them, and Ray gasped as a bolt of white light illuminated the theater of his mind. The dead cop removed his palm and pointed at the forest. “Look. See for yourself.”

Ray gazed into the dense forest. Despite the darkness and abundance of trees, he was able to see a deer sleeping on the ground a hundred yards from where he stood. A raccoon came into the picture, followed by squirrels, chipmunks, and an overly large owl. The animals had been there all this time, only Ray hadn’t been able to see them, until now.

“You gave me night vision,” he said under his breath.

“Do you like it?” the dead cop asked.

“It’s way cool. Yeah, I like it a lot.”

“Good. Now go. There is more work to be done.”

The dead cop staggered into the forest. Ray nearly told him to stop. What was he supposed to do after Munns killed Warlock? And how was he supposed to meet up with Dante? The dead cop read his thoughts, and turned stiffly around.

“Everything will be revealed to you. Trust me.”

That was good enough for Ray. He watched the dead cop walk to a clearing. His body shuddered, and he dropped like a stone as the elder inhabiting his body abandoned him. Ray looked to the sky, imagining he could see the evil spirit floating overhead.

Then he went home to get his hunting rifle.

There was no such thing as a perfect show.

Every night, something went wrong in Peter’s performance of Anything’s Possible. Usually it was minor, like a cue being missed, or a prop malfunctioning. Rarely did it interfere with the audience’s enjoyment of the act. Most of the time, they hardly noticed.

But those mishaps rankled Peter no end. Details made perfection, but perfection was no detail, just a goal that could never be reached, only strived for.

Tonight’s mishap had taken place during the show’s opening. A puff of smoke had filled the center of the empty stage from which the young magician emerged. Stepping to the footlights, he engaged the audience with a brief introduction. When he finished, the lights were raised to reveal a stage filled with gorgeous props that had materialized out of nowhere. The trick never failed to garner a gasp of astonishment, followed by a sustained burst of applause.

Except tonight.

Tonight, there had been no gasp, and the applause had been polite. The audience had been given a clue to how the trick worked, just enough to spoil the illusion.

The trick’s secret was based upon the lazy Susan principle. The stage was actually two stages. One of these stages was bare, the other filled with props. The stages were secretly rotated while Peter gave his opening speech, which was enough of a distraction to keep the audience in the dark. Only tonight a squeaky gear beneath the stage had given the secret away. It had told the audience that something was going on, and spoiled the illusion.

Peter was furious. At the show’s end, he went beneath the stage to fix the squeaky gear. Liza held a flashlight while he squirted WD-40 lubricant onto the culprit.

He heard footsteps too large to be Snoop. Liza heard them, too.

“Who’s that?” she whispered.

“Beats me. Can I help you?”

“Garrison, FBI,” a familiar voice called out. “I need to talk with you.”

They crawled out from beneath the stage to find Garrison by the stairwell. He was smiling, always a good sign. “We found the son of a bitch,” he announced.

Liza squealed with delight and hugged Peter. The news made everything Peter had gone through the past few days through seem bearable. Now the shadow people would stop harassing him and his friends, and he could get on with his life.

“Your information was all good. His name is Harold Munns, and he lives in the village of Pelham where he works as a janitor at the local community college,” Garrison went on. “I spoke to the Pelham police chief, and he knew exactly who I was talking about. The chief said Munns had a history of problems dating back to childhood. The things I told him weren’t a surprise.”

“Have the police arrested him?” Peter asked.

“They’re scouring the town for him. Sent a pair of cruisers to his house, and another cruiser to the train station to see if he was there.”

“So they’re all over it.”

“They most certainly are. Now here’s the funny part. I explained to the chief how we used a psychic to track Munns down. The chief didn’t sound terribly surprised. Seems he used a psychic to find a missing kid, and the case had a happy ending.”

“So he’s a believer.”

“A true-blue believer. He expects to catch Munns tonight and haul him in. He asked if you’d drive up to Pelham with me, and feed him any details about the case that you uncovered during your trips to the other side. He really wants your help.”

The exhaustion of the past few days had caught up to Peter, and he wanted nothing more than to go home with Liza, share a hot bath, and watch a scary zombie flick. Sensing his hesitation, Garrison put his hand on the young magician’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to come, but it would be a huge help if you did.”

“Right now?” Peter asked wearily.

“Afraid so. I’ll drive. You can sit in the passenger seat and sleep on the way up.”

Peter looked at Liza. “You cool with going home by yourself?”

“Not really. How about I come with you?” she said.

“You sure?”

“Positive. We’re a team, remember?”

His whole life he’d been facing the unknown by himself. He hadn’t minded, but it had gotten lonely at times. Having Liza by his side was going to make his life a lot nicer. To Garrison he said, “Give me five minutes to get out of these clothes.”

“I’ll be waiting outside in the car,” the FBI agent replied.

Peter went to change. Opening the door to his dressing room, a cry escaped his lips. The room was trashed, his props and clothing scattered across the floor.

He’d been burglarized. It happened all the time in New York. The question was, how had the burglar gotten in? Certainly not through any of the theater’s entrances. There were only two, the front and the back, and they were watched 24/7 by surveillance cameras.