James Swain - Shadow People

“What about Rachael? Did anyone see her come into the station?” Liza asked.

“The cop who called in the license told the dispatcher there was a second person passed out in Munns’s car,” Peter said. “That was probably her.”

“So Munns abducted her.”

“It sure looks that way.”

Liza fell back in her seat and shut her eyes. Traffic had thinned out since leaving the city, and Garrison took the exit with his tires squealing.

“Go ahead. Tell her the rest,” Garrison said.

“There’s more?” Liza said.

“The Pelham police chief sent several of his officers to the next town to help with an apartment house fire,” Peter explained. “As a result, he’s short staffed, and only has a handful of available officers to deal with Munns.”

“You can’t be serious,” Liza said.

“It’s a small town. The force isn’t that big to begin with.”

“Does he realize how dangerous Munns is? Or that he’s in league with the Devil?” Liza asked.

“The chief’s a small-town cop. He’s never dealt with anything this serious before. He sent two cruisers to Munns’s house earlier, but hasn’t spoken to them. We’re meeting the chief at the train station, and then we’re all going to Munns’s place together.”

“Does this man know what he’s doing?” Liza asked.

Peter glanced across the seat at Garrison, who was thinking the same thing. The Pelham police chief was going to blow this if they didn’t hurry.

The two-lane road leading into Pelham twisted and turned across the hilly landscape, forcing Garrison to ease up on the gas. They began to crawl, and Peter felt his anxiety grow. Devil worshippers did not go quietly when caught. Often, they went on rampages, intent on taking down as many innocent lives as possible before being taken down themselves. This was the great threat that Munns posed to the people of Pelham.

Ten minutes later, they arrived in a quaint town with artificial gaslights lining the streets and an array of enticing storefronts. The railroad tracks ran next to the town. Signs warned people not to play on the tracks or risk electrocution.

Garrison followed the tracks to the station. A police cruiser with a flashing red light waited in the parking lot. Beside it was a second cruiser, which had been rear-ended and had a shattered windshield. Garrison parked beside the first cruiser, and they got out.

Peter checked out the damaged cruiser. The gaping hole in the windshield suggested a body had been thrown through it. On the ground he found glass and a dark black stain.

“Is this blood?”

Garrison studied the stain. “Sure looks like it.”

Peter had helped the police with difficult cases, and was adept at reconstructing a crime scene. There was no doubt that someone had died here. What he did not understand was how. The officer was calling in Munns’s license when he was rammed from behind, and the call was cut off. That didn’t make sense, unless Munns had a partner.

“Where is everybody?” Liza asked.

“Beats me. Anybody home?” Garrison called out.

“In here,” replied a man’s voice.

The voice had come from inside the station house. The front door was ajar, and Peter entered a small waiting room lined with wooden benches. Another open door led to the ticket office with a desk and a chair. A uniformed cop in his fifties greeted him with a glare.

“Who are you?” the cop asked gruffly.

“Peter Warlock. I’m helping Special Agent Garrison track down Munns.”

“Are you the psychic he’s using?”

“Yes, he is.” Garrison followed Peter into the office. “You must be Chief Burns. I’m Special Agent Garrison. This young lady behind me is Liza. She’s also helping.”

“Welcome to Pelham,” Burns said. “It was a quiet little town, up until a little while ago.”

“Can you tell me what happened outside?” Garrison asked.

“I’m about to find out.”

A video monitor sat on the desk. Burns punched a button on a remote, and a grainy surveillance tape began to play on the small screen. Taken by a camera attached to the station house roof, it had a date and time stamped in the corner. It had been recorded twenty-two minutes ago, and showed a train pulling into the station and a group of passengers disembarking and going to their cars or rides. One nicely dressed woman remained on the platform. She looked nervous, and glanced from side to side as if looking for someone.

“That’s Rachael,” Liza said.

“How can you be sure?” Garrison asked.

“I don’t know. I just am.”

“Who’s Rachael?” Chief Burns wanted to know.

“Munns’s next victim,” Liza said.

Munns appeared in the frame, and warmly greeted the woman. Together, they walked off the platform to Munns’s Volvo. Rachael got into the car, and they watched Munns put a handkerchief over her face, and knock her out. Liza let out a shriek, and momentarily averted her eyes.

Munns began to back out of his spot just as a police cruiser pulled into the lot, and blocked him from leaving. The cop in the cruiser exchanged words with Munns, and began to call in his license to a dispatcher. From out of nowhere a black van appeared, and rammed the cruiser from behind. The officer was propelled through the windshield and landed on the trunk of the Volvo, his head flopped to one side. Liza turned away again. Chief Burns swore.

The driver of the van hopped out. He wore a sinister Fu Manchu and his arms and neck were covered in tattoos. Peter had been right. Munns was working with a partner.

“Any idea who that guy is?” Garrison asked.

“Never seen the bastard before,” Burns swore.

Burns’s cell phone vibrated, and he yanked it off his belt. Looking at its face, he said, “It’s about time they called me back. I need to take this outside. Reception’s bad in here.”

Everyone went outside. Burns stepped away and took the call. It was from the cops he’d sent to Munns’s house. Judging by the expression on the chief’s face, the news was not good.

Peter peeked inside the chief’s head to find out what the problem was. And saw it clearly.

Munns was holed up inside his house with his latest victim. Burns’s men had peeked through the front windows, and seen Rachael tied to a chair in the living room. She was conscious, and trying to reason with her abductor. Munns was also in the living room but not visible, and the cops couldn’t pinpoint his location.

The cops had stepped back from the house. One of them had called Burns to find out what to do. Break down the front door and save Rachael, or stay outside and wait for backup?

Burns hemmed and hawed. He was a small-town police chief, and dealt with domestic situations and lost dogs. This was new to him.

“Tell your men not to go in,” Peter told him.

“Hold on a second,” Burns said into the phone. “What did you say?”

“Don’t let your men go in. Munns will kill them.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. Then he’ll go into town, and kill as many people as he can.”

“How do you know this?”

“That isn’t important. Let me deal with Munns. I can stop him. It’s why I’m here. Don’t ask me to explain any more, because I can’t. You have to trust me.”

Burns looked to Garrison for confirmation. The FBI agent nodded. That was good enough for Burns, and he passed the instructions to the man on the line before ending the call.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” the chief said.

Garrison followed Burns’s cruiser out of the parking lot and into Pelham. Soon the town ended, and they drove down a two-lane road with signs for crossing deer.

“How are you going to deal with Munns?” Liza asked from the backseat.