Christa Faust - Fringe The Zodiac Paradox

“It’s so obvious, I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner.” Bell rolled away from the drum kit as Iggy mounted up and started banging out a back beat. “More people. Longer time. And having the alpha wave generator helped us all synchronize minds and stay connected. It allowed us to link minds and share the same trip. We opened the portal together, wider and longer than ever before.”

Bell scooped up the alpha wave generator and slipped it into the canvas messenger bag he’d used to bring it in.

“But this is excellent.” Walter grabbed one of Bell’s arms with his right hand and one of Nina’s with the left, and dragged them toward the door, away from the wall of throbbing sound emanating from the happy and oblivious musicians. “Thirty-eight seconds, even twenty-eight, would surely be enough time to goad our quarry through the rift. All we have to do is gather another similarly sized test group.” He shouldered open the door and shoved Nina and Bell through. “Then lure the killer to the spot as the trip reaches its—” he slammed the door “—peak.”

The shouted word peak echoed down the street, way too loud now that the music was muffled by the closed door.

“Is that all?” Nina said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. “And how do you propose that we set it up? Who do you suggest we...”

Walter frowned, held up a finger, and looked around.

“Does anyone else smell smoke?” he asked.

They scanned the length of the block, and spotted flickering orange light playing over the brick and corrugated metal skins of the buildings at the far end of the block. The night was suddenly thick with the stink of burning plastic, and filled with frightened shouts. From the shipyard across the street came a sound like bridge cables twisting in a high wind.

“Oh, dear.” Walter closed his eyes. “Not again.”

“I thought there weren’t any people in this neighborhood?” Bell said.

“There weren’t supposed to be,” Nina said. “Not on this block, anyway. But if more trippers equaled a longer duration for the gate, maybe it also equaled a wider psychic blast radius.”

“Did you notice the tendrils spreading out from the edges of the gateway?” Walter asked.

“Yes!” Bell replied. “Clearly that’s the moment when the psychic bleed through begins. Nina, do you remember how long the gate was open before the tendrils became visible?”

A scream from an alley three buildings to the left cut off her reply.

“Get ’em off me!” A high, tremulous voice echoed through the alley. “Get ’em off!”

Walter and Bell exchanged a look and ran to the mouth of the narrow passageway. A few yards in, a homeless man was crabbing backward out of his bedroll as if there was a snake in it, and pressing against the dumpster that had been serving as a shelter.

“Get ’em off!” he screeched.

“The DTs?” Bell suggested, brow arched. “Not uncommon in alcoholics.”

Walter took a few cautious steps closer to the squirming man.

“No,” he said. “Look!”

Under the harsh glare of a security light, he could see the man’s naked, grime-caked torso was covered in what looked like rat bites. He was bleeding from more than a dozen crescent-shaped punctures.

Walter ran and grabbed the bottom of the roll and pulled, helping the man shuck clear of the bedding, then threw it away and knelt beside the man.

“Are you alright?” Walter asked. “What was biting you? Was it rats?”

But the man was still twisting and swatting at nothing.

“Get ’em off me!” he cried. “Get ’em off me!”

As Walter watched in horror, more bites appeared in the man’s flesh, bloody holes torn in his arms, belly, and neck, though there was nothing visible attacking him. It was as if he were being savaged by an invisible swarm of some sort.

“Maybe it really is the DTs,” Bell murmured. “Only they’ve been psychically amplified by our experiment.”

“Dreams made flesh,” Walter whispered, half to himself. “But what can we do?”

“I...” Bell shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“But this is our fault, Belly,” Walter said. “You can’t deny it this time. It’s our fault, and our responsibility.”

Walter buried his head in his hands.

“This is terrible,” he said. “Terrible.”

* * *

From the shadows of the alley across the street, Allan peered through his rifle sight, and watched the agitated group. He had several clear and easy shots, including the lovely redhead, Miss Nina Sharp, but he didn’t take them. After all, it would be completely pointless to kill them now. They would die like slaughterhouse cows, too stupid to understand what that big bolt gun was for.

No, he wanted time to taunt them, time to play with them and show them who had the upper hand. But Nina and his two special friends were alone now. No witnesses, except for the crazed bum.

Allan was a man who liked to stick to the plan no matter what. Yet here was such a tempting opportunity. He could kill the tall one first, to show the other two he meant business, then threaten Nina and make the curly haired one beg him to spare her life. It would be interesting to see how far the kid would debase himself to save her, and then whether or not he would plead for his own life once she was dead.

He moved toward the mouth of the alley and was about to raise the rifle to his shoulder when running steps to his left checked his stride. A policeman, young and redfaced, with a sad attempt at a mustache like a smudge of ash on his sweaty upper lip. He was running down the sidewalk, gun drawn and staring ahead at the glow at the end of the block.

Allan stepped back into the shadows. The cop glanced into the alley after him, then ran on. Allan let out a long, slow, relieved breath.

Too soon.

The cop skidded to a stop and looked back, then raised his gun and started edging back toward the alley, raising his high-pitched and strident voice.

“You in the alley,” the young cop called. “Put your weapon on the ground and kick it out where I can see it, then step out.”

The glowing sparks had already begun their gleeful dance under the skin of his hands and forearms. The stupid little piggy was ruining his perfect moment, and now he would have to be taken care of, too. But not out on the street.

Allan took a step back. And then another.

* * *

A voice rose above the moans of the bleeding homeless man, and pulled Walter’s attention back down toward the street. A young cop with a mustache was aiming his gun at the mouth of the alley on the far side, and calling for someone to come out. Walter looked into the alley and stiffened in shock. There was a man in the shadows.

A man with a gun, backing away.

Although the retreating man’s body was shrouded in darkness, his arms and his hands glowed as if lit from within, the mesmerizing dance of sparks reflecting in the squared lenses of familiar glasses. Walter’s heart kicked into double-time at the sight. He knew those sparks. He knew that face.

“The killer.” Walter took a step back and stumbled into Bell. He pointed. “The Zodiac Killer. He’s there!”

“But how?” Bell frowned, disbelieving.

“He must have followed us!”

Nina grabbed them both and shoved them behind the dumpster.

“Let the cop deal with it,” she hissed. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Walter and Bell ducked down behind the metal bulk and peeked over the lip.

“Is this it?” Bell asked, incredulous. “Is this how it ends?”

“I hope so,” Walter replied. “Lord, I hope so.”

“Come on,” Nina whispered. “Be a good little piggy and shoot that bastard.”

* * *

Allan took another step back, his teeth clenched in annoyance. Why wasn’t the cop coming into the alley? He couldn’t shoot him if he was standing out in the street.