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"Screaming Into the Darkness"
"Screaming Into the Darkness"
12/18/-12/19/2017
I.
Bane was in a foul mood as he crossed the street toward his new house in Forest Hills. Christmas songs had annoyed him as far back as he could remember. Making it worse recently, he had noticed that the past few years had seen a shift from traditional carols which at least had some dignity to nothing but simple-minded novelty Christmas songs. Just walking past stores and taverns inflicted "You're the Present I Want To Unwrap" and "Santa Was a Rapper" on him. Every day, he walked a few more miles from his house and back just to burn off some of the excess energy his enhanced metabolism gave him. Even the Christmas decorations everywhere seemed increasingly hollow and fake to him.
At fifty-nine, the Dire Wolf showed only a few signs of aging. There were more flecks of white in the full head of black hair lately, and lines had deepened at the corners of his mouth and eyes. But he had stayed lean and muscular, and he strode along the sidewalks as briskly as a teenager. He even still wore all black as a habit, including the long cloth coat and thin leather gloves on this chilly day.
Only in the pale grey eyes had something changed. Under the heavy feral eyebrows, some of the ferocity had left those eyes. They were increasingly dull and introspective. Maybe retiring had not been the best decision for him. He had expected getting away from the constant tension and fear of the Midnight War would make him happy but he still felt restless and unsatisfied.
The Dire Wolf stepped up to the corner and looked ahead at his house. After five months living in it, somehow he still did not feel quite at home there. He had been more at ease in his apartment on 48th Street over in Manhattan, as well as in his old office where he had worked for more than fourteen years. Bane exhaled deeply and wondered if maybe he was just never meant to be happy. He had been told more than once that he was a personality that reacted well to high stress and the soft life would kill him.
Then he saw the unmarked police car in front of his house.
Without realizing it, he drew himself up straighter as he marched quickly toward the vehicle. Some of the old predatory glint came back into his eyes. It was probably nothing, the cops were probably watching for a drug deal or staking out a bait car with keys left in it. And yet....
As he approached, the two men in front spotted him and one got out. Bane noticed the guy was careful to show both hands were empty and no threat. Of course, the Dire Wolf had automatically checked out the driver as well. Both hands were up on the steering wheel in plain sight. Evidently these men were a little apprehensive about him.
Long decades of Kumundu training enabled Bane to read the standing man's body language instantly. His brain filed away details one after another. The man was six foot one, two hundred and twenty pounds, in decent condition with a slight twinge in the lower back from some injury years earlier. Dark brown hair recently cut, medium brown eyes, some faint acne scars on left side of face. From the way the man's clothes sagged, he was carrying a 9mm Glock in a belt holster on his right side beneath the brown suit jacket. The man was in his mid-forties, tense and high-strung, blood pressure evidently a little high. Wedding ring, flashy wristwatch, nails clean and trimmed. From the way his suit fit to his shoes to the way he kept one hand on the car, he had plainclothes detective written clearly all over him.
"Excuse me," the cop called in a voice just loud enough to carry. "Aren't you the Dire Wolf?"
"I was..." Bane answered.
"I met you once years and years ago. The Samhain case. I'm Detective Daniel Adriesson. Can you spare us a few minutes? It's something that might interest you, Mr Bane."
Staying just out of reach from long habit, Bane shook his head. "I'm retired now, I informed the department about that."
"It's about three missing college kids," Andriesson said. "And a little game they play called 'Screaming Into the Darkness...'"
II.
Ten minutes later, both detectives were seated on the couch in Bane's living room. He had made them instant coffee which he kept on hand for visitors since he did not need any caffeine in his already hyper body. He had pulled over a straightback wooden chair with a red cushion on its seat and dropped down in front of them to listen to what they had come to say.
With some amusement, he watched the two survey the living room for hints about him and come up blank. It hardly looked as if anyone lived there. Bane had never been much for hanging up photos or displaying knick-knacks, and he never left clothes or empty dinner plates lying around. Only a loose stack of local newspapers on the coffee table showed that the house was occupied.
Listening, Bane was informed that, in the past month, two female college sophomores and one male high school senior in the area had inexplicably vanished. None of the usual warning signs of either getting ready for suicide or for running away. Each had been alone in the family house when they had last been seen, all their clothes and belongings still there, including cell phones, wallets and car keys. It was genuinely baffling, and the media had not picked up on it only because of a particularly juicy political scandal underway at the same time.
Then, three nights ago, the body of Peyton Miller had been found in her room when her parents came home late from a dinner party. She lived on campus but had been home for the weekend to see her family. When her parents came home and found the house completely dark with the bathroom nightlight turned off, they had felt some concern. When they stumbled over Peyton's burned corpse in the hallway outside her upstairs bedroom, both Mr and Mrs Miller had become hysterical. Their 911 call was almost incoherent.
Bane was shown photos of the body. They didn't bother him, he had seen dozens if not hundreds of gruesome cadavers in his day, including many that he had made that way himself. She had been a tall, slightly chubby girl with curly black hair. When she died, she had been apparently wearing only an extra large T-shirt and panties. Third degree burns covered most of her skin, as far as he could see. One detail that interested him was that her eyeballs were completely white.
"That's hard to explain," he said calmly as he held the photos up one at a time to study them. "Her parents last saw her five hours earlier and she was fine?"
"Yes," Detective Andriesson answered in a noticeably shaky voice. "Sorry. My daughter's that age and this is touching a little too close to home."
The other detective spoke up for only the second time. He was older, more jaded, with a sour droop to his mouth. "Even worse, her phone shows she talked to a friend for forty-two minutes after her parents left and sent a few text messages after that. So whatever happened to her, it took less than four hours."
"Hmm. I have been referring all weird and unexplainable cases like this to my friends at the Kenneth Dred Foundation," Bane said. "They're experts, good as I ever was certainly. They're on East 38th Street in Manhattan, I'll give them a call..."
Detective Andriesson raised a hand in a gentle interruption. "The family asked for you specifically, Mr Bane. They know you. Apparently, over twenty years ago you rescued them from some sort of nutty cult called Those Who Remember?"
"Those Who Remember! It's those Millers? Charles and Alicia? Oh, I see." He took a long sip of his ice water and stared at the tumbler. "They were newlyweds then. Who was in charge of Those Who Remember back then? Not Simon Cohen, I think it was Doc Paolo."
As the undercover men watched, Bane seemed to come to life dramatically. He looked over at them and they jumped at the sudden cold gleam in his pale eyes. "That changes things. I promised Charles and Alicia back then that they could always come to me. Tell me more. Give me a full briefing."
Andriesson launched into every detail of the three missing students and the strange death of Peyton Miller. The female college students attended a few of the same classes but no one remembered them ever being acquainted. The male high school student had been only seventeen and had never met the others. Only one odd detail had emerged from days of police questioning families and friends.
"Peyton Miller said something unusual the last day she was seen," the older detective grumbled. "She teased one of her girlfriends about an exciting new game called 'Screaming Into the Darkness,' and when she was asked what it was, she just told her friend it was a little too daring for her. The usual teasing between girls. That's all we have that seems like a possible clue."
Bane was scowling and inevitably he now got up and started pacing. "I know I'm out of touch. I have no idea what college kids are doing these days except drinking too much and having sex every chance they can, same as ever. Are there any online references to 'screaming into the darkness?' Maybe it's a video game?"
"Nothing relevant we can find," Andriesson admitted. "Are you interested in the case, sir?"
The Dire Wolf regarded him with a slightly sinister half-smile. "Oh, absolutely. I will call Charles and Alicia now and tell them I'm coming over to see them. They still live in Tribeca?"
"No, they're out on the other side of Queens. I have their address and phone number for you."
"Good. Thank you, gentlemen, I have lost touch with the dark side of the city and I haven't heard about any of this." He indicated by his tone that he wanted them to get up and they obliged. As he escorted them to the door, the Dire Wolf said he would keep them informed and he hoped to have results soon.
"You understand, of course, that this is unofficial," the undercover cop began.
"I know, I know," Bane said as he started to close the door on them. "Off the record, confidential, this meeting never happened. Some things never change."
II.
That same evening, feeling completely alive again for the first time in weeks, Jeremy Bane drove his Toyota Matrix to the address he had been given. His face did not show it, but he was buzzing with a combination of excitement and anticipation. Catching his reflection in the rearview mirror, he smiled wryly at how quickly he had jumped at the offered mystery. Always the Dire Wolf, he thought.
He found the Millers lived in a rather impressive two-story redwood home with a larger yard than usual for the area. A white SUV was parked in front of the attached garage. It was just after six, he had talked with them on the phone and said he expected to show up at that time. Without thinking about it, the Dire Wolf circled the block to check for danger signs. Everything seemed safe. As he pulled over against the curb, the habits of a lifetime spent in the Midnight War took over. His eyes moved constantly, watching windows of neighboring houses, looking at parked cars to see if anyone was sitting in them. Nothing.
He was met at the door by Charles and Alicia Miller, who seemed so glad to see him it made him uncomfortable. Alicia took his hands desperately and would not let go, Charles seemed to want to do the same. He had not seen them in twenty-one years and, although they had aged normally, he recognized them at once. They ushered him into a warm comfortable living room with a Christmas tree in one corner and some little elf figurines on the window sills. The couch faced a TV with a screen as big as some neighborhood cinemas had.
"I always felt bad that we never had any information for you," Alicia began, spealing rapidly. "After you got us away from Those Who Remember, you would not take any reward. And you said, no, you just wanted us to let you know if we heard about anything weird or paranormal going on. That was your system. Twice, we left messages apologizing but we just had nothing to report."
"Just as well," Bane said. "You were certainly better off not crossing into the Midnight War. You know the police came to see me earlier tonight. They told me about Peyton. I'm sorry. Maybe it's no comfort but I might be able to find out just what did happen."
Charles took over. He seemed if anything more upset than Alicia. His voice was unsteady but he was obviously trying to be strong as he related what they had found when they had come home only four nights previously. "We have kept it as quiet as we can," he finished. "Only a few relatives and some of her friends will be at the funeral. No wake. Closed casket. We aren't explaining why, we just request it."
"I understand," Bane said. "And as much as I hate to say it, I think this might be related to Those Who Remember coming back to haunt you. You may not know three kids are missing in the area. Two college girls and a high school boy, just vanished without any clue or reason." He supplied the names of the missing and found that Peyton had never mentioned any of them. Standing up, the Dire Wolf said, "I want to examine where she was found. I'd understand if you two don't want to go with me."
"Thank you. We have sort of avoided that part of the house but at some point I guess we have to accept it. We've talked about moving back to Manhattan." Alicia pointed to a staircase behind him. "Up there. The room to your left was hers, the one in front is the bathroom she sometimes used, even though she had her own."
"Thank you," Bane said. "This should not take long." He went up the stairs and immediately caught a tang of sulphur in the air that scrubbing and Febreze would not erase. There was nothing too unusual about Peyton Miller's bedroom. Two big bags of clean laundry still sat by the double bed, waiting to be sorted out. There were quite a few textbooks with scraps of paper sticking out them, an assortment of hair and skin care products on a vanity table, a pile of Japanese black and white comic books. On the nightstand was a sleek smartphone in a pink case. Wrapping it in tissue, he took it with him.
Back in the hallway, the Dire Wolf dropped into a crouch. Low on the wall just outside her bedroom were two scorch marks on the wallpaper, just light brown streaks. He studied them grimly. They would be right where her head had been raised as she dropped in the doorway. He went back downstairs and felt a twinge at the hopeful expressions on the Millers' faces, as if they thought he would somehow have good news.
"I suppose the police have gone over her room?" he said, returning to the chair where he had been sitting. "Taking hundreds of photos and samples from the carpet, that sort of thing?"
"Oh yes. They were polite but insistent. Yesterday, an officer came here with some of her personal items they had examined. I- I had to sign for them, to verify that this was my daughter's hairbrush and phone and toothbrush. I guess they found nothing at all. It's all been returned."
"Alicia... Charles... I would like to take Peyton's phone, if you don't mind. I know someone who might be able to find clues the police missed. Would that be okay with you?"
"Oh, absolutely, whatever you want," Charles said. "Listen, Jeremy. Don't keep it from us. What do YOU think happened to our baby? How could she have ended up in that condition in just a few hours!?"
Bane leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, and had difficulty starting. "Well. You remember the purpose of Those Who Remember. They have been trying for a hundred years to reach these beings they worship, the Sulla Chun. They want to free the Sulla Chun and wipe people off the Earth to start over."
Both the Millers nodded silently, staring at him.
"What you two saw on that night I got you away from them... that glimpse you got of that gigantic red shape looking at you with deep hatred... that was all real. The smell of sulphur upstairs is the same. When the cult leader almost opened the gateway that night, and that unbearable heat started pouring through, that was the same as what happened upstairs."
"But... we never mentioned any of that to Peyton," Alicia protested. "I swear, until I told that police detective yesterday, we have never once talked about that night to anyone but you."
The Dire Wolf met her eyes steadily. "I understand. It might be just coincidence that she was curious about the supernatural and was fooling around with rituals she didn't understand. Kids have always done that. Or, I'm afraid it might be that something on the other side of that Gateway remembered you two and had waited for an opening near you. It's even possible that servants of the Sulla Chun were trying to contact Peyton in dreams or signs, trying to lure her into what had almost caught you two."
Charles Miller was watching Bane intently. "If this is true, then what can we do about it? The police are no use."
"I'm going to investigate," the Dire Wolf said. "Charles, Alicia, I promise you I will find who or what did this to your daughter. And they will wish they had never heard of Peyton... or of me."
III.
Leaving the Millers regretfully, touched by their grief despite his usual hard exterior, Bane drove straight for Manhattan. Instinct told him he was thinking in the right direction, but he had no trail to follow. He needed some facts to work with. At a red light on 45th Street, he pulled out his Link and called the KDF building on 38th. It was a quarter to eleven at night. To his relief, a familiar voice immediately answered, "Captain! Where are you?"
"Just a few minutes away, Megan," he answered. "I'm glad you happen to be on base today."
"I still come in two or three days a week. Without me, the CORBY would have fallen apart and the Links would all be jammed. I believe they need me just to change a light bulb, to be honest."
"Boy, you have loosened up since I first met you," Bane said as traffic started again. "The Trom Girl who first showed up was too formal and restrained to ever joke ike that."
"I have found a balance between Trom and Human," she said. "Archie started that ball rolling, whether he knew it or not. Are you coming here? That would be great. I haven't seen you in weeks."
"Yep. I see a parking spot and I'm grabbing it."
"I will meet you at the door, Jeremy." With a click, the contact was broken. Bane eased into a spot that had just been vacated by a delivery truck and got out of his car. Across the street stood the ten story building that had been the first real home he had ever loved, where he had met Kenneth Dred and first entered the Midnight War... the same Midnight War he seemed unwilling even now to ever leave for good. The Dire Wolf strode across the street and had just placed his foot at the bottom of the steps when the front door swung open. Megan Salenger hopped down to embrace him as tightly as she possibly could.
Now in her late thirties, her face and body had filled out slightly since that night she had first flown down out of the dark sky onto the roof of this building. She had then been barely nineteen, a Human orphan raised by Trom scientists to act as a liaison between the two Races. At first, she had tried to be as cold and emotionless as her Trom sponsors, but she had been through so many changes since then. Bane realized they both had.
Megan was wearing a red flannel shirt over a plain white T-shirt, faded jeans and red sneakers. She kept her unruly black hair shorter and tidier now, but the pointed nose and inqusitive eyes were the same. The Trom Girl gave him a big final squeeze and released him. "No one else is here right now, I'm afraid. Argent said he would stop over this afternoon but you know him. He'll show up at dawn and not realize he's late."
They stepped up into the tiny vestibule with its bench and old magazines and the oil portrait of Kenneth Dred on one wall. The inner door was closed. Bane waited for a few seconds, listening to the clicks and buzzes as they were scanned down to the cellular level. Megan gave him a sheepish grin, saying, "It seems silly but procedure is in place for good reasons." The inner door unlocked and she ushered her captain into the front hall.
"Seriously, Jeremy, as much as I would like to think you came to chat with me, I know better. Except for pizza night, whenever you come here, it's because some case is underway." She turned those dark eyes on him with an eagerness she did not try to conceal. "Something big, I hope?"
Bane followed her into the reception room to their left as they entered. He was slightly surprised to see that Sable had replaced some of the furniture, added a few hanging plants and had moved the fish tank with the creatures from Ulgor out onto a cabinet in the front hall. She had also had the walls painted light blue with white trim, which made the office feel airier.
Trom Girl caught the look on his face. "Yes, Sable felt a dozen years of the same decor was more than enough. The handpainted map is still up where it always was, though."
He shrugged and moved on. They both dropped down into chairs facing each other in front of the desk, and he explained all about the missing teens and the grotesque death of Peyton Miller. "The police are out of their depth, not surprisingly. But I do have the girl's cell phone and I figured, hey I know a genius...."
Megan reached over and took the phone, inspecting it intently. "I am in fact a genius, so you are only being accurate," she said distractedly. "Hmm. A Tetsuro, an expensive model. Let me try something." Going over to Sable's desk, she took a small laptop from a shelf on the wall behind it and flipped it open. Finding a USB cable, she plugged the phone in and started tapping away on the laptop keys. After a second, she pulled the swivel chair over and perched on its edge.
Knowing to leave her to her work, Bane glanced around the office again. Sable had also replaced the heavy maroon curtains on the high narrow windows with ones of lighter material. He liked the more open effect. The windows were bulletproof and frosted anyway, so there was plenty of privacy even so.
"Hah. I have found something promising," Megan said suddenly. "This is from Sandcastle."
"From the what?"
"Sandcastle. It's a social network that erases messages within twenty seconds unless the sender sets it otherwise. Popular among high school and college age people."
"Getting more out of touch every day," Bane grumbled. "It's called Sandcastle because it's not permanent, then. Everything gets washed away."
"That is obvious," Megan replied in that graceless manner she still unknowingly showed. "What its users do not realize is that the corporation which owns Sandcastle does in fact retain nearly everything sent over it for up to a year. Here, I believe you should see this."
The Dire Wolf came to stand looking over a shoulder. On the laptop screen in tiny letters were two rows of columns listing names, numbers and locations. She batted away at the keyboard and most of the infomation faded away. Left behind were five names which had been repeated frequently. He recognized three of them.
"The three missing kids...." he said grimly. "Looks like they were using screen names. RoughPrincess, Dogaboo20 and MrUnnatural. They were all talking to each other on the nights they disappeared. Those other names aren't familiar."
"So Peyton Miller DID know the missing teens, even if only as personas online," Megan said. "I have the real names and addresses of the remaining two people involved. There."
Bane read them over her shoulder. "Ellen Mai Hu, Carl Gibson. Time to go talk to them."
"Wait. I think you should read the discussions they were having." She wheeled her chair back out of the way to give him a better view of the screen.
"These are the rules for a game," he said a second later. "A completely darkened house after midnight. Drawing specified symbols in yellow chalk on the floor. Wiping your face with vinegar? Cutting your palms and pressing them together. And then screaming once as loud as you can." He turned to look at the Trom Girl. "Screaming into the darkness! That was the game Peyton teased her friend about. It's a summoning ritual of some sort."
Megan was completely serious now. Her voice had the finality of a judge. "These kids were trying to open gateways to other realms just for the thrill of getting a glimpse of a different reality. They found Fanedral."
"Or Fanedral found them," Bane said.
"As far as we can tell, the climate of Fanedral is equivalent to being inside an active volcano." Megan went back to studying the game instructions. "That's the reason it's the one realm we could never enter. Looking at Gornak, you can see what environment he is adapted to survive in."
"If these kids got a glimpse of Androval or Okali, nothing would have happened to them," Bane said. He straightened up and went back to his chair. "Even a bit of Maroch wouldn't have done much damage. But a whiff of Fanedral is like standing on molten lava."
Megan closed down the laptop and returned it to its shelf and its charger. "How did these teenagers learn a summoning ritual for Fanedral? That's not easily obtained information. Even the wisest sorcerers don't know that sort of rite."
"I mean to find out," Bane said. "Thanks, Megan. I sure couldn't have gotten that from a blank screen."
The Trom Girl laughed unexpectedly. "That reminds me of something. One time I found Archie trying to fill out some forms online. He was lost. When he saw me, he said, 'here's two blank screens for you.'"
"Hah, I'm glad you two are still together. No one expected romance for Trom Girl."
"I am full of surprises, captain," she replied as she rose. "Let me change and I will join you. This seems to be an important case."
Bane did not even try to talk her out of it as he once would have. "Okay, Megan. Glad to have you as a partner."
As she hurried from the room, the Dire Wolf turned the situation over in his mind. The cult called Those Who Remember was dedicated to freeing the Sulla Chun. They had no connection with Fanedral that he had ever heard of. So there was still something going on here he hadn't figured out. The next step was to contact the two players of this Screaming Into the Darkness game.
In less than a minute and a half, Megan came rushing down the stairs in her full field suit, the round disc of the gravity shield between her shoulders, with helmet tucked under one arm. From a rack of pegs by the door, she yanked down a white trenchcoat to cover her slightly intimidating commando outfit. "I assume you are thinking as I am. We need to separate and reach the two remaining youths before they perform the summoning ritual."
"You're right. I'll drive down to the Village for the Hu girl. And you're going to take a car over to Jersey City?"
"No," she said as she opened the door to the street. "I feel urgency justifies flight. We will update each other as needed." With that, she ran into the alley between the KDF headquarters and the building next door that housed Ted Wright's clinic. Bane was watching for it and he still barely saw the small dark figure hurtle straight up into the black night sky. The odds against any civilians seeing her take off, or that anyone would believe them for that matter, were insignificant. Bane headed across the street for his car. If only the Trom would authorize her to build a gravity shield for her teammates as well, but they thought Humans were not ready for the tech.
He reached MacDougal Street in the Village, almost within sight of Washington Square. Between a pharmacy and a used clothing boutique was a small red brick two-story house that was almost taller than it was wide. The street number over the door matched the address he had seen on the laptop. The house was completely dark, not a glimmer showed through any window. The light over the front door was out.
Bane did not hesitate. If he was wrong, he was setting himself up on charges of breaking and entry but he felt sure there was no time to lose. Setting his feet, bringing torque up through his entire body, he drove out the palm of his hand just above the doorknob. The lock snapped with a brittle noise and he dove into the darkened house. The stench of sulfur and the wave of dry heat alarmed him enormously. Snatching a pencil flashlight from an inner pocket, he leaped across the living room and across a narrow hall in a bedroom that had its door open. The stink and the heat were coming from in there.
Kneeling on the floor over a complex pattern drawn in yellow chalk was a young Asian-American woman. She had her bloody hands pressed tightly together and, as Bane caught sight of her, she drew a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream. In that instant, the Dire Wolf had pounced on her in a flying tackle and clamped her jaws shut with both hands. They rolled on the floor for a second, and even as she tried to struggle free, Bane managed to drag his boot all over the chalk diagram to smudge it into illegibility.
At once, the heat vanished from the room, although the smell of rotten eggs remained.
Holding onto the frantic young woman with one arm around her, one hand still pinning her mouth shut, Bane reached over and flicked on a ceramic lamp nearby. It was a messy bedroom with piles of clothes on the bed and a nearly-empty pizza box. He stood up, setting Ellen Hu on her feet and met her hysterical eyes calmly.
"Listen closely. Stop moving and listen. You were very close to being killed during that ceremony. I'm an investigator working with the police. Do you know that your three friends are dead? RoughPrincess, MrUnnatural, Dogaboo20? You know they are dead, right?"
She shook her head and when he took his hand away, she blurted, "They aren't dead, they haven't been seen for a few days but that doesn't mean they're dead, why do you say that?!"
"It's worse than that. A girl your age completed the ritual and she was found cooked alive. Her funeral is this Sunday." The Dire Wolf pushed her away roughly. Ellen Hu was about nineteen, not pretty to begin with and the fear in her face didn't help. "You fools are deliberately trying to open doorways to Fanedral. You might as well go and stand over a nuclear device about to explode.. except the nuke wouldn't take you to be abused and tortured for weeks."
"Who ARE you anyway? How do you know about this stuff?" She was starting to breathe normally.
"It's my job," he answered. "Right now, my partner is on her way to see if she can help the last survivor of your club. Kid named Gibson."
"Yeah, PanzerWagon he calls himself." The girl suddenly dropped down on the bed as if her legs had given out. "Oh my God, it's true. No wonder I can't reach the others. They're gone. My skin still burns from just that little gate starting to open." Her face crumpled up in grief. "It's all true."
"What the hell do you guys get out of this doing this?" demanded Bane. Seeing two square-sided sticks of yellow chalk on the floor, he bent and put them in his jacket pocket with a scowl.
"It's for kicks, just kicks," she said as she started to tremble. "We thought maybe we might see a vision or something. I didn't know anyone was going to die! I didn't think any of this was real!"
Bane's Link buzzed and he unclipped it from his belt. "Megan?" He listened for a minute, asked a few low questions and then returned the device to its pouch. "My partner says she arrived there a few minutes too late. Carl Gibson, the boy you call PanzerWagon, died tonight. He has third degree burns over most of his body. She is coming here to meet with us."
But Ellen did not reply. She was shaking as if she had pneumonia, rocking back and forth and hugging herself. "PanzerWagon, poor PanzerWagon..."
The Dire Wolf knew not to slap her to bring her out of her funk. His experience had been that it didn't work. Instead, he got her up on her feet and started walking her back and forth in broken patterns, faster and faster until she was stumbling and knocking things over in her room. That brought her attention back to her surroundings. In the wide flat face, her dark eyes suddenly were intelligent and aware.
"Okay, okay," she said, pulling away from him. "This is so much to take in. I need a minute... but I realize now you saved my life. Thanks, mister. I owe you for that. I was going to... I was going to end up like the others."
"Where are your parents, Ellen?"
"Mom is away for the weekend. Dad, who knows? They're as good as divorced, to be honest."
"Sorry to hear that," he said just as Megan Salenger landed in the doorway, skidding to a halt as she saw everything was under control. In the tight black field suit, with the opaque visor down on her helmet, she was an ominous sight if one didn't know her.
"At least this one is alive," Megan said. "I notified the authorities about Gibson."
"By Link?" asked Bane, implying the call was done anonymously.
"Of course." She understood that he wanted to know she had left no signs she was at the scene of death without actually saying so in front of an outsider. "You are Ellen Mai Hu, I assume?" Megan said to the staring girl.
"Yes. I guess you're the partner this man mentioned?"
The Trom Girl unfastened her helmet and lifted it off her head, becoming a less intimidating figure immediately. She brushed her hair back with a gloved hand, "My name is Megan Salenger. This is my captain, Jeremy Bane. We're working to stop this 'Screaming Into the Darkness' game."
The young Asian-American seemed to perk up at that and looked up at Bane. "Oh, I've heard your name somewhere. You're a ghostbuster. You've been in the papers. You captured the serial killer Samhain."
The Dire Wolf took one of her wrists and pulled her hand up to inspect it. Taking a small plastic first aid kit from his jacket, he wiped her palms with alcohol swabs and taped gauze pads where she had sliced herself for the ritual. "I doubt if these will stay on," he grumbled. "Ellen, someone is promoting this so-called game. Someone is posting the steps you take for the ritual and suggesting it's fun and harmless. Finding this person is our next step."
"I know who originally started it." She was watching her visitors with dawning hero worship. "I want to help. Onscreen his tag is RightBehindYou but his real name is Parker Mitchell."
Bane watched her expression closely. "We can't take him to court. No judge would even consider hearing a case like this. The law can't touch him."
"Well, something has to be done. He's caused all these deaths! He'll keep prompting kids to try the 'Screaming into Darkness' unless someone stops him." She realized that the Dire Wolf now had an ominous predatory glint in his eyes but she continued, "Someone has to stop him..."
IV.
In the middle of the night, a matte grey Toyota Matrix rolled into the town of Galloway, New Jersey. Ellen Mai Hu was in the back seat and she had been asking questions nonstop. Since Megan had asked to drive so she could evaluate the car's condition, it was up to Bane to answer the onslaught of questions as best he could. This was not something he was well suited for by nature or by training.
"So, what exactly ARE the Sulla Chun?" the young woman was asking now. "Demons from hell, aliens from outer space, what?"
In the front passenger seat, the Dire Wolf sighed. "To be honest, I think the Sulla Chun are one of those Midnight War things that may be beyond our mind's capacity to understand. I was told they were the spawn of spiritual beings called the Halarin and the Halarim from the beginning of time. Another higher being named Jordyn imprisoned them but the implication is that not even He could destroy them. They are supposed to be so powerful and so malevolent that just being anywhere near them causes insanity." He hesitated. "Years ago, Megan and I and a few of our friends came within a few miles of a Sulla Chun and it almost ruined our health."
The Trom Girl said, "Even then, the being was inside a granite mountain that it was trying to break open. Millions of tons of dense rock did not protect us fully from its influence." She paused. "Also, captain, it is time to rotate your tires. Your front end alignment is perceptibly off."
"Thanks, Megan. So, Ellen. Here we are on Willow Street, where is the house we are looking for?"
"There. At the end of the dead end street, with the row of mailboxes on that railing. This is where Parker Mitchell lives. He had a roommate but I think that guy took off. Parker is almost thirty, he makes good money as a manager of some place in a mall." She let out a deep unsteady breath. "I was never in there. He gave me the address once and I swung by here once out of curiosity."
As Megan pulled over next to three elm trees, she turned the car off. "I suggest you try a different synthetic oil next time, Jeremy. You do not need to change it as often as you do. But back to the mission on hand, what is your plan?"
Before the Dire Wolf could answer, Ellen quickly said, "Let me talk to Parker first. He met me, he knows me on sight. He might pull out a gun and take a shot at you guys, it's three in the morning."
Bane held up an open hand in dismissal. "Absolutely not. I am unhappy at allowing you to accompany us this far. Megan, I am going in quietly. After twenty minutes, if I do not return or if you see anything suspicious, you take over. This may take a while."
"Understood, captain." As the man in black slipped out the car door and seemed to vanish into darkness, Megan turned around in her seat to face Ellen. "You may begin asking me questions if you like."
V.
With a snort, Parker Mitchell groggily woke up. Too much beer again, he thought. He almost fell off the couch, but someone's strong hand held him in place. Mitchell was way overweight, not quite morbidly obese but on his way. He wore a dark brown polo shirt under a yellow bathrobe and still had his slippers on. It was difficult to say if he had a beard or had just not shaved in a long time, but it was the same length as his curly brown hair. As he came to awareness, smacking his lips, Mitchell tried to sit up but that hand shoved him roughly back down again.
"Hold still," said a deadly quiet voice.
That brought him fully awake. Mitchell realized his wrists were tied together in front of him and his ankles were also bound together. Only one light was on in the living room, a small lamp on a stand by the door. The TV and the desktop were off.
The rest of the house was silent and dark as well.
Parker Mitchell turned his head wildly in all directions and stopped as he spotted a gaunt man all in black watching him from right next to the couch. The intruder had short black hair and pale eyes that seemed incredibly threatening in the gloom.
"I've been through the files on your computer over there," the stranger said. "Your password was weak. I read all about how you found notes left by your uncle, the man who ran Those Who Remember for years. You deciphered some of the rituals he thought he had hidden in code. Not much of a code, to be honest."
"Wait, wait, don't hurt me! Listen, I've got some money hidden away. If you won't hurt me, I'll tell you where it is and I'll never mention this..."
Jeremy Bane shook his head and continued. "You didn't try the rites yourself, of course. You have learned a little about the Sulla Chun and the last thing you wanted was to meet them yourselves. But why did you start posting the ritual online? Why did you start teasing bored students with a promise of thrills when you knew they were toying with brutal death?"
Trying to sit up, Mitchell protested, "Oh no, you can't blame me. All I did was share some esoteric wisdom. It was just for thrills. I never MADE anyone go through with it."
"Yeah. I don't buy that," Bane said. "That's the excuse pushers and pimps start with. Here, let's get you on the floor." Without any seeming effort, the Dire Wolf yanked the fat man off the couch into a sitting position on the floor. For the first time, Mitchell saw the complicated pattern drawn on the bare wood in yellow chalk.
"No... oh, no, you can't be serious..." he whispered.
"I'm as serious as three missing kids and two dead ones," Bane answered. He took a washcloth soaked in vinegar and roughly wiped Mitchell's face with it. "Hold still, this is going to hurt." In a flash, he had drawn a silver bladed dagger from beneath his sleeve, sliced across both of Mitchell's palms and pressed them together, then tightened the clothesline so the man could not separate them.
"I think that covers everything," Bane said as he straightened up and reached over to snap off the lamp by the door. "I already went through the house and made sure it's dark. Now all you need to do is scream."
"No. I won't! Are you crazy, I'm not going to scream."
From out of utter darkness, Bane's voice said, "I still have the knife in my hand."
Sitting out in the Toyota, Megan was just describing the truth behind the legends of Skinwalkers to Ellen when they heard a single ringing shriek from the dark house. In one window on the first floor, a flash of deep red light flared up and faded. Then, walking quickly but unhurriedly, Jeremy Bane came out the front door of that house and over to his car. He got in the passenger seat and closed his door. "We can roll, Megan. Better take Ellen home, I suppose."
From the back seat, a tiny voice sounded almost childlike. "But what about Parker? What are we going to do about him? What was that scream?"
"He decided to try the summoning ritual himself," the Dire Wolf said. "I don't think we'll be hearing from him again."
2/11/2016
12/18/-12/19/2017
I.
Bane was in a foul mood as he crossed the street toward his new house in Forest Hills. Christmas songs had annoyed him as far back as he could remember. Making it worse recently, he had noticed that the past few years had seen a shift from traditional carols which at least had some dignity to nothing but simple-minded novelty Christmas songs. Just walking past stores and taverns inflicted "You're the Present I Want To Unwrap" and "Santa Was a Rapper" on him. Every day, he walked a few more miles from his house and back just to burn off some of the excess energy his enhanced metabolism gave him. Even the Christmas decorations everywhere seemed increasingly hollow and fake to him.
At fifty-nine, the Dire Wolf showed only a few signs of aging. There were more flecks of white in the full head of black hair lately, and lines had deepened at the corners of his mouth and eyes. But he had stayed lean and muscular, and he strode along the sidewalks as briskly as a teenager. He even still wore all black as a habit, including the long cloth coat and thin leather gloves on this chilly day.
Only in the pale grey eyes had something changed. Under the heavy feral eyebrows, some of the ferocity had left those eyes. They were increasingly dull and introspective. Maybe retiring had not been the best decision for him. He had expected getting away from the constant tension and fear of the Midnight War would make him happy but he still felt restless and unsatisfied.
The Dire Wolf stepped up to the corner and looked ahead at his house. After five months living in it, somehow he still did not feel quite at home there. He had been more at ease in his apartment on 48th Street over in Manhattan, as well as in his old office where he had worked for more than fourteen years. Bane exhaled deeply and wondered if maybe he was just never meant to be happy. He had been told more than once that he was a personality that reacted well to high stress and the soft life would kill him.
Then he saw the unmarked police car in front of his house.
Without realizing it, he drew himself up straighter as he marched quickly toward the vehicle. Some of the old predatory glint came back into his eyes. It was probably nothing, the cops were probably watching for a drug deal or staking out a bait car with keys left in it. And yet....
As he approached, the two men in front spotted him and one got out. Bane noticed the guy was careful to show both hands were empty and no threat. Of course, the Dire Wolf had automatically checked out the driver as well. Both hands were up on the steering wheel in plain sight. Evidently these men were a little apprehensive about him.
Long decades of Kumundu training enabled Bane to read the standing man's body language instantly. His brain filed away details one after another. The man was six foot one, two hundred and twenty pounds, in decent condition with a slight twinge in the lower back from some injury years earlier. Dark brown hair recently cut, medium brown eyes, some faint acne scars on left side of face. From the way the man's clothes sagged, he was carrying a 9mm Glock in a belt holster on his right side beneath the brown suit jacket. The man was in his mid-forties, tense and high-strung, blood pressure evidently a little high. Wedding ring, flashy wristwatch, nails clean and trimmed. From the way his suit fit to his shoes to the way he kept one hand on the car, he had plainclothes detective written clearly all over him.
"Excuse me," the cop called in a voice just loud enough to carry. "Aren't you the Dire Wolf?"
"I was..." Bane answered.
"I met you once years and years ago. The Samhain case. I'm Detective Daniel Adriesson. Can you spare us a few minutes? It's something that might interest you, Mr Bane."
Staying just out of reach from long habit, Bane shook his head. "I'm retired now, I informed the department about that."
"It's about three missing college kids," Andriesson said. "And a little game they play called 'Screaming Into the Darkness...'"
II.
Ten minutes later, both detectives were seated on the couch in Bane's living room. He had made them instant coffee which he kept on hand for visitors since he did not need any caffeine in his already hyper body. He had pulled over a straightback wooden chair with a red cushion on its seat and dropped down in front of them to listen to what they had come to say.
With some amusement, he watched the two survey the living room for hints about him and come up blank. It hardly looked as if anyone lived there. Bane had never been much for hanging up photos or displaying knick-knacks, and he never left clothes or empty dinner plates lying around. Only a loose stack of local newspapers on the coffee table showed that the house was occupied.
Listening, Bane was informed that, in the past month, two female college sophomores and one male high school senior in the area had inexplicably vanished. None of the usual warning signs of either getting ready for suicide or for running away. Each had been alone in the family house when they had last been seen, all their clothes and belongings still there, including cell phones, wallets and car keys. It was genuinely baffling, and the media had not picked up on it only because of a particularly juicy political scandal underway at the same time.
Then, three nights ago, the body of Peyton Miller had been found in her room when her parents came home late from a dinner party. She lived on campus but had been home for the weekend to see her family. When her parents came home and found the house completely dark with the bathroom nightlight turned off, they had felt some concern. When they stumbled over Peyton's burned corpse in the hallway outside her upstairs bedroom, both Mr and Mrs Miller had become hysterical. Their 911 call was almost incoherent.
Bane was shown photos of the body. They didn't bother him, he had seen dozens if not hundreds of gruesome cadavers in his day, including many that he had made that way himself. She had been a tall, slightly chubby girl with curly black hair. When she died, she had been apparently wearing only an extra large T-shirt and panties. Third degree burns covered most of her skin, as far as he could see. One detail that interested him was that her eyeballs were completely white.
"That's hard to explain," he said calmly as he held the photos up one at a time to study them. "Her parents last saw her five hours earlier and she was fine?"
"Yes," Detective Andriesson answered in a noticeably shaky voice. "Sorry. My daughter's that age and this is touching a little too close to home."
The other detective spoke up for only the second time. He was older, more jaded, with a sour droop to his mouth. "Even worse, her phone shows she talked to a friend for forty-two minutes after her parents left and sent a few text messages after that. So whatever happened to her, it took less than four hours."
"Hmm. I have been referring all weird and unexplainable cases like this to my friends at the Kenneth Dred Foundation," Bane said. "They're experts, good as I ever was certainly. They're on East 38th Street in Manhattan, I'll give them a call..."
Detective Andriesson raised a hand in a gentle interruption. "The family asked for you specifically, Mr Bane. They know you. Apparently, over twenty years ago you rescued them from some sort of nutty cult called Those Who Remember?"
"Those Who Remember! It's those Millers? Charles and Alicia? Oh, I see." He took a long sip of his ice water and stared at the tumbler. "They were newlyweds then. Who was in charge of Those Who Remember back then? Not Simon Cohen, I think it was Doc Paolo."
As the undercover men watched, Bane seemed to come to life dramatically. He looked over at them and they jumped at the sudden cold gleam in his pale eyes. "That changes things. I promised Charles and Alicia back then that they could always come to me. Tell me more. Give me a full briefing."
Andriesson launched into every detail of the three missing students and the strange death of Peyton Miller. The female college students attended a few of the same classes but no one remembered them ever being acquainted. The male high school student had been only seventeen and had never met the others. Only one odd detail had emerged from days of police questioning families and friends.
"Peyton Miller said something unusual the last day she was seen," the older detective grumbled. "She teased one of her girlfriends about an exciting new game called 'Screaming Into the Darkness,' and when she was asked what it was, she just told her friend it was a little too daring for her. The usual teasing between girls. That's all we have that seems like a possible clue."
Bane was scowling and inevitably he now got up and started pacing. "I know I'm out of touch. I have no idea what college kids are doing these days except drinking too much and having sex every chance they can, same as ever. Are there any online references to 'screaming into the darkness?' Maybe it's a video game?"
"Nothing relevant we can find," Andriesson admitted. "Are you interested in the case, sir?"
The Dire Wolf regarded him with a slightly sinister half-smile. "Oh, absolutely. I will call Charles and Alicia now and tell them I'm coming over to see them. They still live in Tribeca?"
"No, they're out on the other side of Queens. I have their address and phone number for you."
"Good. Thank you, gentlemen, I have lost touch with the dark side of the city and I haven't heard about any of this." He indicated by his tone that he wanted them to get up and they obliged. As he escorted them to the door, the Dire Wolf said he would keep them informed and he hoped to have results soon.
"You understand, of course, that this is unofficial," the undercover cop began.
"I know, I know," Bane said as he started to close the door on them. "Off the record, confidential, this meeting never happened. Some things never change."
II.
That same evening, feeling completely alive again for the first time in weeks, Jeremy Bane drove his Toyota Matrix to the address he had been given. His face did not show it, but he was buzzing with a combination of excitement and anticipation. Catching his reflection in the rearview mirror, he smiled wryly at how quickly he had jumped at the offered mystery. Always the Dire Wolf, he thought.
He found the Millers lived in a rather impressive two-story redwood home with a larger yard than usual for the area. A white SUV was parked in front of the attached garage. It was just after six, he had talked with them on the phone and said he expected to show up at that time. Without thinking about it, the Dire Wolf circled the block to check for danger signs. Everything seemed safe. As he pulled over against the curb, the habits of a lifetime spent in the Midnight War took over. His eyes moved constantly, watching windows of neighboring houses, looking at parked cars to see if anyone was sitting in them. Nothing.
He was met at the door by Charles and Alicia Miller, who seemed so glad to see him it made him uncomfortable. Alicia took his hands desperately and would not let go, Charles seemed to want to do the same. He had not seen them in twenty-one years and, although they had aged normally, he recognized them at once. They ushered him into a warm comfortable living room with a Christmas tree in one corner and some little elf figurines on the window sills. The couch faced a TV with a screen as big as some neighborhood cinemas had.
"I always felt bad that we never had any information for you," Alicia began, spealing rapidly. "After you got us away from Those Who Remember, you would not take any reward. And you said, no, you just wanted us to let you know if we heard about anything weird or paranormal going on. That was your system. Twice, we left messages apologizing but we just had nothing to report."
"Just as well," Bane said. "You were certainly better off not crossing into the Midnight War. You know the police came to see me earlier tonight. They told me about Peyton. I'm sorry. Maybe it's no comfort but I might be able to find out just what did happen."
Charles took over. He seemed if anything more upset than Alicia. His voice was unsteady but he was obviously trying to be strong as he related what they had found when they had come home only four nights previously. "We have kept it as quiet as we can," he finished. "Only a few relatives and some of her friends will be at the funeral. No wake. Closed casket. We aren't explaining why, we just request it."
"I understand," Bane said. "And as much as I hate to say it, I think this might be related to Those Who Remember coming back to haunt you. You may not know three kids are missing in the area. Two college girls and a high school boy, just vanished without any clue or reason." He supplied the names of the missing and found that Peyton had never mentioned any of them. Standing up, the Dire Wolf said, "I want to examine where she was found. I'd understand if you two don't want to go with me."
"Thank you. We have sort of avoided that part of the house but at some point I guess we have to accept it. We've talked about moving back to Manhattan." Alicia pointed to a staircase behind him. "Up there. The room to your left was hers, the one in front is the bathroom she sometimes used, even though she had her own."
"Thank you," Bane said. "This should not take long." He went up the stairs and immediately caught a tang of sulphur in the air that scrubbing and Febreze would not erase. There was nothing too unusual about Peyton Miller's bedroom. Two big bags of clean laundry still sat by the double bed, waiting to be sorted out. There were quite a few textbooks with scraps of paper sticking out them, an assortment of hair and skin care products on a vanity table, a pile of Japanese black and white comic books. On the nightstand was a sleek smartphone in a pink case. Wrapping it in tissue, he took it with him.
Back in the hallway, the Dire Wolf dropped into a crouch. Low on the wall just outside her bedroom were two scorch marks on the wallpaper, just light brown streaks. He studied them grimly. They would be right where her head had been raised as she dropped in the doorway. He went back downstairs and felt a twinge at the hopeful expressions on the Millers' faces, as if they thought he would somehow have good news.
"I suppose the police have gone over her room?" he said, returning to the chair where he had been sitting. "Taking hundreds of photos and samples from the carpet, that sort of thing?"
"Oh yes. They were polite but insistent. Yesterday, an officer came here with some of her personal items they had examined. I- I had to sign for them, to verify that this was my daughter's hairbrush and phone and toothbrush. I guess they found nothing at all. It's all been returned."
"Alicia... Charles... I would like to take Peyton's phone, if you don't mind. I know someone who might be able to find clues the police missed. Would that be okay with you?"
"Oh, absolutely, whatever you want," Charles said. "Listen, Jeremy. Don't keep it from us. What do YOU think happened to our baby? How could she have ended up in that condition in just a few hours!?"
Bane leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, and had difficulty starting. "Well. You remember the purpose of Those Who Remember. They have been trying for a hundred years to reach these beings they worship, the Sulla Chun. They want to free the Sulla Chun and wipe people off the Earth to start over."
Both the Millers nodded silently, staring at him.
"What you two saw on that night I got you away from them... that glimpse you got of that gigantic red shape looking at you with deep hatred... that was all real. The smell of sulphur upstairs is the same. When the cult leader almost opened the gateway that night, and that unbearable heat started pouring through, that was the same as what happened upstairs."
"But... we never mentioned any of that to Peyton," Alicia protested. "I swear, until I told that police detective yesterday, we have never once talked about that night to anyone but you."
The Dire Wolf met her eyes steadily. "I understand. It might be just coincidence that she was curious about the supernatural and was fooling around with rituals she didn't understand. Kids have always done that. Or, I'm afraid it might be that something on the other side of that Gateway remembered you two and had waited for an opening near you. It's even possible that servants of the Sulla Chun were trying to contact Peyton in dreams or signs, trying to lure her into what had almost caught you two."
Charles Miller was watching Bane intently. "If this is true, then what can we do about it? The police are no use."
"I'm going to investigate," the Dire Wolf said. "Charles, Alicia, I promise you I will find who or what did this to your daughter. And they will wish they had never heard of Peyton... or of me."
III.
Leaving the Millers regretfully, touched by their grief despite his usual hard exterior, Bane drove straight for Manhattan. Instinct told him he was thinking in the right direction, but he had no trail to follow. He needed some facts to work with. At a red light on 45th Street, he pulled out his Link and called the KDF building on 38th. It was a quarter to eleven at night. To his relief, a familiar voice immediately answered, "Captain! Where are you?"
"Just a few minutes away, Megan," he answered. "I'm glad you happen to be on base today."
"I still come in two or three days a week. Without me, the CORBY would have fallen apart and the Links would all be jammed. I believe they need me just to change a light bulb, to be honest."
"Boy, you have loosened up since I first met you," Bane said as traffic started again. "The Trom Girl who first showed up was too formal and restrained to ever joke ike that."
"I have found a balance between Trom and Human," she said. "Archie started that ball rolling, whether he knew it or not. Are you coming here? That would be great. I haven't seen you in weeks."
"Yep. I see a parking spot and I'm grabbing it."
"I will meet you at the door, Jeremy." With a click, the contact was broken. Bane eased into a spot that had just been vacated by a delivery truck and got out of his car. Across the street stood the ten story building that had been the first real home he had ever loved, where he had met Kenneth Dred and first entered the Midnight War... the same Midnight War he seemed unwilling even now to ever leave for good. The Dire Wolf strode across the street and had just placed his foot at the bottom of the steps when the front door swung open. Megan Salenger hopped down to embrace him as tightly as she possibly could.
Now in her late thirties, her face and body had filled out slightly since that night she had first flown down out of the dark sky onto the roof of this building. She had then been barely nineteen, a Human orphan raised by Trom scientists to act as a liaison between the two Races. At first, she had tried to be as cold and emotionless as her Trom sponsors, but she had been through so many changes since then. Bane realized they both had.
Megan was wearing a red flannel shirt over a plain white T-shirt, faded jeans and red sneakers. She kept her unruly black hair shorter and tidier now, but the pointed nose and inqusitive eyes were the same. The Trom Girl gave him a big final squeeze and released him. "No one else is here right now, I'm afraid. Argent said he would stop over this afternoon but you know him. He'll show up at dawn and not realize he's late."
They stepped up into the tiny vestibule with its bench and old magazines and the oil portrait of Kenneth Dred on one wall. The inner door was closed. Bane waited for a few seconds, listening to the clicks and buzzes as they were scanned down to the cellular level. Megan gave him a sheepish grin, saying, "It seems silly but procedure is in place for good reasons." The inner door unlocked and she ushered her captain into the front hall.
"Seriously, Jeremy, as much as I would like to think you came to chat with me, I know better. Except for pizza night, whenever you come here, it's because some case is underway." She turned those dark eyes on him with an eagerness she did not try to conceal. "Something big, I hope?"
Bane followed her into the reception room to their left as they entered. He was slightly surprised to see that Sable had replaced some of the furniture, added a few hanging plants and had moved the fish tank with the creatures from Ulgor out onto a cabinet in the front hall. She had also had the walls painted light blue with white trim, which made the office feel airier.
Trom Girl caught the look on his face. "Yes, Sable felt a dozen years of the same decor was more than enough. The handpainted map is still up where it always was, though."
He shrugged and moved on. They both dropped down into chairs facing each other in front of the desk, and he explained all about the missing teens and the grotesque death of Peyton Miller. "The police are out of their depth, not surprisingly. But I do have the girl's cell phone and I figured, hey I know a genius...."
Megan reached over and took the phone, inspecting it intently. "I am in fact a genius, so you are only being accurate," she said distractedly. "Hmm. A Tetsuro, an expensive model. Let me try something." Going over to Sable's desk, she took a small laptop from a shelf on the wall behind it and flipped it open. Finding a USB cable, she plugged the phone in and started tapping away on the laptop keys. After a second, she pulled the swivel chair over and perched on its edge.
Knowing to leave her to her work, Bane glanced around the office again. Sable had also replaced the heavy maroon curtains on the high narrow windows with ones of lighter material. He liked the more open effect. The windows were bulletproof and frosted anyway, so there was plenty of privacy even so.
"Hah. I have found something promising," Megan said suddenly. "This is from Sandcastle."
"From the what?"
"Sandcastle. It's a social network that erases messages within twenty seconds unless the sender sets it otherwise. Popular among high school and college age people."
"Getting more out of touch every day," Bane grumbled. "It's called Sandcastle because it's not permanent, then. Everything gets washed away."
"That is obvious," Megan replied in that graceless manner she still unknowingly showed. "What its users do not realize is that the corporation which owns Sandcastle does in fact retain nearly everything sent over it for up to a year. Here, I believe you should see this."
The Dire Wolf came to stand looking over a shoulder. On the laptop screen in tiny letters were two rows of columns listing names, numbers and locations. She batted away at the keyboard and most of the infomation faded away. Left behind were five names which had been repeated frequently. He recognized three of them.
"The three missing kids...." he said grimly. "Looks like they were using screen names. RoughPrincess, Dogaboo20 and MrUnnatural. They were all talking to each other on the nights they disappeared. Those other names aren't familiar."
"So Peyton Miller DID know the missing teens, even if only as personas online," Megan said. "I have the real names and addresses of the remaining two people involved. There."
Bane read them over her shoulder. "Ellen Mai Hu, Carl Gibson. Time to go talk to them."
"Wait. I think you should read the discussions they were having." She wheeled her chair back out of the way to give him a better view of the screen.
"These are the rules for a game," he said a second later. "A completely darkened house after midnight. Drawing specified symbols in yellow chalk on the floor. Wiping your face with vinegar? Cutting your palms and pressing them together. And then screaming once as loud as you can." He turned to look at the Trom Girl. "Screaming into the darkness! That was the game Peyton teased her friend about. It's a summoning ritual of some sort."
Megan was completely serious now. Her voice had the finality of a judge. "These kids were trying to open gateways to other realms just for the thrill of getting a glimpse of a different reality. They found Fanedral."
"Or Fanedral found them," Bane said.
"As far as we can tell, the climate of Fanedral is equivalent to being inside an active volcano." Megan went back to studying the game instructions. "That's the reason it's the one realm we could never enter. Looking at Gornak, you can see what environment he is adapted to survive in."
"If these kids got a glimpse of Androval or Okali, nothing would have happened to them," Bane said. He straightened up and went back to his chair. "Even a bit of Maroch wouldn't have done much damage. But a whiff of Fanedral is like standing on molten lava."
Megan closed down the laptop and returned it to its shelf and its charger. "How did these teenagers learn a summoning ritual for Fanedral? That's not easily obtained information. Even the wisest sorcerers don't know that sort of rite."
"I mean to find out," Bane said. "Thanks, Megan. I sure couldn't have gotten that from a blank screen."
The Trom Girl laughed unexpectedly. "That reminds me of something. One time I found Archie trying to fill out some forms online. He was lost. When he saw me, he said, 'here's two blank screens for you.'"
"Hah, I'm glad you two are still together. No one expected romance for Trom Girl."
"I am full of surprises, captain," she replied as she rose. "Let me change and I will join you. This seems to be an important case."
Bane did not even try to talk her out of it as he once would have. "Okay, Megan. Glad to have you as a partner."
As she hurried from the room, the Dire Wolf turned the situation over in his mind. The cult called Those Who Remember was dedicated to freeing the Sulla Chun. They had no connection with Fanedral that he had ever heard of. So there was still something going on here he hadn't figured out. The next step was to contact the two players of this Screaming Into the Darkness game.
In less than a minute and a half, Megan came rushing down the stairs in her full field suit, the round disc of the gravity shield between her shoulders, with helmet tucked under one arm. From a rack of pegs by the door, she yanked down a white trenchcoat to cover her slightly intimidating commando outfit. "I assume you are thinking as I am. We need to separate and reach the two remaining youths before they perform the summoning ritual."
"You're right. I'll drive down to the Village for the Hu girl. And you're going to take a car over to Jersey City?"
"No," she said as she opened the door to the street. "I feel urgency justifies flight. We will update each other as needed." With that, she ran into the alley between the KDF headquarters and the building next door that housed Ted Wright's clinic. Bane was watching for it and he still barely saw the small dark figure hurtle straight up into the black night sky. The odds against any civilians seeing her take off, or that anyone would believe them for that matter, were insignificant. Bane headed across the street for his car. If only the Trom would authorize her to build a gravity shield for her teammates as well, but they thought Humans were not ready for the tech.
He reached MacDougal Street in the Village, almost within sight of Washington Square. Between a pharmacy and a used clothing boutique was a small red brick two-story house that was almost taller than it was wide. The street number over the door matched the address he had seen on the laptop. The house was completely dark, not a glimmer showed through any window. The light over the front door was out.
Bane did not hesitate. If he was wrong, he was setting himself up on charges of breaking and entry but he felt sure there was no time to lose. Setting his feet, bringing torque up through his entire body, he drove out the palm of his hand just above the doorknob. The lock snapped with a brittle noise and he dove into the darkened house. The stench of sulfur and the wave of dry heat alarmed him enormously. Snatching a pencil flashlight from an inner pocket, he leaped across the living room and across a narrow hall in a bedroom that had its door open. The stink and the heat were coming from in there.
Kneeling on the floor over a complex pattern drawn in yellow chalk was a young Asian-American woman. She had her bloody hands pressed tightly together and, as Bane caught sight of her, she drew a deep breath and opened her mouth to scream. In that instant, the Dire Wolf had pounced on her in a flying tackle and clamped her jaws shut with both hands. They rolled on the floor for a second, and even as she tried to struggle free, Bane managed to drag his boot all over the chalk diagram to smudge it into illegibility.
At once, the heat vanished from the room, although the smell of rotten eggs remained.
Holding onto the frantic young woman with one arm around her, one hand still pinning her mouth shut, Bane reached over and flicked on a ceramic lamp nearby. It was a messy bedroom with piles of clothes on the bed and a nearly-empty pizza box. He stood up, setting Ellen Hu on her feet and met her hysterical eyes calmly.
"Listen closely. Stop moving and listen. You were very close to being killed during that ceremony. I'm an investigator working with the police. Do you know that your three friends are dead? RoughPrincess, MrUnnatural, Dogaboo20? You know they are dead, right?"
She shook her head and when he took his hand away, she blurted, "They aren't dead, they haven't been seen for a few days but that doesn't mean they're dead, why do you say that?!"
"It's worse than that. A girl your age completed the ritual and she was found cooked alive. Her funeral is this Sunday." The Dire Wolf pushed her away roughly. Ellen Hu was about nineteen, not pretty to begin with and the fear in her face didn't help. "You fools are deliberately trying to open doorways to Fanedral. You might as well go and stand over a nuclear device about to explode.. except the nuke wouldn't take you to be abused and tortured for weeks."
"Who ARE you anyway? How do you know about this stuff?" She was starting to breathe normally.
"It's my job," he answered. "Right now, my partner is on her way to see if she can help the last survivor of your club. Kid named Gibson."
"Yeah, PanzerWagon he calls himself." The girl suddenly dropped down on the bed as if her legs had given out. "Oh my God, it's true. No wonder I can't reach the others. They're gone. My skin still burns from just that little gate starting to open." Her face crumpled up in grief. "It's all true."
"What the hell do you guys get out of this doing this?" demanded Bane. Seeing two square-sided sticks of yellow chalk on the floor, he bent and put them in his jacket pocket with a scowl.
"It's for kicks, just kicks," she said as she started to tremble. "We thought maybe we might see a vision or something. I didn't know anyone was going to die! I didn't think any of this was real!"
Bane's Link buzzed and he unclipped it from his belt. "Megan?" He listened for a minute, asked a few low questions and then returned the device to its pouch. "My partner says she arrived there a few minutes too late. Carl Gibson, the boy you call PanzerWagon, died tonight. He has third degree burns over most of his body. She is coming here to meet with us."
But Ellen did not reply. She was shaking as if she had pneumonia, rocking back and forth and hugging herself. "PanzerWagon, poor PanzerWagon..."
The Dire Wolf knew not to slap her to bring her out of her funk. His experience had been that it didn't work. Instead, he got her up on her feet and started walking her back and forth in broken patterns, faster and faster until she was stumbling and knocking things over in her room. That brought her attention back to her surroundings. In the wide flat face, her dark eyes suddenly were intelligent and aware.
"Okay, okay," she said, pulling away from him. "This is so much to take in. I need a minute... but I realize now you saved my life. Thanks, mister. I owe you for that. I was going to... I was going to end up like the others."
"Where are your parents, Ellen?"
"Mom is away for the weekend. Dad, who knows? They're as good as divorced, to be honest."
"Sorry to hear that," he said just as Megan Salenger landed in the doorway, skidding to a halt as she saw everything was under control. In the tight black field suit, with the opaque visor down on her helmet, she was an ominous sight if one didn't know her.
"At least this one is alive," Megan said. "I notified the authorities about Gibson."
"By Link?" asked Bane, implying the call was done anonymously.
"Of course." She understood that he wanted to know she had left no signs she was at the scene of death without actually saying so in front of an outsider. "You are Ellen Mai Hu, I assume?" Megan said to the staring girl.
"Yes. I guess you're the partner this man mentioned?"
The Trom Girl unfastened her helmet and lifted it off her head, becoming a less intimidating figure immediately. She brushed her hair back with a gloved hand, "My name is Megan Salenger. This is my captain, Jeremy Bane. We're working to stop this 'Screaming Into the Darkness' game."
The young Asian-American seemed to perk up at that and looked up at Bane. "Oh, I've heard your name somewhere. You're a ghostbuster. You've been in the papers. You captured the serial killer Samhain."
The Dire Wolf took one of her wrists and pulled her hand up to inspect it. Taking a small plastic first aid kit from his jacket, he wiped her palms with alcohol swabs and taped gauze pads where she had sliced herself for the ritual. "I doubt if these will stay on," he grumbled. "Ellen, someone is promoting this so-called game. Someone is posting the steps you take for the ritual and suggesting it's fun and harmless. Finding this person is our next step."
"I know who originally started it." She was watching her visitors with dawning hero worship. "I want to help. Onscreen his tag is RightBehindYou but his real name is Parker Mitchell."
Bane watched her expression closely. "We can't take him to court. No judge would even consider hearing a case like this. The law can't touch him."
"Well, something has to be done. He's caused all these deaths! He'll keep prompting kids to try the 'Screaming into Darkness' unless someone stops him." She realized that the Dire Wolf now had an ominous predatory glint in his eyes but she continued, "Someone has to stop him..."
IV.
In the middle of the night, a matte grey Toyota Matrix rolled into the town of Galloway, New Jersey. Ellen Mai Hu was in the back seat and she had been asking questions nonstop. Since Megan had asked to drive so she could evaluate the car's condition, it was up to Bane to answer the onslaught of questions as best he could. This was not something he was well suited for by nature or by training.
"So, what exactly ARE the Sulla Chun?" the young woman was asking now. "Demons from hell, aliens from outer space, what?"
In the front passenger seat, the Dire Wolf sighed. "To be honest, I think the Sulla Chun are one of those Midnight War things that may be beyond our mind's capacity to understand. I was told they were the spawn of spiritual beings called the Halarin and the Halarim from the beginning of time. Another higher being named Jordyn imprisoned them but the implication is that not even He could destroy them. They are supposed to be so powerful and so malevolent that just being anywhere near them causes insanity." He hesitated. "Years ago, Megan and I and a few of our friends came within a few miles of a Sulla Chun and it almost ruined our health."
The Trom Girl said, "Even then, the being was inside a granite mountain that it was trying to break open. Millions of tons of dense rock did not protect us fully from its influence." She paused. "Also, captain, it is time to rotate your tires. Your front end alignment is perceptibly off."
"Thanks, Megan. So, Ellen. Here we are on Willow Street, where is the house we are looking for?"
"There. At the end of the dead end street, with the row of mailboxes on that railing. This is where Parker Mitchell lives. He had a roommate but I think that guy took off. Parker is almost thirty, he makes good money as a manager of some place in a mall." She let out a deep unsteady breath. "I was never in there. He gave me the address once and I swung by here once out of curiosity."
As Megan pulled over next to three elm trees, she turned the car off. "I suggest you try a different synthetic oil next time, Jeremy. You do not need to change it as often as you do. But back to the mission on hand, what is your plan?"
Before the Dire Wolf could answer, Ellen quickly said, "Let me talk to Parker first. He met me, he knows me on sight. He might pull out a gun and take a shot at you guys, it's three in the morning."
Bane held up an open hand in dismissal. "Absolutely not. I am unhappy at allowing you to accompany us this far. Megan, I am going in quietly. After twenty minutes, if I do not return or if you see anything suspicious, you take over. This may take a while."
"Understood, captain." As the man in black slipped out the car door and seemed to vanish into darkness, Megan turned around in her seat to face Ellen. "You may begin asking me questions if you like."
V.
With a snort, Parker Mitchell groggily woke up. Too much beer again, he thought. He almost fell off the couch, but someone's strong hand held him in place. Mitchell was way overweight, not quite morbidly obese but on his way. He wore a dark brown polo shirt under a yellow bathrobe and still had his slippers on. It was difficult to say if he had a beard or had just not shaved in a long time, but it was the same length as his curly brown hair. As he came to awareness, smacking his lips, Mitchell tried to sit up but that hand shoved him roughly back down again.
"Hold still," said a deadly quiet voice.
That brought him fully awake. Mitchell realized his wrists were tied together in front of him and his ankles were also bound together. Only one light was on in the living room, a small lamp on a stand by the door. The TV and the desktop were off.
The rest of the house was silent and dark as well.
Parker Mitchell turned his head wildly in all directions and stopped as he spotted a gaunt man all in black watching him from right next to the couch. The intruder had short black hair and pale eyes that seemed incredibly threatening in the gloom.
"I've been through the files on your computer over there," the stranger said. "Your password was weak. I read all about how you found notes left by your uncle, the man who ran Those Who Remember for years. You deciphered some of the rituals he thought he had hidden in code. Not much of a code, to be honest."
"Wait, wait, don't hurt me! Listen, I've got some money hidden away. If you won't hurt me, I'll tell you where it is and I'll never mention this..."
Jeremy Bane shook his head and continued. "You didn't try the rites yourself, of course. You have learned a little about the Sulla Chun and the last thing you wanted was to meet them yourselves. But why did you start posting the ritual online? Why did you start teasing bored students with a promise of thrills when you knew they were toying with brutal death?"
Trying to sit up, Mitchell protested, "Oh no, you can't blame me. All I did was share some esoteric wisdom. It was just for thrills. I never MADE anyone go through with it."
"Yeah. I don't buy that," Bane said. "That's the excuse pushers and pimps start with. Here, let's get you on the floor." Without any seeming effort, the Dire Wolf yanked the fat man off the couch into a sitting position on the floor. For the first time, Mitchell saw the complicated pattern drawn on the bare wood in yellow chalk.
"No... oh, no, you can't be serious..." he whispered.
"I'm as serious as three missing kids and two dead ones," Bane answered. He took a washcloth soaked in vinegar and roughly wiped Mitchell's face with it. "Hold still, this is going to hurt." In a flash, he had drawn a silver bladed dagger from beneath his sleeve, sliced across both of Mitchell's palms and pressed them together, then tightened the clothesline so the man could not separate them.
"I think that covers everything," Bane said as he straightened up and reached over to snap off the lamp by the door. "I already went through the house and made sure it's dark. Now all you need to do is scream."
"No. I won't! Are you crazy, I'm not going to scream."
From out of utter darkness, Bane's voice said, "I still have the knife in my hand."
Sitting out in the Toyota, Megan was just describing the truth behind the legends of Skinwalkers to Ellen when they heard a single ringing shriek from the dark house. In one window on the first floor, a flash of deep red light flared up and faded. Then, walking quickly but unhurriedly, Jeremy Bane came out the front door of that house and over to his car. He got in the passenger seat and closed his door. "We can roll, Megan. Better take Ellen home, I suppose."
From the back seat, a tiny voice sounded almost childlike. "But what about Parker? What are we going to do about him? What was that scream?"
"He decided to try the summoning ritual himself," the Dire Wolf said. "I don't think we'll be hearing from him again."
2/11/2016