Memoirs
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
Till the Clouds Roll ByWritten by CJ Bacon; Edited by Rob Smith
Act 1"H.U.D. (Heads Up Display) is now up and running," Brian spoke into a wireless headset; an updated version of the Ecto-Goggles. Synching his neutrona wand, he targeted it in front of a large evergreen in the middle of Pine Forest Camp in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. Before firing, he said: "Come in, Rob. Over {Static}." "I read you crystal clear, Bri. Copy that {Static}." "Are you sure this is where the camp director reported the disturbance?" About half a mile from where Brian stood, Rob was at the edge of the woods leaning against an old, beat-up stretch limo-hearse. The campgrounds were about 30 minutes west of Center City, Philadelphia. Brian's feed was coming up as a digital read-out on a hand-held Wi-Fi communication prototype that Rob began constructing earlier in the month. H.U.D.'s transmission was intercepted by the Wi-Fi handlink and feedback was returned via a miniature microphone attached to the top center of Rob's uniform. "Yeah," he replied . "She said something about one of these trees coming alive; harming the children. I'm glad they were able to reach us when they did, because I don't like this one bit." "No kidding. We need to get our phone turned on. Receiving calls via fax is getting a little old." "Tell me about it." "Anyway, I've got a pretty good guess we're dealing with floral possession here," Brian said. "Looks like it." His partner spoke into the mic while munching on a bag of cashews. I think I might have found it." Standing in front of the evergreen, Brian fired an ion trail at the tree. He waited for a moment for a reaction of any kind, especially if it caught on fire. Suddenly, the ground began to quake at his feet. The evergreen uprooted as its branches took on a life of their own, and lurched for Brian. "Where's a wood chipper when you need one?" He frowned. Crouching and sprinting down a shallow hill, Brian landed on his back and found himself staring at the tree upside down. Aiming his thrower again, he fired on instinct. "Brian? Brian…you alright?" Rob asked concerned. "I'm cool. No problem," he replied. Getting to his feet, Brian dusted himself off and watched as the tree swayed back and forth before it stiffened. His eyes then widened under the shadow of a very large foot-like root. Brian acknowledged his predicament, "Oh, crap!" Over on his end, Rob heard the crash. He tossed the empty bag in the back seat of the car, turned on the ignition, and sped off towards Brian's location. Before the haze and debris settled, Brian had rolled out of the way of the giant tree. He then stood up to see the real source of the disturbance. Staring back at him was a very angry red-colored demon with yellow eyes. "Mortal cretin! Do I bother you when you're asleep?" it shouted. Its eyes glowing bright, flaming locusts shot from its hands at Brian. "Whoa!" Brian said, sidestepping the attack. "Alright, that was a little too close for my taste." Concentrating, his own eyes began to take on a complete bluish hue as he muttered a Latin incantation. A blue shield soon surrounded his whole body as the demon summoned another flame. Surprised, it said: "Blue eyes? I see. Well, well…I know what you are. Should I bow or curtsy as I stand in the presence of a member of The Order of Ra?" "Spare me, shrub," Brian said, "I'll make this easy on you, leave these grounds, return to whatever moss pit you came from, and never bother anyone living again." "You're in no position to make demands. But, I'll humor you. Or what?" "I'll lock you away and throw away the key." The demon thought it over. Stopping far enough from the scene, Rob exited the car and removed a thrower from the rear rack. As he was about to close the trunk, he turned his head and ducked, narrowly avoiding being scorched by a stray flame zooming past his shoulder. "I'll take that as a no. Suit yourself," Brian said as a matter of fact. The shield he formed protected him while the demon hovered high over his head. Timing it just right as it dived toward him, Brian switched his pack to its sonic-boom mechanism, the same modified pack he carried over from his first meeting with Statler. Even if it didn't blow it to pieces, he knew it was about to get one heck of a headache. The demon tried to protect its ears from the noise, coming down lower and lower until it was about three feet near Brian's head. Quickly, he switched back to his proton stream and ensnared the demon in his stream. "I thought you said you were cool?" Rob asked, sweating after he ran up towards Brian. He was holding a round object in his hand. "Yeah, I am cool! So, can you throw the damn trap already?" Brian said, shouting over the noise of the proton fire. Grinning, Rob tossed a ghost trap in the shape of a sphere no bigger than a softball underneath the demon. Immediately, the trap activated, releasing a honing beam automatically locking onto the entity's position. There was a tiny latch with the familiar NO-GHOST logo on top that opened, encircling the demon in its light. Turning their heads away from the beams, they heard it screech in protest. Then there was the fissuring of the trap as it closed, surrounded by a run-off of static electricity. When it was safe, they stood over the trap and checked their watches. "10:18am. Well, I'd say the new equipment tests positive," Rob said, patting his thrower before he bent over to pick up the Sphere Trap. "Thank God. So, shall we get going?" Brian asked after working up a sweat too. "Let's shall." "Now that I look at it closer, it's interesting that you based this new design on a Poke-ball", said Brian coping a chuckle as his partner attached the sphere to his belt. Confused, Rob furrowed hid eyebrows, "A Poke-what?" "Ghosts…zero; 'bustas paid!" Rob shouted in good spirits as he and Brian walked through the garage door and down the vehicle ramp of the incomplete headquarters of the newly formed Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol. They heard music play in the background, but no one appeared to be present. The building was a tall, archaic structure located along the docks near the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. Outside were maintenance crews from Peco Energy® loudly drilling and fixing the pipes that lined along their strip of South Street. Brian looked around the shop and noticed something missing. "Um, shouldn't people be here? Including CJ?" "He must've stepped out," Rob said pointing to an empty desk at the center of the room. There was a half-eaten hamburger on a plate from Wendy's still sitting in front of the chair; next to it were various invoices, bills, and comic books of varying titles. On top of the desk was also a radio; its CD mode set to Soul II Soul's "Keep on Moving." "Well, if he's not gonna come back…" Brian said reaching for the hamburger. "You touch that burger and you'll die." Startled, they backed away from the desk as CJ climbed from underneath it, shaking the dust from his hair. "One question," Brian asked. "Why? Why are you hiding underneath your desk?" "Because of the task you guys gave me", CJ said groaning as he slumped into his chair. It heaved once, but held its ground. "While Andrew and Salina are off directing the construction crews outside, I've been saddled with the task you all voted me to handle--auditioning for our brand-new secretarial position." "Can it be that bad?" Brian asked perplexed. "Are you joking?" CJ exclaimed. "Some of the nutcases that have come through here were scary! Here, take a look at this one chick." He handed Brian a vanilla folder with a picture of a woman, about twenty-four, inside with her credentials. Flipping through it, Brian said, "What? I don't see anything so horrible about...Sheira Saunders." Rob veered his head over the folder to see for himself. "What can be so wrong about someone who studied for four years at Harvard, got a B.A. in Communications, and came with such high recommendations?" "You didn't meet her. That's the problem." CJ sighed. "She walked in and the first thing she said was 'OOOHHHHH! GHOSTBUSTERS!! I LOVE THOSE GUYS!! You get to mess around with those lighty-things and zap ghosts and stuff like that! And all of them are all so huggable and cute!'" Upon hearing that, Brian and Rob held back stifled laughter, then stood right and then gained their composure. "So I told her there's a lot more to Ghostbusters than just being cute. There's a lot of hard work and science that goes into it. But she cuts me off and says: 'Oh that, well I do have my degrees and all so I could hack it pretty well.' Then I mentioned that the position that's open was only as a secretary and she looked at me like I've called her a derogatory name or something and she starts to cry and say: 'BUT I WANTED TO BE A GHOSTBUSTER!' I tell her I'm sorry, but she stormed out." "Any others?" Brian asked wiping away a tear from his eyes, while thumbing through the folder. "Yeah," CJ said pushing aside his comic books. "One here I want to burn because this person would only work if it meant she didn't have to get her hands dirty with our quarries. Another said she'd only work once a month because of her schedule. And this third one, I won't even mention, only that she completely offended the New York Yankees and said that Aquaman was the suckiest member of the original Justice League." "Well, there wasn't much the man could do but swim and talk to fish." Rob said deadpan. "Don't start with me, man. I've had a rough morning!" CJ said reaching for his burger and taking a big chomp out of it. "There was one more woman who came in. She seemed nice and had good credentials, but when she spoke, she damn near scared the crap out of me." "What did she say?" Brian asked. "Its not what she said; its how she sounded." CJ groaned. "Her voice was deep like Barry White. You get my drift?" "You see an Adam's apple?" Rob asked while taking a fresh toothpick out of his pocket and put one between his lips. "Like Grace Jones." CJ continued. "I tell you, if I get one more douche bag today I'm going to go completely mad!" "Don't go yet, man," Brian said patting CJ on the shoulder. "Hang tough." At that moment, there came a knock on the door. The three men looked up the ramp and turned around to see a small young woman walk inside, the mid-day light from the garage's small basement windows passing through and forming her path. She had light brown hair, and emerald green eyes, and wore a combination leather jacket, white tank top, ripped jeans, and a flannel shirt around here waist. From a short distance, she looked a cross between Meg Ryan or Mary Stuart Masterson's character from the movie "Some Kind of Wonderful". "Hi," she said pleasantly holding a similar vanilla folder that CJ had seen all day. "Um, I called earlier about the auditions for the C.A. (Client Administrator) job that was advertised, but nobody answered the phone." "Our apologies," CJ said. "Damn Verizon hasn't completely turned our phones on yet. They were supposed to, but things haven't exactly been running for us like clockwork today." "It's cool, but is the position still open or am I too late?" CJ looked at his watch and shrugged his shoulders. He was about to answer when Rob said: "It sure is. Do you have your credentials in order, miss?" "Certainly," she said handing it over to Rob, who opened it and immediately began to peruse through it. "Interesting…Ms. Cummins, or should I call you Erin?" "Erin's fine with me." "Okay. It says here you have had considerable study in film, is this correct?" "Yes it is. I studied for a number of years at CSUN--California State University--in cinematography and film theory. I want to be a director." "Do you still want to do that?" CJ asked. "Yeah, but not so soon. Hollywood's a little too fake for me right now." "Fair enough," Rob said. "And there is a small part here about Criminology?" "That was at a point when I wasn't sure that the film career was gelling right so I took up Studies in U.S. Law." "Nice," Brian said nodding. "Meh, I don't know," CJ said. "I mean, you have a much better personality than some of the dregs I've had to talk to today, but I'm not sure if a film student is qualified for the position we're offering." "Which is?" CJ was about to answer when Salina came bursting in. "Glad you're here, guys," she said. "Those idiots from Peco just won't listen!" "What's wrong?" Rob asked. "I'm trying to tell them that we're doing business inside and to keep the noise down to a minimum, but they just won't listen to reason. Andrew's out there ready to punch the lights out of one of them right now." "Oh boy, it is too early for this," CJ sighed rubbing his eyes. "Well, let's see how the Texan's handling himself." Across the street from the front side of Doom Patrol's headquarters, three Peco Energy workers held drills in their hands with upturned earth strewn about them. The leader, a tall burly man with a stubbly beard and double chin, was face-to-face with Andrew. Already a crowd of people had gathered. "HOW THE HELL CAN YOU TELL ME HOW AND WHERE TO DO MY JOB?" "Like this: Move the goddamn equipment somewhere or else!" "Or else what, asshole?" The outspoken service worker puffed out his chest and pushed Andrew backward. "Look, just move the stuff so we can concentrate on our work. You don't want to pick a fight with me, jolly man." "Oooh, I'm shakin' in my boots here guys. Listen, you called us ova' here to fix the pothole problem and then you hassle us about the noise level?" "Okay, guys," CJ said breaking in between the two before they started to brawl. He read the leader's nametag before he spoke. "Mr. Seward, we're in the middle of conducting some sensitive business inside our office, and it would be ill regarded if these endeavors were disturbed by your drilling, as well as our interviewing processes. Would you want that on your head if something exploded?" "Of course not." "Then please, move to another area." Seward thought for a moment on this, and then shook his head. "No. I have a job to do. Why don't you go back to your Calculus and stuff Urkel?" "Did he…did he just call me what I think he did?" CJ looked to Salina, who nodded at his assessment, and then cast a glare back at Seward. "LISTEN TO ME YOU SLEAZY FU--!" A fuse seemed to go off inside CJ as he shouted and attempted to jump Seward, but was stopped by Andrew who grabbed the collar of his shirt. Harsh words continued between both parties. "Can I help in some way?" CJ and Andrew turned around to look at Erin Cummins, the woman who had auditioned to be secretary. "Who are you?" Andrew asked. But he didn't get any reply as Erin strolled past him and walked up to Seward, who was laughing it up with his fellow Peco crew. "Listen guys, where're you supposed to be drilling at?" "345 N. Columbus Blvd!" Seward replied. "I see, well, this isn't 345 North, its 316 North!" Seward's face dropped as he looked towards one of his pals. "Is that true?" One of his associates looked at the work shift list and he laughed nervously. "Well, boss, anyone can make a mistake..." "Just…shut…up." Seward turned back towards Erin and Doom Patrol. "Uh, I don't know how to say this, but sorry for wasting your time and you won't be billed by the city for the work that was done." "And I won't call your boss about your blunder, so we both win," Erin asserted. Saying nothing else, Seward and the rest of his cronies piled the equipment back into their trucks and began to pull away from across the street. "Wow," CJ said, pleasantly content, as their annoyance had just departed in a trail of dust. "Heh! Not too shabby." "Yeah," Andrew said. "But uh who is this again?" "Erin Cummins," Erin said extending her hand towards Andrew, who shook it. "Our new Client Administrator," Rob added. "...so this is our headquarters as you can see--DPHQ." Salina said showing Erin around. "It's not much yet, but it'll work until we can get some more jobs." "One question," Erin asked. "I've done research on the Ghostbusters and they all seem to have a containment unit of some sort for the ghosts they trap and it doesn't seem you guys have one yet." "We do, actually. You walked passed it earlier when you came through the garage," Salina said and smiled. "CJ and Rob, the two fellows you met earlier, are going over some schematics concerning the further development of our ECU. I've seen what they've got in mind, and believe me it's impressive." "What do you use now until the Unit is finished?" "A smaller design, something more akin to the shape of a refrigerator. It's difficult to explain, only that there is just a little space inside behind the laser protection grid because we're using an earlier design that the original Ghostbusters constructed when they first started their company." "That just went over my head," Erin said laughing. She was cut short by the sound of a whistle. "Mail's here," Brian said walking inside with a cadre of envelopes. "Anything good?" Salina asked. "Bill from Pep Boys, bill from Adelphia Plumbing & Heating Co, bill from that guy that was hit by a flying coconut at the supermarket bust. Oh, look what we have here..." He held one letter high in the air, examining it. "Who's that one from?" Erin asked. "You wouldn't believe it, but it's from NBC." "The NBC? As in The National Broadcasting Company that puts on Fear Factor and Saturday Night Live?" The new C.A. was a little surprised to hear that on her first day or work. "Yeah", Brian replied tearing open the letter. Scanning through it, he grinned. "Hey Erin, call CJ and Rob down here; they should be setting up boxes in the lab. They'll wanna hear this. And Where's Andrew?" "Up in his room doing God knows what," Salina said looking towards the stairs. "Um…" Brian said scratching his head. "Okay well, then just call Rob and Ceej." "I thought Dr. London said the phones don't work?" Erin recalled. "They do, but only the line within our building. We can't send or receive external calls yet." "Oh, okay." Erin went over to the desk where CJ had earlier stood, and picked up the telephone receiver, and pushed a single button on the touchpad. On the 3rd floor where their main lab area will soon reside, CJ and Rob were in the middle of discussing the size of the ECU when the phone rang. "They'll be down soon," Erin said hanging up the phone. "What's all this about", CJ asked as he and Rob came down from upstairs. "We've got a letter from NBC", Brian said. "It says that the network would like us to appear as special guests on Late Night with Conan O'Brien tomorrow night." "You serious?" Rob asked. "Yeah, and they're willing to pay us 25,000 apiece for a one night shot that we'll have to confirm with today." "Conan's always liked Ghostbusters", Salina said. "I wouldn't think we shouldn't take the offer." "Yeah, I agree, but come on...25 G's a piece? That's a little much. But, its NBC, so I guess they can afford it", Rob nodded. "Besides, we could use the extra money to restore this place and whatever money is left over, we'll put into the ECU." "I'll call them now", Erin said, then remembered that they couldn't call out. "Damn Verizon!" CJ muttered, flipping open his cell phone and handing it to Erin. "You the Duke Patrol?" An elderly gruff security guard met the Ghostbusting team at the backdoor of NBC studios, at the area where "Late Night w/Conan O'Brien" was about to start airing in one hour. Andrew raised an eyebrow. "That's Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol. Do I look like Robotman to you, sir?" The guard shook his head. "I don't read comics kid", he said and opened the door wider, letting the team inside. "That there equipment ain't dangerous is it? If it is, I have to confiscate it." He was looking at Brian's proton pack. "Turned down it isn't", Brian replied coolly and held his neutrona wand in his hands. "Besides, the NBC exec said that Conan wanted us to demonstrate the power of our..." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, they're powerful lightsabers. Just go inside. Ask for Matt Sweeny." The inside of the studio was lined with Emmy's, awards, and other honors that the studio has been bestowed upon in the past fifty years. Their were even portraits of those who have had the pleasure of working for NBC, many of which featured Johnny Carson schmoozing it up with a foreign guest or up and coming comic. "So who's this Matt Sweeny guy?" Salina asked. "I think he might be the stage manager", CJ replied, shifting his head around to see where the fellow might be. He stopped in his tracks as they passed by a dressing room. "Why'd you stop?" Rob asked, bumping into him. "It's...it's...her!" "Her who?" "Sheena Lyndon!" CJ whispered, and nodded his head towards a young woman, slightly older than he was with stunning raven black hair. From the glance at the mirror, her face was nicely shaped, almost Asian in her looks. "Who's Sheena Lyndon?" Salina asked, trying to get a good look at the woman. CJ stared down sheepishly as he replied: "She's a pop star." Brian found it funny that a guy who listened to Blink-182 and AC/DC could find room in his cd collection for a pop star. "But she's not like Britney and Christina", CJ said quickly. "Her stuff's geared more towards rock and pop. You guys should've heard that live version she did of 'Creep' by Radiohead. It was awesome! I hope she's gonna be on the show with us tonight!" "I'll bet," Andrew said passively dragging CJ away from the door by his collar. "But remember why we're here?" "Yeah, you're right," CJ said hiking up his proton pack and continued the search for Sweeny, but not before getting one last look at Sheena Lyndon. Salina rolled her eyes, and turned around looking at Rob. The bald-headed Doom Patrolman put up his hands in defense. "Hey, don't look at me. I'm more of a Janet Jackson type of brotha'." With a clipboard in his hand, the stage manager, Matt Sweeny, stood opposite the drum set used by Max Weinberg and the Max Weinberg 7. It was obvious he was in the process of making sure things were going to go smoothly tonight. In the stands, there weren't very many people, thought it was becoming obvious that it was beginning to fill up. "Excuse me," Salina said. "But are you Matt Sweeny?" Sweeny looked up at her. "Yeah that's me. You guys must be the Ghostbusters Conan was so bent on getting tonight. I read how you guys solved that problem out in Nevada. Pretty cool I must say." "Thanks," Rob replied. "When do we go on?" "You go on after Sheena Lyndon finishes her set..." "Oh, here we go," Andrew lowered his head and thought to himself when CJ was given that news. "You mean Sheena Lyndon is actually going to appear on this show? Here? Tonight?" CJ asked surprised, his eyes widening. "Yeah, didn't you read the marquee on the front? In any case, she'll be doing two songs from her new album and get interviewed by Conan. You guys are on next. By the way, you didn't bring a ghost here tonight?" Brian held up a Sphere Trap that he'd used earlier in the week to catch a small gremlin in the palm of his hand. "It's only a Class I Specter. Nothing serious or dangerous about it." "I hope so", Sweeny said. "When Conan asked for you guys to give a live demonstration of your equipment, I had hoped that he was only kidding. Ah well, please try not to damage anything; if you break it, you bought it." "Hey, we're Ghostbusters." Salina reassured Sweeney in a way to make him believe that they were trained professionals. "Yeah, exactly" Sweeny replies with a bit of sarcasm. "PLACES PEOPLE! WE GOT A SHOW TO DO! Ghostbusters, you sit there until Lyndon finishes up." He pointed to a spot behind the stage where a table and chairs had already been set up for them. Above them was a screen, where they would be watching the show. "Isn't this a jip," Andrew said. "No snacks or anything to drink and we got thirty minutes to bum around until we go on." "Could be worse," Rob said. "We could have ended up on Carson Daily." "From NBC Studios in New York, it's Late Night with Conan O' Bri-en!!" The applause from the audience resounded all around the studio, as Max Weinberg and his band played the usual hot jazz number that always opened the show. "...Tonight, fresh off of her tour of Europe, Sheena Lyndon! And, direct from the town of Philadelphia, the hottest thing in paranormal research and defense, the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol!! "Who told him to say 'hottest thing in paranormal research and defense'?" Brian asked. "That makes us sound like we're Hellboy and the B.P.R.D." Conan walked onto the stage, almost guided by Weinberg's downbeat. Wearing a charcoal gray suit with a red tie, he almost went back to the days of Carson and Paar. On his jacket lapel, he was sporting a Ghostbusters NO- GHOST logo. "Hi, welcome to the show everybody. As you know, I'm about as giddy as a schoolgirl meeting Kobe Bryant on prom night, and why wouldn't I? We've got not one, but six excellent guests here tonight. You know our first guest is, of course, the talented and should I mention lovely Miss Sheena Lyndon!" ((Audience erupts again in near deafening applauds)) Feeling cocky, Conan flicks his comb-over red hair, moistens his index and pinky fingers, coolly slicking back his eyebrows. "Oh yes, that's right. She is straight from her immensely sold out tour in Europe where I hear that she had to have American water imported in every step of the way. I mean can you blame her? She's a celebrity; she can do what she wants. Heck, I don't think my assistant Wilbur even likes me. ((Whispers to the audience))...I think he's after me lucky charms." The studio camera takes a shot at Wilbur among the stage crew; he smiles innocently at Conan, giving him the thumbs up sign. "Enjoying your coffee Mr. O'Brian?" "Yeah, thanks Wilbur." Conan waved at Wilbur and smiled just before he took a sip of the coffee that Wilbur made for him...and then thought for a second and realized drinking it wasn't a good idea. "Um, I'll have some of this later, Wilbur. But, thanks anyway, buddy." Wilbur continues smiling and giving Conan the thumbs up sign. At that moment, the audience could hear a pre-recorded voice-over of Wilbur's thoughts over the P.A. system. "Damn you Conan O'Brian. Damn you to hell!" ((The audience expresses laughter)) "Anyway, she's here tonight to grace our stage with two selections from her new album, The Big Noise, and it's not what some of you guys are thinking. And, folks, this is probably the greatest moment of my life, but we have the number one name in paranormal elimination. Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm talking about the Ghostbusters!" ((More applause from the audience)) "While not the Ghostbusters, it's still a kick-ass team. You might've heard of them in the news, they're the guys and girl who saved that town in Nevada from turning into the 10th Level of Hell two months ago. Ah, I'm spoiling the show; let's get it started! Max, hit it!" ((The Max Weinberg 7 played a piece that sounded vaguely similar to a Beach Boys song.)) Appearing at his desk, Conan motioned for the audience to settle down (after someone shouted "I LOVE YOU CONAN!!" from his seat). "Okay, thank you, settle down guys. As you all know we got one helluva show tonight I'm tellin' you. My first guest, you know my first guest as the contender for Queen of the Teenyboppers, who's self-titled debut album knocked even Britney Spears off the top of the charts. This weekend, she'll be appearing at the Hippodrome theater in downtown New York, and two weeks from now will be hosting Saturday Night Live with special guest Megan Mullaly from 'Will and Grace'. Everyone, please welcome Sheena Lyndon!" CJ turned his attention away from the screen to look towards the small, almost dainty figure descend past the Doom Patrol and towards the stage. "Excuse me", Sheena Lyndon said softly as she brushed past him, her hair flapping in the invisible wind. He was brought back to earth only by Salina snapping her fingers together. Sheena Lyndon was dressed very casually for a network show, wearing a Supergirl t-shirt with dark blue jeans and boots. Conan got up from his desk and hugged her once as she took the closest seat next his desk. "Wow, I gotta say it's quite an honor to have you on the show here tonight, Miss Lyndon." "Thank you Conan, I know it's nice to be here and all. I've never missed an episode of your show." "Well thanks," Conan said. "Everything seems to be going all well for you. I mean, from the looks of things, you just released a brand new album and people are already beginning to talk about Grammy's; you are up for that lead female role in Quentin Tarantino's American adaptation of the Japanese comic book Perfect Blue; and you just came off of an amazing tour in Europe, as if I haven't said that enough." "You're right, the tour was amazing. The townspeople we visited in Dover and Paris and even Glasgow were really nice and actually know the lines to my songs better than I do! ((Audience laughter))" "Right, but what about that Tarantino project that's been garnering so much attention? I mean, after Kill Bill volumes 1 and 2 wrapped I thought he was going to focus on that World War 2 script we've heard about." "Well, Quentin read the comic version of the story and loved its mystery content of a popstar who decides to shed her squeaky clean image and become a movie star. Plus, the anime wasn't all that bad either. So Quentin decided to do a live-action version of the film, and has strongly asked me to play the role of Ai Asaka." "Cool, I'm sure I'll be in line for tickets when it comes out." "We're shooting for a 2005 release date, maybe in the summer." "Even better, you'll have Batman, Star Wars, and The Fantastic Four to play around with." "Yeah, but I think people will come to see it anyway, especially those that have actually seen the original anime of the film." "Cool, when we get back, Miss Lyndon will regale us two songs from her new album, and we'll meet the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol. All that's next, so stay tuned!" ((Cactus Chef plays "Ghostbusters" theme by Ray Parker Jr. at this point)) "Okay folks, one of the moments you've been waiting for. Ms. Sheena Lyndon will perform the smash hit single 'Somewhere and Nowhere' from her new album. Hit it!" The teleprompter in front of the stage immediately began to light up and display the words to Sheena's single, helped along by the Max Weinberg 7 who provided the music. Andrew shook his head as he noticed CJ quietly singing along with Sheena, seemingly in a trance by the performance. All was going pleasantly enough, until it was Sweeny, from the control room, who noticed that cameras five, six, and seven had all gone out. "What the hell?" he asked. "Hey, Neil, you asleep or what out there?" "Nah boss, I'm getting all of it." "Then why the hell is it that your cameras not online?" "Wha--?" Conan's attention was turned towards the teleprompter, not the situation with the cameras. He had begun to notice that it was flickering every now and then, not unusual for equipment this old, but weird that it was going off every few seconds. Sheena didn't seem to be bothered by it; she was singing the song from memory anyway. Conan pointed to the prompter, signaling a mechanic to fix it. Suddenly, the teleprompter exploded, flinging the mechanic backwards before he managed to get to it. "Hey look!" Brian pointed as a mist began to creep out of the teleprompter. It wasn't smoke, which was evident when Salina's PKE meter began to go off. Whipping it out, she said plainly: "Looks like we won't need to use that small ghost after all." She immediately whipped out her neutrona wand and charging it. By now, the mist had begun to take shape and form: it looked like the ghost of a young woman, about early to middle twenties with dark brown hair that reached down to her shoulders. She was wearing a red parka with a white skirt. CJ's eyes widened as he realized that the ghost was making her way towards Sheena Lyndon, who was now frozen in fear on the spot. The hatred in the ghost's eyes made the lighting fixtures above her crackle and fizz. "Remember me Sheena? Your best friend, the one you promised never to forget, through thick and thin?" Sheena began to back away from the ghost. Conan walked up to it and said: "Listen Ms. Ghost ma'am, if you're with the Ghostbusters great, but you kind of made my mechanic unconscious and..." But the ghost didn't listen, instead turning its head towards him. With a single stare, she flung Conan through his own desk, and then turned her attention back to Sheena. At this point, the audience has become terrified. No one in the stage area of the studio was able to leave through the exits because the doors had been mysteriously locked. "No one can save you now, Sheena. Don't try to run; it won't do you any good. You're going to pay for what you did." "Hey poozer!" The ghost looked and saw CJ, Rob, Andrew, Brian, and Salina standing in front of her. By now, the studio audience had tried to make a break for the doors, but to no avail they could not break free. Everyone was trapped. "Do you have to start every battle with 'poozer'?" Rob asked CJ. "Helps eases my fears", he replied. "Now, whoever you are, you've just disrupted a very excellent show, caused massive panic, and you've knocked poor Conan on his ass!" Conan managed to weakly move after being thrown threw his desk. He peeks over his chair and shouted, "Yeah!" "You, my dearly deceased woman are an uninvited guest. So we're giving you two options," Andrew said, "Option A: Buzz off and leave everyone alone." Brian, Salina, and Rob charged up their neutrona wands while, he held up the ghost trap in his hand. "Or, you can take Option B, which is, if you don't take Option A, things will get pretty rowdy around here and ugly for you." "I'll take Option C, which is you can't save Sheena from me. So, piss off!" The ghost of the young woman advanced upon the Doom Patrol with immense speed. "Rob, I think I like her already. Think I have a shot?" Andrew asked. "I'd say you have a ghost of a chance." "Miss Lyndon, run over toward the safety of the crowd!" CJ yelled. "You'll be safer there!" She nodded as she made way for one of the sealed exits of the studio. "Okay boys...and Salina," Brian said. "FIRE!" Five proton streams sailed towards the female ghost, but she dodged them with ease. "Is it me," CJ said, his stream knocking loose the catwalk as it fell towards the stage, "or is she laughing at us?" "It's just you," Rob said, trying to knock the ghost off course. He managed to wing her shoulder, which caused her to fly through the wall and into the control room. Kicking down the door, Rob yelled: "Everybody clear out! NOW!" Before exiting with the control room crew, Sweeny said, "I hope you're other ghost was a lot tamer than this one." Rob replied, "She's not one of ours." "Sal, you got a reading?" Andrew asked. "It's faint, but think it's coming from inside that closet," she replied, pointing to the broom closet. The five Ghostbusters crept towards it quietly as Brian gripped the handle. "Okay guys, when I open this door, on the count of three, fire at will. 1...2...3!!" The words were barely out of his mouth when the door exploded in an array of white foam that engulfed them all. On instinct, Andrew managed to dodge most of the foam, making his way towards the closet, only to find an empty fire extinguisher and slime residue sliding down the wall. Coughing, Rob asked, "Is everyone all right?" "My pride's kind of hurt," Brian said looking at the extinguisher. Behind him, he could hear the patter of many feet rushing up the stairs and towards the control room. Blocking the doorway was a wide array of reporters and photographers. "Go get 'em, will you Andrew", Rob said pointing towards the lot. "...And that was the scene yesterday at NBC Studios in New York as an unidentified specter attacked the set of the popular talk show, Late Night with Conan O'Brien, putting both Conan and mechanic Douglas Shiba in the hospital with minor injuries. Not satisfied with Conan O'Brien, the specter turned its attention towards visiting pop sensation Sheena Lyndon, as this footage shows, courtesy of NBC Studios."
"Interesting how they're saving us for last," CJ said. It had been twenty-four hours since the attack, and the Doom Patrol was back in Philadelphia. Watching the television with him were Erin, Andrew, and Brian, as Rob and Salina were downstairs doing some maintenance work on the still unfinished ECU. "I don't know," Erin said. "I've watched this show before. They usually twist things around so much that it leaves the subject matter backwards, especially if it's coming from the mouth of Jane Robards." "Aw come on, you see how the press loves us." "Perhaps unfortunate for the audience, the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol were on duty that night and happened to be on the scene at the time of the attack. As you are seeing, they immediately went to work without checking first that the audience was out of danger."
"Is she shitting me?" Andrew cried rising to the floor. "The audience was locked in with the rest of us when we started. Hell, they couldn't clear out when that prompter blew up!" "Disregard for their surroundings is also evident in this next clip, showing the destruction of a catwalk that very nearly destroys Conan O'Brien's stage." CJ grinned sheepishly as he slunk back in his chair.
"For promoting themselves as professionals, the Doom Patrol certainly did not act very professional, as you see. Our photographer, before being attacked by Mr. Andrew Williams of the Doom Patrol, managed to capture these images of a defeated team of so called heroes and shows the lack of respect for journalists that the Doom Patrol has. And, as if this weren't enough, the team also let the ghost escape, the ghost having sprayed the team with a fire extinguisher and possibly exiting through a wall. The total cost of damages done to the stage has not yet been finalized, but is roughly estimated at being $18,000.00 by our studio experts.
And that is all in the news for today. As always, I'm Jane Robards. Good night!" "Turn it off...just turn it off," Brian said solemnly. "Are we just going to let this stand?" Andrew asked. "She made idiots out of us on national TV and all you're going to say is 'turn it off'?" "What more can we do?" CJ asked. "The ghost got away and they have the right to make a story out of it." Andrew grumbled and began walking away from the recreation room, making his way down the hall. "Where're you going?" CJ asked. "Our training room, is it finished?" Andrew asked without turning around. "Dunno, might be." "Then that's where I'll be." After Andrew had left, Brian shook his head. "He does have a point," he said. "I mean it wasn't our fault that that ghost got away." "I got to applaud it though," CJ interjected. "Not many forms of sprits can think they way it did." "It all seems weird," Erin added, "That the ghost reminded me of somebody." Brian raised his eyebrow. "Oh really?" he said. "Who?" "I can answer that." All three turned around to face a stocky gentleman with dark hair that was combed lopsidedly to one side. He was wearing a coat that made him look like one of those film-noir detectives. "The door was left open I see," CJ said. "My apologies for the intrusion. There's no need to be alarmed; I'm with the law." The gentleman added, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. Opening it, a gold badge gleamed in the light. It read: MADISON, PHILADELPHIA POLICE DEPARTMENT 4983. "My name is Madison, a detective for the 7th District Precinct of the Philadelphia Police Department." "Pleased to meet you, sir. But next time, please reach us during the day," Brian said cordially. "I tried, but you're phone is off." "Upon hearing that, CJ cupped his head in his hand and gave up. Brian continued. "You said something about you know the identity of the ghost?" Madison nodded and removed a packet from the inside of his pocket, handing it to Brian. Opening it, an entire dossier of pictures and articles fell out. "Hey!" CJ said pointing to one of the pictures. "That's Sheena Lyndon right there, but she's...younger..." "That was taken about five years ago at the Pittsburgh County Fair", Detective Madison replied. "She was engaged in a concert at that date, probably the first time she played to a large audience." "Who's the other girl next to her sharing the microphone?" Erin asked. Detective Madison interrupted, "That...is your ghost." Chapter 2: An Explanation of Sorts
Act 2With his left arm leaning halfway outside of the driver's side window, Statler rhythmically tapped the door of the Ecto-Millennium. Originally a junker that caught his eye found at Freeman's Auto Parts & Salvage on S. 63rd Street, the 6-wheeled vehicle had been a laborious project that had taken him the better part of several weeks of focused toiling and sleepless nights to complete. The sirens of the stretch limo-hearse were silent and its headlights slightly dimmed. Painted a pristine black, the car's metallic blue lining gleamed in the mid-evening twilight. On the hood was the navy-blue NO-GHOST emblem of Doom Patrol. "Tell me again now, why are we heading toward Gloucester Township, New Jersey?" Rob asked as his eyes diverted to a sign above the overpass that read NOW ENTERING GLOUCESTER COUNTY. Salina sat in the passenger seat, thumbing through the preliminary reports that Detective Madison had given the team the day before. "To try to make some sense of what the hell happened the other night at the television studio," she said simply, nodding to the left, indicating for Rob to take the next exit. "The reports said that Beatrix DeWitt used to live in this area all her life. We need to start from scratch." Salina opened a folder containing the reports she just mentioned, flipped through, and came across a black and white photograph attached by a paperclip of an elderly woman sitting on a gazebo with a young girl. Rob shifted his head to take a brief look at the image. "Who's the old lady?" "Beatrix's only remaining next of kin--her grandmother--Veronica DeWitt. We're short on leads and this is as good a place to start as any. Hopefully, she can shed some light between the connection of the ghost that attacked Sheena on Late Night and, according to the Detective, why it involves Beatrix." "Can't imagine why she would disappear at the height of her career. That don't make no sense." Rob added. Salina shrugged as the car lazily turned into town. "Guess that's why the police had so much trouble with this case in the beginning: no body, no witnesses, and no motive." Good point," Rob replied as he turned the vehicle down a street. He then reached down to turn up the volume on the radio on the control panel and changed the bandwidth tuner to Q-102, his favorite music station. The radio jockey's voice could be heard from the front and rear speakers of the Ecto- M. "Gooooooood evening everyone. You're listening to Q-102; Philadelphia #1 hit music station. As always, I'm DJ Quick and this is my partner and playette in crime Ms. Lisa Jones."
Jones: "Hey y'all!" Quick: "Aight', just a reminder for all of you tuning in now that later on, we'll have a special guest coming to ya' live from the studio. No introduction is needed for this man; he is Philly's hometown hero and the supreme thrilling machine of basketball...Allen Iverson! He is fresh hot on the scene these days. You don't wanna miss this interview folks, so stick around. Right now, Lisa has something to say, so brothas', pay attention lest you miss out on the sultry words of Ms. Jones." Jones: "Hello, boys, it's Friday and you know what that means. The weekend is here and I'm ready to play. Who wants to come and play with me? (DJ Quick raises his hand eagerly) Hahaha! Ease yourself, Quick. Tonight at 10pm, The Suede Lounge is hosting its annual dance contest to raise money for renovations to the new gym and recreation center at Center City's YMCA on 5120 Chestnut Street. Quick and I will be there to MC the event and those of you who prove your worth tonight will have the opportunity to meet and share a grind with me on the dance floor. So come on you eligible men...and women. Join us there and support a good cause. Groove now or forever hold your peace." Quick: "That's right. You heard it from the lips of Ms. Jones first hand. Be there with us, drink up, dance, and loose yourself. Cover charge at the door is 15 for men, 12 dollars for women. Half of all proceeds will go to the YMCA. For directions to The Suede Lounge, log on to their website at suedeloungephilly.com. Now that's out the way, Q-102 is gonna take you back...old school style. Since its hot out there in the city, we're gonna grace you with a familiar hit by DJ Jazzy Jeff and "The Fresh Prince" Will Smith." Summer, summer, summertime. Time to sit back and unwind. [Will Smith] Here it is the groove slightly transformed. Just a bit of a break from the norm. Just a little something to break the monotony. Of all that hardcore dance that has gotten to be A little bit out of control its cool to dance… Rob smiled as he continued drumming the side of the car along with the music over the radio. "I grew up on his music." Looking up from reading over the files, Salina put on her blue-tinted shades. "I'm actually more into 80's pop and Duran-Duran." "That's cool, girl. You know I..." Then it dawned on him. "Wait a second...Duran-Duran, Salina Duran?" Salina looked at him and then smiled innocently to herself. Not too far down the block from where they were driving, the two Ghostbusters noticed children playing water sports outside of their homes on their front lawns. The sun hadn't quite gone down for the evening, but it was still warm enough for children to run around playing with water balloons and swimming in their pools. The crisp, sweet smell of grilled honey barbecued chicken filled the air of the suburban township. Salina had spent many years away from home on expeditions in the Great White North and much of Eastern Europe. As she looked on seeing the children play and families gather in fellowship, she thought about how much she missed being away from her family and former life in Canada. "Hey, big man," Rob said hanging out of the driver's window. One of the children, a portly Asian boy, walked up to the car. "Can you help us out real quick, we're looking for someone." "Who's that?" the boy asked. "Do you know a Mrs. Veronica DeWitt or if she live around here?" "Miz DeWitt?" the boy replied in a distinct New Jersey accent. "Yeah, she's just up the road here, and when you get to Tommy's house, just make a left turn and you'll see her house." "Okay, what color house does Tommy live in?" Rob asked smirking. "What's it to ya'"? "Come again?" Rob got a kick out of this. He looks over to Salina. "Ain't that a..." Salina inched over and looked past his shoulder. "Ok, kid, I respect that. You drive a hard bargain," Rob said digging inside his pocket. He pulled out a half dollar and tossed it to the boy. "That's all?" The boy wined Statler persisted, "Tell me what I want to know and I'll give you the rest." "Okay. Tommy's house is tan with a black roof." "Good boy." The muscular Doom Patrolman tossed him another half-dollar. "You've just learned a valuable lesson, son. Don't ever hustle a hustler." And with that, the Ecto-M drove away. "What did you mean by the last thing you said to that boy?" Salina asked. "Salina, kids today are either greedy or lazy. Next time, little shortie will think twice before he decides to give someone the run-around. Wait till he discovers the inscription on the other half dollar reads PROPERTY OF ATLANTIC CITY. "What am I going to do with you, baldy?" A wide grin on her face, Salina said as they drove in the direction the boy had given them. "And you know what? I never noticed it before, but you have an accent." "I should, I used to live about ten minutes from where we are now long before I joined the UAS&E (Uniformed Army Scientist & Engineer Program) and was shipped all the way out to..." "Dalton," Salina finished for him, grinning from ear to ear. "We both know how the story comes out anyway." Mrs. Veronica DeWitt's home was different from the others in her neighborhood. Unlike some of the more modern ones, hers was a relic from the 1950's; a simple two-story home with a veranda porch that women used to sit on during the hotter evenings in the year. The paint was an old gray that made the house more low key than it actually was, maybe intentionally as Salina thought, considering the near brush with fame that her late granddaughter was exposed to. "You wanna knock first?" Rob asked as he and Salina stood at the steps of the porch staring at the door. "Sure," Salina said, walking towards the door. "I don't think she'll give us any information if we don't play this right." Her knuckles had barely rapped against the door when the sound of a lock unlatching was heard. The door cracked open, just enough for an elderly woman with white hair to poke her head out. Salina and the woman stared face-to-face for several moments before Salina spoke. "Mrs. DeWitt?" The woman continued to stare at her. Again Salina asked, "Mrs. Veronica DeWitt?" "Yes?" the woman responded finally. "Hello, my name is Salina Duran, and over there is my associate Robert Statler. We're with the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol division in Philadelphia." Salina showed Mrs. DeWitt a card, which the woman took and studied. "I remember seeing you on the Conan O'Brien show a couple of days ago", Mrs. DeWitt said handing Salina's card back to her. "What do you want?" "We want to ask you one or two questions about your granddaughter, Bea, Mrs. DeWitt." Rob had now walked up to the top of the veranda and was standing next to Salina. "You're Ghostbusters; not the police," the old woman retorted. "I assure you, Mrs. DeWitt, that we have full authority to conduct this investigation given to us in a joint agreement by the Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York State Attorney Generals." Salina asserted. "What do you want to know?" the woman asked, beginning to close the door, but Rob's hand stopped her. "If you were watching Late Night," Rob said, "then you would know that a spirit attacked and tried to kill Sheena Lyndon." "I did, but what does a ghost have to do with my Bea?" Salina pulled out a picture from a pocket in her cargo pants; it was a screenshot from the show that someone had cropped. She showed it to Mrs. DeWitt. Annoyed, the woman shrugged it off, and grimaced. "I say again, what does a poorly done picture have to do with me and my granddaughter?" Salina sighed and pulled out another picture, the one taken at the Philadelphia County Fairgrounds three years ago that Detective Madison had given Doom Patrol the previous day and held the two together. "See a resemblance yet, Mrs. DeWitt?" Salina asked half exasperated, yet with a note of triumph in her voice. Mrs. DeWitt's face fell somewhat as she gripped the two pictures in her hands, looking at both at the same time. Rob noticed tears beginning to form in her wrinkled eyes. "May we come in, mam?" he asked. The woman nodded as she opened the door wider, letting Rob and Salina inside. Salina had her PKE meter ready in her hand. Not too long after, CJ, Andrew, and Brian stood at the front door of the penthouse loft that Sheena was occupying for her visit in New York. They arrived at the hotel in full gear via rental transportation that she paid for as a gesture of thanks. They were unable to bring the Ecto-M since their partners were using it to pursue their own leads into the investigation in South Jersey. Sheena felt it was the least she could do for saving her life at Rockefeller Plaza. "Is it me," Brian said, "or do I detect the smell of Old Spice in the air?" "Very funny, Gandalf," CJ said dryly. Brian snickered, as he knocked three times on the door. It swung open fast. "The hell?" And opened enough to catch Andrew off guard, whose first instinct was to grip his neutrona wand. Standing in the doorway was a short, stocky, middle-aged man, balding at the top of his head with a confliction of black hair at his sides tied into a ponytail behind him. His face contorted into a look of arrogance and distain. "So you're the guys whose supposed to be protecting my Sheena?" he asked. His fat jowls shook as he talked. "Yes sir," Brian answered. "We're the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol. Since the attack occurred in New York City and we were present at the time, it was at the suggestion of the NYPD that we watch over her while she's here." "Yeah, yeah, whateva. They called me." Extending his hand, the man said, "Name's Paul McNeely, I'm Sheena's manager and, when she needs it, a father figure." "I'll bet, daddy-o," Andrew said while walking in. Sheena Lyndon's accommodations were nicely furnished, the interior almost peach colored. The airy two-bedroom loft maintained a terrace with an incredible view of the Manhattan skyline. In one corner, near a large picture window that separated the interior and the deck, was a pristine Victorian style piano. The carpet was, surprising to the three Ghostbusters, not shag. On the dining room table laid a pile of fan letters: some opened, some not, and some presents that the pop singer's fans had sent her. "Thank you guys for coming, I know it must be a big change in your schedule. Did you have trouble reaching my room?" The trio turned around to see Sheena Lyndon standing near the entertainment center. She was now wearing a Boston Red Sox jersey with blue jeans. "It was no problem at all," CJ said gingerly stepping before her, taking a half bow. "Our services are open to anyone who requires them, great or small." Sheena giggled at the comment. Watching this unfold, Andrew and Brian stood bollixed. Brian's arms folded and his head titled slightly to the side with a blank expression on his face, while Andrew stood erect, stroking the five o'clock shadow. "...and people think I'M a pushover," Brian, with his voice lowered, whispered to Andrew. CJ continued, "But, security wasn't too much of a problem. The front desk let us in, but two floors below your penthouse these five rather large gentlemen--one of them Russian--refused to let us pass without I.D." "And that would be Koslov. He's been my bodyguard for a year. Sorry about that." "Again, its okay. I'm sure he's an alright Joe when you get to know him." Sheena acknowledged CJ, "Well, thank you very much, Dr. London." "Please, call me CJ," He said. CJ was about to add, "Everybody else does" when Andrew interrupted. "As you know Miss Lyndon, we're not just here to protect you from a ghost," he said. "That spirit seemed to know who you were and, if I remember right, wanted you dead. Could you enlighten us as to why it didn't like you very much?" Sheena bit her lip and looked down. "It'll all be coming out in the newspapers soon anyway." She looked at the terrace window and began walking towards it. "Her name, as I'm sure you've found out by now, was Beatrix DeWitt or 'Bea' as we called her. She and I were in a duo together called Heart2Heart." "Yeah, that's the elementary stuff," Andrew said. "But why did she want to kill you? That's what we want to know." "And how did she get to be a ghost in first place?" Brian continued. "I mean, going through the official police reports, she's listed as being a 'missing person'. There was no body found nor any physical evidence to prove that she was murdered." Sheena shrugged. "Listen, Bea was a good person and the best band mate that I've had the pleasure of being associated with, more so than the backup singers I get saddled with in the studio. She was an excellent lyricist and knew the right pitches to hit when we harmonized. She was more than just a co-worker; she was my best friend." Sheena sat down on her sofa and hunched herself over. "Paul?" she asked. McNeely reached into the pocket of his blazer and took out a lighter. Sheena then rimmed around inside her purse for a pack of Newports®. Grieving, she held in her tears, sniffled, and brushed back her platinum blond hair. "But...two years ago, we had a heated falling out shortly before our first appearance on the Pat Reilly Show." CJ stared uncomfortably as McNeely lit her cigarette--she noticed. "Yeah, I know...mother is the name for God on the lips of all children. Nicotine is bad for me." "Oh, that doesn't matter Ms. Lyndon. It's not bothering us. Now, The Patrick Reilly Show?" CJ asked. "It was a small talent show that for some reason or other got the attention of a lot of big-time record producers. They were scouting the show looking for the next big thing. Bea and I were asked to appear on a Christmas episode, and right before we went on, Bea refused to show up. The security guard had said that she went to the ladies room, locked the stall, and wept profusely, absolutely refraining to come out." "Yeah, that's basically how it happened. We were running short on time," McNeely continued for her. "So, naturally, using my keen business sense, I suggested that Sheena should go and sing both parts until I personally handled the problem with Bea. By the time she finally agreed to come out, the show was over and it was too late. The next day, Sheena flew out to L.A. to talk with Columbia Records execs. Bea stayed behind. She was upset about it, and I felt for her...I really did, but it's not my responsibility. She was old enough to own up to her own affairs." McNeely continued, "And that was the beginning of Bea's mental decline." Andrew's eyebrows furrowed, starring a whole into McNeely. "Bea was diagnosed as a schizophrenic," Mrs. DeWitt said handing a photograph of Beatrix as a child to Salina. "And inherited the disease from her father." "Whatever happened to her parents?" Rob asked. "One Christmas Eve, they were on their way home from a party in her father's car. It swerved when he tried to avoid hitting a stray dog in the middle of the road, but wound up wrapping it around an oak tree when he lost control of the steering wheel. The police told me that the engine had leaked gasoline moments after the impact. Sparks flew from the battery and caused an explosion. Neither of Bea's parents survived." "I'm sorry," Rob said somberly handing the picture back to her. "I raised Bea from that time forward, watching her skills over the years. She was very talented and very beautiful." Mrs. DeWitt took a moment to compose herself. "Excuse me, dear, I truly apologize. Remembering the past as it were is too much for an old woman's heart." "We can stop anytime you like, Mrs. DeWitt. There's no pressure if you'd rather not continue." Saline said. "No, I'm quite all right. We can continue with your investigation. During Bea's childhood, she regularly needed to see a professional psychologist, a move of which I was against as much as I was when she decided to become a singer. But after a while, she never showed her problem. There were no more noticeable bouts of paranoia or schizophrenia, at least until she and Sheena Lyndon began touring. After she came back from the Pat Reilly show, she wasn't the same as she'd been before." "How so?" Rob asked. "She'd disappear for periods of time, mostly three or four days before popping up passed out in some kind of opium den. The police would always bring her home, and they even suggested I place her under clinical care. For her own personal safety, they told me." Mrs. DeWitt frowned forlornly. "I should have listened. Last year, Bea went for a drive out to Paterson to see Sheena in concert. The following day, the police found the car parked in a ditch about forty-five minutes from there. She hasn't come home since." Salina shot Rob a look of sadness after hearing the story, and Rob could sense she was on the verge of tears herself. "Um, if you don't mind me asking," Rob said, "but did you say earlier that you disagreed with your daughter's career choices?" "Of course I did," Mrs. DeWitt replied. "I've seen what fame can do to a person, and to be honest, I didn't want Bea to be corrupted by all that. The kaleidoscope of drugs, alcohol, and sex on the road would have aggravated her condition further, which it ended up doing." Rob inquired with his final question. "Mam, can you tell us of the exact nature of your Granddaughter's friendship with Sheena? Mrs. DeWitt looked calmly at Statler and took in a deep breath. She closed her eyes. "They were friends. Very...close...friends." "Most schizophrenic's conditions become aggravated by stress or the consumption of certain medicines." CJ said, "In fact, all mental conditions become aggravated by drugs." "Yes," Sheena replied. "But it was just something that Bea got into on the road. Maybe it was the people we associated with or the stress of it all that drove her into that, I don't know. None of us knew that she was a substance abuser until it was too late. When I found out, I tried my best to talk her out of it. She was so headstrong and stubborn, and at times I admired...and loved her for that. If anything, aside from her mental illness, those traits that made her strong were the ones that I'm afraid killed her." And that's what led to her breakdown on Pat Reilly," Brian said. He was now looking in McNeely's direction. "And what did you do about the whole thing?" "Hey kid, don't give me that look," McNeely said defensively. "I tried to get her help, paid for the best doctors and sent her to some of the best sanitariums money could buy, but she kept running away from them and others. We'd only be able to get a toe inside before she'd put up a fight. So it was in everybody's best interests that Bea quit the band. I sent her back to her grandma's place in Gloucester, and even there she caused problems. Heck, you must've read about some of the stuff she did over there in the Tattler or Enquirer. It was all bad publicity for Sheena. And damn it, I honestly think it was a good idea that she chose to make herself disappear when she did. Anymore insanity and it would've soiled the press we had going for Sheena's tour of Scandinavia and South America." "You son of a bitch…" Andrew fired off angrily. "She was a human being and all you cared about was receiving good publicity for her friend? You have some nerve! You should have posted guards or round-the-clock care to make sure she remained in those hospitals!" "Hello, Earth-to-glorified janitor, FUCK YOU!" McNeely huffed in Andrew's face. "Have you ever managed someone's career before? No, I don't think so! Yeah, I coulda' done those things, but sometimes you have to cut your loses and make the best of an otherwise bad situation! Honest to God I did the best I could for her! We cared for her like family. So, don't you tell me that I didn't have Beatrix's best interest at heart!" Sheena, already in tears, came between them. "Both of you just stop! Enough!" "Simmer down Andy," CJ said pulling Andrew aside. "Listen, I don't like how it all ended up for Bea as much you do, but we can't undo what's been done by flying off the handle." "Yeah, but he could have at least shown some emotion, if any at all. He owed her that much." Andrew growled. "May we ask you one more question?" Brian asked Sheena. She nodded. "Can you tell us if there is any reason why Bea specifically came after you on Late Night With Conan O'Brien?" "The breakup of our friendship wasn't the only thing that was broken up. We were close, ok? [sigh] Close." Mrs. DeWitt continued her story to Salina and Rob. "They were inseparable, but deeply competitive young women." "You mean Sheena and Bea were rivals," Salina said. "In the bitterest sense of the word. The times that Sheena was over here, the two of them disagreed a lot over songs and such. Like who should get the most credit for penning the lyrics." Mrs. DeWitt said getting up and going to a nearby drawer, "I have something to show you." She opened it slowly, and pulled out the first item that came to her hands. It was a faded pink notebook, frayed at the sides from the ravages of time. She handed the book to Salina, who opened it and came upon a page entitled, "Tomorrow's Memories". There were lyrics underneath the title. As Salina read it, things began to click. "This was on Sheena Lyndon's first album, wasn't it?" she said. "I don't know, I have never bought any of Sheena's records. Never had the need to." Salina continued flipping through the rest of the notebook, discovering that it was filled with lyrics, sometimes five to a page. "Whenever she returned home from school and finished her homework, Bea would always write down songs, never knowing whether or not she'd be able to use them in the long run. I guess now none of this matters. But," she continued, "Their rivalry, as you say Ms. Duran, boiled down to their conflict over whom deserved credit for their songs." "Would you mind if I kept this?" Salina asked quietly. Mrs. DeWitt looked quizzically at her for a moment, and then nodded her head. "Thank you." "Were you getting a weird vibe in there too?" Rob asked outside as the two were presently leaving Veronica DeWitt's home. They had spent a while talking with her, but enough time had passed for the half-moon to replace the sun, ushering the day into becoming night. They walked towards the Ecto-M, the notebook gripped tightly in Salina's hands. "I have reason to believe that Bea was there or had been there," she replied. "Maybe her grandmother didn't know it, but the PKE picked up faint ectoplasmic readings." "So, what do you think about all this? Statler asked. "Grandmother kills granddaughter to save her from the death of stardom?" "Dunno. It's too bizarre. Is an honorable death one by the blood of one's own kin or a lowly death of the pressures of fame? I'd rather not think about that possibility." "Nor do I. Even if that were the case, a crime like that wouldn't hold up well in court. Not enough evidence to make that conviction " "Let's hope Brian and the others managed to come up with something better before we contact Detective Madison." After reading through most of the notebook, Salina pointed out another interesting facet. She handed it to Statler. "Rob, take a look at this. Look closely." Not understanding what she meant initially, Statler gazed over the notebook a little more thoroughly. Then he noticed what Salina was trying to point out. "Many of the lyrics of these songs have mixed penmanship. Beatrix and Sheena wrote those songs together didn't they?" Salina squinted her eyes as the overhead streetlight shone over her; it was now night. She put her hand above her eyes to block out the brightness. "Yeah; this explains a lot. It's unique that their lyrical compositions were made this way. By this, that legally makes Beatrix and Sheena equal partners." "Hmm?" Rob replied as he removed the keys for the car from his pocket. "There is more to this case than meets the eye." Salina remarked before entering the passenger side of the vehicle. Chapter 3: Wish You Were Here
CJ, Brian, and Andrew had spent the night in an apartment across the hall from Sheena's, although Andrew had volunteered to hold a night vigil standing at the front door of her suite. Back in the basement of Doom Patrol Headquarters, CJ was working with Rob on the final adjustments to their E.C.U. On one knee, CJ tightened steels bolts onto a metal panel on the opening latches of two ghost trap entrances of the machine: one for the "Old School Traps" and the other for the new Sphere Traps. "Okay," CJ said to Rob, "What we know is this: Beatrix DeWitt had a long history of diagnosed paranoia and schizophrenia. While on road tours, she got herself screwed-up pretty bad. More likely she succumbed to the pressures and unrelenting schedule of travel and rising fame. What ever it was, it doesn't matter. What does matter is who our suspects are. We have the grandmother, Veronica DeWitt, with a possible motive of foul play. As bizarre as it seems, she could very well have had something to do with Bea's whereabouts. One scenario could be that she faked Bea's disappearance to protect her from harming herself, because at the route her life was on...Bea more than likely would have perished sooner than later. Further more, the accident reports stated that it was Mrs. DeWitt who was the first to place in the call that she was missing, long before the police found her car in a ditch?" "Mrs. DeWitt didn't mention that part to Salina and I," Rob said. "And from our understanding, she and her grandmother were very close." "So was that woman who drowned her 3 children in a lake in North Carolina back in 1996. Sadly, we cannot rule Mrs. DeWitt out of this investigation," CJ replied. "Suspect 2 is Paul McNeely: he practically admitted his own guilt when he said that it was a good thing that Bea went missing shortly before the first leg of Sheena's tour of Europe." "You got a point there," Rob retorted, extending his open hand for CJ to grab it and climb up to the platform in front of the Unit. They had yet to append stairs. "You forgot another important suspect." CJ turned his head upon hearing Erin enter the basement. "Sheena Lyndon had the most to gain from Bea's downfall. That appearance on the Pat Reilly show gave her a great boost in her career." "True," Rob said. "Although that still doesn't mean she'd kill her best friend just to further along her own career...would it?" "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men and women?" CJ joked, taking on Orson Welles "Shadow" voice. Rob smiled, looked at Erin, and shook his head in amusement while pointing his thumb in CJ's direction, "He never gives up." "Oh, I almost forgot why I came down here." She handed CJ an envelope. "It's from Detective Madison." "What's it say?" Rob asked as CJ opened it and began skimming it. CJ looked at him briefly and continued studying the document. "It's a bank record," he said simply handing it to Rob. "Apparently they're all amounts that Sheena paid her production crew between the year 2002 and 2003. The last amount, as you see, ended on October 3, 2003." "I'm pretty certain we're not supposed to be looking at that," Rob said. "You're right," Erin added. "That's exactly what he said when he handed it to me a moment ago. He's risked a lot convincing his department to let us on this case. But, they don't know about that particular document. When I asked him why he's trusting us with this, he said 'some things need to be put to rest'." "Understood," CJ replied. "We'll return it immediately. But as I was saying, the last amount ended on October 3, 2003." "And two days later, Beatrix DeWitt goes missing and almost a year later comes back to haunt her former employer," Erin added. "Whoa," Rob said, "let me get this straight--this means that even after Bea had her breakdown, she was still getting paid." "That's what it says," CJ said as he bowed his head and quizzically cupped his hands, while tapping his index fingers on his nose. "But for how much and who was her benefactor?" "I would say the record company probably had a hand in it," Erin said. "There are too many zeroes for those checks to have come directly from Sheena, so somebody up there would have had to have been paying Beatrix for something." Rob thought for a second. "Songwriting," he said simply. "Songwriting?" Erin and CJ simultaneously asked. "Mmm-hmm. When Salina and I went over at Bea's grandmother's house, she gave us a notebook full of songs that appear on Sheena's albums." "But who could have commissioned her to write material for her?" Erin asked. "They both did, Erin" Rob spoke up. "Every last song in that notebook was co-written by Sheena and Beatrix." "You know what?" Erin asked. "What?" CJ and Rob replied. "Since they co-wrote the songs, they both have equal billing. Bea turns up missing, but her ghost is active, which means she must be dead. If Bea is still being compensated for her earnings working with Sheena post mortem, doesn't that mean that the money is going to somewhere or to someone? Rob put his hands on his hips and looked at Erin. "Well, I'll be damned." "If that's the case, then Bea's death could not have been an accident." CJ remarked. "And we've only got 10 hours before Sheena's performance tonight at the Hippodrome," Rob grabbed an oil rag from a nearby work bench and wiped his hands clean of dirt. He took out a toothpick from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Turning his back to Erin and CJ, he folded his arms somberly "We need to be ready for another attack." Chapter 4: Etude, Sheena?
"...So that is the situation," CJ explained to the others. "Not as concrete as what you might have thought, but are still the only plausible theories that we have at this time." Most of the group was upstairs in the conference room adjacent to the lobby area huddled around an oval table. On top of it were papers and photographs of Beatrix DeWitt, Sheena Lyndon, and the rest of the players in the drama. Just then, the door could be heard creaking open in the background. Everyone turned around to see Salina walk into the room. Nearly a half hour ago, it had begun pouring rain outside; Salina was wrapped up tight, dripping wet. After closing the door behind her, she put away her coat on the rack by the wall. Salina shook away some of the water off of her clothes and ran her fingers through her drenched hair, pushing it back so she could see. "Nice night isn't it?" Salina joked. "Indeed it is", CJ replied. "Well, everyone, I just came from a meeting with Detective Madison," Rob said, after he arrived to join the others 5 minutes before Salina. "He'll have backup ready for us at tonight's concert just in case anything happens. After our more recent television appearance on NBC, he said he's not taking any chances. His exact words were 'if you screw up, its my ass'." "Its reassuring to know that he has complete and utter faith in our abilities." Andrew said sarcastically with his foot propped up on a chair near Erin while cracking his knuckles at the same time. CJ continued with his speech, "Before you walked in, Salina, we were discussing the facts of this case. To make a long story short, we know what we got, but we don't know where it's going. Everyone is a suspect, but they all have concrete alibis. Stroking his chin, Andrew said, "Well, I don't like McNeely. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. Give me 5 minutes in a room alone with him and he'll be begging to come clean." "Yeah," Brian agreed. "Seems like he's the kind of guy who'd sell out his own mother for a few grand." "But wait a minute," Brian interjected. "We can't honestly say that it's all McNeely's fault that Bea went down. Remember, Sheena said that she was trying to get Bea to kick her drug addiction." "Right," Erin said, "but then you gotta ask yourselves how Bea got hooked in the beginning. Common sense says that she must have been coerced into consuming that stuff. It's the way of the street, supply and demand. Drug pushers offer an easy way out at a cheap price. At the point in her life where she was, she became easily susceptible and depressed enough to try it. Because think about it, no one in their right mind would willingly waste their life away, especially if they were on the verge of superstardom. Now, we know that Bea had been receiving a lot of money for her time spent on her rise to fame with Sheena, and that following her apparent death, the checks never stopped coming. The question to ask is, who would have the most to gain from Beatrix's death?" "What are you getting at, Erin?" CJ said as a trepid expression grew on his face. "CJ, I'm sorry to say it, but maybe Sheena is responsible for her death and possibly for introducing her to drugs. You spoke with her before, and you said she seemed more nerve-wracked over this more than anyone else. Her alibi isn't as tight as the other suspects," Erin said. CJ stood firmly and frowned in denial, "I have a hard time believing that. She doesn't seem like the type and couldn't possibly..." Interrupting CJ, Rob sighed and looked at both he and Erin, "And Mrs. DeWitt's claims were true that they have been competitive rivals over the years. As much as I hate to say it, Sheena may be directly involved because she has everything to gain." "So we can assume that Sheena, consumed with selfishness, got her on drugs, which aggravated her mental condition to the point where she had a complete mental breakdown," Erin explained. "That got her out of the way professionally, but the supposed victim was still alive and something had to be done about that. She takes advantage of Bea's disappearances and finds her somewhere and takes her for a drive, most likely in her own car, leaving Bea's car in that ditch most likely. Whatever happens after that is probable guesswork." "But it all leads to the same thing still," Brian said, having been quiet and listening most of the time. "Bea was killed, her body never found, and now she's back to reek vengeance on her murderer." "You don't look too well, CJ," Salina said, noticing that he had suddenly gone pale and had sat down. "I...I just don't believe that she can be capable of such a thing," he said. "She doesn't seem like the type to do that." "Like you said down in the basement," Rob said, "'who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men and women'." CJ didn't say anything. He got up solemnly from his chair and said, "I have to go call Madison and tell him what we've managed to come up with. You guys go ahead and start packing the Ecto-M. We're expected to be there as protection tonight." Salina spoke out, "But, CJ..." "We'll do our job the way it's meant to be done." Chapter 5: Midnight Blue
Act 3"Are you sure we should bring CJ along on this one?" Andrew asked Rob, nodding towards the scientist's direction. CJ was busy prepping the proton packs, checking to make sure the power cells were at maximum charge (which wasn't necessary, as the packs have a half-life of 5,000 years). Rob shrugged it off. "I trust him," he said. "He knows when there's a job to be done and how to do it." "Stat, his emotions aren't where they should be." "You won't have to worry about that." Rob and Andrew were surprised to see that CJ had heard them. He handed them their packs. Looking at Andrew, he said, "I may be addled a little bit, maybe off-kilter, but that won't interfere with my job. I intend to see the guilty party swing and to help deliver that justice." With that last comment, he went over to his locker and pulled out a pair of Ecto-goggles. Andrew shook his head. "And people say I'm the scary one." "You still are," Rob added. He walked over to an oak door that led to the building's stairwell, which was adjacent to the elevator. Flipping a light switch on the wall, Rob looked at the vehicle covered by a blue tarp. Removing it, he was greeted by the sight of the Ecto-M. "How're we for gas?" Brian asked. "We should be pretty good," Rob replied. "Enough for a trip there and back." Opening the driver's side, he pressed a red button in the center of the sun visor above the steering wheel. The garage door rose slowly, as a brisk night wind blew in. "Hell of a night to be causing trouble," Brian said, flipping his hood over his head. "Okay, is everybody ready?" Rob shouted to everyone. "Yeah." The replies of three voices were heard as CJ, Andrew, and Salina walked out towards the Ecto-M. "Great, let's move em out!" The Doom Patrol wasn't more than a few blocks down the road, when Andrew (who was sitting in the passenger seat beside Rob at the wheel) turned on the radio. "Put it on 97.3," Rob said. "They should be doing a radio broadcast of the pre-festivities at Central Park." "I wonder why they changed it at the last minute from the Hippodrome?" Salina asked. "Yesterday's paper said the concert officials underestimated the patron turnout. Not enough space at the Hippodrome to hold the 11,000 people they assumed would show up. I expect there to be a lot more by the time we arrive in New York." "I personally couldn't handle pressure like that. I can't imagine how Sheena deals with it," She said. Brian shrugged, "Them's the breaks. The media puts so much pressure on these stars nowadays that they don't ever get anything close to a life anymore. I once saw Kevin Smith's Q&A session on DVD--"An Evening With Kevin Smith"--and these audience members heckled and begged him to dance like an idiot like his alter ego Silent Bob. He made a point to say he's not some trained monkey for their amusement. It's a damn shame. You want to make a living as an entertainer, but instead become the public's lapdog and lose your identity." "Fame'll do that," Rob replied. A look of disgust crossed Andrew's face as the station came in tune. "Hello New York!" Jane Robards of WPVI Channel 6 Action News Philadelphia said, waving to her cameraman. "In case you didn't know it, I'm standing right in front of the gates of Central Park, where in just a few moments Miss Sheena Lyndon will be performing. Here's hoping that the events two days ago on Late Night With Conan O'Brien haven't altered her performance one bit! And I'm just as glad to be here tonight too! Celebs ranging from Sir Paul McCartney, to Shania Twain, to--rumor has it--Prince himself have all showed up for what will most likely be a landmark performance in the already growing career of Sheena Lyndon. Wait, do I see Sheena herself? Yes, that is Sheena! Miss Lyndon, care to answer some questions really quick?" Wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat to cover her identity, Sheena stopped helplessly as Robards waved a microphone in her face, but put on a smile. "What do you want?" she asked pleasantly. "Well, rumors have been circulating that your manager, Paul McNeely has personally hired the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol to provide protection in case you get attacked again by a spirit. Is that correct?" "Paul's only taking the proper precautions necessary to insure that nothing happens to me," she said, slightly annoyed at the question. In her purse, her hands fiddled around a carton of cigarettes "Really?" Robards said, her eyebrow beginning to rise. "Even though you know how badly they did protecting you on Conan O'Brien?" "Hey, people make mistakes," Sheena said raising her hands. "It happens, it's human nature. Besides, Paul was insistent that they protect me last night and they did a very good job of it." "We've also heard via the Internet that Sheena knows who the ghost that attacked her was?" The color drained from Sheena's face. "Is that true?" "No comment," Sheena said sternly. "In fact, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready for my set." With that, Sheena walked off in a huff, her hand practically crushing the box. Jane Robards suppressed a laugh as she faced the cameras once again. "We'll be back ladies and gentleman with more interviews from SHEENA LYNDON-LIVE IN CENTRAL PARK!" "Screw 'er," Andrew said simply turning off the radio. "I'm really beginning to hate that bitc--?" Salina plucked Andrew on the back of the head before he finished his explicative. Brian shrugged. "She's just doing her duty as a journalist," he said. "I'd agree," Salina replied, "…if I can only figure out what that duty was." "Okay, so does everyone know how we're going to play this?" Rob asked. "Yeah," Brian said. "We go in and make sure that Bea's ghost doesn't cause hell again. That's what we got hired for." "And if her ghost does show up?" Salina asked. "Let's not think about that part yet," Rob said. "All we've got to go on is guesses. It's up to Madison and the Philadelphia and New York P.D. to make that judgment call." "If it should come to that," CJ said, almost from out of nowhere, "We need to do our jobs the way it's meant to be done." "You still keep saying that. What do you mean?" Brian asked, but CJ said nothing else. "An immense crowd has turned up tonight for what may be the biggest American concert of Sheena Lyndon's career," Jane Robards said rehearsing her lines for the after the break. "Watch out Britney, move over Christina, there just may be a new pop diva on the horizon! We'll be back after these messages. Okay, did you get all that Mike?" "Every word Jane," her cameraman replied. "You know, it's great that you got us all tickets to see this." "Yeah, yeah," Robards said drinking from her water bottle. "If the studio wasn't willing to shell out the big bucks for tickets, I would've been filming the thing by myself, which ain't gonna happen any time soon!" "Right," said Mike. No sooner had the words escaped his lips that two uniformed police officers walked up to Robards and her cameraman. "Excuse me, but can I help you?" Robards asked, a tone of indignity in her voice. "Yeah, you can clear your crew and leave the premises," one of the officers asked. Robards' eyes nearly popped out of her head. "By whose authority?" "Mine." Stepping between the two officers, both respectively representing New York City and Philadelphia, was Detective Madison brandishing his badge. "We got a report that the possibility of another ghost attack is imminent and the last thing we need on our consciences is a dead reporter and her crew." "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU CAN'T ORDER ME AROUND LIKE A DOG!" Robards screamed. "I have the freedom of the press on my side! It's in the Declaration of Independence for god's sake!" "True," Madison said, "But what good will it do you if you end up in bed rest like Conan O'Brien? Ms. Robards, you're not the only one. We've already had to remove several crews representing CBS, NBC, FOX, MTV, MSNBC, and CNN." "And why's that?" "Capacity," Madison replied. "There are too many people here as it is now and we need to make room. But don't worry. I'm sure you've got enough footage to show on the 11:00 p.m. news." "He's got a point Jane," said Robards' cameraman, already beginning to pack away his equipment. "Shut up! Okay, who gave the report? Was it Doom Patrol?" "That's none of your concern," Madison replied and turned his back on Robards, his hands in his pockets. "Gee Jane, you handled that quite well." Mike was about to put a hand on her shoulder when Jane turned around. Her face had gone red with anger. She said quietly, while somewhat growling, "Let's go." Watching Robards walk away in a huff, Madison turned to one of the officers at his side--Scott Dryski. "Are the Ghostbusters here yet?" he asked. "No word yet sir, though odds are they'll be here before the concert starts." "What about Sheena Lyndon?" "She arrived just a few minutes ago." "And her manager?" "Is running late sir." "Last question: Is Captain Jarrett here?" "The Mobile Vehicles: Division 2 just pulled up sir,Seawqw 1`" Officer Dryski said, pointing to a large gray mobile suit walking up a path being cleared by a small vehicle bearing the Philadelphia P.D. coat of arms. Behind the mobile suit was another, from which a woman of medium height with thin dark hair stepped out to face Madison. "Glad you could make it, Jarrett," Madison said shaking her hand. "Is everything all set for the opening act?" "Should be," Jarrett said. "I've got Baltimore posted in our Number 1 Forward mobile suit on the west end, and me and Riley will post guard on the eastern sector of the park." "Good, we can't have anything go wrong here tonight." "It's too bad that you had to get rid of the press. If all goes well, we would've had some great exposure." "Just keep watch , Jarrett, and worry about exposure later." "You don't need to worry about the audience. I have that covered," Madison said to Rob. "I've got officers posted on all sectors of the land. And as we speak, Mobile Vehicles: Unit 2 are out there standing guard should anything suspicious occur." "With all due respect, it won't amount to a hell of beans. But at least enough is being done to protect the audience." Madison looked over the throng of concert-goers. "Before I forget, there are no reporters in the area. Any and all cameras that weren't permitted to record the concert were confiscated and the paparazzi escorted off the green. If there's anything else, we'll remain in contact." "Good," Rob said. "I wish I'd been there when you found Jane Robards," Andrew said. The Doom Patrol and Madison stood below the stage, where in a mere ten minutes, Sheena Lyndon would descend towards it and begin her show. The stage itself was a reminder of the one used at Woodstock '99, except in size, it was slightly smaller in scale and not as flashy. "What about guards at her trailer?" Brian asked. "Already covered. Her personal security is at the ready," Madison replied. "Nothing's happened--yet." There was an almost finality in his tone of voice, as if he expected something big to go down before the night was over. Salina noticed CJ standing near a guard post, staring out at the moon instead of the concert. She startled him as she put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to scare ya." "It's all right," he said, and continued to stare up at the lunar scene. "You know, you've been weird since we left the Highrise," she said. "If there's something bothering you, don't let it eat you from the inside out!" "Sounds like something I'd say," CJ replied dryly. "That's why I said it." "Well, if you want to know, yeah, I am kind of bothered. But by the fact that there are at least a quarter of a million people out there who bought tickets to this thing and they have no idea that their idol is a murderer." "That's not what's bugging you," Salina said. "People buy tickets to rap concerts, knowing that the star could have killed someone at one time or other, but that doesn't stop them from going." "Yeah, but doesn't it bother you in the fact that there's no justice? They get away with these crimes for years without getting caught, and if Sheena did do what we think she did, she'll find some way to squirm out of it." "A-HA!" Salina said. "That's what's the matter with you." "What?" "You can't accept the fact that Sheena did do it, and you don't know if there'll be fairness if it does turn out she is the murderer." "I thought you were into studying monsters, not getting inside my head, Mrs. Freud." Salina laughed. "Alright, have it your way. Concert's about to begin, so we need you to be in the right state of mind if Bea does decide to make another unscheduled guest appearance." "Don't worry about me," CJ said, finally beginning to cheer up. "I'll be all right." At Sheena's trailer, the door swung open as the popstar walked out of it. Wearing high-heeled boots with a pink short-sleeved shirt, she held in her hand a Rickenbacker 12 string guitar. Before making her way to the stage, she stopped to talk with the Doom Patrol. "I...I just wanted to thank you all for what you've done for me," she said. Her face gleamed, indicating that she had just been crying. "You don't need to say that," Salina said. "It's what we do." "Yeah, but..." "Ms. Lyndon, this is your house tonight. Just go up there on stage and show that audience what you've got," Rob said pushing her up the stairs. Chapter 6: Do You Remember Love?
"GOOD EVENING NEW YORK CITYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!" Sheena's voice resounded all over Central Park, pumped out by the loudspeakers that were placed on both sides of the stage. She looked the way a rock star should. "Are you ready to rock?" The audience replied with an all around YES! "I can't hear you, New York. I said, are you ready to rock?" An even louder agreement from the audience was heard. "Great, let's kick this party into high gear! This one's from my first album, some of you might know the words better than I do. Here's 'Do You Remember Love?'" "That one was in Bea's notebook," Salina said, not taking her eyes off Sheena. The Mobile Vehicles: Unit 2 had placed a guardrail around the crowd. "Jesus Christ…" Andrew's mouth gaped. "That…thing…looks like a Gundam," Brian said, staring up at the 8 meter tall mobile suit piloted by Jarrett. She gazed at the concertgoers from her cockpit. Though, just looking down and noticing Brian, she winked and saluted him. Brian simply cleared his throat. "Well I'll be damned," Impressed at the suit, Rob shook his head. "What is that?" Salina asked. "Part of a new shift in police technology," Madison replied. "He's right," Rob said. "I was briefed on the designs while in Dalton, but I never believed they'd see the light of day." Rob's thoughts were interrupted when a black Volvo pulled up behind the stage. Stepping out of the vehicle was Sheena's manager, Paul McNeely, wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. In his hand he held a small brown paper bag. "I almost missed the show," he said running up to Rob and Detective Madison. He was somewhat out of breath. "Did anything happen yet?" "It just started Mr. McNeely," Rob said pleasantly. Hiding his suspicion, he eyed the short man and began to understand why Andrew and the others viewed him as a slimeball. His eyes quickly diverted to McNeely's bag. "Celebrating early?" Rob asked, paying more attention to the stage than to McNeely. "Nah. This is…uh…for later. I like to drink in good company." "Right…" "Great. So…" Placing the bag in his coat pocket, McNeely took a quick look around and began scratching his head. "Wait. There's something wrong here." "What is it now, Paulie?" Andrew asked. But McNeely didn't hear him. "No reporters!" McNeely said pointing towards the audience. "The biggest concert of Sheena's U.S. tour and not one news van?!" "Blame me for that," Madison said stepping up to McNeely. "I ordered most of the journalists out of the area before the concert began. But there are some local ones out there if you look closely enough." "For who's safety? Sheena's?" "For their safety," Madison replied pointing to the crowd. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and lighting it in his mouth. "Take a head count. There are too many people here already to risk allowing a full scale riot should something break out. And besides, were you not the one worrying about bad publicity for your meal ticket?" "What's that supposed to mean?" McNeely said. But Madison just patted him on the shoulder. "Enjoy the concert," he told Rob and the Doom Patrol. Chapter 7: The Flower of Carnage
Sheena performed five songs within a two hour span; there was no sight of spectral activity. Meanwhile, Brian kept looking back at his watch and at Rob. "We've only got 56 minutes left before this whole thing wraps up," he said. "Are you sure that she was going to show up tonight?" CJ rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe there was something more that we missed in all of this?" "All right everyone!" Sheena shouted from the stage, finishing up a cover of the Beatles' 'Helter Skelter'. "This next one is from my new album. You all know it and some of you might remember it as the one I performed a few night's ago on NBC." There was an unearthly silence in the air as the audience listened on. "And some of you might have heard a rumor there might be a connection between me and the ghost that showed up on Late Night With Conan O'Brien. Well…" She looked mournfully at her guitar. "It's true. There is. The person who appeared was a very dear friend of mine when she was alive. Her name was Beatrix DeWitt. She was my friend and mate through thick and thin, but she lost her way. This next song is dedicated to you, Bea--I love you. Everyone, here's 'Somewhere and Nowhere'!" The crowd's raucous cheers reached a near deafening pitched as they rocked the green on Central Park. Sheena opened the first few chords with a solo guitar strum, reminiscent of David Gilmour for "Wish You Were Here" before a heavy drum program followed. I hope you're doin' well Selling art and everything. I like ya stuff. Good for you. I'll buy a piece maybe two. Do you ever think of me? D'ya remember all our stupid dreams? Rainbows and pots o' gold. So much to prove before we got old... "Corny lyrics," Brian laughed, "But I love that drum downbeat." His demeanor changed when he saw Rob's face, ruminating facts that he recalled from over the last few days. "Something up, Rob?" "This was the same song that Sheena played on Conan, right?" Rob said, beginning to unsheathe his neutrona wand. "Yeah," Brian replied. "And didn't Bea make her reappearance in the middle of this song?" Now Brian began to catch on to what Rob was saying. "If my connection is on the mark, we only have a few bars left before it hits that part." "Sal, do you remember if 'Somewhere and Nowhere' was in Bea's notebook?" "Sure was, Rob" Salina replied. "Bea wrote it." "That's what I was afraid of," he said, conscientious, as he charged his particle thrower. "Guys, get ready…it's about to get hot." The lights surrounding the stage and park had suddenly gone out, killing all of the juice hooked into the sound system and guitars. Sheena stood on the darkened stage, bewildered and scared as she tried to find McNeely. "What the blue hell is going on in there?" McNeely screamed at the main engineer. "Are you stooges asleep or something out there?" "Look, pal, all the lights are registering fine on my end," the engineer replied. "Some other signal is jamming the circuits." "Show me," Rob interjected, bending down to see the battery power cells. "Yep, he's right. It's not a glitch." "Then how? Who?" "If you want my guess, all things considered, a certain specter of power and emotion is causing this interference," Brian explained. "What's that in English?" McNeely asked, in much the same tone of voice that he'd given Madison. Before Brian could get the words out, CJ clarified for him. "Means the chickens have come home to roost," Charging his own thrower, he took a quick look at Salina and smiled only because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction in knowing that she had been right. If he did, he knew he'd never hear the end of it. She read his expression loud and clear. "I promise, I won't say it." "Fair play and good form, Salina," He said. "Good form." A fog bank began to sift into the park, engulfing the audience as they shared Sheena's look of confusion and fear. The MV2's mobile suit stood about the ominous fog like trees. "Captain Jarrett," the female pilot who waved at Brian made contact with the pilot of another suit--Baltimore--through her headset's microphone. "Wolf 1 (Baltimore) to Alpha 1. What are our orders? Over. {Static}" "Alpha 1 to Wolf 1. Stay on the lookout for civilian panic and standby for further instructions. The Ghostbusters will handle the rest. Give them cover. Those are your orders {Static}," Jarrett said. "Copy that, Alpha 1. Wolfpack is standing by {Static}". "All yours now, kids," Madison said nodding towards the group. "Detective?…Thanks," CJ said with respect as the five Doom Patrollers walked towards the stage. The fog began creeping its way inward, surrounding the spot where Sheena stood. The misty black cloud wrapped itself around her, but not before cutting off her guitar feed. Her backup band had already fled the stage. A voice whispered from the fog. "You always think you have the audience in the palm of your hand, don't you Sheena?" the voice said, the smoke beginning to materialize into hands as it wrapped itself around Sheena's throat. "It could have been me and you, but someone had to be left out, didn't they?" "Believe me Bea," Sheena struggled to breathe, trying to remove the ethereal hands from her throat. "I'm...sorry." "You're sorry? NOW?" Bea said, as her face began to show through the fog. It wasn't the pretty, youthful face that the Doom Patrol had seen that night on Conan O'Brien's show. No, this was Bea's tortured soul, one that had been corrupted by outside influences. The audience watched keenly as the drama began to unfold, some who thought this was part of the show, and others who tried to get away believing this was all too real. Waiting on standby in Number 2 mobile suit, Baltimore followed her orders and kept her area from disintegrating into chaos, reaching down with her mobile hand and putting audience members back behind the guardrail. At the entrance, the rest of the MV2 were policing the area. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IS GOING IN THERE?!" Jane Robards screamed at the officer. "IT'S NEWS! LET ME BACK IN THERE!" "Sorry ma'am," the officer said meekly. "We've been given strict orders not to let anybody in or out." "Okay," Rob said to Brian. "Do it." Brian nodded as his eyes took on the familiar misty blue of his powers. Suddenly, a transparent ethereal wall formed itself around the stage, cutting off all sight and sound from the audience. They couldn't see through, but everyone within the confines of the enclosure could see everything else around them. McNeely looked about, frightened as he tried to retain his bodily functions. "Sir," Jarrett said to Madison in her Number 2 mobile suit. "Should we be worried about that?" "No," Madison replied via a walk-talkie. "Just maintain crowd control and let the Ghostbusters handle whatever happens on stage." He looked at the wall, and hoped that at least they knew what they were doing. Chapter 8: The Flower of Carnage
"Okay, this officially tips the scales of my weird-shit-o-meter for the night," Andrew said looking around. "Nice work, Brian." "Ms. Beatrix DeWitt," CJ said yelling towards the ghost. She turned towards him, as her eyes flashed, causing an invisible wind to push the Doom Patrol backward. "This is going to be harder than we thought," Brian said, blocking the wind from his friends with a shield. "She's not going to listen to reason." "So we have to make her," CJ said, climbing from behind the shield. "What are you about to do?" Salina asked. "About to prove that you were right." CJ stepped towards the ghost of Bea and pointed his neutrona wand at her, firing a shot past her to get her attention. He then shut the pack off. Nodding towards Brian to let down his guard, the shield protecting them disappeared. "I hate guns," Bea asserted. "Then you'll listen won't you?" He said. "Hear me out. I have something to say." Sheena got up from the ground and gasped for breath, smiling at CJ. "Thank you so much CJ for helping me," she said. But CJ shook his head. "I'm sorry," he replied somberly. "But your thanks is a bit premature." His attention looked towards McNeely "What do you mean by that?" Sheena asked. CJ took a deep breath and sighed. "By that, I mean that only one truth must prevail. And you, Paul, would do well to listen to this as well." "Who might you be?" Beatrix asked. "I'm Dr. Cedric London. I've had the privilege of meeting your long-time friend, Sheena, and I wish you and I could have met under better circumstances." His attention went back to the pop singer. "Sheena, two years ago Paul McNeely pushed you into a career because you were the only one who knew both yours and Bea's vocal parts. Why? Because Bea suffered a mental breakdown that makes Brian Wilson look sane." "Yeah, that's what I told you," Sheena said. "What's the need to repeat this?" "Because I wanted Bea...excuse me, Miss DeWitt, to know that you did not kill her." Bea's ghost calmed down a bit and listened intently. "What are you talking about?" she said, her voice a hollow and unearthly tone. "Sheena always wanted more credit than she actually deserved! She knew I was the better of both of us and wanted me out of the way. That's why she didn't even lift a finger to help me when I needed her most." "And that's the truth," CJ continued. "You see, if there's one thing that Sheena can be guilty of, it's not helping you at a point in both your lives when you needed her. That's a common guilt of anybody." "So you're saying that Sheena is totally innocent," McNeely said regaining his senses. "Then who did it, Bea's grandma?" "Oh no, she's innocent as well. She was telling the truth all along. But there is one person who had the most to gain from Bea's disappearance and death and that was you, Paul." Paul backed away, his eyes staring coldly at CJ. "That's utterly ridiculous," he said. "You tightened the noose around your own neck when you openly admitted that you would do anything for Sheena's career, indicating that you would beg, borrow, steal, or even murder to get it there. You recognized early on that Sheena was clearly the star, but the main obstacle to getting her there was to eliminate Bea." "You knew that Bea had a mental condition that she had to take special medicine for. Trusting you, she most likely took some kind of substance that you conveniently slipped into her medication. Not enough to get her hooked on in the beginning, but enough to start. Slowly but surely you started to get the required results. Then it all came down to the wire on Pat Reilly's show, and that's where you knew that she would be out of the way for the time being." "However, you kept paying Bea for songwriting credit, thereby in the eyes of the law turning over most of the material she wrote for Sheena as property of Columbia, Sheena, or yourself. Bea may have been out of the way professionally but she was still dogging Sheena's career with whatever antics she got herself into, as her grandmother told us. So you hired someone to keep track of her whereabouts, not an easy task, but it paid off big when you did manage to find her." "I'm not admitting anything," McNeely said coldly. "What other proof do you have that I would have committed such a heinous act against my client?" "Detective Madison steered us in the right direction to a certain revelation, though in a way which I'm not at liberty to say. Not much to put you behind bars, but enough to give the courts something to drool over. You knew when all of this broke out that if the regular police got wind of your illicit deals under the table, their own investigation would have unearthed all of this, but you allowed the authorities to take a gamble on a third rate outfit like ours to not foul things up for you or your meal ticket." There was a silence all around as CJ finished up. Bea completely let down her guard and floated towards the stage. "Is this true, Sheena," she asked while looking straight into her eyes. "Bea, believe me, if I could I would turn back the clock to help you," Sheena said tearfully. "I would throw it all away just to have you back." But McNeely interrupted the teary reunion. "But who's going to believe a word you lot say, the cops?" he asked leering at CJ. "Sheena's outburst blocked their path to the stage. Fat chance that'll help ya!" "True. But…" Rob interjected, "It didn't block out this." He revealed a small microphone tucked into his uniform. Brian's eyes flashed once as a small portion of the blue aura that held up the barrier separating them disappeared, just enough for the Detective and a small unit of police officers to walk in but not enough for the audience to see. "Paul McNeely!" Madison said forcefully. "You are under arrest for conspiring in the murder of Beatrix DeWitt!" McNeely's eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his head, as CJ untucked a microphone of his own. "Nifty things they invent these days?" he said tossing it to McNeely. "While you and I were chatting, Madison and his squad were busy listening on the other end. He has overheard everything that transpired word-for-word on the other side of Brian's wall." He grinned at McNeely. "Hope Riker's Island suits your tastes." "You son of a bitch!" McNeely shouted throwing down the microphone, shattering it to pieces when it hit the ground. He reached into his coat pocket and snatched out the brown paper bag. His hand was inside when the bottom exploded in fire and smoke. CJ grunted as he felt something like a bee graze past his arm and hit one of the steel railings of the stage. Feeling woozy, he looked up at McNeely and realized that he had a gun in his hand. "I brought this to protect Sheena. But, now look what you went and made me do!" he shouted at CJ. " It's not going to end this way! Not when she needs me more than anything else in the world! Not now; not eva!" He aimed the barrel at CJ, who was on the ground clutching his arm, and cocked the barrel. Closing his eyes, CJ prepared for his end. Behind him, Rob and Andrew tried to make a run at McNeely. But Madison shouted… "Wait! NO!" The air was pierced all of the sudden by a loud BANG. The noise deafened CJ but to his surprise, he didn't feel the hot steel enter his body. A bead of sweat ran down his nose as he looked at McNeely, the smoking gun still in his hand. His face had become completely white. CJ squinted and turned his head in the direction McNeely was looking at, and then slowly opened his eyes. Lying on her back, with her life-blood pouring out from the wound in the middle of her stomach, was Sheena Lyndon. The gun misfired, ricocheted off a metal fixture, and struck her down. Nobody moved for those few seconds that passed, but Madison came to his senses and ordered the nearest officers to jump McNeely while the others had their firearms raised. "DON'T YOU MOVE GODDAMMIT!" Madison hollered, but belayed stating the Miranda Rights as he placed the handcuffs upon McNeely's wrists. Bleeding badly and still holding his arm, CJ limped over towards Sheena and kneeled. He could see it very plainly in her tear-filled eyes: she was going to die by the time the paramedics would arrive. Staring at her now, he couldn't find any words to comfort her. Suddenly, he felt a presence drift beside him. It was Bea, but it was not the angry, vengeful spirit that the Doom Patrol had been fighting for the past few days. Her entire demeanor had changed. From her pocket, Salina pulled out the picture that Bea's grandmother had saved of her granddaughter, and realized that she had taken on a more physical form. She now resembled her old self. "Sorry Bea," Sheena said weakly, making the attempt to grin up at her old companion. "I…I didn't mean for any of this to happen this way." She coughed once and then shivered. Bea took Sheena's hand and squeezed it hard. "Hey, are you seeing this?" Rob whispered over to Brian. "What?" "That light, above Sheena." "I can't see a damn thing." A bright, otherworldly light had begun to shine down upon Sheena's face. She shivered once again before she closed her eyes for good. Although nobody could quite see it, an aura drifted slowly from Sheena's body and towards the light. "Sheena…I heard what you said before." "Hmm?" "I shouldn't have been so angry. I'm sorry--I love you too." Sheena smiled as the essence of Bea's fingers slid through her own. "This lightshow is a little familiar to me," Referring to the aura around them. "I didn't get to follow it before." "Then race you to the top, Bea?" Sheena said weakly towards her friend. Bea smiled back and nodded. "You just wait; you'll be eating my dust soon!" Bea retorted. Sheena grinned again, and then looked back towards CJ. "Thank you, Dr. London, for all your help. I mean it," She said. She stood up, drifting dreamily towards him, and kissed him on the cheek. With that, her soul floated towards the light and then faded behind her. "Are you crying?" Brian asked, looking in Andrew's direction. "What? Of course not," the hunter replied. "Windy out here, Roig. I got something in my eye." Brian rolled his eyes and elbowed him as Andrew continued to protest. The light gone, Bea turned her attention towards McNeely, and her form changed again as her eyes flamed red. Gritting her teeth, she held up her hands as she pushed the mix of Philadelphia and New York Police Officers out of her way, knocking them down off the stage. She grabbed McNeely by his collar; he was still in handcuffs. "You killed me. You killed Sheena. You fucking used us like pawns!" She lifted him high above the stage, as an unknown wind swept through. McNeely pleaded with Bea as he held up his hands in defense. "Listen, Beatrix, I never meant for it to go this far. I--I--I only wanted what was best for Sheena and she..." "...Was a better artist than me? A better market product than me? Keep talking, Paul. Tell me another one!!" "Bea, wait!" CJ shouted, trying to get his voice to rise above the wind. "It doesn't have to be like this!" "He destroyed too many lives, Dr. London," she said, not looking at him. "He needs to be punished." "Then let the law take its course. He'll go to Riker's Island for twenty years. That's hell in itself!" "The law?" There was finality in her voice as cold as the bitterest wind. "No, that just won't do. He won't be hurting anyone else…anymore." Grabbing McNeely's head, she stared deep into his eyes, not diverting her attention towards anything as he was completely paralyzed in mid air. "What's going on up there?" Madison said over to CJ. The scientist could only shrug his good arm and watch with the others in morbid fascination at the scene unfolding before them. Suddenly, the air was pierced by McNeely's screams. With Brian's protective wall long gone, the chilling wails sent shockwaves through the audience present on the outside and the MV2. Baltimore held her hands over her ears to drown out the sound. With that, Bea let McNeely drop towards the stage. She then disappeared. After that, nobody said anything until paramedics arrived. "He doesn't look good!" "Wait, someone get a defibrillator on this girl!" "She's not breathing." "Bring it over!" "Charge it!" "Again! Pump her chest!" "1…2…3." "Again!" "1…2…3." "It's not working…she's gone." "…" "It's over people. We tried. Call it in." "Sheena Elizabeth Lyndon. Time of death…10:45pm." Epilogue I
"I just wanted to come here and thank you all for helping my Beatrix find her peace." Mrs. Veronica DeWitt stood in front of Salina's desk the next day, as the latter was sitting down finishing filing the case report. "Tell me, how did she look?" Salina smiled. "The expression on her face was something like relief. She looked really happy." The old woman smiled meekly. "Sheena was not a bad person. I'm sorry about what happened to her." Salina sat back and thought for a second. "The important thing is that the two made peace between each other," she said and continued writing. Mrs. DeWitt put her hand into her purse and pulled out a small envelope. "What's this?" Salina asked. "It's a small fee," she said handing her the envelope. "But we didn't really do anything to deserve this. We couldn't reunite you with Bea." "Please," Mrs. DeWitt insisted. "Just take it. If it weren't for your detective work in uncovering McNeely's doing, I would have gone on thinking that it was Sheena's fault for my granddaughter's death." "Ma'am, as generous as this offer is, I--and I speak for the whole team--don't think we can accept this. All the thanks we need to have is in knowing that we helped you know more about your granddaughter's fate. And I think that's enough for all of us." Mrs. DeWitt stared at Salina for a moment before replacing the envelope back inside her purse. Then, she hugged her neck. "Thank you," she said and walked out of the Highrise. Epilogue II
"So, who is this guy we got here?" The elder guardsman at Riker's Island puffed on his cigar as he and his young partner walked the halls lined with the cells of many prisoners. "Used to be a famous big shot manager," the older guard said as his nightstick rapped against the cell. "You know, for that singer chick Sheena Lyndon." The young guard stopped in his tracks. "You mean the one that was killed at her concert?" Spitting out a piece of tobacco from the cigar, the older guard nodded. "They say he went crazy when one of them Ghostbusters blew the lid off his plan. You know he had that popstar's friend killed just to further her career?" "I've heard the rumors, but I never believed them." "You should." Penetrating the uneasy calmness of the conversation the two were having was a loud scream that echoed through the halls. "Jesus..." the younger guard said. But the elder one just smirked as he extinguished his cigar and pulled out another. "Do you believe in divine punishment?" he asked. "I'm...not too big into religion," the young guard said. "Wicked is as wicked does. When they brought that poor bastard to us he was completely and utterly out of his mind: drug induced paranoia, his brain was fried from the inside. There was no way he'd be able to think rationally again." "Are the screams a part of that paranoia?" "If you believe in divine punishment, then you'd know that that poor girl's soul that he corrupted won't rest until he's dead and six feet under." The two stopped in front of the cell and looked in on what remained of Paul McNeely: strapped into a strait jacket, he looked at them with madness in his eyes and ran to the bars, ramming his head into it, saliva flowing from his mouth. The younger guard backed away as his hand went to his pistol by his side. "Simmer down, it's alright," the older one calmed. "He gets like that." THE END... Top Discuss this Story on the Forum |
|