Memoirs
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Bohemian RhapsodyWritten by CJ Bacon; Edited by Rob Smith
Act IIs this the real life? Is it just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, No escape from reality. Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see... Chapter 1: A Fine Madness
The fire danced in front of the tall man's face as he stared deep into the flames, His dark eyes looked for an object that he had lost but not yet attained. He shook his head solemnly and pulled back his brown hood, revealing pitch-black hair as he rose from his bench and reached for a small pouch. He pulled out a handful of what appeared at first glance to be sand. But, as he turned towards The Disciple before him and held out the grains, it was glowing. "Do you see this, my friend?" the tall man asked. His voice was deep and hollow, as if it had rarely been used, hinted with a touch of a British accent. The Disciple bowed his head to look at the grains. Like the tall man, he too wore a headpiece, only his completely obscured his face. It was his hazel eyes that remained seen, as they had shown from between both holes in his hood. "These grains were partially interwoven with the ashes of Myydrin the Great," The tall man said. "In the simplest terms, a powerful elixir can be made from these embers." "Of course", acknowledged the Disciple, turning his attention away in disregard. With an empty fist, the tall man struck The Disciple in the face, sending him to the ground. "Of course, you wouldn't know this. I am greater than he ever was." The tall man looked at The Disciple wallow on the ground, attempting to set himself upright. He had the urge to hit The Disciple again, but refrained. "But that's not a problem anymore. Not for me anyway." He turned back towards the flames. With no fanfare, he tossed the sands that contained what remained of the great wizard into the fire. For a moment, it appeared that it had gone out, extinguished by the grains. Then with great fury, the room around the tall man and his subordinate brightened, as the fire leapt alive. Satisfaction marked the tall man's face, as black and silver smoke billowed from the ashes of the logs. The fire was burning on its own accord now. "Splendid", he said silently to himself, as he watched the smoke begin to take shape. The skies were tinged a cool pink, unusual for sunsets of this hour. It was summer, and, in the suburbs that connected Philly to New Jersey, most kids would be out playing tag in the yard, shooting each other with Super-Soakers, and eating their fill of hamburgers and chips. These are the days they longed for, an artificial relief from the real world for a scant few months. From their point of view, it was paradise. From another, it was a nightmare; more certainly for Eric Jackes. Jackes was an honors student in high school, a freshman who had skipped a grade and was now a junior. He was well liked by his teachers, wanted by every girl in the school and county, and, for the most part, was a popular guy all around. In the eyes of everyone, he could do no wrong. All that changed today. They no longer matter, he heard the voice say in his head, as he stood on his back porch. What he heard wasn't in his head. Though deepened and hollow, it was his own, different from the usual bounce that his friends had come to know. In front of him lay the crumpled forms of two children. His 8-year-old brother Ralph breathed heavily as he starred fearfully at Eric's face. Blood seeped from a wound on his head. Not fatal, but it had sent the child into shock. Beside him was Eric's sister, Evangeline. The little four-year-old lay motionless on the ground, barely alive. Protruding from her shoulder was a four-inch wooden handle. In the wide yard before them lay a dented bloody shovel. Both children were victims of their sibling's rage. Eric's eyes bore no emotion as Ralph continued to stare at his once benevolent older brother. His mouth moved several times, as if he wanted to say, "Why are you hurting us?" But no sound escaped. All around them, except for the chirping of crickets and late-evening birds, was utter silence. Holding back is no use, Eric, the voice whispered in his ear. Do it. His limbs guided by an invisible force, Eric Jackes's hand grasped the broken handle. He pulled it out with a sickening sound-- Now finish this! The poltergeist inside of him demanded. But Eric struggled to resist. You are a lot stronger than I gave you credit for. "You won't make me kill my family!" Eric shouted. Oh, but you will, boy. There's no denying that. YOU WILL! Ralph Jackes's started to see his brother cry. Hearing Eric's comment, he hoped that their parents were okay. Though, if they hadn't heard Evangeline's scream, something was seriously wrong. Then suddenly, the 8-year-old saw a bolt of lightening strike his older brother clear into the house through the back door, with Eric careening over his siblings onto the recreation room floor. Ralph thought it was weird, because there was not a cloud in the sky and it was horizontal. And for one thing, the bolt was orange and blue. And for another, it seemed to have come from across the back yard. "Andy, I thought I said to wait on my mark!" "Yeah, well I was gettin' bored listening to that kid's schizoid bullshit." Ralph couldn't focus on the figure walking towards him, his vision blurred by the bolt. He could barely make out the outline of a tall figure, whose hair was a mixture of brown and black. Behind this figure was another, taller than the first, and well muscled. He was a man who wore glasses that glistened in the fading sunlight. Both wore navy-blue uniforms, with square things on their backs. "Are you all right?" the figure with the brown/black hair said. It was a female voice, warm and serene. As his vision cleared, Ralph saw that it was a woman of Indonesian-Spanish descent staring at him. She too wore glasses, however hers were of a purple tint. He read her nametag, which was an embossed red over a black rectangle: DURAN. "Are you all right, young man?" the woman repeated. Ralph nodded. He tried to get up, but fell down again as he was unable to support his weight. "My head hurts", he said. The woman looked at the wound. She reached into her utility belt and pulled out a bandage. "It's not much", she said, "but it should quell the bleeding. Is that your sister?" Ralph nodded again. The woman checked the little girl for a pulse. "It's weak, but she's alive", she said, turning her head past Ralph and towards her companion. Ralph looked behind him and shook in trepidation. The figure behind the woman was a man, whose wavy, black hair flowed as he walked toward them. He was tall and burly, with very little emotion showing on his tanned face. His eyes, much like Ralph's brother, displayed nothingness, as if the person behind them had died long ago. Unlike the woman, his uniform was not a jumpsuit, but rather a dark trench coat with the arms sewn off. On the coat bore the name in crimson letters: WILLIAMS. "Call CJ and tell him that we've found the kids and we're going to need Rob and Brian," she said. "Tell him we've got a Class VII on our hands. We need backup now!" The man (Dr. Andrew Williams) held back for a moment before saying: "On it." He then walked around and disappeared through the side door of the house, his coat trailing behind him. Soon later, another force of impact had sent Eric Jackes's flying from the window of the recreation room and into the middle of the backyard. The woman turned around seeing his body lay there for a few moments surrounded by glass and debris, as the entity inside Eric gathered its thoughts together. She then switched her gaze at Dr. Williams, looking at him incredulously. "Are you mental?!" She yelled. "What?" Dr. Williams replied. "The kid's fine. That thing inside's got him amped up stronger than a bodybuilder on HGH." Impressive, the poltergeist said through the possessed teen's mouth. Eric rolled over onto his palms and helped himself up. His clothes had been somewhat torn in the blast of energy Andrew's thrower had let loose. I commend thee on thy efforts to save this soul. The poltergeist wiped blood from the corner of Eric's mouth. It smiled at the woman (Salina Duran) as she helped Ralph and Evangeline up. However, you do not understand the dark powers of Abraxas! Unknowing what to expect next, Salina could only guess as she finally got Ralph to his feet and Evangeline cradled in her arms. The entity that had taken control of Eric simply stared at the porch and Salina could feel the pressure in the air shift. She whispered in Ralph's ear. "If you can, I want you to jump." Ralph looked at her confused. "Don't argue. If you want to save your brother, I want you to jump...NOW!" The floorboard of what had been the Jackes's front porch exploded in a fury of fire brought on by the entity fighting back. Ralph and Salina rolled in the grassy knoll near a bush. Both were unhurt. "Stay here", Salina said, lying the still unconscious Evangeline under the bush. "Don't come out until I tell you." The 8-year-old understood. Salina smiled as Ralph watched her turn her back towards him, revealing something he had seen on the news months ago with his father. It was about an incident in Halifax, Nova Scotia where he had seen several people wearing these strange backpacks. He had asked his father what they were. He answered simply. "They're proton packs, Ralph. They're Ghostbusters." Down the street from the Jackes's home, and parked rather outlandishly and inauspicious amongst the groves, was a large and imposing black 6-wheeled limousine-hearse. There were various gadgets of all sorts on top of its equipment rack. Inside, a wiry African-American male watched in utter disbelief on the camera as another explosion occurred. He watched as the entire front of the Jackes's house blew up. Something had gone wrong. The voice on the little radio he carried confirmed it. "What are you three waiting for, a smoke signal? Get your asses in gear; we need help pronto!" It was Andrew Williams, the resident gung-ho member of the Ghostbusters: Doom Patrol who had just run a block from the house. Before the African-American male could respond, Andrew had turned off his radio. The male turned his attention back to the camera, as he saw Andrew's muscled figure sprint back to assist Salina. "Dammit", C.J. London said under his breath as he turned towards the stout man sitting next to him who had also a note of worry on his face too. He didn't need to ask CJ any questions. He had already pulled out his neutrona wand. "Ya'll ready back there?" spoke and signed the driver in the front as he looked at his two companions in the rear-view mirror. He was another African-American, the only partially deaf member of the group, bald and more built than the thinner CJ. The stout man (Brian Roig), who understood his partner's sign, nodded in agreement. "HAUL ASS!" he shouted, as Rob Statler floored the Ecto-M, its twin motors roaring down the road as the vehicle sped towards the house. At that moment, a thought dawned on CJ. "You're not going to ram through the house, are you?" he asked, his eyes wide. Rob rolled up the windows and casually placed a fresh toothpick between his lips and grinned. "Climb into the Proto-Gat", Rob said, thumbing towards Brian. "Because if these readings on the dashboard hold any water, we're about to have a hot night." "I miss anything?" Andrew asked, running up towards Salina; in all the excitement he was not out of breath. She was glad he wasn't, but she often wondered where he got the energy. It had been nearly two years since Doom Patrol had first been established, two years since the nightmarish adventure in Dalton, Nevada, where she first met CJ, Brian, Andrew, and Rob, who hooked up with the team after the town's destruction. Everything that had happened since then was forever ingrained in her memories; some good and some bad. She held a feeling of comfort knowing her four "brothers" would always be there for her and each other. She shook her head, allowing herself to release a smirk. "No. Readings show that our possessee is getting stronger." "How strong?" Without taking her eyes off of Eric, Salina showed Andrew her modified PKE meter. He glanced a look, snorted, and raised an eyebrow. That was how Andrew J. Williams, renowned hunter of the undead, reacted to things. Whether it was facing a horde of werewolves, the centuries old ghost of a heretical pontiff, or demons from a plane of existence not yet discovered, Andrew would look them in the eye...and spit in it. And he enjoyed every bit of it. "Alright, we've wasted enough time as it is", he said. At his left side, he twirled the hilt of his trusty Hastings Sword; in the other hand he held his neutrona wand. "We can't handle this kid on our own for much longer. And is it me, or is everything suddenly getting hotter?" Salina could feel that Andrew was right. She stared at Eric again and he stared back at the two of them. The atmosphere around them had suddenly elevated. She knew this feeling quite well, having once faced similar settings on an expedition into the deepest bowels of Rankipoor. Whatever demon had gotten hold of Eric Jackes was channeling its powers through the air. There wouldn't be much time to waste. She and Andrew had to act now. Salina was the first to open, shooting out a jet of red plasma towards Eric from her Slime Blower. Andrew followed her, using one of the newer proton packs of Statler's design. They were grateful that Rob had modified these packs, which were stylistically different from the Mark IV's that were the standard trademark of most Ghostbusters franchises. These new ones were slightly lighter in hue than the original coal-colored packs, slender, and weighed far less, with the ability to release the same output of protonic energy. The newer models, which Rob dubbed the Mark V, could do everything the originals did, with one minor difference: the protons could now be adjusted to non-lethal levels and harmless to humans. While these proton pack models were new, the technology for this specific purpose was not. Rob had contacted the original Ghostbusters inquiring if they had anything he could utilize in the way of crowd control? To his surprise, they did. Twenty years ago, when ghost activity had run dry, interesting circumstances turned their business from catching ghost to nabbing criminals, becoming The Crimebusters. It wasn't long before they realized they were in over the heads and switched back to Ghostbusting. The Crimebusting technology was made obsolete, but ever resourceful, Rob found a way to put it to better use. The Mark V's especially made it easier to lug around, as the team often found themselves in situations that required them to be light on their feet. Though it still didn't eliminate the need for the Slime Blowers, the fact that now you could confine the host in a proton stream made things easier to handle. Andrew sniffed the air, "You hear that?" He said, chancing a glance behind his shoulder. Salina could hear the same thing. "It sounds like an engine…" "Going at 80...no, 100 miles per hour? Oh, shi--" Bursting out of the rubble of the kitchen, and performing a landing that would have been worthy of Bo and Luke Duke was the Ecto-M, appearing as if it were some black monster, landing between Salina and Andrew and Eric Jackes, separating them from the demonic teenager. Sliding the door back was Dr. Cedric London, who was sporting a new style of dreaded hair hanging in front of glasses. Perched upon his head was a battered pair of Ecto-Goggles. "There is a driveway on the side of the house. You know that, right?" Andrew deadpanned. "Says the man who just played target practice with our customer", CJ London said to his comrade, stepping out of the vehicle. Strapped to his back was an older 1989 model Slime Blower, a piece of weaponry he was quite fond of. "We heard you needed some help." "Better late than never", Andrew said. He looked up and saw Brian had slid back the canopy of the Proto-Gat. He didn't need to be told to hold off Eric, but the Gat had very little of its own power against a Class VII. All it would do was make the crazed teen even madder. Behind CJ, Robert Statler strapped on his pack and hopped out. "Brian gave us enough time to get ready, but we've got a slim window of opportunity if the Gat doesn't do its job", he said. He looked over at Andrew, who had shielded his eyes. "Christ, Stat!" he said. "Grow some hair will ya'? You're blinding me by the sheen!" Statler flipped Andrew a silent middle finger, as CJ stifled his laughter. Looking down at the ground to see that everything was set, Brian knew he had to shut down quickly. From the moment that had gotten no more than a few feet away from the house, he had sensed something...ethereal about this whole thing. Brian's whole stigma was that he was an advanced sorcerer, a damn powerful one at that. Though his main profession had been occult studies, like Salina, he had supplemented that with immersing himself in the knowledge of every form that the art of magic could teach him. One of the 'tricks' he had learned was to use his Second Sight. As the Ecto-M approached the Jackes's house, he could see an aura forming around it. While regular humans saw only a house, Brian saw a crippling blackness all around, with the house at the center. A shatterpoint, he had learned it was called. These shatterpoints had the devastating potential to be either gateways for other entities or of the focused energy of the entity therein. In this case, it was both. And now, as he stood looking at Eric Jackes, he was shocked to learn that he could not see his shatterpoint. It was not there. All Brian saw was the desolate blackness that, the man who had taught him this ability had said, drove the ignorant insane with its bleakness. Brian didn't feel crazy at all. That was far from his mind at that point. Through Eric's eyes, the poltergeist stared back at Brian. Its glare caused the stout young man to feel a cold pang in his bones, as if everything around him was completely frozen. I feel that you are one with great power. The voice startled Brian as he made a move towards the Gat. But he couldn't. It was as if his whole body had suddenly gone limp. Why do you insist on remaining a child? These paltry parlor tricks are beneath you... It was at that moment that Brian realized that he was no longer in the Jackes's backyard. He wasn't even in Philadelphia anymore. The black hole had seemed to sweep over him, as the entity had somehow transported itself and Brian into another plane of existence far beyond the ones that Brian had been in and researched. "Are you in my head? Where am I?" he asked, his voice echoing endlessly in the distance. Nowhere, yet somewhere. Not dead, but alive. Here you can exist everywhere at any time. I just wanted...to talk. "Return me now or pay the price", Brian said, his voice becoming hard. The possessed Jackes just smiled and crossed his arms. Or what? The subconscious spell for which I am binding you cannot be broken under my will. I did not go to all this trouble just to be brushed off. "What are babbling about?" I know my defeat is imminent. I have seen it. The moment we return, your friends will capture me and I will become just a nameless rogue. But I choose this body for a purpose so I could get your attention. "What?" It worked quite well. There was nothing stopping me from snapping the spine of the one you call Andrew. Or made sure that your female associate protecting the children never breathed again. But I didn't. You're probably asking yourself the usual Why, Who, and What's. Two of which I cannot answer, as I've revealed too much already, but I will answer one. Can you guess which it is? Brian grew tired of this game. His eyes flashed a dark blue, as he regained control of his limbs. Letting his Second Sight guide him, Brian jumped from the van. Why the hell was it even here? He wondered to himself and, whipping out his neutrona wand, landed in front of Eric; the wand pointed directly underneath his neck. "What are you?" Brian asked, his gloved hands gripping the teen's throat. Suddenly, he was shocked by the voice that came out of the Eric's mouth. It was foreign, very much alien to him. The possessed boy just grinned. He seemed pleased by Brian's flash of anger. "Ask Riddle", Jackes said and laughed. "BRIAN! GET DOWN NOW!" Salina yelled. Brian's senses snapped back to reality. He was back in the Jackes's backyard, and his teammates were behind him. His eyes looked up once to see the broken end of the shovel (forgotten in the midst of the battle) hurtling towards him. At the last minute, he broke the sharp end off of the shovel, but it was a half second late: the spade itself knocked Brian across his head, sending him to the ground with a thud. "That does it!" Andrew said firing at Eric. "Enough! CJ, hose his ass!" "With pleasure." The pink slime shot from the cannon of the blower like a flowing river, reminding CJ of a fire hydrant being loosened. The force of impact from the cannon knocked down Eric, as he was completely covered in mood-altering slime, complementing the paralyzing red slime that Salina had earlier fired. "I think he's done", CJ said turning off the blower. Eric lay flat on his back, not unconscious. The slime neutralized the affected host, causing whatever had possessed him to pass out of his body. He would be waking up feeling like a million bucks. "Get ready!" Rob said leveling his neutrona wand. The Doom Patrol members watched as Jackes's body glowed yellow for a moment, as a silvery mist slowly rose from his chest. It did not take form, but sprouted red eyes. It looked over at Brian's limp form and laughed. It was at that moment that Rob, Salina, and Andrew fired their packs in unison, ensnaring the ghost in a neutralizing field. Seeing that the ghost was firmly secured, CJ unlatched the Ecto-Sphere Trap from his belt. "ECTO-SPHERE, GO!" he shouted, knowing exactly how cheesy it was saying that, and tossed it in the direction of the entity. CJ pressed a button on the lapel above the nametag on his flightsuit. The quintet all turned their eyes from the next scene as a burst of energy escaped from the ball, pinpointed its target, and illuminated the yard with intense ultraviolet light. The ghost was ensnared as the positive neutrons weakened it. It did not struggle as it disappeared inside the Ecto Sphere Trap. Within seconds, it was all over. The best part of being a Ghostbuster appears here: Several minutes after the poltergeist had disappeared, an considering how out of the way the nearest hospital was from the suburbs, an ambulance arrived very quickly. It parked itself beside the Ecto-M. Salina, going over to check on the kids one more time, helped them over to the EMT's waiting for them, as they loaded Eric onto a stretcher. He wasn't hurt, but the effects of CJ's Slime Blower were still purging his body of the dementia that the poltergeist had wrought over him. As Salina busied herself helping the paramedics in the ambulance, nobody noticed the sleek white van driving slowly up the road near the house. A news van bearing the logo of local Philadelphia news station, WPVI Channel 6 Action News, as well as the logo of news nuisance Jane Robards, appeared at the scene a mere two minutes after the ghost has been caught. The first person to catch a glimpse of this was Andrew, as he assisted CJ loading his Slime Blower back into the limo-hearse. Rob was already inside checking the specs on the Ectomobile. "Good God", he groaned, nearly dropping his end of the blower onto the ground. "Hey! Watch out!" CJ yelled, catching the middle of the Slime Blower with both hands. "Easy, Andy. What gives?" Andrew didn't look at him as he nodded his head in the direction of the news van. Before CJ had a moment to grasp what he was looking at, he found himself staring into the receiving end of a rather large, black microphone. "Dr. London! What a nice surprise!" Jane Robards said in her pitched, near squeaky-clean voice. Robards, who bore a passing resemblance to Tori Spelling , had at one time been one of Philadelphia's elite news journalists. She remembered a point in her career when the best stories would always be credited to her name. The Hershey Killer? Covered by her. A book deal was in the works, but things had somewhat fallen through recently. The ENRON scandal? WPVI was the first to crack it. September 11th? Robards stayed on the air that whole terrible week, reporting not live from New York City, but from the studio. The information she received was from the BBC, NBC, Fox, and CBS. But, fancying herself an actress, she poured her heart into it, raising more relief funds than any institution in Worcester County. And yet, even as she pointed the microphone at CJ, smiling sweetly at him, inside...she reviled anybody who wore that idiotic No-Ghost symbol. She remembered back in 3rd Grade watching all the boys play Ghostbusters with their baseball bats. Even then she thought it was stupid. Her father said so himself, and he was Philly's most prominent reporter. She could never fathom what it was about a bunch of guys (and, as of late, girls) who ran around zapping ghosts. Despite the fact that she had had an encounter herself with the recently deceased, Jane Robards still did not buy what the Ghostbusters were trying to prove. So when this new team, calling themselves, "Doom Patrol" ("What kind of Mickey Mouse name was that?" she had wondered) made their base of operations here, Jane was assigned to cover their adventures. She did her producer one better: it's more entertaining to discredit the hero rather than shower them with praise. And there were many opportunities. But those opportunities came to bite her on the rear later on, as she was seen as nothing more than a muckraker of the sort that made Geraldo Rivera cringe. She hated her new reputation, but if she was going to go down a few pegs in journalism, she figured she might as well take a couple others with her. "Dr. London", she began, already preparing the questions in her mind that she was about to grill the young scientist. "What do you say to a recent survey of the citizens of Philadelphia that property taxes have gone up 29% since the Ghostbusters have arrived?" "Wha--?" Robards smiled. She'd caught him off guard. After an event at Conan O'Brien a few years ago, she had learned that it was easier to interrogate this one than let the vampire hunter (whom her lead cameraman, Mike, was distracting) be interviewed. "Yes", she continued. "The highest tax hike in the last thirty years apparently. Most are saying that you are nothing more than glorified troublemakers." "Well, I...uh..." "And what about allegations that you end up scarring more people than saving them. A little boy whose name will remain anonymous says he cannot go to sleep without thinking about how close he came to be eaten by a..." Robards stopped for a moment to stifle a laugh. "...A big bad wolf ghost?" "Now wait just a minute! We saved that kid! I--I'm sorry if he can't go to sleep, but at least he's alive! Be thankful for that!" "Is he now Dr. London? How would you like it if you found yourself entrenched in a soul-stealing nightmare about a black shadow that is coming to rip you to pieces, hmmm?" "I got this." CJ turned around suddenly to see Rob standing at the doorway of the Ecto-M with a reassuring hand on the younger Ghostbuster's shoulder. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this interview Miss--" "Robards. Jane Robards. We've never met, but I was the first to introduce your group to the public after your appearance on Conan O'Brien," she gushed while doing little to hide her ego. "That was…some of my best work." Rob stroked his goatee and pointed his finger. "I see. Oh yeah, I remember you now. Weren't you also on the Morning Show or something at one time interviewing Sugar Shack Jack--the reformed East Philly pimp turned infomercial personality and self-made culinary entrepreneur." "I...found other career options." Jane was annoyed at having been interrupted during her line of questioning. She could barely look over Rob's shoulder, as Dr. London had gone over to get Mike the cameraman away from Andrew. "I see." Rob nodded his head and, with his arms folded, feigned interest as he studied her lips. Even though he was hard-of-hearing, he was adept at reading the body language of others and understanding things much more clearly with his eyes than he could with his ears. When one sense is lost, the other ones kick in. Years of trial and error had made his sense of spatial awareness far greater than the average individual. "You know, if you're familiar with us, you really shouldn't be around a scene like this", he said, pretending to glance over her shoulder at the ambulance. "And why is that?" Robards asked, a hint of offense creeping into her voice. But Rob just smiled back. "I'm just saying, you never know if the ghost had any friends around. They could be dangerous." "Mr. Statler, reporters have gone into the field of danger longer than your group's existence and we will keep doing so if it means getting the truth across to a populace that can name Jerry Springer and Home Delivery as their favorite television shows. We have faced bullets in Vietnam, snipers in Kuwait, and kidnappings in Iraq. I think whatever it is you have faced is less of a threat than...than…" Andrew mumbles in the background, "waking up to your horse-face in the morning?" "What was that, Mr. Williams?" Robards asked; missing the insult Andrew threw her way. Rob shrugged his shoulders. "All right", he said. "Would you please mind backing up? The ambulance is getting ready to leave and we have to head on out. Some of us have legitimate work to do Ms. Robards?" Salina had now stepped out of the ambulance, having made sure the kids were secure. She groaned when she saw the news van parked in the yard. "Damn", she said underneath her breath, adjusting her glasses. Behind her, the ambulance was pulling out. And that was when she heard Jane Robards scream. Salina's eyes perked up for a moment to turn her head slightly. Standing where the ambulance had once been was a large, purple creature, it's fangs bared out at the group below. She shook her head. She didn't have to be a detective to figure out the source. Had it been a real PKE reading, her meter would have gone off like crazy due to the massive size of the creature. But it was silent. She was positive she wasn't the only to notice that. As well she was sure that she wasn't the only one to notice Brian pretending to be asleep, even though he was moving his left finger. She walked over to him and gently tapped him on the shoulder. "Hmmm?" he said, looking up, as though he had been napping. "I think your acting skills need some work," she said smirking. Brian grinned back at her as he looked over at Robards and her crew. The cameraman, Mike, had long piled inside of the news van, and Jane, backing away from the ghost that Rob pretended not to notice, found it difficult to find words to express the scene. "I think this might be the icing on the cake", Brian said dryly. The creature opened its mouth, and bent down low enough so that it was level with Rob and was staring at Robards. "Boo", it said. The color drained from Robards's face as Mike grabbed her, pushed her into the van, and started the ignition. "Nice", Andrew said picking out the remains of what had been a tripod out of his hair. "So, how we getting paid anyway? The parents aren't home, and the guy who called us was a tech nerd." "Speaking of the parents, you think they'll be mad about this?" Salina piped up and pointed to the direction of the suburban household they just saved. Andrew cleared his throat. "Well…", CJ said looking at the remains of the Jackes's home, "Who here saw a ghost do it and cause a gas explosion? Show of hands." All hands raised in agreement. CJ yawned and stretched. "Agreed. Besides, we'll deal with it later. Luckily, and according to the neighbor, this wasn't The Jackes's permanent home residence. But since we're still out, we can go collect from that old guy down by the river who still owes us for that job we did a while back." "You mean that senile fisherman with the funky eyeball?" Rob asked incredulously. "No… hell no, Ceej! You know good and well he's gonna pay us with fish." "Well, we gave him two weeks and he said he'd have it." Chapter 2: Piper at the Gates of Dawn
The Doom Patrol's Highrise (DPHQ) was situated along the waterfront at Penn's Landing not far from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. A breathtaking sight in its own right, the bridge connected commuters between "Center City" Philadelphia and South Jersey. Rob turned the car over towards an impasse that led off the bridge and towards home base. It was already late in the evening. The Highrise itself was a massive brownstone standing five stories tall, with a roof and clocktower adding two more stories of height. It bore the familiar luminescent No-Ghost logo of Ghostbusters International® [colored navy blue] above the front double glass doors of the building. Underneath the premises was a vast garage spacious enough for holding several vehicles. Rob could work into the endless hours of the day on projects that kept the team mobile. Adjacent to this area laid a wide section containing an elaborate computer terminal attached to a large modified storage facility against the basement wall--the Ecto Containment Unit. Erin Cummins was on her break as she was sitting outside of headquarters looking across the street and saw the Ghostbusters pull into an exit/entrance bay leading towards the underground garage. She was the team's client administrator, a position that has had some less than interesting perks. But, the pay was decent and her employers were no less the same. Hey, green-eyes?" Rob greeted her as he pulled into the stretch of track leading around the back of the building to the garage/basement, its path made visible by guiding raceway lights and illuminated by the Penn's Landing neon sign set above Pier 19. "You've had a visitor sitting upstairs in the library for a few hours now", she said. Then she looked over at Brian. "It's actually for him, but he was interested in meeting all of you." A look of frustration crossed CJ's face. "Can't it wait till after dinner? I mean, we didn't stop at a drive-thru on the way here; it being late and all..." "We'll have to hold off on the General Tso's Chicken until later", Rob said slapping his shorter counterpart on the back. Shaking his head, CJ handed Erin the Sphere Trap from the passenger side window. "Hard day?" [Flashback to CJ's facial expression as he and Statler had earlier crashed the Ecto-M through the Jackes's kitchen] "You have no idea." Jenna Simmons could feel another presence around her as she walked away from the WGN radio station in North Chicago. She, along with her two friends from college, was one of the top Dee-jay's for the company and had successfully made 'J-love and Renee's Rap Top 40's!' a breakout hit on the airwaves; a radio show that had record producers elated with dreams of cash grandeur. In fact, earlier that day, Michael McGrew, an executive of SIRIUS Satellite Radio, was attempting to broker a deal between the trio to bring 'J-love and Rene' to a wider audience beyond the localities of upstate Illinois. If things went well, Jenna knew, this could mean roughly 10,000,000 for all three of them annually; quite a leap from the paltry sum of 50,000 that WGN was paying for a relatively brand new show. Her footsteps echoed throughout the empty parking lot. Though, while everything was going great for her, she began to feel an intense notion of anxiety. It was not the usual, paranoid thoughts that permeate through one's mind in the pitch black of night. She experienced a feeling of dread, as if something grim would occur. She shrugged it off. When Jenna was a child, her grandmother, an arcane Jamaican woman, would warn her of the mysterious ways of the world and beyond. "Beware child", she had said. "Always keeps an eye a'lookn' for d'dark things. For they will consume you if you ignore them." Jenna always believed the things her grandmamma would say were nothing more than fairy tales to scare little children. But all the same, she questioned herself as to why she would be thinking of these things after so long? Perhaps it related to an incident in which her grandmother compelled her to undertake on her 18th birthday, long before she met J-love and Renee, the part of her past she kept secret from them. Something she felt no need to talk about; something she's tried hard to forget. She never saw the little red dot from a laser in the distance fixated on her back as she approached her Oldsmobile. She didn't see the figure in the dark as he aimed an outfitted Remington Model 798 308 Win, reformatted as an automatic weapon, the original muzzle replaced with that of a silencer. Following a muted tranquilizer shot, Jenna collapsed to the ground. "Come on now. Time to wake up." Jenna felt something prod her in the side. She groaned and tried to raise her hand to her forehead. She was shocked to discover that she could not. Her whole body was bound to a post; she was unable to escape. Looking around, Jenna realized that she wasn't in the studio parking garage anymore. Her new location was unfamiliar. It was completely dark, save for a few objects that were visible by a faint light coming from another room. All around her, she heard what appeared to be machinery running. Was it some kind of factory? She wondered. Suddenly, the light in the other room went out and she was in darkness again. She heard footsteps walking towards her. They weren't heavy, but rather calm and relaxed. Looking up, she thought she saw a shadow in the room, as the figure kept his face in the midst of the blackness. But she could scant make out that his clothes were casual: a blue gingham shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her worries had begun to amass, pondering what he wanted with her and praying he that he wasn't a sexual predator. The figure stopped walking. He was no more than about three or four feet away from her. "Cigarette?" he asked, in a very gravelly British tone. Simmons shook her head, trying to suppress tears. She could see the man shrug, as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He took a long drag before exhaling a trail of blue smoke. For a few moments, there was silence. She cried, yet tried her best to keep her dignity, "What do you want with me?" Finally, the man spoke. "I know what's going through your mind", he said going over towards a dark corner. It sounded as if he had just pulled out a chair and was moving across the floor, back to where he'd been standing earlier. "To be quite blunt: yes, I am going to kill you." Simmons fought hard against a whimper that was creeping in her throat. "W--why?" she asked. Another drag on his cigarette. "Because", he said. "I need to." "No you don't. You don't have to kill me..." "You don't understand Ms. Simmons..." This caught Jenna off guard. He knew her name. He was not just some random stalker. He knew who he was looking for. "You don't understand a goddamn thing." She heard him rise out of his chair and walk towards her again. He held out his hand. For a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her. But instead, he reached for her neck and ran his finger along the length of her necklace, forcefully ripping it off. She noticed his hand had an odd tattoo on it: a pentagram enclosed in a circle. She had seen something like that only once before. Her eyes opened wide at the sudden realization. "Using your powers won't do you any good here", he said. "This structure is protected by a powerful negation spell that disconnects the spellcaster from its source. Namely you. And, with someone who has not used their abilities in such a long time, your need to focus all of your energy through this," He held up her necklace, as if studying it for a moment. It was an unusual piece of jewelry: a hunk of red ruby quartz that was strung to a length of hemp. And yet, Jenna had worn it for years. Not as a way of providing her dormant spiritual abilities with a conduit, but out of respect for the people of her grandmother's tribe. "Well", the man continued. "Consider yourself fucked either way." He held the necklace high above his head in one hand. Jenna watched, shivering and wide-eyed as her captor crushed the necklace into powder. Instead of throwing it away, the man pulled a small pouch out of his pocket, pouring the contents from his hand inside. "I can smell your anger in the air", he said as he went about what he was doing. "Shame, really there's nothing your pitiful will can conjure that will save your life. You probably would have been a dish to fight." He paused, and then stepped toward her slowly…still keeping himself hidden within the darkness. "…Or perhaps, if the circumstances were different…" He sniffed her perfumed neck, then lowering himself to her cleavage. "…just a dish for me." Putting the pouch in his pocket, the man went back over to the dark corner of his room. He rummaged for a few seconds before finding what he was looking for. Jenna saw that he now held what appeared to be a milk jug. He unscrewed the cap. A sweet smelling scent filled the room. "I'd recommend you close your eyes", he said. Jenna had little time to fathom the meaning of the man's words as he tossed the content of the jug on her. Upon touching her skin, it felt cold as a chill ran up her spine. The man repeated this process with another jug. "There. I think that's enough." He took a few moments to admire his work. "Sure you don't want a cigarette?" "Why are you doing this to me? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT? I don't even know you!" The man stopped for a moment to study her. Blowing out another trail of smoke, he walked up to her. "Yes, my dear", he said. "You do." He bent down close to the woman, so that she would get a good look at his face. "It's…its you!" she screamed, attempting to push away from her captor, who she had now seen was a tall man. "The oils I've poured on you will incinerate your body. There won't be much left in the way of police evidence. That's a special gift from, well, another friend of mine who happened to be an Alter Boy at the Vatican." "But aren't you afraid of burning this whole place down too?" "Not really. If you look down at your feet", he said, pointing at a red seal on the ground, "I've completely isolated myself from the parameter. Sucks to be you right now, hmm?" The tall man took one last drag on his cigarette before he flicked it at Jenna. She jerked up and down desperately…crying…struggling to run despite her inability to move. He turned his head to the side as the flames jumped upwards, engulfing her body in an instant. Her shrill screams echoed throughout the structure, as the flesh melted from her bones and she inhaled the flames. As he walked out of the room with the smell of sulfur and seared meat behind him, a stout man had been waiting in the offset. "Once this is finished", The tall man told The Disciple, thumbing at the charred corpse in the other room, "put the ashes in the fireplace and burn them again." The Disciple nodded as the tall man departed. He did not follow ahead, but was instead transfixed by the blurred flicker of the embers, just as he had overseen earlier that same day. Act IITop Discuss this Story on the Forum |
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