The Shadow Fixer Page 2

  She coaxed the woman to stand, guiding her to the elevator, then leaned in to hit the button for the roof, ducking out before the doors closed.

  “Peters,” said Kirsten into her comm, “sending a civilian up to you. Make sure your team doesn’t freak and blow the crap out of her.”

  “Copy, lieutenant.”

  Dorian looked at the ceiling. “Hope they resist. Whole building’s saturated in radiant fear.”

  “Yeah…” Kirsten went left, down the short corridor connecting the elevator lobby to the loop of apartment doors.

  Like many residential century towers of this type, the sixty-fourth floor contained the ‘nice’ apartments, meaning they had more than one room, unlike the lower floors packed with super-economy single-room pods. She thought it ironic the poorer tenants closer to the ground had a better chance of surviving a catastrophe like a major fire.

  Kirsten paused at the corner to check on the man lying face down in a pool of blood. She didn’t need to touch him to realize he’d been killed, as his ghost stood a few paces away. A wound under the chin appeared to line up with the notion of a child stabbing a large knife upward into the brain from below.

  “Damn,” muttered Kirsten. She looked up from the body at a hallway containing four additional bodies: three adults and a boy not yet old enough to shave. Horrified, she sprinted past the ghost to the boy.

  The smell of shit intensified.

  Kirsten dropped to one knee and put a hand to the boy’s neck. Warm. Rapid pulse.

  “He’s alive. Probably fainted instantly in terror.” Dorian pointed down the hall. “Listen.”

  A faint little girl voice warbled in a sinister, yet familiar melody, singing a children’s song in a minor key, the words too distorted or mumbled to make out. The dirge emanated from the second-to-last apartment near the end of the corridor.

  “Excuse me…” The ghostly man walked over to them. “I couldn’t help but notice the two of you looked right at me. Everyone else is ignoring me. Why?”

  “I’m sorry.” Kirsten struggled to gather the twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy up in her arms. “You are dead.”

  The man braced his hands on his hips. “Kinda figured that seeing as how my body’s on the floor right over there. This kid’s parents ran off and left him there. Is he okay?”

  “Scared shitless.” Kirsten hurried back to the elevator, carrying him.

  “Literally.” Dorian wagged his eyebrows.

  She sighed. “Must you?”

  The ghost followed them. “It’s Melanie’s daughter. She’s gone crazy. I saw her chasing Alexandra down the hallway, tried to help, but the damn brat stabbed me in the head. She must be on serious drugs. Kids shouldn’t be so damn strong.”

  “How long ago did Melanie lose her daughter?” Kirsten elbowed the elevator call. “Peters? Copy.”

  “I’m here,” replied Sergeant Peters via the comm.

  The ghost gave her a weird look. “She didn’t. The kid’s not dead. Just crazy.”

  Kirsten glanced at the spirit, mildly perplexed at him thinking the girl alive. What sort of ghost would continually manifest itself? She can’t be a technokinetic who can delete herself from video… they don’t make light apparitions or flood an area with dread like this. “Sending up another one. Unconscious minor.”

  “Roger.”

  The elevator opened. Kirsten gently put the boy down, hit the roof button, and backed out.

  “You’re saying this kid’s alive?” asked Dorian.

  “Yeah.” The new ghost scratched at the back of his head. “I mean, I don’t really know them well. Just live on the—well, lived on the same floor. Just my luck. Try to do something nice for someone and get killed.”

  “Happens to the best of us.” Dorian patted the guy on the back. “Give us a moment to resolve this situation. If you need any help, we’ll be back after it’s over.”

  The guy laughed. “I’m a bit beyond help, but thanks.”

  “Help in the sense of sending messages to friends or family,” said Dorian.

  Kirsten hurried down the hall, drawing her E-90 despite hating doing so. If a knife-wielding psionic child came running at her, she’d try Suggestion first. But she knew this girl couldn’t be alive. The light blur on video had to come from a powerful spirit. Technokinetics able to influence cameras simply didn’t appear at all. Few ghosts had the power to manifest so solidly they appeared to the living as ordinary people—and hold the manifestation while knife-murdering random strangers.

  “Oh, shit,” whispered Kirsten.

  “You’ll have to give me more than that. I can’t read minds anymore.”

  She paused six doors from the open apartment, E-90 aimed. “Think this is a possession? Live kid, abyssal?”

  “Darn. We’ve had a good few months without a demon.” Dorian fake snapped his fingers. “Makes sense though. Might as well get this over with.”

  A door on the right lazily swung inward as she neared, revealing a forty-something man pinned to the wall by three kitchen knives, one through his left eye.

  “No kid is strong enough to put a knife through a skull.” Kirsten swallowed.

  “Telekinetic?”

  She shifted her jaw side-to-side. Sometimes, adolescence brought with it spikes of uncontrolled psionic power. It happened most often with Telekinesis, and typically at a subconscious level out of the child’s control. About half the ‘object throwing’ poltergeist calls she investigated turned out to be a tween in the house with runaway power they didn’t even realize they had.

  None of those kids had the precision and power to ram knives into a body, stapling it to the wall. Wild telekinetic storms raged with all the finesse and predictability of a hurricane, not surgically staple a guy to a wall. Nothing about this situation made any sense.

  “One way to find out,” whispered Kirsten.

  “Hmm?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

  “What exactly we’re dealing with here. One way to find out.”

  “Ahh, yes.”

  She squeezed her grip on the rubberized grip of the E-90 and advanced the rest of the way down the hall to the open door. Shoulder to the wall, she paused, listening. The sinister nursery rhyme came from deep within the apartment. Someone else rasped for breath.

  Kirsten swung into the doorway, E-90 up.

  The living room lay in a state of mild shambles, no worse than two guys getting into a fistfight over a Gee-ball match. A woman lay curled on the floor near the sofa, cradling a stomach wound. Kirsten rushed over, keeping her weapon aimed at the interior hallway. Dorian walked past the couch, also aiming a ghostly version of an E-86 toward the singing.

  “Help…” wheezed the woman. “Lily is…”

  “That’s Melanie.” The ghostly man appeared in the doorway. “Wow… her own daughter stabbed her.”

  Kirsten crouched next to Melanie, sneaking a few glances down at her in between watching the corridor for the approach of a crazy child. The girl appeared to be in her bedroom, singing to herself.

  “Lily is…” Melanie swallowed blood. “Possessed.”

  “Hold on.” Kirsten pulled two stimpaks, bit the yellow safety caps off the tips, and jammed them simultaneously into the woman’s leg.

  Melanie drew in a sharp breath. “Cold…”

  “Means they’re working,” whispered Kirsten.

  “Why did… why did God let this happen?” Melanie looked up at her.

  Dorian facepalmed.

  Kirsten clenched her jaw. ‘Because he isn’t real’ wanted to jump off her tongue, but it felt cruel to say to a delirious woman bleeding out after being stabbed by her child. ‘Because he likes watching people suffer’ didn’t sound terribly nice either. She knew her instant negative reaction to the g-word came from Mother torturing her for four years, using him as an excuse for her cruelty. No need to take it out on this woman. “Dunno.”

  Melanie passed out.

  Damn. She’s lost a lot of blood. Kirsten used another stimpak o
n her. Six left… hope this spirit doesn’t kick my ass too bad.

  The singing stopped.

  Kirsten raised her arms, peering over the E-90’s glowing blue ring-dot sight at the empty corridor. She eased herself up to stand, slipped around the couch, and crept toward the girl’s bedroom. Silence hung thick in the apartment, the thump of Kirsten’s heartbeat noticeable in her ears. Whatever happened in the next few minutes would undoubtedly give her nightmares and probably an interstellar freighter’s worth of guilt.

  At the bedroom doorway, she paused, took a quick breath, and peeked around.

  A girl in a blood-soaked white nightgown knelt on the floor, staring at her bloody hands. She appeared to be around ten years old with light brown skin, like most of the city’s population. Long, fluffy dark hair obscured her face. A giant carving knife lay on the rug by her right knee. Except for the bloody footprints and droplets around her, the bedroom looked immaculate, like a demo apartment no one lived in. As sweet as Evan was, even he didn’t keep his bedroom this perfect.

  Paranormal energy drenched the area, strong to the point Kirsten’s entire body tensed as if she’d been doused in ice water.

  “Help me,” whispered Lily. The girl lifted her head, half her blood-spattered face visible through a gap in her hair. “It made me do awful things. I’m scared.”

  Oh, no… Kirsten’s heart sank. She slid the E-90 back into its holster as she entered the room. “It’s all right, hon. I’m here to help.”

  Lily reached both hands up like a five-year-old wanting to be held. She sniffled, shaking in fear.

  Kirsten took another step closer, eyeing her surroundings warily. Far too much energy remained in here for the spirit to have gone far. At least, she hoped so. If residual energy had so much power, the ghost itself would make the Wharf Stalker seem as weak as a goblin from the Monwyn universe.

  “Is it still here?” whispered Lily between sniffles.

  She definitely thought so, but didn’t want to terrify the child any worse. “Maybe.”

  “It hurts,” whined Lily.

  “What hurts?” Kirsten crept closer to her, still looking around for the ambush. Something about the room didn’t feel right. Too perfect, like a grieving parent keeping a shrine to a lost daughter. Too much energy in the air, and it didn’t seem stronger to either side, no sense of direction… everywhere.

  “My whole body. Like I fell down the stairs.” Lily bowed her head, keeping her arms raised as if asking to be picked up.

  The rug in front of Kirsten’s boot filled her with dread, as though it held land mines. Stepping forward even one more inch felt as if it could kill her. She tensed, expecting the dark spirit to come flying at her any second. The instant she lowered her guard to focus on the frightened child, it would strike.

  Dorian moved into the room, circling to the right.

  Kirsten took another two steps closer, overcome by guilt at making the poor girl wait for comfort.

  Lily glanced sideways at Dorian.

  She can see him? Kirsten hesitated. Like a droplet of black ink hitting water, doubt fell into her overwhelming concern for this child. She shifted her gaze from the room to the little girl kneeling in front of her. At last, what her Astral Sense had been trying to tell her made it past her sensitive heart. The spectral energy didn’t emanate from the room—it came from the child.

  Lily rose up a little on her knees, stretching to hug Kirsten, whimpering.

  A creepy chill teased down her back. This isn’t right. She held still, gazing at the girl, and tried to peek into her head. Though she sensed Lily’s presence—clearly not a doll—the storm of mental energy lacked substance to telepathy, as though she tried to grasp a cloud in her hand.

  She’s a ghost.

  The instant Kirsten’s posture changed from comforting to guarded, Lily sprang upward, slashing at Kirsten’s throat, a knife seemingly teleporting into her hand. Kirsten caught the child’s wrist, repeating a maneuver she’d rehearsed endlessly in training. She smoothly disarmed the girl and tried to chicken-wing the arm behind Lily’s back.

  Growling, Lily rammed her elbow into Kirsten’s stomach. Superhuman strength behind a tiny, pointy arm knocked Kirsten stumbling, momentarily stunned in pain. Dorian pounced on the girl, grabbing her from behind. For an instant, he appeared surprised to get a solid grip on her. Kirsten doubled over, cradling her stomach. Lily slipped down out of his grip, dropping to her knees, then spun, biting Dorian on the leg above the knee while raking her small clawed fingers down the back of his leg.

  He yowled in pain.

  Kirsten summoned the Astral Lash, unfurling a slender cord of scintillating white-blue energy from her right hand. Lily detached herself from Dorian, whirling to face Kirsten, growling past black-stained teeth.

  “Lily, what’s happened to you? Why are you attacking people?” whispered Kirsten. “Let me help you.”

  Dorian, clutching his leg, fell over backward. “Don’t trust it.”

  Snarling, Lily spun into a kick, punting Dorian’s head like a Frictionless orb. He disappeared through the bedroom wall, leaving a thin layer of clear ectoplasm glooping down to the floor. When she faced Kirsten again, she attempted to look innocent. A droplet of black ichor dribbling over her chin kept her firmly grounded in creepy.

  “I’m okay now.” Lily raised her arms and approached as if wanting a hug. “It’s scary sometimes.”

  Kirsten never imagined she’d be capable of lashing a child spirit—but this one’s eyes held malevolence, not innocence. Lily had already tried to trick her into getting close once. She had no doubt there would’ve been a knife in her heart had she lowered her guard all the way and attempted to pick the girl up.

  “Why are you doing this?” Kirsten took a step back.

  “Don’t be scared.” Lily grinned, releasing more black sludge from her mouth. “I’m only a little girl.”

  “Bullshit!” yelled Dorian from the next room.

  Her sensitive heart wept, but everything else—psionic senses, her gut, her rational mind, disagreed. If she thought too much about it, she’d end up dead. When the child took another step closer, Kirsten rounded the spectral whip in a half-committed strike. Too focused on staring into her eyes, Lily didn’t see it coming until the energy cord sliced across her chest.

  The child arched her back, up on her toes, screaming in a polyphonic voice part little girl part grown woman on the deeper end of monstrous. Hearing a kid shriek in agony as though someone tortured her with a stunrod stabbed Kirsten in the feels—however, the second voice reminded her way too much of the abyssal, Mariko Moriyama, for guilt to overwhelm her.

  Demons pretend to be children to fool soft-hearted people. Kirsten clenched her fist around the lash, refusing to believe a genuine child could end up in the Abyss… then escape.

  She coiled the energy cord back for another strike.

  Lily ran—curiously using the door instead of going through the wall.

  Kirsten chased her out into the hall. Dorian dove in an attempt to catch Lily, but the child hurdled over him. Kirsten leapt him as well, pursuing the girl across the living room and into the corridor. Despite the spirit being old and likely powerful, its child-sized form had short legs. Kirsten overtook her in seconds, close enough to snap the lash into the entity’s back.

  Lily wailed in agony, dropping to her knees and sliding to a stop on all fours. Kirsten skidded to a halt, raising her arm. Cat-like, the girl pivoted to face her, trying to look pathetic. The pleading stare stabbed Kirsten in the heart, making her feel like Mother for abusing a little girl. She almost caved in to guilt and lowered her arm, but caught sight of three corpses in the hallway behind the child.

  “I don’t think you’re really a little girl.” Kirsten mentally called out into the aether in hopes a Harbinger might be listening. If they seemed interested in Lily, it would prove beyond a doubt this ‘child’ had zero innocence.

  Snarling, Lily dropped the scared act and glowered.

&n
bsp; A wave of mental force slammed into Kirsten’s senses. The hallway turned black-and-white. Demonic, insectoid limbs grew up from the floor and walls, shadowy swaths of bio-organic horror replaced the ordered flatness of human construction. Two gigantic human arms thrust up from the carpet in front of Lily, stretching the floor open into a hole big enough for a grotesquely oversized woman to drag herself up from parts below. The monstrous form of Mother climbed upright, filling the hallway to the ceiling, her shoulders touching each wall. She towered over Kirsten, making her feel as though she’d shrunk down to being six years old again. The woman’s body bore dozens of open holes from which flesh-eating bugs spilled out, tumbling down her legs to the floor. Two stubby horns jutted from her temples. Missing skin sliced from her forehead made the shape of an upside-down cross.

  Sudden, intense fear gripped Kirsten—but only for a few seconds.

  The searing energy of the lash burning at the edge of her vision reassured her. No longer would she be powerless to defend herself. Mother was dead. This thing in front of her came from the darkest recesses of her mind.

  Not real. She’s forcing me to be scared.

  Kirsten roared a war cry and swiped the lash at Mother.

  The energy whip passed without resistance through the horrible woman, dispelling her back into the nothingness from whence she’d come. Aware of the illusion, her brain rejected it. The alien-demonic corridor of spikes and organic matter flickered back to normality.

  Lily gawked at her, the fear in her eyes genuine.

  Dorian leapt out of the wall in a flying tackle, crashing into the girl and stopping short as if he’d leapt into a tree. “Oof…”

  “Don’t!” yelled Lily. She grabbed Dorian, pulling him around in front of herself.

  He grunted, trying and failing to overpower her. “This kid is too damn strong.”

  “She’s not a real child!” yelled Kirsten.

  Lily backed away, hiding behind him. “You’re not gonna burn your pet spirit with a stupid light noodle!”