Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ A Touch of Death ❯ Chapter 4

WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS: These are all fictional characters and any similarities to anyone living or dead is completely incidental. And anyway, I'm not making any money off of this.

 

This is my NanoWriMo piece, which I managed to turn out in half the time allotted. If you don't know what Nano is, check out www.nanowrimo.org for information and a chance at a really good time.

 

There.

Lathe's hand tightened, a long scythe appearing in it as he sliced open whatever frayed fabric reality was made from and pushed out into the world. They were here, he could feel them slithering over his skin. One hand wrenched off the goggles from his eyes and they narrowed as they swept over the long stretch of concrete and stone, the sound of airplanes noisily pounding through the air.

Something twitched suddenly, and Lathe swung the scythe back.

 

***

 

“Phantoms?” Kathryn said. “What are you talking about?”

Slate's big hand was locked around her wrist, holding tightly but without enough force to hurt. She wondered how long he'd practiced to keep from using all the strength she knew was in his fingers.

“Just move,” Slate rumbled.

They shoved down the long aisle, everyone who had been filling it suddenly stepping out of the way, their faces flashing with confusion.

“But wait--”

“Be quiet,” Slate muttered. “I have to concentrate to fall through things.”

Then Slate was walking through the plane and Kathryn's eyes clenched shut before he tugged her through. They fell a little, but before Kathryn could stumble at all, Slate was pulling her onward.

“What are Phantoms?” she asked.

“Pieces of something,” Slate said.

“Of what?”

“If I knew, I would have said,” Slate said. “Just move.”

“What's wrong?”

“They're dangerous, even to dead people.”

Something pulsed through the air suddenly, a blast of cold so deep and full that Kathryn imagined it had even pierced the bones of her corpse. She shuddered and now the dread that Slate had talked about was running up and down her spine, with fingers of terror slowly wrapping around her throat. A whimper escaped her, and Slate roughly yanked her onward.

“A Cerberus,” Slate breathed. “We should have stayed on the plane.”

“Slate,” Kathryn whispered. “What's going on?”

A fine misting rain had started to fall, the perfect setting for the creepiness that was beginning to edge everything around them. Planes hulked in the growing night and lights distantly lined the horizon. Slate's breath plumed in the air and Kathryn couldn't help curiously glancing down to try and make her own breath hang like that. She really was dead.

“Which way?” Slate murmured. “Which way are they?”

“What are we doing?” Kathryn said.

“Shh,” Slate snapped.

Another slice through the air of that soul crushing cold. Kathryn shuddered and hunkered against Slate's body as something teased across her skin with numbing cold. Slate's hand tightened around hers, but he didn't look back. His eyes were scanning over the tarmac and suddenly flickered as they picked up on movement.

“There.”

And the word was like death. It stayed suspended in the air too long, as if the meaning behind it was too big to disappear so easily. Kathryn felt it finally land on her and it commanded her eyes out into the dark night.

“Phantoms,” Slate whispered.

 

***

 

Lathe hated how they moved. It was too fluid, too fast. Nothing should be able to glide through the air like that. His lips narrowed as the scythe carved a path after one and his body arched away from a sudden lashing out from the strange thing. He felt a low sound escape him.

Yes, he hated how they moved.

 

***

 

Slate had called them pieces of something, and as Kathryn stared at them, she knew he was right.

It was like watching a ripped up death shroud coming to life, like shadows had broken free from what made them and were now living a life of their own. And there was something wrong about that. They were broken shards of something and they shouldn't be alive like that. Her breath stuttered over her lips; were they even alive?

A man was tangled within them, a long scythe in his hands that slashed out after the darting forms. He was wrapped up in shadows of his own and every movement seemed to come from nowhere. The phantoms curled around him, but couldn't get close enough to touch him, his body somehow picking up their rhythm and guiding him out of the way. The scythe shot out again, and another wave of coldness washed over Kathryn.

“Slate?” she whispered, but she didn't know what she was asking him for.

“We need to go,” Slate said softly.

Kathryn couldn't stop staring. They moved so gracefully, so carefully. If something in them hadn't been so inherently misplaced, they would have amazed her. Another soft sound escaped her and suddenly one of the things paused.

“Oh no,” Slate breathed.

And Kathryn didn't need to ask what it was now, because even she could tell that the thing was looking at them.

 

***

 

They moved in a pack, Lathe knew enough about them to be aware of that, and like so many bottom feeders, they always went for the weak ones. They circled slowly, picking and choosing, and then struck. But Lathe wasn't weak, and he wasn't giving them an opening.

But something shifted in the air, and the phantoms turned softly away from him. They stiffened in the night and then, as one, slithered into the shadows.

 

***

 

Slate's eyes were wide now and he was tugging feebly at her arm again, some part of him trying to get away, but he couldn't seem to make his legs work. Distantly, Kathryn wondered if she could even walk. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and her whole body felt suddenly dry.

They were coming. They glistened like oil and oozed with every perfectly timed movement. The air pulled back around them like a curtain lifting, and the quiet sound of their movement was like fingertips against a pulse beat.

Another swipe of cold scratched over her skin, and she realized that the dark man was chasing them, trying to cut them down as they glided towards her. One fell, seemingly pinned to the shadows before it just evaporated, but the others didn't even bother to slow. They came on, still moving, and Kathryn finally found the strength to take a step back.

 

***

 

Lathe could practically hear his teeth grinding together. What was a spirit doing there and why were the phantoms so interested?

He grunted as the scythe pinned another of the vague forms, the blade burying itself down into the hard stone and screeching as he wrenched it free. The shadows were completely ignoring him now and he felt a fissure of frustration push down his spine.

“Get out of here!” Lathe growled and the scythe swung again. “Go!”

Slate's fingers suddenly dug down into Kathryn's arm and he spun on his heel. He started moving, a shambling quaking run that left Kathryn struggling to keep up. Kathryn could hear his breathing and she winced as her arm was painfully jerked in its socket. At the moment, it wouldn't be so bad to be devoid of feeling.

She risked a look over her shoulder, and couldn't help but close her eyes for a split second before she could look away. They were getting closer.

“In here,” Slate mumbled around loud breath and flung her into the side of a waiting truck.

Kathryn blinked in surprise, but then Slate was ripping the door open and she was left scrambling inside. Slate jammed his fist against the ignition and the truck roared to life. Its engine suddenly choked and rattled and Kathryn listened as Slate coaxed life to stay in it.

“Come on, baby,” Slate murmured. “Just a few seconds.”

The headlights flared to life and the truck lurched forward like some broken toy. Kathryn fought with her seatbelt but Slate shook his head.

“Be ready to jump,” he said. “Make sure you're not touching me so you can pass through anything you roll into.”

“What?”

They barreled forward towards the clustering phantoms and Kathryn screamed as they hungrily leapt towards the truck. The engine echoed her with a metal on metal cry of its own and Slate shook his head.

“Just a little farther.”

The engine exploded, a sudden flare of light and heat that slammed out in all directions. Kathryn threw an arm up to protect herself and then Slate was yelling in her ear.

“Now! Now!”

Kathryn jerked away from him and shut her eyes tightly as she threw herself from the car. The engine was somehow still racing with a throaty rattle and the car slammed forward into the waiting phantoms. A loud howl echoed over the crackle of the fire and grind of the truck and Kathryn kept her eyes closed as she rolled away.

She wasn't sure how much time really passed, but the sound seemed to have gotten quieter. A sudden crunching crash caused her to flinch and curl up tighter on the cold ground, but silence punctuated by the wailing cry of approaching sirens bled over her. Kathryn took a careful swallow and sat up slowly, some part of her imagining that her heart was racing in her chest.

“Are you alright?”

She flinched back as a face half masked in darkness and barely glinting in distant firelight loomed over her. Kathryn's teeth clamped down around the frightened cry that wanted to escape her and her arm shot out in a long slow sweep. It passed loosely through the man over her and she shook her head angrily.

“Hey, hey,” he said lowly. “Calm down.”

“Get away from her.”

Slate's voice was a low growl that rumbled over her skin with soothing protectiveness. His hand snaked around the dark clothed figure and easily pulled Kathryn back to her feet. Sensation immediately spiraled back through her body and she felt both relieved and frightened at the pain that rumbled through her hands and knees.

“I was just checking to see if she was hurt,” Lathe said, both hands held up towards Slate. “That's all.”

“And then the scythe comes out,” Slate snapped.

Lathe's eyes flattened and he turned to the truck now crushed against the side of an old hangar. A few fire fighters were dousing the blaze. None of the phantom corpses remained, they'd either burned up or disappeared.

“Thank you for your help,” Lathe said passively and held out one hand.

Slate's hand flexed around Kathryn's arm and pulled her tighter behind him.

“I wasn't reaching for my scythe,” Lathe murmured.

Kathryn glanced between them and then thrust out one hand to lightly grasp the gloved one Lathe held out. She felt Slate tense next to her, but more than that she felt the soft leather of the other man's glove and the cold of the skin underneath.

“Thank you,” she said.

Lathe glanced down at their hands and then back up at her once before he nodded.

“Good night,” he murmured and stepped back into the shadows.

His footsteps left them slowly and both Slate and Kathryn watched as he walked away. Kathryn frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the big man.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“He's a Cerberus,” Slate said.

“What's that mean?”

“I keep forgetting you don't know anything,” Slate said absently.

Kathryn started to snap angrily but Slate's eyes were still locked on Lathe and Kathryn turned to watch him again. The shadows pulled tight around him again, and he again raised one hand. The scythe pulled itself free from wherever it chose to hide and his fingers closed smoothly around it. With one smooth strike, a rip pulled through the air and Lathe easily stepped within it.

Kathryn knew her mouth was hanging open, but she didn't bother to close it as the tear slowly repaired itself. The night was left unscarred, but Kathryn's sanity was dangerously close to have some long lasting marks.

“He's a Cerberus,” Slate rumbled again, as if that explained everything. “They move in the dark places. They take souls to Hell or destroy ones that have gotten dangerous.”

His fingers flexed around her arm and he shook his head slowly.

“I've never seen one walk away from a ghost without breaking it apart,” he murmured.

A shudder worked down Kathryn's body and she looked up at him as Slate rubbed at his face. He sighed and now his eyes groggily padded down to her.

“Of course, this is a night of firsts,” he said and confusion sparked over his flaccid eyes. “The plane didn't crash.”

 

***

 

In a dark alley, in a place that didn't matter, there was an aborted scream of pain and the flash of a knife. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Metal clattered over the ground with disbelief and running footsteps filled the air. Hot blood gurgled over the pavement and shadowy things leaned forward to feed.

 

***

 

“The plane didn't crash?” Erec said with a surprised frown.

“No,” Slate said. “It did not.”

Erec dropped back in his chair and glanced between the two of them. His eyes narrowed a little as they slid back to Slate.

“You were on the plane, right?”

“Yes,” Slate said. “I was on the plane.”

“Well damn,” Erec muttered. “So much for simple solutions.”

His fingers drummed over his desk and then he rested his head in one hand as he examined Kathryn.

“What about you?”

“I was on the plane too,” she answered sarcastically. “Thanks for the warning, by the way.”

Erec chuckled and shrugged.

“I told you, on the job training. Now, you didn't do anything did you? Something that could--”

“Keep a plane airborne?” she asked sweetly and then her eyes narrowed. “No, I did not.”

“And then afterwards,” he asked. “You ran into phantoms?”

“Yes,” Slate said. “A pack of them. They were there swarming around the airport.”

“They were expecting a plane crash,” Erec murmured.

Kathryn frowned, but the man quickly cleared the intent look from his face and replaced it with an easy grin.

“And you all managed to avoid them?”

“Slate used a truck to take care of them. It burst into flames and then Slate rammed them with it,” Kathryn said. “And there was this guy with a scythe there too.”

“A Cerberus,” Slate said.

“Eventful first night,” Erec said chipperly. “So you blew up a car?”

“Yes,” the big man answered.

“That is a perk of being a gremlin,” Erec said.

“So's knowing just where you're supposed to be,” Slate said. “I was supposed to be on that plane. It was supposed to crash.”

Erec slumped into his chair again and a long slow breath escaped him.

“Well, I guess these things happen, I mean, you can't expect to be unlucky one hundred percent of the time.”

“I can,” Slate muttered. “It's always worked. Always.”

“All men go through things like this,” Erec said dismissively. “I'm sure it's embarrassing, especially with an audience there to see it. It's alright. Just try and relax and I'm sure things will work out fine next time.”

Slate's features ground into a scowl and Erec gave him a wide grin.

“Anyway, you got any ideas where your next job is?”

Kathryn felt her skin crawl and she knew she paled.

“I can't--”

“Not with her,” Slate grunted. “She can't come with. She's obviously some kind of jinx and coming from me, that really says something. Find her another job.”

Kathryn practically felt the relief break her knee caps. She managed to stay on her feet and gave Slate a grateful smile. Erec glanced between the two of them and then sighed noisily.

“Yeah, alright, I get it,” he said. “Fine, fine, I'll find her something else to do.”

He frowned as he stared at Kathryn.

“Just wait outside for a while while I make some more calls.”

“No killing,” Kathryn said quickly. “I mean that.”

“Most people don't get to pick and choose their jobs,” Erec said boredly.

“Most people didn't almost get killed when they went to their first job,” Kathryn snapped.

“You're already dead,” Erec said.

“I think the risk was still there,” Kathryn answered wryly.

“She has a point,” Slate said. “What would the After world think if word got around that your employees were running into phantoms?”

“Is that a threat?” Erec asked.

“I don't make threats,” Slate said. “But maybe I should just hang around your office for a while and see what kind of job she gets. Is that a new computer?”

Erec groaned and threw his hands up in defeat.

“Alright already, no killing. God, what am I going to do with you?”

 

***

 

Kathryn let out a long sigh as she and Slate stepped back out into the waiting room. She looked up over her shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“Thanks,” she said. “For everything. You…this was hard.”

Slate grunted something and absently rubbed his hands over his jacket.

“Just be careful,” he said. “Your next job might not be as easy.”

He sighed and lightly tapped his finger against her forehead.

“Don't forget to have him remove this or your next employer might have problems.”

Kathryn nodded and rubbed at her forehead, wondering just what exactly it was that Erec had done to her.

“Thanks,” she said again.

Slate lumbered towards the door and then paused there a moment, his head turning like granite on a mountaintop to look back at her.

“I mean it,” he said. “About being careful. Look after yourself.”

His eyes flicked over the office and he shook his head.

“Just keep an eye out.”

Kathryn nodded with a little surprise and Slate's eyes wandered over her again. Some part of him that was used to the wreckage and the burning whispered that this was the last time he was ever going to see her.

After all, he'd never seen phantoms hunt a spirit like that.

 

***

 

Ms. Anderson frowned as she read over the file that Erec was quickly typing.

“Wait, the plane didn't crash?” she said with disbelief.

“Nope,” Erec answered with a grin.

Suspicion darted down the secretary's spine and her eyes narrowed as she looked down at him.

“You knew it wasn't going to,” she said flatly.

Erec's fingers paused and his head rolled up to give her an entirely too innocent look.

“Who can really know anything?” he asked simply.