Out Of The Dark Read online

  out of the dark

  by

  Phaedra Weldon

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Phaedra Weldon on Smashwords

  Out of the Dark

  Copyright © 2008 by Phaedra Weldon

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Nurses are amazing creatures. Especially night shift nurses. Why, you ask? Because they see things no ordinary human should ever see--and they rarely ever question why. They just shake their heads and go on about their jobs of saving lives as well as doctors' asses.

  But by far my favorite nurse?

  The head nurse. The grand muckity-muck of the graveyard shift. 'Cause let me tell you--this is a force to be reckoned with. These women don't take shit off of anyone, not doctors, not patients, and certainly not half naked orderlies standing in the middle of the women's bathroom. And I have seen one of these nurses fell an otherwise healthy young man just by yelling.

  Now, I'd been hanging about Daniel's room so much I knew the nurse rotation. As did Mom. Hell, Mom brought cakes and brownies and homemade thigh-swelling sweet tea. She was a popular visitor on the floor--except to those who were trying desperately to keep their girlie figures.

  Yeah, like they're all so flattering in those really loose, upholstery-patterned scrubs. Though there was one lady who had teddy bears on hers. Hrm--now those might make for comfy ice-cream eating evenings.

  Tonight's nurse was Tiarra (yep, you say it just like the crown, Tee-ar-ah) Boudreaux. Now--this lady stood a good foot taller than me. And that's saying a lot. I'm not exactly short. Her hair--sprayed upward into something resembling an ice-sculpture--made up a good half-foot of the height.

  Her nails were long and painted white with black spots, and her lips were always colored like McIntosh apples. Never a smudge. And evidently she'd already had it with Mr. Bartender and his shenanigans when she walked in on he and I in the bathroom--

  Wait, lemme back up a minute.

  Where was I the last time I saw you...Oh! Yeah. Mr. Dags the Bartender had his pants at his ankles. Naked men and all that.

  See, after getting over his shock of me walking in on him with Nancy the Nurse, he just stood there. Not moving. I wasn't doing anything but politely gawking.

  Now--this guy had been cute when I'd first seen him behind the bar at Fadó's. And he was still cute as a button with no shirt on--or pants on. I'd never seen a lower body blush, either.

  Mental note: Awwwww.

  But he kept his hands cupped in a ball over his crotch as we stood there, eyeballing each other. Not that I could actually see the goodies as his orderly's scrub top reached below his hips. He cleared his throat. His voice cracked and he had to swallow nervousness.

  "You--you were with Detective Frasier."

  I nodded.

  He was still blushing. Still cute. "You were a ghost--did you know that?"

  Nod again.

  He started shifting on his feet. Huh--did he have to go pee-pee?

  "He ever see you sitting there?"

  I nodded again, remembering that Dags had been called away to be manly before I went corporeal before Daniel. But this pretty much proved my hunch that day, that the bartender had noticed me. But why could he see me? Was he like Mom and Rhonda? Or just plain weird?

  There was a very long, awkward, strangled pause. Not for me, really. I still had my clothes on. I could stand here all night. I had no idea why he wasn't getting dressed.

  Dags, on the other hand, looked like he was gonna faint.

  Oookay. This was fun. Now, can we chew cardboard for our next trick?

  "Can I get dressed?"

  I nodded. Hey, I'm not stopping you. I stepped back and motioned for him to come out. He wasn't going to be able to pull his pants up in that tight of an area.

  The first thing I noticed this time and hadn't noticed in the bar was how not-tall he was. I guessed the top of his head would smack my nose. Short wasn't a bad thing--I liked short. And Dags made up for his lack of height in several different ways--like his hair. Loved his hair.

  He gulped and shuffled forward, maneuvering around the toilet and paper holder, still keeping those hands at half-mast. Sheesh. Come on dude--have a little pride in the goodies.

  He was looking at everything but me, and I noticed his ponytail reached a good bit down the middle of his back.

  "You don't talk much, do you?" he finally said as he cleared his throat and fixed me with a pleading look. I shook my head and touched my neck with my right hand and made sawing motions across my throat hoping to get the idea across I was mute.

  His face bleached white. "You--you had your throat--sliced?" the last word of his question cracked like a pubescent request. "Is that how you died?"

  Christ. Just pull your pants up already you moron.

  That's when Tiarra stepped in. He turned as the door opened. She smiled when she saw me.

  And then she noticed someone standing behind and to her right. Her eyes widened as she took in Dags' obviously embarrassing situation, pants at his ankles. His eyes widened. She put her hands on her more than feminine hips and knitted her eyebrows together until they became one.

  Which was a feat since they were like plucked into oblivion.

  "Darren McConnell!" Tiarrah boomed and I swear the tile rattled. I jumped.

  He did too and I winced as the motion yanked his shoulders up, which yanked his elbows up, which in turn pulled those cupped hands really tight.

  "What the hell are you doing? Exhibitioning in the ladies' room? You done gone all crazy? Jus' stand'n here all nekkid? You know you're nekkid, right? That's it, boy. That is it. You done made Tiarra mad, that you have." And with that she took two very deliberate steps toward him and got right up in his face. There was a pause. "Boo."

  And he keeled right on over. Bam! Didn't move or bend his body as he went down. Never tried to brace his fall. And he kept his hands in place the whole time. Though I did get a great shot of his bare ass.

  That's when Tiarra gave me the WTF look?

  I shrugged, grabbed my iBook and got the fucking hell out of the bathroom. From now on, I pee at home.

  <><><>

  "Delete, delete, spam, shit, Viagra, delete, delete, cyalis, trash," Rhonda continued her mantra as I buttered a biscuit. I'd grabbed a Sierra Mist out of a machine on the way from the bathroom back to Daniel's room and decided it was better for me--and everyone else--that in my present state of confusion I should remain sequestered.

  Rhonda as
ked me if I'd gone over my email while I'd been out of the room and I'd nodded. Of course. But then she'd opened the thing and she and Mom had read THE email.

  The one from my new pal, Maharba.

  That lead to a discussion of going to Captain Cooper and showing him the veiled threat from Maharba, which of course lead me into a very long and finger-cramping (as I scribbled away) explanation of why that was a bad idea on like so many levels. They finally agreed that showing Cooper would invite in all sorts of questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

  And I knew Cooper wasn't prepared to believe me on any level. Period.

  So it'd been dropped for the moment, and Rhonda turned her attention to the tedious job of going through my email for me her way.

  I just really didn't feel like it. There was something wrong with me--I'd just tortured a helpless guy in the ladies' room. What up with that?

  "So you just made him stand there?"

  I looked at Mom over the buttered biscuit and pretended my eyes were short-range missiles. Lock and load. I made little firing noises in my head at her. I nodded and put the butter knife back into her little picnic basket on the roll-around table, the one patients usually ate from while in bed.

  Made him stand there my ass.

  Hey, look at me, I'm Mom's Boo-Boo.

  "--delete, delete, delete--huh--what the hell?"

  "Zoë--you probably cost that boy his job."

  I bit into a chunk of fluffy, buttery heaven at that moment, and the comment made it turn to mashed peas in my mouth. I chewed and set the biscuit down before grabbing up my board again and erasing what I'd already written there.

  I NOT SCREW NANCY. I HAD TO PEE.

  "Did you pee?"

  Uh. No.

  Erase. NOT MY FAULT. I WAS...

  "You shouldn't be eating that biscuit," Mom said as she finished off her own. She swiped her hands together. "You bring your tester?"

  I shook my head and put the board down. Mom was already off on another tangent. No meter. I'd forgotten it that day, but I'd survived all freak'n day without it. Tadah!

  "Well, I'll go find Miss Tiarra--maybe they've got a spare kit and I can make sure she doesn't fire that nice boy."

  Nice boy? Mom, he was pok'n it to some cheese-ball in the ladies' bathroom.

  In a hospital.

  And I'm the bad guy here?

  What the hell is Mom logic? Chaos theory revisited?

  I eyeballed this woman as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, and then stood. She gave Daniel a glance where he lay still and quiet on the bed before leaving the room.

  I looked at Rhonda. She was reading something on my computer.

  Screw it.

  I stood, wiping my hands on my sweats and moved to the chair beside Daniel. He lay very still, oblivious to everything around him. I'd started worrying, really. If the smell of mom's biscuits wasn't rousing him, then I was afraid nothing would.

  I took his hand. It was cold. This was the left hand, the one that didn't have the broken pinky. And I held it between my two hands and I closed my eyes. I wasn't going to go OOB.

  No, not now. I was too afraid I'd suck up his soul or something.

  And I hadn't really gone OOB in several days. Maybe I forgot how to do it. I watched his chest move up and down. Watched his beautiful face. It'd been badly bruised when he was first brought in, with swollen eyes and jaw. But now he looked much better, with only a little stubble on his chin. Mom shaved him every other day.

  I trusted her to do that.

  "Hey Zoë--"

  I put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to look at me and tell me he loved me. I wanted him to tell his damned captain that I wasn't a bad person--

  Hell, I wanted to find Dags the bartender and tell him I was sorry for making him stand there naked.

  "Hey--"

  I pulled my hand away and put both of them to my face.

  "Kill the drama and get your ass over here."

  I raised my head and looked at Rhonda. Leave it to her to push me into reality again. With a look at my boyfriend I stood, snatched up my board, and moved to where Rhonda sat on the other side of the bed near the window of the small room. She motioned for me to kneel beside her.

  I grabbed one of mom's donut shaped pillows and knelt on that. I held out my hands, palms up.

  "You look at any of these jobs that came in?"

  I shook my head and erased my board. NOT WORKING. VACATION.

  "Well, yeah, but this one sounds kinda intriguing."

  I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head.

  "Will you listen to it?"

  Did I have a choice?

  "Okay," she tapped the down arrow. "To whom it may concern, I work with a woman named Maureen who insists the place we work has Shadow People in it."

  I held up my hand and mouthed "shadow people?" Most of my clients wanted me to gather information on an employee, or their wife or husband.

  So what was a shadow person? Was this a new code word for a boring co-worker? They were as exciting as shadows? Could be government spooks.

  Rhonda shrugged and kept on reading. "My boss thinks we're all crazy, but Maureen--she's the hostess--and the wait staff have all witnessed chairs moving, pictures turning around, and movement out of the corner of our eyes. They've shown up in pictures and several customers have complained of seeing someone standing in the bathroom." She paused and looked up at me.

  I shrugged. I was intrigued, but this was starting to sound more like an episode of Ghost Hunters than reality.

  I scribbled. WHAT ARE SHADOW PEOPLE?

  And Rhonda being Rhonda, tucked the email into the background and googled the term. We both leaned in close to read what Wikipedia had to say (not that I endorse anyone to believe what they read on this site, which is totally user based):

  Shadow People are said to be shadow-like creatures of supernatural origin that appear as dark forms in the peripheries of people's vision and disintegrate, or move between walls, when noticed.

  Okay, let me say now, that just creeped me the hell out. And I play a ghost on TV.

  "Oh, this is spooky. Zoë, it says unlike ghosts, these unknowns don't appear to wear clothing and don't feel as if they were once human. Instead--people have complained of being menaced, attacked and chased by them."

  I sat back and held up my hands. Nope. Sorry. After TC and Mr. Phantasm--I'm over the spook factory. Even if I am a VIP member. Uh-uh.

  Rhonda flipped back to the email. "One of the wait-staff fell down the stairs last week and broke her ankle. The manager is refusing to pay for the workman's compensation because he overheard her say she was tripped by one of the shadow people. I think this sucks that this guy can get away with this. The reason I'm writing you is because an old friend used you to prove her girlfriend was cheating on her. And I thought you'd be able to prove these shadow people exist. Please help us."

  I glanced at Daniel.

  "Well that's weird." Rhonda continued looking at the computer screen. "I haven't seen a ghost request since--"

  I grabbed up my board and erased. NOT SINCE SPRITE.

  Good old SPRITE. Southeastern Paranormal Research Institute for Tactical Extermination. Georgia's own brand of Ghost Hunters, who managed to get my astral self--pre-Wraith--on film. No shit. They'd been investigating a poltergeist. And Maharba had sent me in there to investigate as well.

  The meeting was not something I wanted to repeat.

  But since then, SPRITE had disappeared, and the owners--Randall and Herb--were missing in action. I hadn't heard a word from them in months. Not that I was complaining--but it was a little odd that right after exposing a ghost on local television the whole group vanished.

  Even their website URL was up for grabs.

  "This sounds interesting. I'll book it."

  I was shaking my head. She wanted me to go ghost hunting--which is technically not really my thing--while my future husband lay in a coma? Me be gone? What if he woke up an
d I wasn't there? Would he think I didn't care?

  Not to mention I really needed to know what it was he saw that day--with me holding on to him as he fell. Did he see me?

  Did he think I let go?

  These were the questions I had to get answered.

  Mental note: whine...

  I erased my board with my sleeve. Scribble. I NO WANT TO GO WRAITH. Then after she read it, I erased and scribbled again. I COULD BE DANGEROUS.

  Rhonda did this weird thing with her face. I mean--I've seen monkeys do that sort of thing--but Rhonda doesn't have a monkey face.

  I sat back.

  "Zoë--I know what you can do--you did it to me. But we're not talking about dealing with the living in this situation. And if you don't keep up the business, it'll vanish completely. So--this one sounds pretty easy. And I think it's more into where we should take things."

  Uh huh. That's Rhonda-speak for Ooooh, this sounds like fun!

  Rhonda didn't usually go on these cases with me. She stayed at home or did her gaming thing or something while I went out and went OOB.

  She started typing. Argument closed. Rhonda one, me zilcho.

  I pursed my lips and turned my attention back to Daniel and watched the monitors for a while. The constant hum and spith of the machines, the light beeping noises, all played out a really weird kind of lullaby...and I was kinda tired.

  Which is why I nearly jumped out of my skin, literally, when Rhonda spoke.

  "Okay--I've said we'll take the case."

  And that was that. We never gave clients any schedule, only the required date of payment, which was usually within 24 hours of accepting the job. That way they couldn't set up anything 'cause they just didn't know when it was we'd drop in. And since I was invisible--they never knew.

  Mom came back into the room then, frowning. She moved to stand next to me, her hands clutched in front of her. I looked up at her and gave her the best Yeah? look I could muster.