Sinister

by Dmdragonridr

A young girl is found heinously murdered on the University of Delaware's campus and as usual our favorite hunters show up to solve the mystery. But why are they acting so strange? and why are their names different? Team up with Officer Jim to find out. AU, implied Wincest.

Sinister

The Omen

Autumn leaves sweep past with the wind as the hazy light of the evening lanterns speckle the lonely University campus. Orange lantern light shines through the browning tree leaves onto the barren grass field, and the shadows dance. Weary of today's toils and tomorrows tests, the last haggard warriors of the day can be seen retreating to their housing. The Memorial bell tolls seven times, and what is not illuminated by the lanterns is shrouded in darkness. A solitary student walks swiftly past the library beneath the rattling windy branches, cutting across the green in direct pursuit of the Memorial Hall. With brisk, short steps she hurries along the path towards her next late class, hugging her hoodie closer to her skin as her footsteps echo against the red bricks of the pavement. A petite young girl with mocha skin and a quiet demeanor, her eyes are the color of dark brown. Scarcely the age of 19, she has a feminine face with short brown hair that's cut around the sides and wavy on the top. She wears size 6 black and white sneakers, with blue jeans that are a decidedly darker hue than the norm, and her hoodie is a nice shade of red.

She glances to her right, and almost stops completely when she sees a large foreign structure on the side of the building. A statue, with a blank face and unintelligible figure, casts its dark shadow in the lamp light. Protruding grotesquely from the wall, the statue itself is vastly nondescript, save for its long, spidery fingers that extend unnaturally from its side. It is white but clearly weather-stained, and the menacing cloaked figure stands hunched over like an old forgotten saint, the kind you would find decorating the outer walls of an old church from the Gothic era. Since when has that been there? she thought. Although ultimately uninteresting in its visage, the statue felt wrong. Malicious, even. That is, if a statue could ever truly be 'malicious' she thinks as she shakes her head contemptuously. Yet somehow, even with its rigid stillness, the dead eyes of the statue still seem to follow her with an exact focus, narrowing in on her as she walks by as if waiting for her to look away. It is mouthless. Just barely she manages to shake herself from its lifeless gaze as she skirts around the chain link fence, reaching the edge of the building and quickening her pace with renewed vigor, resolving at once to send an email of complaint to the Dean as soon as she gets within range of a computer. But just as she reaches the steps, she turns her head for one last apprehensive glance at the statue, only to realize with terror that it was now several inches from her face.

The Scene of the Crime

Officer Jim Goodman stood in front of Memorial Hall with a grim expression on his young face, his front turned towards the body that lay several yards before him on the field of grass that stretched within the two walls of academic buildings. The hall itself was in the center of the field, connected to the outside world only by the red brick pathways that were so fashionably adorned with black chain link fences. He shifted in his uniform, checking his watch in the peeking sunlight. It was just about 8am, the air was fresh and the grass was still moist with morning dew. The library, the field and its surrounding buildings had been shut down, and the entire scene before him was blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. The University had responded quickly to the situation, and the campus police force was already fast at work pushing back the crowd of students that had gathered a hundred yards or so away across the now deserted green, curious to see what had caused their classes to be so abruptly cancelled.

His uniformed colleagues were also on the edges of the crowd, looking fast for any possible witnesses to the crime. With such a large crowd to sift through, he alone had been delegated the task of babysitting the body. He took a moment to study it, soaking up the details of the unfortunate scene before him. The body itself was strewn haphazardly across the grass, the short brown hair and dirty red hoodie messied and torn. She was so young. A small girl, only about 5" 1', she hardly looked 18. They hadn't found an I.D. on her but he could guess. Her skin was the color of the coffee he was drinking this morning when he got the call, but strikingly cold by contrast and her eyes similarly stagnant. Stillness had begun to set in her body, and her face looked frozen, eyes fixed on some unseen horror. They had to wait for the coroner to arrive and give the ok before they could move the body.

What a shame, she really was so young.

At that point, the girl's shoes caught his eye. Or rather the lack thereof. To be precise, her left shoe was missing, her naked foot jutting out of the wet grass. Jim briefly scanned the surrounding area to see if it could be located, simultaneously shuffling through his pockets for his notepad while looking backwards and forth between the trees that marked the edges of the field. But just as he began to bring it out his search was abruptly interrupted by some kind of commotion coming from the right hand side of his peripheral vision; A jet black car of slick design and tinted windows pushed its way past the fence and onto the red bricks, pumping some sort of noise that he surmised must be music. Several Uniformed Officers (or Unies, as they called them) jogged up to meet it there, and after a brief conversation with its mystery driver (that probably involved some sort of flashing of badges) the car was waved through. It stopped 30 yards or so from the yellow tape, and two men in black suits stepped out of the car in unison. Both men wore suits that were nearly identical, but the driver sported a pair of black aviator glasses that concealed his eyes. Well this ought to be good.

With increasingly long strides they advanced towards the scene with a surprising gusto, and within a minute they were on him. Jim watched them come with a bemused expression on his face. They were both conventionally handsome in their appearance, looking to be somewhere in between twenty-five to lower thirties. The one with the glasses and a square jaw got there first, taller one in tow; "Hello there Officer my name is agent Jack Harrowman!"- extending a neatly laminated ID and badge- " and this is my partner Scott Wesson" gesturing to his colleague. Not bothering to wait for Jim to return the ID he had given him, the man now identified as 'Harrowman' immediately turned towards the body and kneeled down for closer inspection, his partner choosing instead to smile reassuredly in Jim's direction. 'Wesson' himself appeared to be a large man, although according to his ID he was actually younger than his partner, in fact hardly that much older than Jim himself. He was about 6"5', dwarfing his older friend with the glasses by about 4 inches. His hair was brown and longer by comparison to his short-haired companion, and his eyes were the color of cobalt blue, the kind that girls reputedly fall for. Jim supposed that was why he wasn't wearing any glasses. Having forgotten his notepad for the moment, Jim prepared himself to give a proper greeting; He was, after all, on the force now. "Officer Goodman" he said, announcing himself in what he thought might be the appropriate authoritative tone for an officer, and gave Wesson a concrete nod. "Good evening", Wesson replied.

"There's NO blood on this body!" Harrowman declared loudly, probably to himself but also possibly to his partner. Jim nearly jumped and immediately swiveled his focus to Harrowman and the body he was examining. It was true, though, there were no cuts on the body, at least visibly that they could see without the official coroner's report. Only just a massive collection of violent black and blue marks on her chest that were visible through the tears in her shredded hoodie. Indeed, the bruises were in the shape of finger marks, as though someone had desperately tried to claw their way into her chest by hand. Jim shivered at the sight. He had been trying not to think about it but the truth was this was the most disturbing crime scene he had ever witnessed so far in his short career as a law enforcement officer, and he had no doubts that it would remain so for a long time. Or so he hoped.

"Looks like something was tryin' real hard to get to second base huh officer?"

It was Harrowman that spoke. Jim could hardly believe what he had just heard; "Excuse me?" but the man had already turned back to the body, leaning in closely, too closely even, and licking his lips.

"She probably died peacefully" Wesson added, nodding ruefully and in utmost sincerity.

"If you think this is some sort of joke-" "-her left shoe is gone too. There's nothing under her fingertips either or a visible weapon wound" Harrowman announced without missing a beat, leaning backwards for a moment and shifting his weight onto his heels. Jim balked, but Harrowman continued his inspection without hesitation, clearly oblivious to whatever objections the young officer might have. What is with these two? Jim thought incredulously. He looked rapidly back and forth between the both of them, Jack-Harrowman-And-Scott-Wesson-From-The-FBI, two men who were purportedly his superiors. Wesson was still nodding, and the one who introduced himself as Harrowman seemed entirely intent on the body. Jim settled his focus on Harrowman, not yet sure what to think. Harrowman, licking his lips in concentration as he closely, very closely, scanned the body for anything else, lifted something peculiar out of his pocket and held it over to the body. It looked like some sort of modified Walkman. A few minutes passed before he returned the curious object back into his coat pocket, allowing time for Jim to fume.

Up until this point, Jim had always assumed the idea of FBI agents appearing rude and intrusive to be a stereotype of bad cop shows, but clearly he had been too quick to dismiss it. Such inappropriate behavior could only be interpreted as disrespectful and unprofessional, he decided, but he could only hope they would leave soon and not subject him to any more of their offensive comments. After all, he was new on the force and he doubted they would consent to leave at any one else's protest, least of all his. Still, he bristled with indignation and wished he could make them leave. Instead, he resolved to stony silence.

Just then, Harrowman bounced upwards in sudden decisiveness, jostling Jim out of inner monologue. At first he steps back on the balls of his feet to inspect the body from afar with an expression of concentration [as if attempting to piece together a puzzle on the back of a cereal box Jim thought] before rustling into his coat pockets for something else. Jim could only guess it to be some other kind of confused contraption of his. Finally, Wesson broke his reassuring-yet-remorseful smile-and-nod routine to produce a notepad and pen, not unlike his own notepad Jim noticed, and began to scribble things down onto the paper. Meanwhile, Jack-Harrowman-With-The-Glasses had produced a candy bar from his pocket and began to eat it right then and there where he stood, smiling (and nodding) at the officer with his mouth full in the sunlight. Silence. Harrowman didn't seem to notice.

"I'm gonna take these notes and go on break" said Wesson, breaking the silence and gesturing his pen in the direction of the library. Harrowman looked up at him:

"You think you can find anything there?"

"Only students are allowed in the library!" said Jim, immediately breaking his vow of silence for a chance to safely object.

"I doubt it. The University doesn't have a large selection to go by. Only a few books."

"You'll be home soon, then? Or not until tonight?"

He was beginning to wonder if they were actually deaf. He couldn't possibly be that insignificant…

"It might not take the whole day. Like I said they only have a few books."

"Sounds like a plan-" and turning to face the Officer with such quickness that Jim nearly jumped again " -let's split up gang!"

And with that they both turned on their heels and left without a word, Wesson to the library and Harrowman to the black car, leaving poor Jim all alone in shock. Or at least Harrowman had started after the car, but instead seemed to change his mind partway and turned after his partner, walking at a much swifter pace than him with such determinedness that he nearly overtook him before they both disappeared into the library doors. Watching this exchange Jim was reminded vaguely of a shark fiercely intent on its prey. How disconcerting. He decided he did not like Jack Harrowman and his blue-eyed, black-suit buddy.

And for what must have been 10 minutes, nothing really happened. Until Harrowman reemerged from the library shortly thereafter, looking smug and adjusting his tie before disappearing into the driver side of his shiny beast and peeling off onto the road, blasting its noisy rock music.

Motel 8

Samuel entered room thirteen of the Super 8 motel at nightfall, ignoring the broken lock on the door and tossing the young Officer's notepad on the table next to the pile of fake officer I.D.'s.

"The fuck have you been all day?" said a voice from the bathroom.

"Stuck in traffic" Sam replied casually, slipping his arms out of his suit jacket and grabbing a Twinkie that was in the desk drawer next to the untouched car keys. 'Harrowman' emerged shirtless from behind the door, still wearing his aviator glasses. Samuel slipped the Twinkie out of view.

"Well did you at least find anything?" 'Harrowman' continued.

"Sorry Daemon, no such luck. All the books were checked out and the librarian was very vigilant" Samuel said earnestly, lying through his teeth. He sat down on one of the twin beds and loosened his tie.

"Well then why did you take so damn long?" said Daemon gesturing his palm upwards at Samuel.

"Everything was well organized" Samuel replied simply, shrugging as he pulled his shoes off his feet.

Daemon pulled a face. "Aw poor Sam, did you get lost in the romantic fiction section? Please tell me you at least got something we can use at the library this time"

Sam quickly switched to sarcasm: "No I went to the fair instead and bought myself one of those giant stuffed bananas"

Daemon immediately shifted from feigned sympathy to mock hurt, widening his eyes and opening his mouth in fake offense- "and you didn't get me one?"

"How could I get you one if I was stuck in traffic?" Samuel answered, quickly returning to his tired demeanor. He had been up all night at the library looking through old newspapers and textbooks for a lead. He took that moment to shove the Twinkie quickly into his mouth, before reaching in his bag and lifting out some of the torn library book pages he managed to sneak past the not-so-observant staff. He extended them to Daemon.

Rather than accepting the papers, Daemon just stared at him narrowly; "That was my Twinkie"

"I don't know what you're talking about I've never eaten a Twinkie in my entire life-" Samuel started but Daemon interrupted and snatched the papers from him forcibly, grinding his jaw:

"Just tell me what we're dealing with, pain in the ass."

"Well, get this, there are these things called Banshees that are native to North Africa and-"

"NEVERMIND I'll read it myself" Daemon growled looking upwards at the ceiling and then down on the papers in his hand. Samuel stretched out on the bed. But sure enough just moments after Daemon looked at the pages of small block print his eyes began to glaze over and he discarded the papers at the foot of the bed; "I'll do it later".

Samuel stretched his socked feet out in front of him, lying with his hands behind his head on the propped up pillows and letting out a small sigh. Daemon turned his bored gaze to the mirror on the wall above the dresser in front of the bed, and immediately regained his enthusiasm.

"God damn I am gorgeous," he said flexing his muscular arms and smirking in self-appreciation; "Sam, tell me I'm pretty". But just as the words were leaving his mouth, an ugly black and purple outline of his skeleton became visible to Samuel on the flesh of Daemon's back, matched with angry red blotches and shapes that gave away the imprint of his insides. The discolored orange tint of the flesh stretched with blood lines that extended all across his muscles, spidering down his back and out to his forearms in a web of flesh and veins. The blueprint faded back into his white skin as quickly as it had surfaced.

"Of course Brother. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. And funny, too."

Samuel could see Daemon scowl in the mirror as he abandoned the pose before turning around and violently advancing in his direction.

Murder on Main Street

Jim sped swiftly down Main Street in full stride, anxiously accelerating the rhythm between his legs into a near jog. Dodging wayward pedestrians in the peak of midday, he weaved through the crowds with a practiced precision. He had been up since four earlier that morning arriving bright and early to the day's proceedings, and likewise had been pounding the pavement for leads ever since, with little to show for it. He was on his way to a meeting with his superior. Jim chewed his tongue warily.

They were still waiting on the full Coroner's report, and in spite of the frantic efforts made by the police they were still hopelessly without a suspect. The area was crawling with Unies, but the crowd was necessary: 19-yr Old Mixed-race College Girl found Murdered on Campus; the media was having a seizure. And somehow, despite the fact that classes were cancelled that day and the day prior, traffic on Main Street had been reduced to what appeared to be stagnant stampede; Frozen yet still met with the appropriate measure of impatience. They haven't found a suspect. They have no witnesses. They were still waiting on the Coroner's report, and the shoe was still missing. And on top of the traffic, the media storm, the half-finished Coroner's report, meeting his superior and the missing shoe, he still couldn't find his damn notepad.

Jim skillfully maneuvered his way past a particularly obese man on the sidewalk and started towards the crosswalk.

But even amongst all this his thoughts still turned back to the two men from the other morning, lingering on them with an almost daring insistence. Harrowman and – what was his name? – Wesson.

He skidded across the street and sped into the Trabant student center where his meeting was supposed to take place. He found a group of his fellow uniformed officers gathered in the hallway there to meet him. A man with grey hair and a badge on his chest that said Chief of police stood on the edge of the assembly in strict uniform; that was Jim's superior, Paul Tiernan. Jim jogged in through the doors and did his best to blend in with the group while they waited for the chief to begin. After a few more officers arrived, Chief Teirnan stepped forward to address them.

"Alright quiet down quiet down- let's get down to business. Now we all know why we are here: two days ago Elise Goulding was last seen by her classmates leaving her Biology class at 6:45pm. Her body was found and reported later that morning by early bird Ms. Taylor at 6am…" and then later at 8 I was confronted by the blues brothers "…The Coroner put the time of death at around 7pm…" I bet they had something to do with this "…And our job is to find out what happened between 6:45 and 7pm, and get whoever did it off the street…" I should say something "…We want answers-" like maybe now "-Capeesh?" there was a murmur of agreement in the crowd, but Jim remained silent. "We've got a predator on our hands. Tomorrow classes will be up and running and I want every inch of this campus covered. We're working in conjunction with the University campus police so there's no excuse. Patrol the streets in twos, and be vigilant. And remember, stay clear of the media!"

At once as he finished his speech the audience began to break up in different directions, but then suddenly Tiernan pointed in Jim's direction: "Officer Peirce, Officer Goodman, I want you to head back over to the crime scene and assist the forensic team. Help them comb the area for clues, get rid of any unruly journalists, whatever they need. Officer Gordon you're with me, we're going to talk to the parents".

Officer Peirce beside him nodded and Jim cleared his throat: "Y-yes sir". He turned to his left and immediately headed straight towards the other entrance of the building. Perhaps if he combed the area he could check the missing shoe off his check list. That, and he could muscle up the initiative to talk to the Chief about those two strange characters, provided he could convince himself that it was really something he should look into. He just wasn't sure if he should trust his gut on this. Should he speak to the Chief, or no?

He should've written down the license plate of the car. What kind of car was it? An old black Mustang? Or maybe a Chevy Camaro? He kicked himself mentally for not checking at the very least. "I've got the patrol car parked right outside" offered officer Peirce, coming up from behind and gesturing towards the approaching door, "just in front of Trabant. We can ride down East College Avenue and park in the lot next to the green". Jim nodded. It was a good plan. Best to get right down to business, no time to waste when the game was afoot. He exited Trabant and headed directly to the passenger side of the car, skirting quickly around The Statue.

Shadow People?

"Shadow people? We're dealing with shadow people?" inquired Daemon, tipping his head slightly to the left to peer at Samuel from the driver's seat of the Impala. "Nope" Samuel replied, naturally. Daemon tipped his head back over slightly to the right and chewed his toothpick thoughtfully. The Impala hurtled past a stop sign, speeding down Amstel Avenue. He picked up a small stack of papers from the center console with his right hand and shoved them into Samuels lap.

"Read it to me out loud" he demanded, "and no variations", adding that last part with a growl that was perhaps a little too deep. Samuel used his left hand to adjust the papers over his tattered journal so that he could read, his right firmly grasping the side handle above the passenger window as the car shook with speed.

"A shadow person, also known as a shadow figure, shadow being or black mass,[1] is an alleged paranormal entity. Paranormal researcher Heidi Hollis has expressed the belief that shadow people are malevolent supernatural entities. Several physiological and psychological conditions can account for reported experiences of shadow people. These include sleep paralysis,[3] illusions,[4] or hallucinations brought on by physiological or psychological circumstances, drug use or side effects of medication, and the interaction of external agents on the human body. Another reason that could be behind the illusion is sleep deprivation, which may lead to hallucinations[5]. Hollis described them as dark silhouettes with human shapes and profiles that flicker in and out of peripheral vision,[6] and claimed that people had reported the figures attempting to 'jump on their chest and choke them', or even in some cases 'pull their soul from their living body', usually at nighttime.[7] They are purportedly attracted to 'good people', and she believes that they can be repelled by 'calling in the name of God'[citation needed]"

Part of the excerpt was underlined in red ink, with the phrase 'fits the profile' scribbled hastily in the margins. "That explains the reading on the EMF meter. Anything else?" Daemon prompted, quickly looking away from the road at Samuel and back. The car careened through the stoplight and went partway onto the curb, narrowly missing the fence and hitting a trashcan in the process. Samuel shuffled through the papers uneasily with his one hand for the right passage. Finally he settled on a small excerpt from a stolen library book:

"Although modern witnesses to these occurrences describe them as menacing, there seems to be no consensus among modern believers and paranormal authors that shadow people are either evil, helpful, or neutral, and some even speculate that shadow people may be the extra-dimensional inhabitants of another universe. Several older books of lore however having been found in as many places as northern Ireland, southern parts of the US, and even Eastern Russia concur that the menacing dark figures, or shadow masses, are actually the former shadows of the deceased that have detached from the physical corpse- 'manifesting itself as malice in its purest form', and go further to suggest that in some cases their presence is foreshadowed by a death omen. (Jacobsen, 22)"

There was a moment of silence as the two men processed this information. Daemon chewed his toothpick generously, almost on the verge of consuming it. The car made a right and settled down into a line of slowly moving traffic. The silence was broken by the sound of a police siren.

The Game

I know it has something to do with them. I can feel it. Officer Peirce fumbled with his keys beside him before finally turning them into the ignition. It was a Dodge Charger. Jim felt the car awake to answer from under him. Peirce put the car into drive and pulled out onto the road parallel to Main Street, stopping behind a red light at the intersection of South and East College Avenue. I should've said something when I had the chance. A group of Unies crossed the street in front of them, and one of them waved to Officer Peirce. Jim fastened his seatbelt and shifted in his seat to get comfortable, setting his elbow on the arm rest and leaning the edge of his jaw on the side of his knuckle to gaze out the window. He chewed his tongue pensively as he watched the other cars drive by.

He examined the various passing cars: Blue 2001 Nissan Maxima. Red 2011 Honda Accord. Grey 2013 Toyota Camry. Looking for something? He was. Or someone. He'll probably never see those two men again, or their stupid black car but he could look. He thought back to their encounter. What kind of FBI agent drives a car like that anyway? Well no more. Next chance I get, I'm talking to the Chief. No more hesitation. The patrol car gave the familiar lurch forward that told Jim that the light had changed.

The parking lot was less than three blocks away, but traffic was slow. Not quite as slow as the unfortunate adjacent Main Street that was but a field of grass away, but not very fast either. The green stretched not only between the walls of University buildings and around Memorial Hall but also on either side of the road they were currently on. Small packs of Officers and pedestrians were walking on the red brick pathways that ran beside the road and down the sides of the green, eventually leading to a crosswalk that was in the center being directed by a traffic cop. The crowd of crossing pedestrians certainly weren't helping the situation, as far as the traffic was concerned. Perhaps we should've walked. A buzz of directions blurted out of the police radio. Red Honda Civic, blue Ford Focus, black Chevy Impala….

Wait. That couldn't be.

Jim quickly leaned forward onto the dash and looked closely at the black vehicle with tinted windows that was driving only two cars in front of them. He turned immediately to Peirce and pointed it out with his index finger; "Pull them over, quick." Obediently Peirce flashed his lights, flicking the siren on and off twice and moving up behind them. The Impala slowed down just as it was drawing towards the crosswalk, and put its right flicker on to signal to pull over. Jim's heart was pulsating unreasonably in his chest. Was this a mistake?

Just then the Impala reached the crosswalk. As it was slowing almost to a complete stop, it immediately shifted gears and turned onto the red brick pathway, accelerating through the crowd of people and onto the field of grass. Officer Peirce jumped the sirens and quickly peeled onto the green in pursuit. Jim grabbed the police radio: All Units we are in pursuit of a black 67' Chevy Impala off East College Avenue and currently on the green- The Impala powered down the green in seconds, swerving aggressively through the narrow gap in the fence onto the red brick pathways. The Police car followed with escalating speed in an attempt to overtake. Officer Peirce forced the pedal down on the gas with an increasing match of strength; Jim quickly grabbed the side handle with his free hand. Both cars veered onto a pedestrian path between two buildings on the right. The police sirens shrieked as the pedestrians cleared out of the way. The Impala broke out onto the road and clipped a school bus on its way to the right, speeding up South College Avenue towards the Trabant building.

There was a rapidly forming police barricade at the intersection, now. The black beast pushed violently towards it, with climbing speed. Jim's patrol car chased shortly behind, trying to regain lost distance. Several patrol cars had joined the chase as well; the chorus of sirens could be heard rising from the growing barricade. The Impala roared viciously onwards, tearing towards the impending onslaught. Officer Peirce was still pushing on the gas but the car ahead had built up too much velocity; there was no stopping it now. The police radio was exploding with directions. Jim could see over the shaking dashboard that people were moving away from the pile of patrol cars ahead, yelling at each other to get off the road.

But just as it was seconds away from destruction the Impala veered abruptly to the left, away from the barricade and slamming onto the short wide steps beside Trabant, launching itself upwards onto the pedestrian ramp and up the side of the building. Jim could feel Officer Peirce withdraw his foot slightly from the gas petal in apprehension; "No! Keep pushing! Follow them up the ramp!" he shouted, and Peirce listened. The patrol car careened into the steps, launching up off of them with renewed strength. Both Jim and Peirce were launched equally against their seatbelts, Peirce slamming his heads against the ceiling and cursing also with renewed strength. When the Impala streaked through the intersection up the narrow North College Avenue they were less than a car length away, approaching the bumper rapidly from the back left side. It was just them now. Jim leaned forward clutching the police radio in his left hand and the grab handle in his right, fiercely intent on the darkly tinted vehicle in front of him.

It loomed forward in determination up the small hill, hurtling towards Cleveland Avenue as other policemen scrambled to form another road block in time to meet it. All he could hear was the police sirens as the train tracks were rapidly approaching on either side and was it too much for Jim to pray for a train? He could feel the gears of the patrol car grinding into overdrive, hear the working of the engine as the police charger reached for the back end of the old Impala, just seconds away from successfully ramming them from behind. And then they hit the brakes. Suddenly, all Jim could feel was his body slam forwards as the front of the patrol car collided with the back left corner of the Impala, spinning the car at a complete 90 degree angle through sheer force. His whole body lurched forwards almost in slow motion, his hand wrenched from the grab handle and the radio hurtling out of his grasp headlong into the windshield. It was the sheer force of it all that Jim felt the most. The way his shoulders thrust forward against the seatbelt that kept him from flying out the window with the radio, and the way the glass splintered and rained down over him in the passenger seat of the car. The way the car continued to spiral forward onto the train tracks and the way the blood tasted in his mouth when he realized he had bit off part of his tongue.

Slowly recognizing the sound of far off police sirens dipping in and out through the ringing of his ears, Jim came to just quick enough to see the gnarled back end of the Impala disappearing down the train tracks off the road entirely, the snarling, spitting noises of the engine fading off into the distance. He inhaled and tried to look around at the broken glass and debris around him. He couldn't see Officer Peirce. And then his consciousness began to phase in and out at regular intervals, as his head was filled with blurred memories of the ambulance, the hospital, and the man who pulled him out of the wreckage that lay on the tracks. It was a while until he regained full awareness. His next coherent memory, that is, the next solid, concrete consciousness that he experienced was that of a dark hospital room.

A clock ticked on the wall somewhere to his right. Jim stirred in the cot, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. It was a small room, with a little table to his left with what looked like a get well card on top, and a few uninteresting cabinets around the edges of the confined interior. The door was shut tightly. He felt a cast plastered around his right wrist, and bandages on the sides of his face. Something in his mouth too. He lay there in the barred bed that was placed firmly in the center of the room while his eyes adjusted. The white walls looked grey in his night vision. Jim tried to turn his head to the right, but something was off. He couldn't move. He struggled harder, fixing his ghost limbs against the stubborn stillness of his body. He was trying to sit up, to speak out, but his mouth never moved. And then he felt it. The menacing presence that was nestled in the right back corner of the room, behind him, waiting and watching him with cold eyes. Jim couldn't see it, but it was there. It was heard to breath. He tried desperately to move his arms and legs but they were dead weight. What is happening to me? The silent watcher lingered as he raged against his limbs, before seeping through the dark room like black water through a white sheet, corrupting it with its black mass and slinking forwards, forwards to Jim as he was stuck there, paralyzed, as it settled right above his immovable body.

It was a gaping pit. That was the only way to describe it. An empty, soulless pit of malice. And it reached down. Seeping into his chest coldly like it had occupied the dark corners of the room. Oh God. It reached down, down, into him, and grasped firmly onto something. Onto him. His self. It was gripping Jim's very self in its greedy, spidery fingers. No! Jim couldn't move. He could only panic. And it pulled up. Then suddenly Jims body did move, retching upwards in protest as the hollow being attempted to pull the soul prematurely from its living vessel. His self clung dutifully to Jim, and all he could do was try to scream help, get away from me! Please no, NO!, but he never even made a sound. And the shadow pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

God save my soul.

Samuel and Daemon make a Plan

Daemon gripped the cheeseburger in his hands, the grease dripping in between his fingers onto the napkin below. Half smirking as mayonnaise smudged the corner of his mouth, he spoke with his mouth half full: "Obviously we have to set a trap"

He wiped the smudge with the back of his hand and swallowed his mouthful, looking across the table at Samuel and continued "We need to lure it, with some hot piece of bait so that Mr. Sandman won't be able to resist. And we need a location too".

Samuel inhaled for a second and placed his elbows in front of him on the table before speaking. He had taken this into account beforehand. "Well the library is a terrible place to use. There's more than one entrance open to the public and it's closed always except 2am to 4am. And there is no service elevator" he offered.

"Perfect! Library it is." Daemon replied happily. It's easy to keep watch if there's only one entrance available. "We can come in after it closes at two and use the service elevator to bring up the girl we use as bait," he continued, slurping his Big Gulp soda.

Samuel's eyebrows twitched downwards and his mouth curved up a little. "Does it have to be a girl?" he asked. It seemed a little cliché.

Daemon tipped his head to the side. "Doesn't it always?" he said bemused. He continued in a matter of fact tone: "A good girl though, somebody innocent. Fit too, one that can last. We should nab one off a nearby neighborhood". He stopped for a moment to look at a map that was spread out between the two of them. There were a few choice neighborhoods around the Newark area that they could hit, and it was all the better that most of the area's cops and media were concentrated mostly on campus. They shouldn't have any trouble with that part at least.

Samuel popped a fry in his mouth and added "The University is deserted right now, so we won't have to be careful about dragging her inside after we take her. I never broke any of the windows on the first floor. And the place isn't only half soundproofed so we probably shouldn't drug her".

"Right. We'll have to get someone from a way's away since the campus is crawling with cops. Good thinking about the window, we'll just have to be careful sneaking her inside. I'll bring the duct tape if you bring the chloroform! " Daemon answered cheerfully as they both got up and made for the fast food exit, him still holding his half eaten greasy hamburger in his right hand. Samuel turned to him as they were walking through the door: "We should set a devils trap on the floor".

Daemon looked at him: "Why? A shadow person isn't a demon" he responded on his way to the car in the parking lot. Sam answered "We should use one just in case. A shadow person is pure malice right? Not far off from a demon. It could help". Daemon just shrugged as he reached the car. He stopped at the door for a second after he turned the keys and his brow furrowed; "Hey… so how does a shadow person get strong enough to yank a soul from a living body anyways? I thought they mostly just try to choke you in your dreams". He waited for a response.

Samuel looked at him from across the car roof for a moment, before answering:

"It's absolutely essential to figure that out before we can accomplish anything."

And with that he got into the car without another word, and after a moment Daemon simply shrugged again and followed.

Putting the Plan into Action

The girl was heavy. After an hour of two of driving around neighborhoods they'd managed to find a suitable subject jogging by herself. It wasn't too hard to grab her; she was listening to her Ipod and didn't hear him coming from behind. They lifted her out of the trunk and carried her through the darkness of the (newly) broken lantern into the window Samuel had previously forced open. It was 3am when they finally got inside. The library was an extensive labyrinth of solemn bookcases and empty tabletops, half lit by the cheap fluorescent lights that flickered occasionally over the deserted landscape. They used the endless rows of books for cover as they carefully made their way through the building and hauled the unconscious girl into one of the abandoned study rooms. They laid her onto the table in the darkness, and began to prepare the trap.

Samuel knelt on the floor making a pentagram shape on the carpet inside the entrance with duct tape. Daemon leant on the wall nearby, chewing on a pen he had found on one of the bookcases.

The library was silent, save for the sound of duct tape being ripped.

Daemon looked through his aviators at the ceiling.

Samuel continued to set up the trap.

Silence.

"I need a Scooby snack" Daemon grumbled, breaking the quiet.

"You need a diet" Samuel replied, finishing the devil's trap.

Daemon cocked his head sideways and smirked at Samuel: "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, brother? Don't be too hard on yourself, not all of us are blessed with a killer metabolism and perfect body structure" he said proudly gesturing his hands up and down at his physique. The phantom bruise appeared predictably once again on the side of his neck, as it always did when he bragged about his appearance.

"Says the hobbit" Samuel replied flatly, without turning around.

Jessica stirred quietly on the table, and woke up to perceive her surroundings. There was some sort of argument happening shortly to her left, but that was irrelevant to the harrowing black figure that was standing in front of her just a short ways away. She tried to scream through the duct tape.

Daemon scowled. "Look I'm getting pretty tired of your attitude, Sammy" he growled, pushing himself from the wall in Samuel's direction.

"And I am not getting tired of you" Samuel responded, pushing himself up to full height.

She struggled against the duct tape in vain.

"Do you have a problem with me? Because I have no problem ramming my fist six feet up your lying ass, Wesson" Daemon snarled, jutting out his jaw and squaring himself up at Samuel.

The shadow was right on her now. Jessica squirmed desperately to get away. Her pulse was pounding and her breathes were rapid against the silver bonds that hold her firmly in place as the black mass loomed over her.

Samuel faced Daemon head on and smirked, lifting up his hands in his direction and motioning him to come forth; "what's the matter brother, too kind and gentle to fight back?"

Daemon charged forward into Samuel, who immediately sidestepped and used the momentum to half thrust Daemon into the devil's trap. Daemon screamed in rage as his aviator glasses fell off, and his eyes surged with an angry red blaze. "LIAR" he shrieked. "Disgusting putrid unworthy DECEIVER!" He spewed insults at Samuel as he struggled against the trap.

Meanwhile the shadow leered over her malevolently. Her chest lurched upwards, and she felt her soul being violently ripped upwards. She fought, she screamed, but she knew it was over. She couldn't get away, there was no escape… but suddenly the black form was snatched away from her, violently writhing in the tight grip of Samuel's hand. The Archdemon held it up to his brother Daemon, still stuck in the devils trap;

"Look brother! We needed the devils trap after all!", he grinned nastily. He turned his head and peered momentarily at the struggling form in the grip of his hand. His beautiful blue eyes watched it curiously as it jerked desperately around in his grasp. But then the pupils of his eyes retracted into nothingness, replaced instead with a narrowed whiteness, the absence of anything, and then the horror of his true form was fully revealed.

The jagged, naked outline of his skull surfaced on the side of his face as he flexed his jawbone and extended his sharp canines. He visibly unhinged his jaw, and consumed the black mass entirely, his Adam's apple bobbing as his throat expanded to swallow it whole.

The girl fainted.

"You better share!" the red-eyed, white-pupilled demon shouted furiously from the trap. The handsome devil laughed loudly, before reaching out and breaking the symbol by pulling off part of the duct tape. Daemon is on him in seconds, crushing his mouth with his own as he sucked part of the shadow mass out of his lips for himself, gnashing his teeth as they ripped the malevolent identity in two equal parts to eat. Both stayed there in momentary satisfaction, but soon it faded like it always did, and the hunger returned. They parted, in frustration.

They looked at each other, for a moment, trying to hold on to the fleeting moment of paradise, to no avail. Daemon is the first to look away. "Come on" he growled. "I'm hungry"

They left the girl there in the abandoned room, and disappeared from the library shortly afterwords… continuing the search for prey to appease their eternal appetite.

The Phantom Impala

[The Epilogue]

They found the shoe a day later in the bushes several yards away from where the body was originally reported. The girl was found by the librarian a few hours after she had fainted, bound and duct taped in one of the group study rooms. An APB was put out for the mysterious men she described who had kidnapped her, and they even brought a sketch artist down from New York. The shadow description was left out of the official police report.

There was a massive search put out for the two suspects, but they had all but vanished. They were last spotted getting into a shady 67' Chevy Impala at a toll booth, but the license plates were blank.

17