Chapter 2:
Witness
Amber tucked a bottle of laundry detergent and a box of dryer sheets into a heaping basket of dirty clothes. She slipped on her cheap drug store flip-flops and headed out for the apartment laundry facility.
As she descended the last set of stairs on the basement level, she heard a man speaking in a panicked voice. Balancing the basket on her hip with one arm, she peered around the door frame, not wanting to interrupt a possible confrontation. It was her next-door neighbor, Allen. He had no phone in his hand and he faced a seemingly empty corner.
The laundry room was rather small, with three washers and four dryers, a small bench and a counter for folding clothes in the center of the room. A small rectangular window sat near the ceiling that looked out level with the ground. There, in the corner near the window, was a black cloud hovering and swirling.
"P-pp-please! Leave me alone!" Allen stammered as he spoke to it.
She inched into the room. One of the fluorescent lights flickered like a strobe and there was a distinctive smell, like someone had lit a book of matches.
"Allen, what is that?" She asked as she sat her basket on top of a washing machine.
"It's come for me," he stated in an eerily calm voice.
"What's come for you?"
The black swarm moved like a twist of wind, whipping up a gust around the room. It surged at Allen as he screamed and the swarm rushed into his open mouth with such a force, it knocked him back several feet, hitting the wall behind him. It disappeared somewhere deep inside his belly. He slid down the wall and his body slumped over to the side.
"What the fuck," Amber whispered to herself. Her eyes moved from Allen to the exit, then back to Allen, debating with herself whether to flee or check to see if he was alive. She cautiously stepped towards him.
She touched his shoulder, "Allen? Allen?"
She could see his chest moving as he breathed, so she knew he wasn't dead. She gave him a gentle shake, "Allen, are you okay?"
He pulled himself up to a sitting position.
"Allen, can you hear me? What was that?"
His eyes flew open, looking like polished onyx. Amber fell backwards, catching herself on her hands. "Allen," she whispered as her heart hammered in her chest.
He blinked and his eyes were back to their normal dull blue. He rose up to his feet; she mirrored his action.
"Are you okay?" She asked him.
"Never better," he said with a smile as he turned and walked out, leaving all of his belongings behind.
Amber stood in motionless silence for a few minutes, questioning her own sanity at what she just saw, or what she thought she saw. She scooped up her basket making the decision to go to the laundromat in the shopping center down street.
Sam sat at the small round table in the hotel room focused on his laptop while Dean sat across from him cleaning a few guns and loading magazines.
"So, just as I thought, Myron Grayer and Ted Lasater did know each other," Sam said. "Listen to this…twenty-five years ago, they were friends in high school. It sounds like they got mixed up in some kind of satanic cult. The two of them, along with two other friends, Allen Chalke and Simon Leal, were arrested for petty theft, vandalization and animal cruelty."
"What's the deal with animal cruelty and satanic cults?" Dean commented.
"It says they were thought to be preforming satanic rituals."
"Oh, well, that makes it alright, then," Dean mocked.
"They were all tried as adults but got off pretty light. They've mostly stayed out of trouble since then, with the exception of a few minor arrests and misdemeanors.
"Of course, as we already know, Ted Lasater was recently arrested for murder, but at the time of the arrest he was emotionally unstable and kept screaming about how he was possessed by some evil entity. It looks like he's currently being held in the state penitentiary undergoing psychiatric evaluation. Whatever these guys did that day, they're paying for it now."
Dean listened intently, setting down his favorite pistol, its shiny steel flashed as it caught the light from the overhead lamp. "So, this demon…you think it's jumping from one of these guys to the other, possessing them one by one?"
"Yeah, I think so," Sam contemplated, "It would explain why the demon fled it's chosen vessel after Richard Tess stabbed him. Tess wasn't his true target; it was Myron Grayer."
"You wanna try and question this Lasater guy?"
"No," Sam responded. "I don't think we have time. It looks like Simon Leal moved to Florida years ago, but Allen Chalke, he doesn't live far from here. I say we find him before the demon does and find out what they did twenty-five years ago."
Amber pulled into the parking garage of her apartment building around three in the afternoon, glad to finally be done with laundry for the week. She climbed out of her little light blue, two door hunk of junk and walked around to the passenger side door. As she lifted her laundry basket of now clean and folded clothes, she heard a couple arguing. She turned toward the raised voices to discover her neighbor, Allen, again. This time he was arguing with an actual solid person; his wife, Claudia. She only caught pieces of words here and there. She was about to look away and mind her own business when Allen slapped his wife in the face. Claudia stumbled sideways, catching herself on the car parked next to them.
Amber had lived next door to the Chalke's for over a year and had never once heard him so much as raise his voice at Claudia. She didn't know them well, but they seemed like a happy couple. Then it got worse.
Allen grabbed Claudia by her hair and shoved her to the ground. Claudia caught herself on her hands, scraping her knees in the process. When she got to her feet, blood was trickling down her left shin. She took off toward the building in tears.
Amber squatted down beside her car, hiding behind the still open passenger door, hoping Allen hadn't seen her. She heard a car door slam and then the echo of screeching tires as he drove off.
Contemplating calling the police, she stayed in the comfort of her hiding spot for a few minutes. She decided it was probably best not to get involved. She didn't know them well enough to get caught in the middle of their domestic problems. Amber hoped Claudia would make the call.
She picked up her laundry basket from the ground where she had sat it during her pathetic act of cowardness and locked up her car. She marched across the parking garage, struggled with the large glass door and climbed her way up the stairs.
Half way up to the third floor where she lived, she came face to face with Claudia, who was on her way down with a small suitcase in tow and a large tote bag hanging on one arm. They both stopped and stared at one another in silence.
The left side of Claudia's face was a deep red, beginning to bruise. Her copper colored hair was haphazardly thrown into a ponytail with fly away strands falling around her face. Her eyes were bloodshot with mascara smeared in streaks down her cheeks, her nose red and lips swollen from a bout of heavy crying.
No words were exchanged between them as Amber moved aside and let Claudia continue down the stairs. Amber opened her mouth wanting to say something, but what? Apologize for not coming to her aid? To offer her comfort or help? Then the sound of the heavy door to the parking garage closing came gushing up the stairs.
Amber carried her laundry to her bedroom, setting the basket on the bed and slumped down next to it. A low rumble of thunder gently rattled the windowpane. She let out a heavy sigh as she fell back with her arms stretched over her head, letting herself sink into the comfort of her mattress. She closed her eyes as the sound of the downpouring rain lulled her to sleep.
A heavy thumping sound roused Amber from her slumber. The walls a dull grey from the darkened clouds outside and the sound of the rain was still steadily tapping on the window ledge. The heavy pounding began again. Someone was knocking at her door.
She shuffled towards the door but stopped before answering it, wondering if it might be Allen. She was certain Claudia knew she had witnessed their unfortunate encounter, maybe Allen knew too. She tip-toed to the door and peered out of the peephole.
Two men in business suits stood outside. One had short cropped hair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The other had longer hair, his hands in his pockets staring down at the floor. She assumed they were salesmen or some bible thumpers trying to deliver the word of God. She backed away as quietly as possible, wanting to maintain the illusion that no one was home. Then a rich, baritone voice spoke through the door.
"We know you're home, we saw your shadow flicker the light coming through the peephole. We're FBI, we need to ask you a few questions about your neighbor, Allen Chalke."
Her heart sank. The fact that they knew she was there was alarming enough, now they were bringing Allen's name into it. It was suddenly hard to swallow. What was she so worried about? She hadn't done anything. Maybe that was why she felt so guilty, because she didn't do anything at all, when she probably should have.
"You're not in any kind of trouble, we only want to ask you a few questions." This voice was smooth and calming, almost familiar.
She opened the door. The three of them studied each other briefly before recognition set in.
"Hey, you're roofie girl," the man with the short hair blurted out with a grin.
The tall man gave him a chastising expression. "You'll have to excuse my partner; tact has never been his strong suit. We…never did exchange names the other night at O'Leary's," He held out his hand for a formal introduction. "I'm Agent Sam Ripley and this is my cordial partner, Agent Dean Hicks."
"Amber Hollister," she said shaking each of their hands in turn.
"May we come in?" Sam asked.
She stepped to the side and held the door open, "Y-yes, I'm sorry, of course."
"Thank you, Ms. Hollister. I know this must be awkward for you considering what happened the other night, but I assure you, this is completely coincidental." Sam explained.
"So, you guys are FBI?"
"That's right," Sam reached into his blazer pocket, retrieving his badge. Dean did the same.
Amber observed them closely as they tucked their badges back inside their blazer pockets. They were quite the contrasting pair. The one physical trait they both seemed to share was a cleft chin, but the similarities stopped there.
Agent Hicks was a beautiful man, there was no other word to describe him. His face was almost perfectly symmetrical; it was hard to find a flaw. Striking jade green eyes and close-cropped hair, styled with care. His nose was well proportioned to his face with full lips and a smooth jawline. He carried himself with bold confidence and spoke with an air of authority.
While Hicks was taller than some, Agent Ripley was taller than most. His hair was much longer, not quite reaching his shoulders, loose and flowing. He was handsome as well, but his features were more prominent; stronger jaw line, forehead and nose. His narrow-shaped eyes were hazel, changing color in the light under a heavy brow. He had a genuine smile and his body language was open and welcoming.
The pair of them made her feel self-conscious. She pulled her unwashed hair over her shoulder, teasing it with her finger tips. She probably hadn't even brushed it today, not to mention she had on zero make up. Dressed in navy blue sweat pants and a lilac baby-doll tee with the word "beautiful" written in glittery cursive with a colorful sparkly butterfly at the end of the "l". Then to add even more class to her current appearance, she had an old coffee stain on her left boob.
She tried to reason with herself by thinking they probably catch people at their worst most of the time. At this point, the awkward silence had gone on way too long.
"You can have a seat in here, if you want." She said guiding them over to the open space that was the living room/dinning room combo.
"Uh, would you like some coffee?" she asked them.
"I'd love some," Dean said with a charming smile as he sat down on the couch.
"Thanks, but I'm okay," Sam replied, he took a seat next to Dean on the opposite end.
"Do you want cream or sugar?"
"No, just black."
Sam cleared his throat before he began, "Ms. Hollister, how long have you lived next door to Allen Chalke?"
"You can call me Amber," she said from the kitchen. "I've lived next door to Allen for about a year and a half."
"How well would you say you know him?" he asked as she entered the living room with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Dean.
He took it with a nod. "Thanks," he said.
Amber sat down on the large cushioned chair adjacent to the couch. She took a sip from her mug. "Not real well. I took care of their plants and fish a couple of times while he and his wife were out of town."
"Did you notice anything strange about him or his apartment?" Dean pipped in.
"No," she puzzled.
"Did you see anything that might indicate satanic worship or witchcraft?" Dean asked.
"I mean, nothing laying right out in the open. I didn't go snooping through their closets and drawers."
"No, of course you wouldn't," Sam interrupted. "We're just wondered if you ever noticed anything…a little out of the ordinary or if anything about him seemed, off-putting."
"No, honestly, he's a nice man. He and his wife are both nice. I mean, she gave me a ride to work on a few occasions when my car was in the shop and she even brought me a little tin of Christmas cookies last year. That's why it was so hard to believe what I saw."
"What did you see?" Dean sat up straight as a board.
Amber was worried she'd said more than she should have. She didn't want to get involved, but now she felt cornered. These guys were FBI, surely they'd know if she was lying.
"I saw him hit her and shove her to the ground in the parking garage just a couple of hours ago."
"This was out of character for him?" Sam asked.
"Yes, very. At least, not that I've ever seen or heard."
"Is there anything else?" he continued to pry.
Amber's thoughts went back to the laundry facility in the basement. Not knowing how to explain that situation, she decided to try to leave out the more insane details.
"Well, a few days ago, the morning after the pub thing," her cheeks went warm with embarrassment, "I went to the basement to do laundry and he was there. He was acting really weird."
"Weird how?"
She hesitated, "He, uh, he was alone and talking to himself, but not just rattling off thoughts like you do, he was…pleading, asking to be left alone. He seemed pretty freaked out."
"Did you see anything else?"
"No, I told you, he was talking to no one."
"How about bad smells?" Dean asked.
"Bad smells?"
"Yeah, like sulfur or bad eggs?"
Her eyes went wide in consternation. How could he have known that? Amber's words were stuck in her throat. She didn't know what else to say without sounding completely off her rocker.
She must have sat too long in thought because Sam startled her when he spoke, "Amber, I know something scared you down there. What did you see?"
His hazel eyes were locked on hers, kind and sincere. "I saw…this is going to sound crazy, but I saw a black cloud or like a mist."
They didn't interrupt her or react at all, they simply waiting for her to continue, so she did. "I asked Allen what was wrong and he said that it had come for him."
"Come for him?" Dean asked.
Sam pulled a note pad and pen from his inside pocket and began jotting down notes.
"Yes. Then it flew at him. It…flew into his mouth."
No one said anything for a few seconds, then the agents exchanged looks. Amber's anxiety came rushing back.
"I know it sounds crazy and you probably don't believe me, but that's what I saw."
"No, we believe you," Dean said.
"You do?"
"Yes, we do," Sam added. "What happened to Allen after that?"
"Well, his eyes looked…solid black for a few seconds, but then they didn't. I asked him if he was alright and he said, 'Never better' and then left."
"And this happened before you witnessed the domestic violence in the parking garage?" Sam asked.
"Yes," she answered as he continued to scribble away on his notepad.
"Do you know where Allen might be now?"
"No."
"Is there anything else that you think might be important?"
"No, that's all."
"Okay, well, if you think of anything else or know where we can find him, give us a call." Sam handed her a business card with his and Dean's alias names and their cell phones numbers.
Sam tucked his notepad away and they both stood and headed toward the door.
"What kind of trouble is Allen in that has the FBI looking for him?" She asked.
"I'm afraid we can't answer that," Dean answered. "But please call us if you see or hear anything else."