Chapter 3: Ghast in the Night

"Like a donut?" Jones passed the box over to Neal.

The stakeout was living up to Neal's expectations. They were sitting in an unmarked police van a couple of doors down from the Nautical Shop. The van was equipped with one-way glass on the back and sides.

Diana had brought along a thermos of coffee. Jones supplied the donuts. So far no jokes. Instead, they passed the time by discussing their backgrounds.

Jones had been a Navy pilot during the Vietnam War and had been stationed in the Philippines. "It's not something I talk about a lot," he admitted. "The anti-war sentiment at Miskatonic ran pretty strong. You were probably out protesting when I was overseas."

Neal shook his head. "I was taking a double course load and didn't have time for much else." His freshman year, the campus has seen its share of protests and Mozzie had engaged in many of them, but he was careful to keep Neal clear of his activities, saying that since he was only sixteen he was too young.

"Were you stationed at Subic Bay?" Peter asked.

Jones nodded. "For three years."

"I was there in the '60s after I graduated from college. I was researching the shipwrecks in Subic Bay for the Navy."

"I met a Tom Gilman when I was in the Philippines," Jones said. "He any relation?"

Peter nodded. "He was my brother."

Neal looked at him with surprise. Peter had never mentioned having siblings.

"I met him shortly before I was reassigned," Jones noted. "He was a member of a Seawolf crew, wasn't he?"

"That's right. He was a gunner." Peter's expression had grown somber. At Neal's unspoken question, he added. "He died in '71. His chopper was shot down."

Neal started to speak but Diana cut in abruptly. "Check out the man moving out of the alley."

Neal craned his neck to see who she was referring to. Skinny, short guy with curly red hair, dressed in jeans and a black rain jacket. He was using the hood even though it wasn't raining and the weather was quite mild.

"Remember my orders," warned Diana, sharply. "If he tries to enter the shop, we wait till he forces the lock before making a move. She spared a quick glance at Neal and Peter. "You two are under no circumstances to leave the van. You are to let us handle it. Got it?"

Neal nodded while concentrating on the figure. Could he sense any algolnium? The starfish in the bookstore had contained only a small amount of the element, and he'd needed to be within a few feet to detect it. Peter gave him a questioning look. Neal shook his head. If there was a starfish present, he wasn't feeling it.

Jones and Diana used binoculars to monitor the suspect's actions, Jones supplying them with a low-voiced commentary. "He's heading toward the shop . . . Reaching into his pocket . . . Can't make out what he pulled."

"Looks like a lock pick," Diana said, clipping her words. "There . . . He's using it. Go."

Jones had already opened the back door. They sprang out of the van and ran toward him. Diana ordered the man to freeze. He spun around and opened his mouth. Neal watched horrified as his features lengthened and distorted. He no longer wore clothes to hide his rough emaciated skin. He'd grown in size to be at least eight feet tall with arms as long as his hooved legs and ending in sharp claws. What had been a man was now a ghast.

Diana and Jones appeared oblivious to the danger. The ghast was already starting toward them.

Neal sprang for the door to warn them.

Peter leaped up to block his way. "We're under orders to stay inside."

"It's a ghast!" Neal ducked around him and darted out before Peter could protest further. Dense yellow-green gas was pouring out of the ghast's mouth, enveloping Diana and Jones in a cloud of noxious fumes. They began to cough and dropped to their knees as they shielded their eyes. Easy prey for the ghast.

It lunged for Diana. Neal flung himself at it, grabbing onto its mid-section. The ghast gave a howl of—what was that? Rage? Pain? Neal tried to drag him away. He'd seized it from behind, but the ghast was kicking backward with its hooves. Neal frantically swung from side to side to avoid being struck.

The fumes were dissipating as they fought. Out of the corner of his eye, Neal saw Diana and Jones stagger backward. The ghast let out a heart-stopping shriek so deafening that Neal's grip slipped. Its claws reached behind and ripped Neal off its back. Using both of its massive forelimbs, it hurled him against the wall of the shop. A spike of sharp pain erupted in the back of Neal's head, blinding him.

. . .

"Neal, are you all right?"

Why was Peter yelling so loud? What was he doing there anyway? Wasn't he supposed to stay in the van?

Peter didn't answer any of his questions, just kept bellowing in his ear. Where was he? And why was he using a drill on Neal's head? That really was uncalled for. Had Peter gone deaf?

Then Neal realized he wasn't speaking out loud. He heard Peter give a low chuckle. Or maybe he was? With a start, Neal realized his eyes were closed. Peter wasn't invisible after all.

Neal pried an eye open and was startled to see Peter's face floating fuzzily overhead. He felt rough hardness beneath him.

He put out a hand and tried to push himself up, but Peter pressed him back down. "Just lie quiet. The medics will be here soon."

Neal tried to remember how he wound up on the ground. The ghast. The fumes. Diana and Jones . . . they were there. They'd seen everything. That's why Peter said the medics were coming. They'd take him to the funny farm. His vision began to clear. He saw Diana and Jones talking quietly by the van. Their grim expressions were eloquent of what they felt. They hadn't put a straitjacket on him. That was considerate.

Neal spotted the body of the thief, about twenty feet away. Looked pretty ordinary. Not a ghast. Not a monster. There was no trace of fumes. Gas couldn't have come out of the thief's mouth. It had all been a hallucination.

The jackhammer increased in intensity as Neal realized the finality of his situation. His career was over. His contract would be torn up. No time to build up disability benefits. How could he earn enough to eat? Wait. At Arkham Psychiatric they'd give him his meals. No worries there. But he'd have to eat with a plastic spoon.

"Hey, I know your head hurts, but we'll take care of it." Peter's face was still swimming overhead. Neal was growing so nauseous, he had to sit up. At least he could spare Peter the indignity of hurling on him.

He struggled once more to right himself and this time Peter let him. His last wish. He'd never seen Peter so concerned. But then it came to him. Like an idiot, he'd been worrying about his own situation, but Peter's career was tarnished too. You can't hang around with psychos without being tarred with the same brush. "I'm so sorry. I never intended to get you involved," he said in a husky voice, unable to quell the emotions churning inside him.

Peter looked so anxious that it was too much to bear. Neal closed his eyes and sagged against the side of the building.

"How's he doing?" That was Diana's voice. Neal didn't bother opening his eyes but at least she didn't sound angry. She probably didn't want to send him off on another hallucination.

Peter murmured something in an undertone. Neal couldn't make out what he said.

"Carter, open your eyes," she demanded. "Don't you pass out on me again."

Her voice was sufficiently threatening that Neal did as she ordered.

"That's better and keep them open. I'm the one who should be passing out, not you." She and Peter were both crouched low to the ground so Neal didn't have to stare up at them. Jones was still on the radio by the van.

"I still can't believe it," Peter said, his voice charged with emotion. "The beast was exactly as Neal described it. I must admit I never fully believed ghasts existed until now."

Neal's eyes popped wide open, headache forgotten. "You saw the ghast?"

"We all did," Diana said. "Jones, too."

"What did you see?" he demanded.

"When you tackled the man, he changed into the spitting image of that drawing you showed me." She looked at him with an unreadable expression. "I didn't give you enough credit. The beast appeared to be in agony. You were clinging to his midsection as he tried to tear himself free. He uttered a howl and threw you off. He then disintegrated into a column of black smoke, leaving the body of the thief behind. This may be the only time I'm willing to give you a pass for disobeying a direct order, but don't get cocky on me." Her expression softened as she patted his knee. "And thanks. You probably saved both Jones and me. We owe you one."

"You realize no one will believe us," Jones said, walking up. "We're left with one perfectly ordinary man dead. He was unarmed. Good thing we didn't shoot him or we'd be up for charges."

"Did he have a starfish?" Neal asked. "Can I see it?"

Diana nodded but before she could say anything a police car pulled up followed by the ambulance. She and Jones left to consult with them. Neal reached out to support himself on the wall and stood up. The nausea was abating. The world spun a little at first but Peter had a firm grip on him. Neal looked down at his clothes. He had a rip in his jeans where the ghast had kicked him. He just realized it ached. He reached down to feel his leg. The ghast's hoof hadn't cut into his skin, but his thigh was sore and painful. His jacket was torn in several places. He unzipped it. No tears to his shirt.

"Let me check your back," Peter offered and Neal turned to face the wall. When Peter saw his back, he let out a gasp.

"What is it? I don't feel anything."

"Something's glowing inside your shirt. Hold onto the wall while I see what it is." Neal felt Peter reach inside his collar.

"It's probably my amulet. It must have swung around to my back when the ghast tossed me off." Neal twisted his head in an attempt to see what Peter was looking at. "Is it okay?"

"You be the judge." Peter moved the amulet to the front. "I don't want to take it off." He helped him turn around so he could lean against the wall. Neal looked down at the amulet. The verdigris-colored disk appeared phosphorescent. It was almost as bright as a neon light. "Have you ever seen it look like that?"

"Never," Neal said, staggered. "Did the ghast cause that?"

The medics came up, cutting short their discussion. They insisted on leading him to the ambulance which was not the direction Neal wanted to go. He needed to see the starfish. But when he started to protest, Peter simply rolled his eyes and told them to ignore him. Neal could see the police photographing the body and removing items from the burglar's clothes. Did he have any other artifacts?

The medics were pushing him onto the gurney. Fat chance of that happening. He had a glowing amulet. The starfish was calling to him. The bump on his head wasn't that severe. Peter was glowering, but Neal didn't care. He wasn't going to the hospital till he saw that starfish.

"If I let you see it, will you agree to go?" Peter asked. "That's my final offer. You need to be checked out. El's on duty tonight. Surely you don't want to hurt her feelings."

Diana strode over. "I promise I'll get you a photo. Now behave." Turning to the medics, she ordered them to examine him.

Neal with a groan reclined back on the gurney. It was plain she wouldn't let him anywhere near the body, and he had to admit lying down did have a certain appeal at the moment.

Peter stayed with him during the exam. "Your amulet's fading," he commented, nodding to it.

Neal glanced down. The glow was barely noticeable. Had it saved him from being killed by the ghast? Had the ghast disintegrated because of it? Could he get Lavinia to explain what happened? The medics rolled him on his side to check the back of his head. He hoped no one would shave his hair off at the hospital. That'd be worse than being attacked by a ghast.

His eyes wandered over the street. The medics said the skin wasn't broken and had left to talk to Diana. Maybe they could just trim the hair around the bump . . . The ambulance was near a street lamp. A small animal darted in front of the light pole and disappeared behind a parked car. Shocked, Neal sat upright, fighting off the sharp stabs of protest from his head. "Did you see that?"

"What?" Peter asked as he pressed him back down on the gurney. "Do we need to strap you down?"

Neal started to shake his head and quickly decided against it. With a groan, he relaxed back onto the gurney. "It looked like a rat, but bigger, and . . . umm . . ."

Peter bent closer as his words trailed off. "And what?"

Neal hesitated. He didn't want the medics to hear. They wouldn't understand. He grasped the lapel of Peter's jacket and whispered, "Where its snout should be, it had a mass of pink tentacles. They looked like worms."

Peter eyed him dubiously. "Are you sure?"

"I think I am." But was he? He'd only caught a quick glimpse. Could he have been mistaken?

Peter squeezed his arm. "I'm glad you told me. But do you think it's possible in this instance, you might have been confused? You took quite a whack to your head. That'd be enough to make anyone a little woozy. You were thinking I was invisible just a few minutes ago."

Was Peter right? Once he'd joked to let him know if Neal saw any unicorns. This wasn't a unicorn but it was definitely weird. Neal's head was starting to pound again. He'd sort it out later.

He could hear Diana and Jones arguing. "We can't tell anyone what we saw. We'll be laughed off the force," Diana said.

Tell me about it.

"I saw an episode of Mission Impossible last week where the team members were able to create some amazing effects with masks," Jones said. "That's probably what happened here."

"There's no evidence of a mask or makeup on his face," she pointed out, glancing at the body.

"The mask could have been set to self-destruct just like the instructions to Phelps do," Jones countered, in no mood to give up his theory. "The smoke would have obscured it."

"I'm glad you mentioned the gas. We were choking on it. How do you think he managed that?"

"It could have come from a capsule the perp tossed onto the ground. It caused the fumes when it exploded on impact. Scientists can do incredible things with chemical reactions these days."

"Even if you're right about the gas, the thief didn't simply wear a mask," Diana argued. "We saw the body of a beast which had a height of at least eight or nine feet. How do you explain that?"

"LSD," Jones said confidently.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "I hope you're not suggesting I take drugs."

"I bet the donuts were sprinkled with LSD or some other hallucinogenic. I bought them close to the university. With the prevalence of drugs on campus, I wouldn't be at all surprised that some kid working in the back of the shop thought this would be a great stunt."

She scowled at him. "You're paranoid."

"I am not. You know relations are still tense in the aftermath of the war. Kids are always looking for a way to make us look bad."

Neal wasn't surprised at Jones's refusal to believe what his eyes had seen. More astonishing was that Peter and Diana weren't questioning it as well.

"What are you smiling at?" Peter asked.

"If I'm going to the funny farm, at least I'll have company."

#

Keller had already arrived when Chad entered the alley next to Sharkey's. That late at night, the area was deserted. A few scrawny cats were scrounging the trash cans for anything edible.

The largest rat Chad had ever seen scurried away just as he walked up to Keller. It was the size of a large squirrel and looked like it could make a meal of one of the cats. Chad approached Keller and lit a cigarette. "Why the call?"

"Trouble," Keller said shortly.

"Did Rusty fail?"

He nodded. "The heist was busted. Cops moved in. Rusty was nailed before he could steal the armillary sphere."

"He's the anointed one. You told me anointed ones retain their power for two days. He could try again. Breaking out of a jail cell won't give him any problem."

"It will this time. Rusty's dead and the ghast within him too."

Chad stared at Keller, stunned. He thought nothing could kill them. "How? Did the cops use explosives?"

"Don't know yet, but until we find out what happened, there won't be any more attempts. I just got the word."

"How did you find out?"

He shrugged. "You'll learn soon enough. You've been an acolyte for how long—a month now? This is just a temporary setback. Once the scouts check things out, we'll be back in business."

Keller had mentioned the scouts before, but never explained who they were. Chad assumed they were members who'd been trained in commando tactics. There was still so much he didn't know about the brotherhood. "Should I continue recruiting?"

"Of course. We need them now more than ever."

#

"Sorry, no wine for you," El told Neal as she stepped into the living room with a cheese tray. "But Peter will pour your cider into a wine glass."

"That's what I get for having dinner with my doctor," Neal said. "I can't hide anything." He'd arrived at Peter and El's home to be greeted by the delectable smells of a pork roast in the oven. He wasn't about to complain about the lack of wine.

El sat down next to him on the couch. Peter had gone into the kitchen for the drinks. Over the past few weeks, between the research that he and Peter were conducting in the library and the medical tests that El was running on him, it seemed like Neal was seeing one or the other every day. It was disconcerting to realize how much they seemed like family now. It was a good feeling, particularly now.

Neal found himself scanning El's face for clues. Peter had told him she had some of the test results back. He'd attempted to pump Peter for details, but he insisted he didn't know any. The previous night when she'd treated Neal in the hospital, El had refused to discuss the results, claiming that he was too woozy from the concussion. Neal took a breath and forced himself to relax. If it was anything serious, she would have told him straight off, right? Most likely, the big news was that he'd need to submit to yet another series of tests. Minimal expectations—that was the best way to play it.

"How's your head?" she asked.

"I'm fin—"

She held up a hand, giving him a stern look. "Didn't you just mention you couldn't hide anything from your doctor?"

He winced. "And you caught me red-handed, but really it's not that bad. The bump's tender but unless I knock my head against the wall it's not an issue. The headache comes and goes, but it's not severe. Better answer?"

"Much. You were lucky it wasn't far worse." He'd escaped with only a mild concussion and a few bruises from his confrontation with the ghast. Much to his relief, no head shaving was required.

Peter returned to the living room. "The roast needs another twenty minutes. What was Mozzie's reaction to the ghast?"

"Exactly as I predicted. He was inconsolable that he missed it. The fact that he never would have agreed to participate in a police op did little to mitigate the pain."

"Why is Mozzie so leery of the police?" El asked.

"Think of him as the poster boy for the anti-establishment counterculture movement. He was marching against nuclear weapons testing, Vietnam, and DDT when I was in junior high school. The list of demonstrations he's taken part in over the past several years is so extensive that he's convinced all law enforcement agencies would like nothing better than to spy on him." Neal paused for breath. He judged it best not to mention the draft-card-burning and bra-burning protests, although Mozzie was proud of the key role he played in both.

"In other words, he's paranoid," Peter said bluntly.

Neal nodded. "He's taken it to new heights."

"Does Mr. Paranoia have any theories to explain why I could see the ghast as well?"

"Several, but he lost me on the physics. Something about magnetic waves and particle exchange. I finally had to ask him to stop because it was making my head hurt. He believes I caused it since the ghast became visible only after I was in physical contact with it." Neal turned to face El. Forget minimal expectations. He had to know. "We still have several minutes before dinner. Isn't it time you tell me the results?"

She hesitated. "I didn't realize you would have such a stressful evening last night when I mentioned discussing them this weekend. I completely understand your impatience. I'd feel the same way, but I can't help wishing the timing had been better. If your head starts to bother you, you need to let me know."

After obtaining Neal's promise, she set down her wine glass and composed her features into what Neal called her clinical look. "That first day you were tested, we determined that Peter's artifact excites a region within your visual cortex. Subsequent tests confirm that your cortex exhibits neural activity unlike any that has ever been reported. It's strengthened in intensity over the testing period and now appears stable. I've shown the results—without identifying you, of course—to my neuroscientist colleagues and they couldn't believe it. We tested the equipment to verify that a mechanical error wasn't responsible. The neurons in your brain exhibit patterns that, to put it simply, were not considered possible."

"But what does that mean?" Neal asked. "Is my brain damaged?"

"I don't believe so. When you're not exposed to the artifact, it behaves perfectly normally. As to why it's acting that way, I believe I've found at least a partial indicator." She paused and viewed him with concern. "Are you sure you're ready to hear this?"

Neal had been focused so intently on her words, he only now realized he'd been holding his breath. He nodded. "I'd rather know. The uncertainty has been brutal."

"The clearest indication of an anomaly was in the cerebrospinal fluid we drew from you. You've now had two spinal taps. In the tap I performed earlier this week I detected an element I wasn't able to identify. It was only with Cyrus's help that I succeeded." She took his hand. "Cyrus confirmed that you have algolnium within your cerebrospinal fluid."

Neal simply stared at her for a minute. "The element in Peter's starfish is also in me?"

She nodded. "It appears to be part of your body chemistry. And that's not all. After we identified the algolnium, I performed a second analysis of the first sample. This time I was able to detect the presence of algolnium, but in a much smaller percentage. Your first spinal tap was done on the day after the incident in the derelict church. In one week, the amount of algolnium in your system had quadrupled. Its growth rate is frankly unprecedented, but then we have no experience with the element, so everything about this is unique."

"You mean the algolnium's acting like a tumor?"

She shook her head forcefully. "Not at all. It appears to be self-replicating. You shouldn't view this as a disease. Your body chemistry is different. That doesn't mean it's dangerous or unhealthy. We simply don't know. I suspect that the growth of algolnium is a type of neurogenesis, similar to what occurs in every human's brain. Most of our neuron growth is pre-natal. As we age, the number of neurons we possess declines. With you, algolnium apparently stimulates your brain to create new neurons. Did that activity start with your exposure to Peter's artifact? It's impossible to know since we weren't aware algolnium existed before then."

If ever Neal could have used a drink, this was the moment. He wasn't radioactive, but he was walking around with algolnium inside him. And it was growing.

El was continuing to talk. He forced himself to focus on her words. "We shouldn't make any assumptions at this stage. Possibly others have algolnium in their systems. The element hasn't been given official status yet." She was keeping her voice even and calm while his thoughts were spinning out of control. "I know the last thing you want to hear is that you should come in for more tests, but until the composition of your spinal fluid is stable, we need to continue monitoring it."

Neal looked at Peter for his reaction. "I'd said this is a significant breakthrough," he said in response to Neal's mute question. "It probably explains why we were able to view the ghast last night. When you had your first encounter, the amount of algolnium in your system was much smaller, and no one else could see it."

Neal appreciated that Peter was trying to move the discussion along, using the algolnium to explain some of the mysterious events they'd witnessed. But Neal wasn't there yet. Peter might not be dwelling on what it meant for Neal, but he was. Just who was he? What was he?

"It certainly offers the potential of a causal relationship," El agreed. "Yesterday I ran additional tests on the spinal fluid sample." She turned to Neal. "You remember that after your experience in the church, you were covered in frost and your core temperature had dropped to a dangerous level?"

He nodded. "You were astonished that I didn't suffer frostbite or cellular damage."

"That's right. It didn't seem possible with the degree of hypothermia that you exhibited. But now I believe I know why. Algolnium acts like antifreeze. I subjected a sample of the fluid to a temperature drop similar to what you exhibited and it remained stable. The algolnium could have protected you from cellular damage. It may have other beneficial properties as well."