Ch. 2

He stares down at her. Sprawled in the dirt, body buffeted by sand clinging to hair, clothes, blood. The gaping hole in her guts, black as a pit with congealed blood. So much blood.

Her eyes stare open and fixed on the sky. In life, people have a light in their eyes. Call it awareness, intelligence, a soul. Whatever it is, it's a light. But hers is gone, and her eyes are empty because her body is empty. Two lives are gone though, but he had never seen the eyes of that second life. He'd never been given the chance.

His family gone faster than he could blink.

There is blood on him, he can smell it. He can feel the pain of a slash on his shoulder. But its overshadowed by his desire to be sick...

Cooommmmmeee...

Carl snaps his head up. He hears the whisper on the wind, rising to utter one intelligible word, then decreasing into hiss-like gibberish. It sounds like many voices when it babbles, but a single voice when it breathes its single word.

Ca-rl...

It doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound human. More like something learning to speak for the first time, testing the pronunciation of letters on the tongue, exploring the possibilities that vocal cords hold.

Cold shoots down Carl's spine to go crashing through his veins. He shivers.

The desert stretches from horizon to horizon. But that can't be right. There had been plateaus, hills, and the empty highway at his back. He looks around, dazed by confusion. Then he looks around frantically. His eyes drop inadvertently to the ground. But she's gone. The only piece of her left – a bloody stain in the sand.

Ca-rl... Ca-rl...?

The gibberish whisperings become laugh-like chitters.

C-ooommmmeeee.

Carl begins walking. He's curious, drawn. He wants to know. That's all he wants. He feels the answers to be out there, over that horizon, at where the voices drift in from. He can feel the promises they hold though they do not speak them. Answers, clarity, certainty.

An end to nightmares. Freedom. The possibility of being something greater.

Ca-rl...

He can hear the voices more clearly, calling his name. He can hear everything. The heart beat of a mouse, the scrape of a beetle across the sand, the distant wing beats of an owl. He can even hear his own heart, resonating like a drum, steady despite the adrenaline beginning to burn through him. Night is coming, the sun is setting, and he can still see everything, down to the smallest crack in a fist-sized stone. He can smell too. The mouse, the owl, insects, coyotes...

Blood. Thick, metallic blood.

Carl stops. He hates the smell of blood. It always reminds him of...

He looks down. She's there again, he can see her in the dark. The hole in her is bleeding, the pit that was once a womb and holding something precious.

Life.

It was all gone now.

Sickened rage fills Carl, swelling in his chest, making his heart hammer until it hurts. He begins trembling in rage, in sorrow, in hatred.

Ca-rl. Ca-arl. Caaarrrrllll!

Carl refuses to move. The promises, the need for answers, for an end to what he knows, are pulling at him. But he won't move, not as long as she is lying there. He will not leave her.

But he wants answers. He wants them so badly...

NSNSNSNSNSNS

Carl snapped his eyes open, arching his back and sucking in a long, sharp breath until his lungs had no more room to expand and his ribcage felt ready to split. He then dropped back onto the couch, releasing the breath slowly, letting it take the tension with it. But it didn't stop the mad pounding of his heart.

He was wide awake, but stayed where he was, lying on his back on the couch and staring up at the gray-dawn touched ceiling. He closed his eyes, sighing in another bout of relief, and could already feel his heart returning to normal rhythms.

Okay, this was different, he had to admit. Most of the dreams had him snapping awake and sitting upright, not snapping awake and gasping for breath. He'd never had problems with sleep apneia before, but the moment he had pulled himself from the dream, his lungs were practically screaming at him for air.

Time to start worrying, maybe? He thought. People shouldn't have to worry about suffocating in their sleep.

Carl closed his eyes for a moment. He shifted, only to wince at the pain in his joints and muscles. It felt as though he had run countless miles and lifted a steady stream of heavy objects. He was sore to the point that the thought of moving made him shudder, but knew that once he got going, the stronger flow of blood would relieve the stiffness.

He sat up with a grimace as the muscles of his back pulled and protested. His back popped, but not in comfortable way.

Obviously, something needed to change, such as catching himself before he crashed on the couch. He had a bed, probably covered in dust from neglect by now.

Kolchak moved to plant his feet on the carpeted floor, grimacing again. The air of the house was cold, which was no surprise since desert nights could get freezing when they wanted to, especially during this time of year.

So if his subconscious insisted on moving his body to the couch, he could at least snag a blanket along the way. There were a few tucked in a drawer behind the couch.

Carl lowered his head, stretching his neck until it also popped, but in a more comfortable way compared to what his spine had done. He was about to tilt his head to the side for another pop, but paused.

He couldn't even begin to count the number of times he had fallen asleep on the couch, not to mention the desk which was a heck of a lot more uncomfortable. But no matter where he had crashed, he had never woken up feeling this bad before.

The dream. He hadn't started feeling sore and weary until sometime after the dream. The dream itself had begun a week and a half ago. The soreness manifested a day or two later, but nothing like this. It had been small annoyances that went away the moment he started moving around. Pains in one shoulder, one knee, or one small spot on the back.

It was getting progressively worse. And not one to be close minded, Carl could not ignore the connection. Too bad he had yet to look into dream phenomenon.

Carl grinned spitefully. Of all the unusual subjects he had come to familiarize himself with, the one that would come in handy right now he only knew snatches about. Dreams could be interpreted, he just didn't know the method.

Kolchak pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth and letting out a small grunt of discomfort. He made his rigid way to the kitchen, still clenching his jaw as he tried to move as he normally did. He was anxious to pour something hot down his throat and into his stomach which would warm him up from the inside out. His hand was already reaching for the coffee pot which wasn't even within reach yet when he stopped. Something about the prospect of putting anything in his stomach made him suddenly ill, so he dropped his hand, staring questionably at the coffee pot as though it were the reason for this change of heart.

Carl tilted his head back in frustration. He turned, and leaned with his hands splayed on the counter. His arms shook slightly trying to hold him up, and it startled him.

What's wrong with me?

He straightened, relieving his arms of his own weight. He looked at his hands, which were wracked by slight tremors.

Aged in a day. Great.

He dropped his hands, shaking his head.

Sleep walking might be a possible reason, he thought. He'd done a little research on sleepwalking and knew that some walkers had been known to take full traipses around the block only to end up back in bed. Kolchak didn't put it past himself to be a sleepwalker. It was usually an indication of mental and/or emotional turmoil, and even he admitted that he had plenty of that to go around.

Foregoing coffee and breakfast, he skipped ahead to a shower and a change of clothes. He and Perri had another interview today with one Mr. Valasky. The man's wife had been found butchered like a pig in their own dining room Monday morning. Carl and Perri had learned of it the following day, and were quick to jump on it. Valasky, however, had been in no mood to talk with anyone say for the police. The hope was that today he might be a little more open because it might help. Most who lose loved ones to serial killers were this way. After the initial grief and time to think, they came to realize that anything that could help in catching the SOB killer was worth it. That included giving statements to reporters.

Carl was to meet Perri at Valasky's house, so he moved as quickly as his aching limbs would let him. The shower helped 'thaw him' as it were, and once in some fresher clothes he could finally attest to feeling a little better.

But there in lay the problem. It was only a little relief. Before heading out he took some Tylenol in hopes of adding to that relief. It was torture trying to get himself to swallow the stupid pill. He nearly gagged it back up, which hadn't been a problem for him since he was a little kid. But gagging he could ignore. Pills were never a joy to take.

He grabbed his keys off the counter, then headed out the door – and was immediately assaulted by a myriad of smells that made him pause. Moldy water, metallic sand, the ammonia of animal urine, the various musks and stenches of animals, exhaust, something like fried food from a distant fast food joint, and things he could not give names to because he had never smelled anything like them before. The various odors sent shock ripping through him in the form of alternating emotions; both wonder and terror reeling dizzily inside his head. His heart pounded, and he could hear its thumping, not muffled but clear as though it were beating outside of himself.

And it frightened him, made him want to run. It was a terror he had never felt before in his life; irrational and all-consuming. It made his breath come faster and faster, and his body cringe like a bristling animal. He stepped back, slowly, as something might when cornered by something dangerous. He felt danger all around him, soaked into everything, and it had him trapped. He wanted to flee, to fight, anything to make it all stop.

Then it did stop. The smells, the hammering crash of his heart, and the terror ceased like the removal of a blindfold from off his eyes. He straightened, and resumed his normal breathing, glancing around as though he might actually find what it was that had caused... whatever it was that had happened to him.

He let out a breath that should have had every muscle in his body relaxing, but relief was apparently hard to come by at the moment. Even though he could no longer hear it, his heart was still slamming away, and he was shaking.

Yeah, I think I might need a doctor, he thought. But not a head shrink. If he could, he would avoid going down that road for as long as possible.

NSNSNSNSNSNS

I probably shouldn't be driving either.

Carl negotiated the streets to Valasky's house as though he were just learning how to drive. His heart had resumed normal beating rhythms, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. Even the mundane task of driving had taken on a precarious edge. If the panic attack or whatever it had been returned, he could see himself driving off the road in another fit to escape.

Right now, he was blaming whatever it had been on the dreams. But, just in case, before starting the car, he had called about a doctor's appointment – the sooner the better kind of appointment. Unfortunately, sooner meant two days from now.

Carl arrived at the suburban, two-story home, but only knew he had arrived on seeing Perri's car and Perri leaning against it with arms folded. Jain was there as well, pacing erratically with his hands in his pocket and camera thumping on his chest. As soon as Carl parked behind Perri's car, both turned to look at him with slight surprise - Perri with mild amusement.

Carl, never one to be self-conscious, was suddenly self-conscious. When he managed to pry his fingers from the steering wheel, he found that they were still shaking. He lowered them, clenching them at his side. He took several deep breaths that were supposed to be calming, but came out as poor, shuddering attempts at relief. He felt both exhausted and tense, agitated and worn out, his body aching with fatigue but his mind racing with worry.

And there was nothing he could do about it. So he opened the door, climbing from the car while keeping his fists clenched. Perri began moving toward him, smirking slightly.

" Wow, this is new. Me the first one here and you late. This isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, is it?"

Carl's hands, even fisted, kept shaking, so he shoved them into the pockets of jeans. He looked at Perri, wondering if she had noticed though she had yet to say anything. Perri's gaze, however, was on Carl's face, and the smirk vanished.

" Are you all right? You look really pale."

Carl, turned away, looking at the street then the house uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, then nodded. " Yeah it's just – I've been a little under the weather, that's all."

" Sure you're up for this?"

Kolchak nodded. " Yeah." He then looked at Perri, and managed a small smile. " Might be the only chance we get."

Perri eyed Carl uncertainly, then started for the front door, Jain following a few steps behind.

" Hey Carl," the young man said cheerfully. Carl nodded a greeting in return. The young photographer had a way of lighting up like a Christmas tree whenever Carl showed up. But Carl knew that Jain's fascination with him and his mind-boggling theories was like the fascination people have with car wrecks. Kolchak was an interesting oddity, but at least Jain's enthusiasm and willingness to believe the strange were genuine. It's why Carl had taken a quick liking to the kid when they met – or a little while after they met. Carl always knew better than to give in to first impressions, or he and Perri would still be at nastier odds.

Perri arrived at the door first and was already knocking. Carl had barely walked up beside her when the door was opened, sunlight flashing blindingly off the oval-shaped window. A man, probably younger than Kolchak, stood in the entrance holding an eleventh or twelve month old baby in one arm. The man had dark, almost black hair cut short and combed back, pale brown eyes, and a slightly long, thin face. He looked as though he hadn't shaved this morning, or even gone into any kind of work since he was dressed in a faded red T-shirt and jeans. The baby he was holding was in far better condition dress-wise, wearing denim breeches and a white shirt with a cartoon dump-truck on the front. The infant was contentedly babbling as he toyed with his father's collar, trying to get it into his mouth.

" Mr. Valasky?" Perri said, looking a little taken back by his slightly unkempt appearance. Carl, from personal experience, had been expecting what he saw.

" I'm Perri Reed," She continued, " and this is Carl Kolchak. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday about possibly asking you a few questions?"

Valasky nodded. " Um, yeah, I remember. Come in."

On entering, they also introduced him to Jain, assuring Valasky that he was present for other reasons and not to take pictures of the house or any such as. Valasky led them through the small, tiled hallway into the living room, or what was going to be the living room. There were boxes, unpacked and still packed, scattered everywhere. Valasky cleared some room on the couch using one hand, then pulled up an ornate dining room chair for Jain to sit in. Valasky set the baby on a blanket amongst some toys, then unfolded a padded chair, setting it and himself in front of the reporters.

For a moment, they all sat in silence, say for the baby who was still gurgling and cooing happily, gumming a plastic duck and looking up at the three strangers with wide, blue eyes as though they were the most wonderful things he had ever seen.

Valasky was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together. He then exhaled a sharp breath. " This is good, right? Talking to you guys? Getting the word out? You don't think – you don't think it's too soon, do you?"

Perri and Carl exchanged glances. Carl then looked back at Valasky and shook his head. " No, not in this case. The more people learn about this killer, the more prepared they can be to protect themselves."

Valasky snorted derisively. " Doesn't seem to be helping much. I would read the story every day, before..." he gestured vaguely, then let out a single bitter laugh that was verging more along the lines of a sob. " I kind of stopped reading after that, even caring unless the headlines said something about him being caught. I never even heard when she... if she..." He covered his mouth with one hand, and looked to the floor. But Carl took notice of the man's eyes taking on a shimmering quality that could only be created by tears.

Perri leaned forward herself. " I'm sorry, Mr. Valasky. If this really is a bad time..."

He shook his head, but did not remove his hand from his mouth. Carl could feel the man's struggle, as well as see it. The way he was scrunching up his eyes, the creases in his face as he grimaced. He was fighting his emotions hard, shoving back what – in all truth – he needed to eventually let out, no matter how much it hurt.

It made Carl suddenly wonder if he had done the same; held it in or let it out, but he couldn't remember. He remembered feeling numb, confused, lost, and not much else.

Finally, Valasky's emotions relented, and he was able to regain control. He took in a shuddering breath and straightened, then nodded an okay.

Perri cleared her throat. " Okay, um... You said you didn't hear anything, right?"

Valasky nodded. " I was upstairs, giving Ben a bath. Alicia was in the dining room, unpacking." His eyes flicked nervously to the dining room across from the living room, as though it were a dark and shadowy place he did not ever want to enter. Police tape was still strung across the entrance, the only flimsy barrier between him and a nightmare. Kolchak also looked, and saw a faint hint of red peeking out on the right of the entry-way.

Valasky shook his head in a daze. " I didn't hear anything. Not even a scream. I got Ben out of the tub, dried him off, dressed him, put him in his crib, then came downstairs..." Again he trailed, and again his eyes threatened to flood over. He swallowed, and tore his gaze away from the dining room and the red on the carpet. Carl had a feeling that Valasky would soon be repacking.

Valasky looked down at his hands. " I thought..." his voice hitched, and he cleared his throat. " I thought, after seeing the body and calling for help, that they might blame me. But they didn't. They knew right off who had done it. Oh gosh, I couldn't stop puking! Ben was crying and I couldn't even go to him..."

" And you didn't see anyone?" Carl asked, breaking into Valasky's thoughts. Valasky blinked as though waking, then shook his head no.

" No one. Didn't even hear the doorbell ring or anything."

" Did the police say how they knew it was The Ghost Man?" Carl asked. It wasn't the most creative name the police had thought up, but a name was better than nothing.

Valasky shrugged, sniffing. " Um, something about," he gestured at his chest, " the heart." The man's eyes were becoming bloodshot, and his face was pale. He swallowed, and the act seemed to hurt him.

We probably should have waited a few more days, Carl thought. Then again, sitting and talking calmly with two reporters who knew how not to push was probably a relief compared to the pack of reporters that had tried to shove their way into this man's home the other day. Carl had witnessed it on the news, and it had made him sick. Having cameras flashing in one's face and a slough of people shouting questions was not only overwhelming, it was down right scary, especially if one were still reeling from shock.

Personal experience had made Carl swear never to be that kind of reporter.

Valasky wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands. " I – I'm sorry..."

Perri shook her head. " No, it's all right, Mr. Valasky. We know this is hard. We don't need any details, just your story."

Perri's eyes were flitting back and forth from Valasky to Carl. Carl almost wanted to laugh. Perri was waiting for him to drop one of his bombshell, freaky questions on Valasky.

But Carl had no intentions of doing so. Not to this man. Besides, he didn't need to. There would be no witnesses to what he wanted to know, and never would be.

Carl felt a slight pressure on his shoe, and looked down to see the baby, Ben, with both his small hands pressing down as he looked up at Carl. Ben then smiled a huge, bright-eyed smile, and giggled as though it were all part of some game. Then, using Carl's leg for support, the baby pulled himself up into standing position, gripping Carl's knee with tiny fingers.

" You can move him back on the blanket if he's bugging you," Valasky said. Carl smiled at the baby, and the baby giggled.

" Nah," Carl said, and took Ben's small hands, letting the infant wrap his fingers around Carl's finger and squeeze. A sensation of warmth trickled up and down Carl's spine. His chest tightened, constricting his heart.

I could have had this, he painfully thought. He had wanted it. When his wife had given him the news that she was pregnant, he had wanted it more than anything else at that moment. And in that moment, he had been completely, undeniable happy. It was a joy that could never be outdone, but one he knew he would never feel again. It had died the same moment it had come, that night on the highway.

Carl could not help but think how lucky this baby was, because he was alive, he had been born, and he still had his father. He was too small to know what was going on, and to remember as the years past. He was not aware of the pain.

Yet he had lost his mom, without having truly known her, or with any memories of her to hold onto. He wouldn't remember her, and that wasn't right.

Carl realized with a start that Perri was still asking questions, and Valasky was answering as best he could. Ben was still holding onto Carl's finger, but was now reaching out toward his knee. The infant moved on unsteady legs across Carl, then across the couch to Perri.

" They found some footprints," Valasky was saying. " Too big to be from me, and that cleared me permanently. The killer went out through the kitchen. There's a trail – you know – of blood. They let me clean that up. It's just the dining room I can't touch. I don't understand why she didn't scream. They said there were no chemicals or anything in her. I would have heard her. Ben isn't a loud baby, and he was being quiet. I had the door open, and I could hear Alicia singing... She loved to sing. She never had to sing loud, I could always hear her. Then it stopped, but I thought she'd gone outside. I didn't know anything until I went downstairs."

Perri nodded, raising her notepad to keep it away from Ben's grasping fingers. Ben squealed, bouncing, thinking it all a game.

Valasky was rubbing his hands together slowly, thoughtfully, thinking back without trying to think too much. " That all?" He asked.

Perri looked up at the man, smiled and nodded. " Yes, that's all we need. Thank you, Mr. Valasky."

Valasky rose, and took Ben so that Perri could stand. " Was anything else discovered about this Ghost guy?" Valasky asked. " Do they know anything yet?"

Perri looked directly at Carl, again waiting for him to say something that would elicit another incredulous stare from a stranger.

Carl looked from Perry to Mr. Valasky. " Not really," he said. Valasky nodded, not trying to hide his disappointment. He escorted them to the door, with Ben waving bye-bye by clenching and unclenching one small fist.

The three headed to the cars after hearing the door shut softly behind them.

" You sure you're feeling all right?" Perri asked. " No offense, but I thought you'd be a little more verbal than you were."

" You mean ask him about strangers coming in pretending to be someone else? A little inappropriate, don't you think?"

Perri started in mock surprise. " Inappropriate? Really?" She stared at him for a silent moment, studying him over as though she had never seen him before. " Maybe you need to see a doctor."

Carl looked back at the house. " Already made the appointment," he mumbled.

It wasn't fair.

Jain spoke up then. " This guy, after cutting out his victims hearts... Wouldn't he be covered in blood? How do you not notice something like that? A guy walking through a house or crowd, covered in blood and gripping a human heart."

" He could have discarded whatever he was wearing," Perri replied.

" Yeah, but the cops never find anything left behind. And no one has yet to see anything. I don't know about you guys, but this is really starting to freak me out."

Perri rolled her eyes. " I don't know why. You live alone. I doubt the Ghost would go through all the trouble hunting you down if no one's around to not witness anything. Hey, Carl?"

The muscles of Carl's back and shoulders tightened, and he heard Perri say his name like a thought at the far back of his mind.

This wasn't right. People were dying, and the killers couldn't be found, or explained, or proven if they even exist. They came and went as they pleased, as though everything and everyone else existed only for them. They killed without feeling or reason, and possessed the ability to act without detection. Others took the fall for them. No locked door or moving car could keep them out. There was no way to be safe from these... things. Kolchak sought them with the tenacity of a hunter and couldn't even scrape up one scrap of evidence concerning their existence.

" Carl?" Perri asked again.

" It's not fair," he murmured.

" What?" Perri asked. Carl looked at her, and felt suddenly bone-weary.

" I'll meet you at the office," he said, and headed to his car.

His hands had started shaking again. He had never noticed they had stopped. But the trembling was not just in his hands, but his shoulders as well. He got into his car before Perri or Jain could see. Then he realized – he wasn't shaking out of fatigue, or fear – but out of fury.

It wasn't fair. It's not right.