Empyreal
empyreal (em-pir-ee-uhl) adj. - pertaining to the highest heaven in the cosmology of the ancients.
-Fourteen-
"So, I don't know how much human entertainment you've seen," Tucker said, checking and re-checking the locked door. "But on TV and stuff, computer hacking is always this big production, and every single computer is encrypted with all sorts of firewalls and whatnot." Tucker flicked on the computer and a dull glow blasted the darkness, competing with the glow that my ghostly body was emanating. We were in a dark room in the Manson's attic that was filled with desks, chairs, screens, and all sorts of papers, from charts to reports to handwritten notes on various notebooks strewn about the room. It was their security hub.
"In reality... people are stupid."
"What do you mean?" I asked as the computer beeped to life. Computers were still a foreign thing to me, something that I'm not sure I'd ever really get used to. It seemed like a primitive, complicated version of Master's instruments for observation.
"I mean that people are very trusting with their electronics, and their passwords are usually super easy to guess," he said, drumming his fingers on the desk. He typed in something and another screen came to life. "See? The password for the whole system was 'Manson'. I'm assuming it was set up like this so the Manson's could easily check their security cameras."
"Oh..." I said, not sure what he was talking about. Tucker glanced up at the various screens above the computer monitor. Each one was numbered. He frowned.
"Each camera has its own passcode," he muttered to himself. "Danny, is there any list or anything of which camera goes where?" I glanced around, not sure of what I was looking for. Each screen above the computer was very small and square and had numbers drawn on with some sort of pen. I walked over to the pile of papers on an adjacent table and shuffled them around, glancing at the information. It was just basic notes on goings on around the house, nothing major. As I was moving the papers over, I noticed a small, thin black book. I opened it and right on the first page was a list of corresponding numbers and names.
"Hey Tucker?" I called, lifting the book. Tucker glanced at me. "I think I found it."
"Awesome, what does it say?" he asked. I frowned.
"Well it says that Sam's room is camera... 313 and 315."
"Excellent," Tucker said, typing the numbers in. "I bet those are the... yup. Knew it. The passcodes for the cameras are the camera numbers. See, Danny, when someone is useless with computers, they're information is practically ours for the taking."
"Really?" I asked, placing my hands on the chair he was sitting in.
"It's amazing how flippantly people will treat something as important to them as their security." Tucker went silent and continued clicking on things, his eyes never straying from the screen.
"So the police have probably gotten copies of all this footage," Tucker said, leaning back. "But if they see anything it'll be a blurry still or four seconds of footage that they release. That's useless to us. What we want is... there, look," he said, tapping the glass. I leaned forward, squinting. To be honest the screen was just blurry and I couldn't really discern anything. But Tucker had noticed something, and that was all I needed to look.
"Do you see this?" Tucker said. "Look, look here. Sam is here-" he pointed to a dark form inside Sam's elegant four-poster bed – "and then suddenly, she disappears." He clicked, and as the form shifted, there was a light, and she was gone from her bed. My eyes widened.
"Her room is completely intact," I murmured. Tucker sighed heavily and cupped his chin in his hand, his brows furrowed.
"Yeah..." he said. "Yeah, it is. And then the footage ends, look." The picture began shivering violently, and then darkened. Lines appeared on the screen and the words offline flashed in the corner.
"So something came in, took her away invisibly, and then shut off the camera?" I said, half-asking. Tucker spun around in his chair to face me.
"You were right," he said, looking up at me. "There was a ghost. Or something paranormal at least."
"But, what about the blood? On the window?" I said, remembering the skylight. "And the marks on the bed? If it was a ghost, how did that happen?" Tucker shrugged and swung around. He replayed the footage of Sam's kidnap several times as if waiting for something to change. He then opened the other camera in Sam's room, from a different angle, but this one was even less helpful.
The more Tucker played the video, the worse I felt. I had a strange sensation at the bottom of my spine, as if I knew this was going to be useless. It seemed that every lead we got led us further from her. And the further we got, the more her life slipped away – or so it seemed.
So it was ghost, but how were we supposed to find that ghost? Finding a ghost among humans is nearly impossible, especially if they're even a little bit cunning. And this ghost knew what it was doing. It knew how to confuse us. It—
"You okay, Danny?" Tucker asked, glancing up at me with concerned eyes. I had gotten lost in my thoughts again, and I was gripping the chair until my knuckles turned white. I let go of the chair and rubbed my hand, which was now turning red.
"I just... I just don't know what to do," I admitted. "Tucker, I was put here. In this town, in this place, by my Master, and I don't know what I'm doing here." Tucker leaned back in the chair, his back to the screen. He pulled his legs up and crossed them, placing his hands in his lap.
"You're a dead Fenton," he said. "Maybe that's why you're here."
"What?" I said, startled. "Tuck, what on earth do you mean?"
"I mean – and bear with me here – but... the Fentons hunt ghosts. And they're pretty good at it from what I've seen," Tucker explained. "You are a ghost. And you're a Fenton. Which means that maybe you're twice as good at it."
"Well... maybe," I said, but I felt unconvinced. That didn't really make sense... did it? "Are there any other cameras we can look at? What about, I dunno... that one we saw outside or something?" Tucker's eyes widened and he pushed himself around. I sat down on the floor, crossing my arms. It was so much to absorb.
"Holy... holy..." I heard Tucker say.
"What? What is it?" Tucker beckoned my over and I ran over, not even conscious of the racket I must have been making. He pointed to the screen.
On the corner of the street, near where we had been sitting, a figure appeared, holding Sam. Sam pushed herself away from it, attempting to run away, but the figure shot something bright out of him and somehow contained her hands, forcing her to the ground. My grip tightened on Tucker's chair again out of anger.
The figure was holding her down when suddenly another appeared of the figure and zoomed inside. Sam and the figure remained outside, arguing about something – and then he picked her up and disappeared.
"That's him. That's our guy," Tucker said. "Recognize him at all?" I squinted.
"Play it again?" and he did so. I stared at the figure. It had some sort of black cloak on, shielding its face and body. I really couldn't tell who or what it was, until—
When the duplicate formed, it turned for a split second and a face was seen. I gasped.
"Tuck, go back," I instructed and he obliged. He paused it on that one scene and I got as close as I could to the screen. I wasn't sure if getting closer would make it better to see, but I had to try. I could see a thin, pointed face with stark features, and brilliant white hair...
"Oh my... Oh my God," I whispered. "It's him. It's Vlad."
"What?" Tucker said, looking at the screen."Are you sure?"
"I'm positive," I said through gritted teeth. I didn't realize I was grimacing until I felt the pressure in my mouth and unclenched my teeth, rubbing my jaw. Things I was so used to doing without any real feeling still took me by surprise.
"Vlad Masters," I said, stepping back. A bright light overtook the room and I felt my ethereal form come out. I hadn't even summoned it this time – it just happened.
"We have to find that bastard," I said.
"I agree," Tucker suggested, spinning around. "So how the hell do we find him?"
"If this is guy is anything like Plasmius" – and I had a feeling he was – "then he's hiding in plain sight," I told Tucker
"Don't you think that if we were able to identify him, the police will?" Tucker said. "What if they get there first?"
"They won't," I said suddenly, surprising even myself with the declaration. It just seemed to make sense. "He can outwit them."
"How do you know?" Tucker asked. I turned to him.
"I have no idea. I just know."
The more she struggled, the rawer her wrists became. She was sure she could feel blood in her palms now. The cuffs were digging into her wrists and there was nothing she could do about them. She leaned back against the wall, breathing heavy. She could hear footsteps outside the door. She attempted to wiggle her way near the large bed against the wall in an attempt to hide, but her energy was mostly gone and there was no way she'd get all the way there.
The heavy oak door opened slowly and light poured into the now darkened room. Sam squinted in the light and stiffened as a tall, thin figure entered the room.
"Miss Samantha, really, you don't have to spend all your time on the floor," the man said, a sly smile creeping onto his face. Sam just glared up at him, her mouth clamped shut. He flicked on the light and after a few flickers the lights turned on, illuminating the guest bedroom. One of the very many.
Vlad Masters walked up to the girl and knelt down in front of her, one arm on his knee. The keys to the handcuffs jingled gently in his pocket as he leaned forward to speak to her.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Vlad said, in a voice so sweet it had to be fake, "to call the Phantom."
"No," Sam whispered. "L-leave him alone."
"Why should I? What could possibly happen here? He is dead, I hope you know," Vlad said, narrowing his eyes. Sam shook her head.
"Why does it matter if he comes here or you go there? You have no p-problem f-finding people," Sam said, her voice still barely a whisper. Vlad shook his head.
"It can't be in Amity Park. Too many people. Too many ghost hunters. Out here? We're in the middle of nowhere, Samantha. Granted, Amity Park isn't as... well endowed with ghost hunters as I'm used to, but it's still dangerous." Sam's eyes widened just a tiny bit, but Vlad knew she reacted to what he had said.
"I've lived there my entire life," Sam said, regaining her voice. "The Fentons are the only ghost hunters I've ever met."
"Yes, well..." he said nothing after that. He just looked at her, and Sam felt like she was being violated with his piercing stare. Finally he stood up and turned towards the doorway.
"...how did you know my name?" Sam asked suddenly. It had been gnawing at her since she was brought here. "How did you know where I live? How do you know me?" Vlad stopped and turned around. He turned back and walked over to the door, locking it. He walked back over to Sam, grabbed her shoulders (no matter how much she scrunched away) and forced her forwards, grabbing her wrists, and unlocking the handcuffs. He pocketed them and stood up. Sam grasped her wrists, which were red and bleeding. She looked up at him.
"You're allowed to use anything in this room to your comfort; besides, night is falling,"
"You didn't answer my question," Sam said, wincing at her wrists. Vlad backed up to the locked door.
"You don't want to know the answer," he said, and as Sam watched in disbelief, he phased right through the door.
Sorry this chapter was so... dry and blah. Just trying to move the plot along a little bit. We're getting on to the end, but we still got a ways to go.
I was looking through the chapters of the other stories and when I lasted updated before I vanished, I hadn't even applied to Boston University. I'm now a junior there. Oh how time flies! Let me know of any critiques, it's been awhile and I'm rusty.