A./N.: 'This' conveys a character's thoughts and "this" what they're verbally saying.
'CoP' signals a change of perspective in the middle of a chapter.

Chapter II: Sinister Shadows

She heard their voices, a mingle of echoes. So otherworldly and wrong, but always so familiar.
Their argument was heated with a freezing edge, not unlike an arctic burn. Their keen senses didn't pick up the woman's close presence over the verbal battle. Curious ears heard more than they bargained for.

On the drawn out way back home the petite woman can barely register her slim legs moving, everything an indiscernible blur and flashes of walls and asphalt.

"It's because of Maddie isn't it? …to later on get in her good graces."
The statement buzzes in her overstuffed head with all the other thoughts, angrily demanding attention, yet this one's buzz is the loudest and most terrifying.
'It would mean that one of the most powerful ghost's obsession is me.'

A cold shiver dances across tightly clothed skin, a flood of arctic water swirling in her troubled head. A persistent itch spreads everywhere the teal skintight jumpsuit touches sweaty skin.
'If it wants me and has the ability to teleport, what exactly would keep it from obtaining what its obsession demands?'

This realization wakes the shadows, infuses many with glimpses of menacingly red eyes. They grow with each fearful step, yapping at booted heels like rabid dogs. Soft knees are barely kept from buckling, hands armed with a gun tempted to strike at every shadow seemingly shifting in the nightly hours. Footsteps quicken to a jog, an erratic heartbeat tries to outrun them. Each beat a countdown.
Glancing back obscured eyes see nothing but red tinted empty streets, yet each time the woman faces forward again she feels chased.
Pushing strained legs to their limit, each corner brings the mother closer to safety.

The hurried figure considers taking a longer route, but almost immediately decides against it.
'I am dealing with a ghost that can teleport, not just a ratty criminal. The sooner I am home the sooner I am within the safety of the shield. Just two more turns.'

Her back feels impaled with the weight of an intense stare, yet each time the hooded figure turns her head around she finds nothing.
'Just a bit more-' she tells herself, a familiar greenish light already spills from behind the last corner like a wave of relief.

In the dark of the night is still nothing but sinister shadows and deserted streets.
She rounds the corner. The sight of her house with its illuminating neon sign fills the panicked woman with relief. Quivering legs sprint to the front steps, using up every last reserve of energy they have left.
The moment she reaches the inside of the dome she bends over, heavy and desperate breaths repeatedly rushing in and out of spasming lungs. After catching her breath the hunter surveys the area more calmly.

Nothing moves. Silence permeates the air in the nightly stillness. A last searching glance and the calmed figure heads inside. Shaking hands scratch the key against the worn keyhole.
'Okay Maddie, calm down. You're inside the dome.'

Taking another deep breath and attempting to still the tremors in the usually nimble hands she finally manages to open the sturdy door and hastily heads inside.

The living room is empty, nearly silent apart from the soft ticking of a clock. The lingering panic makes a gloved hand dart out in a blind search for the light switch. Immediately assaulted by a bright wave the illuminated figure squints against harsh lighting. After calming down enough in the confines of a powerful shield and surrounded by yellow light adjusting eyes glance towards a noisy clock on the wall. Roughly twenty minutes past 6 in the morning.
'The kids will be waking up soon. Might as well get started already.'

Moving towards the kitchen she takes note of the uncomfortable chafing the slick fabric is causing. A grimace contorts lips of a worn reddish color.
'I should take a shower. I'm sure I smell horrible.'

Occasionally glancing around her the mother heaves herself upstairs, legs complaining about the steep trek with wobbly accuracy.

Worn stairs creak slightly. She winces, the sound too loud in the nightly stillness. Reaching the hallway upstairs persistent snores become audible. Tired violet eyes wander to her son's door, noticing a carpet of light spilling from underneath the door frame. Delicate brows furrow, worry clawing its way into her thoughts.
'Is he already awake? Usually I either have to wake him or he'll come stumbling down the stairs last minute looking like he just slept for maybe an hour at most.'

Her gloved hand hovers over white wood, just about to knock.
'But what if he's asleep and just left the lights on? He already is not getting enough sleep, I shouldn't bother him.'
Booted feet slowly turn away, heading for the bathroom.
'But what if the shower wakes him? He has become such a light sleeper over the years.'

The concerned mother silently slinks into her bedroom, grating snores loudly filling the room in a powerful crescendo. Pulling out a clean suit nimble fingers quickly change her attire, slight tremors cursing through her hands the more skin she reveals. Quick glances behind raised shoulders assure the hunter that the bedroom is empty, bulky goggles revealing no ghostly presence.
'This is ridiculous, the shield is up and nothing can get in.'
Despite grounding reassurances the doubt still clings to her.
'Could teleportation enable a ghost to get in?'

Countless ideas and experiments already start vying for attention as she absentmindedly dresses herself.
Wandering downstairs to begin working on their family's breakfast the mother opens the fridge, unpacking the bacon and pulling out some eggs and previously prepared batter.
Pans clanging and eggshells cracking Jazz enters the busy kitchen with a well-worn book and a thick binder, college block wedged in between the array of research materials. Spreading everything out on the table to read, but still being able to make place for her plate she settles in.

The older woman glances over to her daughter, noticing the familiar mountain of papers.
'She's barely back here and already studying whenever she can. Always making use of every free minute.' she reminisces with a fond smile, cracking the last egg into a bowl.
"How are your studies coming along?"

"Pretty well." The answer is given distractedly, a busy mind continuing to skillfully pick out valuable information from paragraph to paragraph.

Glancing back for a moment the woman wonders what her daughter is researching this time.
"So what topic are you reading up on?"

Quickly marking the sentence with an adhesive note delicate fingers flip over to the cover.
"Bodily changes in pain, hunger, fear and rage by Walter Cannon." She recites dutifully.

Taking interest the woman is about to inquire about details when-

"Why are you wearing your goggles in the house? Did you take down the shield?"

Surprised by the question gloved fingers halt in their movement, pancakes continuing to sizzle. After a moment they resume their movements.
"Of course not honey, we always make sure to keep the shield up. As for my goggles, I'm testing them. There seems to be some sort of malfunction." Thin eyebrows knit in apparent frustration, hoping to conceal the fear beyond.
'I shouldn't worry her, I'll take care of it quickly.'

"What kind of malfunction?" asks a curious voice, attention suddenly shifting to the mother currently cooking breakfast.

The suited figure pauses.
'I completely forgot that Jazz is way more curious about these things than Danny is, he would just have accepted it but Jazz…'
She opts to go with another version of the truth.
"You know, sometimes they will pick up faint traces of ectoplasm around the house."

The paling features of her daughter alarm her, making the young woman look scared, close to terrified.
'I shouldn't have said that. I should have known this would unsettle her. Of course Jazz would put one and one together and conclude that despite the shield ghosts can somehow enter. We might have seen these traces but any of us could have left them there.'

"Don't worry, ghosts can't get through our shield, they never could nor will they ever be able to. As I said, it must be a malfunction."

The reassuring words seem to calm the unsettled psychology student, tense shoulders relaxing. Satisfied with the defused situation the ruthless hunter returns to the breakfast preparations.

Yet at the back of her head, in the deepest recesses of the hunter's mind a voice whispers 'Can't they?', coated in panic and cynicism.

'Can't they get through the shield?'

C.o.P. Jazz

With a scattered mind the student turns back to her book, traces of panic and adrenaline still itching underneath tight skin. Eyes slit over sentences without reading a word, desperately trying to seem distracted and calm. Normal. As if nothing significant happen. As if their parents didn't just find another clue. How many clues until they find out? Three? One?
'I should have paid closer attention to their inventions. I should have been here. My education isn't more important than my brother's life, no matter what he says.'

Uneasy mind still churning and spinning she forces herself to at least pretend to read, draw some seemingly important diagram.
Ballpoint pen hovering over an empty sheet chaotic thoughts have trouble aligning themselves into categories, creating disaster and pushing anything she learned so far away, into dark corners, hiding them underneath the floorboards.
Frustration and panic begin clawing at her chest. Recalling the calming technique the teen sometimes uses troubled thoughts are strictly directed to pragmatism.
'Alright, she doesn't know, she thinks it's a malfunction. But did she say that to calm me? No, she said it before I even reacted, she initially suspected it to be a malfunction.'

Once again unbidden thoughts slither into the forefront of her mind like a sinister snake, spreading venom, poisoning already frantic thoughts.
'She seemed nervous after I asked her about the shield and the goggles though. Okay this is getting me nowhere, I should just distract the both of us.'

"Hey Mom?"

"Yes sweetie?"

Facing the occupied mother by the stove she tries not to fidget.
'There is no turning back now.'
"You know that Danny's trying his best right?"

Fluid movements still momentarily, sizzling bacon slowly removed from the heated stove. A concerned glance inlaid with worry and sadness becomes visible as the mother turns to her child.
"Of course I know that."

A gentle hand softly touches her shoulder, the still gloved hand affectionately rubbing tense muscles in a soothing motion.
"Danny is a sweet child, he's just a bit troubled. But I guess you already know that."

There is care in the woman's eyes, assurance in her voice and pride in the words that are uttered with strong but soft confidence. Massaging fingers wander from the relaxing shoulders to Jazz's head and with a few last calming strokes she announces "I'll finish our breakfast now. Jack should be charging down the stairs any minute now, I'm sure the smell of bacon must have already reached him.".

The younger woman silently returns to her abandoned research, smiling fondly at her father's usual shenanigans.
'How he smells the bacon all the way to his room I still don't know.'

An alluring smell of bacon slowly begins to fill the kitchen anew and moments later loud footsteps can be heard from the stairs, followed by the exclamation of "I smell bacon!".
'If Danny doesn't wake up from this racket I'll have to step by his room, usually even just a light knock to his door can wake him.'
Despite trying to concentrate on the book before her the usual banter still registers in her mind, tempting the college student to either give up or move into another room. In the end she stays, the promise of a new invention coming up during the usual banter keeping her rooted in the kitchen.

"I made you your favorite, eggs on bacon." A playful voice sing-songs in a proud tone.

"That's why I love you honey." A quick peck on the lips can be heard.

"Oh?" the indignant tone is like the promise of the storm, yet amusement still colors it in nuances "And here I thought I was worth more than just my cooking skills."
Out of the corner of her eye the elder daughter can just make out her mother, who is waving around her spatula with a smirk on her lips, eventually holding the offending object between the larger man's eyes very closely. The man goes cross-eyed, his expression almost making Jazz laugh loudly, who is now snickering at the table.

"I am insulted that you would even suggest that!" A boisterous deep voice exclaims in a theatrically indignant tone, a large hand splayed out against a broad chest like an oath.
His wife tries to uphold the serious expression, but with each snicker from the nearby table it is increasingly getting more difficult.

The banter continues on for a while until silence settles in the busy kitchen again. A pair of eyes behind red goggles wander to the open door, two other pairs following suit a moment later. The breakfast is almost done and laid out, one of the chairs still remaining empty.

"He's going to be late again isn't he?"

"A slacker isn't going to change all of a sudden. I've been saying it and I'll say it again: He needs discipline. It can't continue like this."

"Jack."

"What?! You know I'm right, giving him room and freedom over the years hasn't improved anything." His disapproval and disappointment can be heard in every word, hanging thickly in the air with sharp accusation.
Silence.
No word or sound follows the ruthless assessment.

"You know dad, I've been keeping track of his grades and they have improved significantly over the years. I even have diagrams! Do you want to see them?"
With a twinge of panic delicate fingers begin to leaf through the thick folder meant for research to help her younger brother, pages turning into a white flurry.

"No it's fine, I believe you." the disgruntled man mutters reluctantly, "but he still comes home late, if at all! Apart from his grades nothing has changed and no matter what we do nothing changes!"
The frustration brews in his voice like a storm, a catastrophe waiting to happen.

The sister's lips thin into an angry line, trying to hold back all the words and emotions just begging to finally be released like a flock of liberated doves.
'This is so unfair, Danny does his best and barely even gets enough sleep to catch up with his studies, not even mentioning the mental wounds he has to suffer, and the only thing he regularly comes home to are our disappointed parents and pointless lectures. If I could just take him with me…'

"I'll go check on him."
Leaving the oppressing atmosphere Jazz heads for the stairs, the previously bantering couple sitting in silence until a whispery discussion breaks out between them.

A sense of heavy desperation weighs on her mind, followed by the intensely burning urge to help her overworked brother.
'Should I visit more often? I could work on my studies here, listen to recordings in the car.'

Remembering the tense conversation just a few seconds ago soft features grimace, anxiety and worry festering deeper in a troubled mind.
'I should definitely tell Danny to "fix" the goggles again, the current excuse will only hold so long.'

Her thoughts take on a more vicious edge of desperation and a dark sense of helplessness takes refuge between smothering thoughts.
'I want to help him, fix him completely, permanently, but that isn't possible, not with the fights still going on. Removing him from here wouldn't work either, he would find a way back. There is nothing-'

Chocked up and near tears the red-headed sister attempts to collect herself again.
'No, there is still a hope, I can still help, I shouldn't give up on him.'

Taking a shaky but deep breath near silent feet trudge on to a familiar wooden door, a worn nameplate with space themed stickers still attached to it. Smiling fondly she calls out softly.
"Danny, it's me Jazz, I'm coming in."

Oh those eyes, making me shiver in icy cold blood, the nausea crawling up my throat with the vengeance of a betrayed lover.