Author's NB: Apologies for the lateness of this update. I had a horrid focused case presentation about a necrotic femoral head & pneumonia I had to fake my way through. I also have two other horrid assignment thingies I have to do. AND I have a new job and have to organise moving 9 hours for it. ___, so yeah, sorry.
Furthermore, I have horrible, HORRIBLE writers' block!!
Chapter Thirty One
23rd December
1400hrs
He'd used a spare key to get into Spike's place to have a shower. For all his intelligence he was rather annoyed at himself for not thinking of that last night, it would have provided a better sleep then on a the floor of a rundown old house his ex girlfriend was renovating.
Oh, and did he mention to himself that that crap shack had been haunted? Either the thing was part of the grander scheme of shenanigans that were transpiring all it was just some random ghostly experience.
From Spike's he'd gone to a restaurant that one really shouldn't buy food from, ever, he'd eaten his full, then spent the one and a half hour's drive back to Autobot City wanting to be sick. He pulled over in the last twenty minutes and deposited the rather sludgy looking remains of his meal behind a few of the bushes for the local fauna. He felt a great deal better and continued on his way.
At 1342hrs he arrived at Autobot City and at 1352hrs he learnt that Perceptor was gone and no one had any clue where he was, Springer had been beaten and kidnapped by the Twins and Magnus had basically had an "acute episode of mental health crisis" was how First Aid had described it. So now, at 1400hrs, sitting in his office, freaked out of his mind, he was trying to figure out what to do and who to turn too now.
He continually rubbed his fingers through his hair, feeling the damp grease against his skin. In his mind he kept expecting to hear something, to see something, to smell something, to feel something… something related to the dead. He tried to rationalise everything he'd experienced. He couldn't. And with Perceptor missing he had no one to discuss these thoughts with. Chip removed his fingers from his hair and laid his hands palms down on the desk in front of him, and then laying his head down between them he sobbed. After a few moments the damp his tears caused against the wood started to irritate his face. He sat back up and wiped the wet away.
It didn't relieve the sorrow in his heart.
"What am I supposed to do?"
He lamented.
"WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO??"
He screamed loudly.
There was no answer, and he felt a tad embarrassed for a moment, but equally glad his office and surrounding lab was sound proof.
His phone rung.
He squealed, jumped and then felt incredibly sheepish. He tried to get a hold of himself to answer.
"Hel… hello".
He failed.
"Well, hello to you Chip, fine day for a biscuit, ain't it?"
"Who's… who's this?"
"I'll be you can't remember me! Am I that boring that people forget me within days of meeting? Hehe, never mind, its Toby!"
"Padre?"
"Well, yeah, that's another title I go by".
"Why… how… how'd you get this number?"
"Gosh, Mr. Chase, for such a clever fella I'm surprised at your memory, might need to get that checked out, kid. You gave it to me, of course, on a business card".
Chip could not for the life of him remember giving out a business card.
"Now, on to the reason I'm giving you a jingle. I was having myself a fine tasting biscuit, being the festive season and all gives us oldies a few perks, and I just started thinking of you and your predicament".
"Really?"
"Well, to avoid creeping you out, young man, I will point out that I had a phone call from a rather distraught young chap who you recently made acquaintance with, Ethan, the young man, he woke up. Thank goodness. I heard he was out of it, as the kids these days say… come to think of it, they've always said that. Why, back in the 60s and basically around 'Nam days, the young hippy types used to say "out of it". It was quite amusing actually!! Anyway, I digress, as I tend to do, it's a rather unfortunate habit, and it used to make my homilies go a bit longer… I used to get a few complaints from some of the less patient parishioners, which, you can imagine only made me make them longer! Hahahah! Now where I was, oh yes, Ethan came round and contacted me, had a good weep, pulled himself together then told me the whole story to which I realised, I had to sort it out for you good folk".
Chip said nothing for a few moments and as the priest was catching his breath there was an eerie silence. Then Chip started sobbing. He couldn't find words to express to the Padre just how bad it was, just how awful this lack of scientific intervention was, just about how everything seemed so messed up.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, kid. Calm yourself down and come pick an old priest up".
1440hrs
Chip was about ten minutes drive from the Autobots' city, the road ahead for another 20 kilometres was still considered their territory and he had to admit, he enjoyed the drive. The "Great battle of 2005" as it had been termed had been not that long ago, but it was nice to see the wildlife returning and the plants slowly begin to show signs of life, even if most of the trees were bare courtesy of Autumn's descent and Winter's nippy grip. Up ahead the road curved slightly around a wad of boulders that had long since made their way down the close mountain and had added a nice touch of difference to the landscape. He slowed his speed and changed down to two, but as he twisted the control jutting from the steering wheel, that allowed the disabled man to drive a manual, he noticed it didn't give any resistance or make any noise. The car suddenly gulped and the speed he'd lost by lessening his grip on the hand used accelerator was suddenly replaced. The car was in fact increasing its velocity.
"What the hell?"
He gasped as he reached down for the hand break in an attempt to stop the car that way. Touching it he found it was ice cold, and it didn't give. It remained depressed and the car continued towards the sharp bend.
He wondered if he could veer off into the bushes, albeit leafless and hope something softer then the many rocks would slow him. He caught a glimpse of something in the rear view mirror. It was enough to re-focus his attention. Staring back at him in that narrow slit of reflective glass were two glowing red eyes and a dark sneer.
"OH GOD!"
He screeched as the thing sitting in the back of his car laughed at him. It was the last sound he would hear as he ploughed from the road and into a large cluster of rocks; the blackness of unconsciousness took him. The laugh, that evil, horrible laugh, bade him farewell.