Division Zero (4 page)

“Who… where…”

Kirsten tried to use her comm. Only static answered, but even if she had gotten through, she doubted the ordinary beat cops would come inside.

“Come on, get up.”

Kirsten nudged him to his feet and dragged the stumbling man by the arm to the exit. Outside, she shoved him into a line of waiting Division 1 officers who all cringed and aimed at the door’s sudden opening.

“The entity possessed him. He’s a victim, not a suspect.”

Without waiting to see what happened, Kirsten ran back to the stairwell and up to the second floor.

Sounds broke the eerie stillness every so often; a moan, a wail for help, metal banging on metal, and somewhere―soft crying. The first room had another squirming body on the bed, a heavyset woman, also with a crushed head. These walls lay covered with erratic ramblings in jagged black scrawling. She, too, appeared fused to the mattress where her mutilated face oozed all over the pillow. Sensing Kirsten, the spirit’s arms went rigid and flailed. A wheeled serving table pivoted and flew right at her, out into the hallway.

Kirsten dove, somersaulting as the rickety cart smashed into the wall with enough force to bend. She picked herself back up, shaking her head. Not every ghost wanted to see her; some, like that one, brimmed with such misery and rage they took it out on everyone. Continuing past more occupied rooms, she tried not to look, as the sights within would haunt her, even without the ghosts.

Okay, doc. What’s your game, been around the crazy people so much you cracked, too? Made your last set of rounds with that mace?
Flashes of murder played in her thoughts with each ghost. She could not help but imagine him hovering over them, wild with laughter as the old weapon struck again and again.
Defenseless people. How depraved… This doctor almost makes Mother look sane.

She advanced to a run.

A Division 1 officer would have fired. Why else force a guy to take a pot shot at the cops and run in here? He wanted me to kill him in this place. Great… he’s a damn soul collector.

From up ahead she could hear the timbre of a man’s voice mangled by damage or mental defect. He repeated ‘Please help me’ with erratic tics, like a sound bite on repeat.

Kirsten crossed to the other side of the hallway and put her sidearm away. Unlike bullets, a laser had some effect on paranormal beings, but her talents worked better than any laser could hope to―and the lash could not harm the living.

Within a dark and crumbling room littered with cracked tiles and broken glass from numerous light bulbs, she found one of the Division 1 officers. Huddled in the corner, he battled with flailing buckles and straps from a straitjacket wrapped about a massive man in a hospital gown. The obese ghost forced his weight into the officer, pinning him to a dented and rusty radiator in a vain attempt to grab him with bound arms. Only a floating straitjacket reflected in the officer’s visor.

The smashed face undulated as he kept repeating the plea. She felt no malice, though the cop feared for his life. He caught sight of Kirsten in the doorway and his panic lessened. She could not tell if he recognized her Division 0 uniform and knew she could deal with this, or if he just wanted to man-up in front of a woman.

“Get it the fuck off me!” His attempt to sound courageous failed.

Kirsten held her hand out after spotting a name on a decaying chart. “He cannot help you, Artie. He can’t even see you.”

The figure’s head turned. A loose flap of skin, his mauled cheek, dragged over the cop’s shoulder and fell flat against the giant’s chest. Artie’s one remaining eye fixed her with a stare. As the straps went limp, the cop rolled away into a tactical stance, and backed away with one hand on his sidearm. He gave her the briefest of sideways glances and ran out the door, vanishing before Kirsten could say a word.

Must have been the uniform.

Obese to supernatural proportion, Artie towered over her. At five-foot-five, looking up at men felt normal, but this one was a whole other level of huge. She exhaled, trying to gauge what he would do.
Oh, please be a nice guy
. With the hope of him being a gentle giant begging for help, she stood her ground and offered her most innocent smile.

“Easy…” She spoke in a soft voice, holding up her hands. “I am here to help you. Can you tell me where the doctor is?”

At the mention of the word doctor, the hulk whined and shambled away into the corner like a scared boy. Her mounting dread faded in an instant to concern. She approached within a step of the whimpering spirit.

“Artie, he won’t hurt you anymore, not when I get done with him.”

Her confidence stalled his trembles. He pointed to the wall with his elbow and muttered an incoherent series of words, mangled by his condition as well as his wounds. Telepathy required a living brain, but she could infer his meaning.

“Wait here, Artie.”

A female shriek grabbed her attention from the corridor and she sprinted toward it. She weaved through the cluttered halls of the hospital until her rubberized boots squealed as she came to a halt in front of a door labeled ‘Therapy Room 1’.

Fused into an immobile mass, the knob did not turn. On her toes, she peeked through a small, square window reinforced with wires. Inside, the other patrol officer struggled on a metal table, held down by thick padded straps. A dozen medical instruments stuck out of her dull blue armor. Electrodes hovered around in a futile search for a patch of tender exposed flesh. The doctor loomed, snapping his gaze to Kirsten as soon as he sensed her watching.

Kirsten focused, trying to overpower him. Her thoughts reached out, sensing the energy swirling through the door like a gelatinous mass keeping it sealed. She threaded tendrils of psionic power through the substance, tightened her grip, and tugged. Their wills clashed. An incredible amount of force drew inward against the door; no matter how hard she strained, it snapped back into place.

A wail from the trapped officer gave her more strength. Kirsten growled through clenched teeth; it felt as though she tried to peel heavy molasses away from the wall. She gained the upper hand, and the force began to slip. A sudden clatter arose as small metal objects fell to the ground on the other side. The doctor focused everything he had at the door. Seconds later, a powerful blast knocked her away with a flash of dull, throbbing pain.

Staggering, Kirsten put her hand on the side of her face. The forceful mental slap left her head spinning. The terror of the woman inside fed him. Kirsten flung herself against the door and pounded.

“Officer, I need you to calm down. Your fear is making him stronger.”

“Calm?” The woman struggled against the straps. “How fuckin’ calm would you be in here?” The rest of whatever she tried to say degenerated into a panicked scream.

“Look. None of those old tools can get through your armor. Control yourself.” Kirsten punted the door for emphasis.

The officer’s voice faltered one step below a shriek. “I’m seeing freaky shit on the walls and tools floatin’ around. This dude… I shot him six months ago.”

“Tune it out, ignore it. There is a ghost in there trying to make you scared; none of it is real.”

The sound of the woman’s breathing rasped through the still air, amplified by her helmet’s loudspeaker. Leather creaked against a metal frame. Screaming started in time with the high-pitched whine of a small powered saw.

Kirsten sighed, letting her head hit the door out of frustration. She took a step back and drew her E90.

It’s not mystical but this just might work.

Three shots, one to the lock and two to the hinges, sent molten metal spraying as the energy beams made short work of the steel. The door blurred into the room, bending around the legs of the surgical table with a deafening clang that knocked the trapped officer around in the straps.

Kirsten locked eyes with the mad doctor. He froze; the whirring saw held an inch from the woman’s transparent faceplate. The leather straps writhed like serpents into the air.

She gathered herself for another lash, but the doctor darted through the wall and vanished before she could release it. The saw bounced off the helmet and fell to the ground, no longer running. The power cable ended with a fray of wire instead of a plug. The sight of the impossibly running saw sent a shiver through the woman on the table.

“What the fuck? It ain’t even plugged in.” The cop writhed.

Kirsten ran to her side and tugged at the restraints. “Are you okay?”

No amount of fighting moved them for a minute, until the energy that turned them to iron faded. The officer tore her way loose and lifted the visor of her helmet.

“Never in my life did I think I’d be happy to see one of you Zero spooks.”

Kirsten helped her up, sulking. “We’re just like any other cop; no one’s happy to see us until they need us.”

The patrol officer offered a guilty smile and an extended hand. “Yeah, you got that right. Sorry, Reya Menendez.”

The handshake became a hug. “Kirsten Wren.”

“Do me a favor? Don’t tell anyone I was screaming like a little bitch.” Officer Menendez looked down. “I was seeing crap in the walls from the street; right out of my nightmares.”

“Yeah…” Kirsten broke eye contact. “Me too. It’s what he does. I won’t breathe a word. You good to make it out of here?”

Reya took a few quick breaths and her cop-presence returned. “I think so. What in the fuck
was
that? You gonna be okay alone?”

“A ghost, my guess is he used to be a doctor.” Kirsten relayed her opinion about the mechanic and asked her to make sure they treated him as a victim. “The ghost made him shoot at you. Thanks, I appreciate it… There’s nothing you can do to hurt him. Go on, get outta here. Stay safe.”

After what had already happened to her, Reya offered little protest.

Kirsten watched Reya jog to the stairway.
At least I got them both out of here alive. One thing left to do.
She jogged to the end of the hall, pausing for an instant at a fancy door tucked into an alcove.

Trappings of numerous faiths decorated the chapel. She did not recognize the iconography of most of them, nor did she care to. After what Mother had done to her in the name of God, she paid little heed to religion. She had peered too deep into the other side to believe in man-made stories. She knew the Abyss existed and something else opposed it―a lighter energy that defied exact definition.

She advanced through the dusty air, walking on tiptoe to prevent the creaking floor from giving way beneath her. Shifting colors shimmered along the walls from fading stained glass windows, sending frightening shadows dancing through the edges of her sight. Kirsten executed a tactical entry in all ways except for the lack of a readied weapon. Captain Eze would be upset if he saw this, but she did not trust her weapon as much as her gifts.

A heavy scrape drew her eyes to the right. The ancient mace she had been expecting, solid and real, dragged itself out of an explosion of dust and flew at her from a table in the back. She ducked and one of its many spikes lodged into a support beam.

The ghostly doctor filled in around it, tugging to get it loose. His effort to force himself to remain invisible to her lapsed; he used too much energy to free his weapon from the wall. Kirsten drew a deep breath, watching him struggle. Images of twitching, mangled bodies ran through her mind. Helpless people murdered in their beds. People that once trusted him, now trapped here for eternity by his malice. The Doctor’s gaze held fear and hatred, she sensed not a whiff of remorse.

“I usually give souls a chance to redeem themselves, but after what you did to these defenseless people, I don’t think there’s anything left in there to save.”

Thoughts of his victims focused emotion through her power. The wisp of energy appeared in her hand, so pure white it appeared blue. Coiling it sideways, she snapped it through the doctor like a whip.

The ghost roared with rage and desperation. Tangling with someone not only able to defend against him, but with a distinct advantage, infuriated him. He vanished and reappeared next to her. Turning, she braced her mind to resist what she expected to be an attempt at possession.

She did not notice the mace fly free of the wall of its own accord and sail into her. While short of a full swing, the impact remained severe enough to knock her off her feet and send her careening into one of the decaying pews. Her body flipped over it as her boots took out a table full of votive candles, knocking them to the ground where they shattered into a wash of glass and wax fragments.

The mace floated back into the doctor’s grip, and he pounced. Holding the weapon over his head in both hands, he brought it down with a manic cackle. The blood of dozens caked the spiked horror, and he sought to add hers to his collection.

Kirsten raised her hands as her eyes glowed white. She stalled him in his tracks by sheer force of will. Her arms shuddered with the effort against a phantom stronger than any she had yet encountered. He strained against her power, trying to step toward her, but she shoved him back even though it changed her exhaustion into pain. This type of wraith fed from fear, he had little idea how to contend with her utter lack of it.

He roared, fury burning in his eyes, straining to advance.

Kirsten slid to her feet, back against the wall, muscles throbbing from of the battle of wills. She dropped her resistance without warning, rolling to the side. Caught off guard, the doctor lurched forward and smashed a hole through the wooden floorboards.

Before he could recover his balance, Kirsten struck out with another swipe of the astral whip. The energy stream pulled taut as it meshed with his ethereal form. The shimmering ribbon knocked the doctor to his knees, eliciting a supernatural wail of agony.

That one hurt.

Another like that and it’s game over. Damn, I hope I have enough left.
She leaned, panting, against the wall and wiped a nosebleed with the back of her hand.
I have to stop him; he has to leave this world. He does not belong here.

The doctor lurched to his feet. The fury in his glare had melted to terror, but not of Kirsten. He retreated to the door but stalled in the center of the room, looking over his shoulder. His eyes darted, sensing something’s approach.