Out of the Dark.

by Phaedra Weldon.

CHAPTER ONE.

Nurses are amazing creatures. Especially night shift nurses. Why, you ask? Because they see things no ordinary human should ever see--and they rarely ever question why. They just shake their heads and go on about their jobs of saving lives as well as doctors' a.s.ses.

But by far my favorite nurse?

The head nurse. The grand muckity-muck of the graveyard shift. 'Cause let me tell you--this is a force to be reckoned with. These women don't take s.h.i.t off of anyone, not doctors, not patients, and certainly not half naked orderlies standing in the middle of the women's bathroom. And I have seen one of these nurses fell an otherwise healthy young man just by yelling.

Now, I'd been hanging about Daniel's room so much I knew the nurse rotation. As did Mom. h.e.l.l, Mom brought cakes and brownies and homemade thigh-swelling sweet tea. She was a popular visitor on the floor--except to those who were trying desperately to keep their girlie figures.

Yeah, like they're all so flattering in those really loose, upholstery-patterned scrubs. Though there was one lady who had teddy bears on hers. Hrm--now those might make for comfy ice-cream eating evenings.

Tonight's nurse was Tiarra (yep, you say it just like the crown, Tee-ar-ah) Boudreaux. Now--this lady stood a good foot taller than me. And that's saying a lot. I'm not exactly short. Her hair--sprayed upward into something resembling an ice-sculpture--made up a good half-foot of the height.

Her nails were long and painted white with black spots, and her lips were always colored like McIntosh apples. Never a smudge. And evidently she'd already had it with Mr. Bartender and his shenanigans when she walked in on he and I in the bathroom-- Wait, lemme back up a minute.

Where was I the last time I saw you...Oh! Yeah. Mr. Dags the Bartender had his pants at his ankles. Naked men and all that.

See, after getting over his shock of me walking in on him with Nancy the Nurse, he just stood there. Not moving. I wasn't doing anything but politely gawking.

Now--this guy had been cute when I'd first seen him behind the bar at Fado's. And he was still cute as a b.u.t.ton with no shirt on--or pants on. I'd never seen a lower body blush, either.

Mental note: Awwwww.

But he kept his hands cupped in a ball over his crotch as we stood there, eyeballing each other. Not that I could actually see the goodies as his orderly's scrub top reached below his hips. He cleared his throat. His voice cracked and he had to swallow nervousness.

"You--you were with Detective Frasier."

I nodded.

He was still blushing. Still cute. "You were a ghost--did you know that?"

Nod again.

He started shifting on his feet. Huh--did he have to go pee-pee?

"He ever see you sitting there?"

I nodded again, remembering that Dags had been called away to be manly before I went corporeal before Daniel. But this pretty much proved my hunch that day, that the bartender had noticed me. But why could he see me? Was he like Mom and Rhonda? Or just plain weird?

There was a very long, awkward, strangled pause. Not for me, really. I still had my clothes on. I could stand here all night. I had no idea why he wasn't getting dressed.

Dags, on the other hand, looked like he was gonna faint.

Oookay. This was fun. Now, can we chew cardboard for our next trick?

"Can I get dressed?"

I nodded. Hey, I'm not stopping you. I stepped back and motioned for him to come out. He wasn't going to be able to pull his pants up in that tight of an area.

The first thing I noticed this time and hadn't noticed in the bar was how not-tall he was. I guessed the top of his head would smack my nose. Short wasn't a bad thing--I liked short. And Dags made up for his lack of height in several different ways--like his hair. Loved his hair.

He gulped and shuffled forward, maneuvering around the toilet and paper holder, still keeping those hands at half-mast. Sheesh. Come on dude--have a little pride in the goodies.

He was looking at everything but me, and I noticed his ponytail reached a good bit down the middle of his back.

"You don't talk much, do you?" he finally said as he cleared his throat and fixed me with a pleading look. I shook my head and touched my neck with my right hand and made sawing motions across my throat hoping to get the idea across I was mute.

His face bleached white. "You--you had your throat--sliced?" the last word of his question cracked like a p.u.b.escent request. "Is that how you died?"

Christ. Just pull your pants up already you moron.

That's when Tiarra stepped in. He turned as the door opened. She smiled when she saw me.

And then she noticed someone standing behind and to her right. Her eyes widened as she took in Dags' obviously embarra.s.sing situation, pants at his ankles. His eyes widened. She put her hands on her more than feminine hips and knitted her eyebrows together until they became one.

Which was a feat since they were like plucked into oblivion.

"Darren McConnell!" Tiarrah boomed and I swear the tile rattled. I jumped.

He did too and I winced as the motion yanked his shoulders up, which yanked his elbows up, which in turn pulled those cupped hands really tight.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing? Exhibitioning in the ladies' room? You done gone all crazy? Jus' stand'n here all nekkid? You know you're nekkid, right? That's it, boy. That is it. You done made Tiarra mad, that you have." And with that she took two very deliberate steps toward him and got right up in his face. There was a pause. "Boo."

And he keeled right on over. Bam! Didn't move or bend his body as he went down. Never tried to brace his fall. And he kept his hands in place the whole time. Though I did get a great shot of his bare a.s.s.

That's when Tiarra gave me the WTF look?

I shrugged, grabbed my iBook and got the f.u.c.king h.e.l.l out of the bathroom. From now on, I pee at home.

"Delete, delete, spam, s.h.i.t, v.i.a.g.r.a, delete, delete, c.y.a.l.i.s, trash," Rhonda continued her mantra as I b.u.t.tered a biscuit. I'd grabbed a Sierra Mist out of a machine on the way from the bathroom back to Daniel's room and decided it was better for me--and everyone else--that in my present state of confusion I should remain sequestered.

Rhonda asked me if I'd gone over my email while I'd been out of the room and I'd nodded. Of course. But then she'd opened the thing and she and Mom had read THE email.

The one from my new pal, Maharba.

That lead to a discussion of going to Captain Cooper and showing him the veiled threat from Maharba, which of course lead me into a very long and finger-cramping (as I scribbled away) explanation of why that was a bad idea on like so many levels. They finally agreed that showing Cooper would invite in all sorts of questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

And I knew Cooper wasn't prepared to believe me on any level. Period.

So it'd been dropped for the moment, and Rhonda turned her attention to the tedious job of going through my email for me her way.

I just really didn't feel like it. There was something wrong with me--I'd just tortured a helpless guy in the ladies' room. What up with that?

"So you just made him stand there?"

I looked at Mom over the b.u.t.tered biscuit and pretended my eyes were short-range missiles. Lock and load. I made little firing noises in my head at her. I nodded and put the b.u.t.ter knife back into her little picnic basket on the roll-around table, the one patients usually ate from while in bed.

Made him stand there my a.s.s.

Hey, look at me, I'm Mom's Boo-Boo.

"--delete, delete, delete--huh--what the h.e.l.l?"

"Zoe--you probably cost that boy his job."

I bit into a chunk of fluffy, b.u.t.tery heaven at that moment, and the comment made it turn to mashed peas in my mouth. I chewed and set the biscuit down before grabbing up my board again and erasing what I'd already written there.

I NOT SCREW NANCY. I HAD TO PEE.

"Did you pee?"

Uh. No.

Erase. NOT MY FAULT. I WAS...

"You shouldn't be eating that biscuit," Mom said as she finished off her own. She swiped her hands together. "You bring your tester?"

I shook my head and put the board down. Mom was already off on another tangent. No meter. I'd forgotten it that day, but I'd survived all freak'n day without it. Tadah!

"Well, I'll go find Miss Tiarra--maybe they've got a spare kit and I can make sure she doesn't fire that nice boy."

Nice boy? Mom, he was pok'n it to some cheese-ball in the ladies' bathroom.

In a hospital.

And I'm the bad guy here?

What the h.e.l.l is Mom logic? Chaos theory revisited?

I eyeballed this woman as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, and then stood. She gave Daniel a glance where he lay still and quiet on the bed before leaving the room.

I looked at Rhonda. She was reading something on my computer.

Screw it.

I stood, wiping my hands on my sweats and moved to the chair beside Daniel. He lay very still, oblivious to everything around him. I'd started worrying, really. If the smell of mom's biscuits wasn't rousing him, then I was afraid nothing would.

I took his hand. It was cold. This was the left hand, the one that didn't have the broken pinky. And I held it between my two hands and I closed my eyes. I wasn't going to go OOB.

No, not now. I was too afraid I'd suck up his soul or something.

And I hadn't really gone OOB in several days. Maybe I forgot how to do it. I watched his chest move up and down. Watched his beautiful face. It'd been badly bruised when he was first brought in, with swollen eyes and jaw. But now he looked much better, with only a little stubble on his chin. Mom shaved him every other day.

I trusted her to do that.

"Hey Zoe--"

I put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to look at me and tell me he loved me. I wanted him to tell his d.a.m.ned captain that I wasn't a bad person-- h.e.l.l, I wanted to find Dags the bartender and tell him I was sorry for making him stand there naked.

"Hey--"

I pulled my hand away and put both of them to my face.

"Kill the drama and get your a.s.s over here."

I raised my head and looked at Rhonda. Leave it to her to push me into reality again. With a look at my boyfriend I stood, s.n.a.t.c.hed up my board, and moved to where Rhonda sat on the other side of the bed near the window of the small room. She motioned for me to kneel beside her.

I grabbed one of mom's donut shaped pillows and knelt on that. I held out my hands, palms up.

"You look at any of these jobs that came in?"

I shook my head and erased my board. NOT WORKING. VACATION.

"Well, yeah, but this one sounds kinda intriguing."

I narrowed my eyes at her and shook my head.

"Will you listen to it?"

Did I have a choice?

"Okay," she tapped the down arrow. "To whom it may concern, I work with a woman named Maureen who insists the place we work has Shadow People in it."

I held up my hand and mouthed "shadow people?" Most of my clients wanted me to gather information on an employee, or their wife or husband.

So what was a shadow person? Was this a new code word for a boring co-worker? They were as exciting as shadows? Could be government spooks.

Rhonda shrugged and kept on reading. "My boss thinks we're all crazy, but Maureen--she's the hostess--and the wait staff have all witnessed chairs moving, pictures turning around, and movement out of the corner of our eyes. They've shown up in pictures and several customers have complained of seeing someone standing in the bathroom." She paused and looked up at me.

I shrugged. I was intrigued, but this was starting to sound more like an episode of Ghost Hunters than reality.

I scribbled. WHAT ARE SHADOW PEOPLE?

And Rhonda being Rhonda, tucked the email into the background and googled the term. We both leaned in close to read what Wikipedia had to say (not that I endorse anyone to believe what they read on this site, which is totally user based): Shadow People are said to be shadow-like creatures of supernatural origin that appear as dark forms in the peripheries of people's vision and disintegrate, or move between walls, when noticed.

Okay, let me say now, that just creeped me the h.e.l.l out. And I play a ghost on TV.