Dark Currents

3

Mr. Moore lived two floors down from me. The quality of the building seemed to degrade the higher off the ground you were, as if the landlord and super couldn't be bothered with more than the most basic upkeep beyond a certain point. My hallway had a hole in the wall that hadn't been patched in the months I lived here, and the overhead lighting constantly threatened to plunge the hallway into darkness. Mr. Moore lived right on the edge of that cut off, normally signified by the lack of flickering hall lights and obvious signs of repair, except today.

The lights at his end of the hallway were dark. As I stepped on the floor, a rush of whispers trickled over my skin like frozen silk.

"Shit." I knew what I was dealing with, and it made my stomach cramp. The walls weren't just restless, they were hungry and unfortunately, Mr. Moore wouldn't be enjoying Tru's sugar cookies. But had I arrived soon enough to keep it from spreading to the surrounding apartments?

Many of the entities that came through to Old Boston found a perfect food source in humans, and there were no longer natural predators to keep them in check. The life I had walked away from taught me how to identify and deal with them. One could say, it was part of my purpose, to be a protector. Maybe it was a purpose I could have lived with, if the scars didn't run so deep. If the other half of that purpose wasn't so bloody.

However, though I'd been taught to deal with the entity that had taken root in my home turf, it would require opening the Pandora's box once more. My fingers twitched against my thigh. A slip to protect my employ could slide, but this would be a deliberate use. Enough to catch a scent. If I did this, there would be no second chances. I would have to leave because I wouldn't risk Kinami or Tru.

But it would be a greater risk not to.

The sound of light footsteps on the stairwell startled me. I whirled around, causing Tru to squeak in surprise. A plastic bag of sugar cookies fell from her fingers, her eyes wide. Her mouth worked for a moment, moisture gathering in her lids.

I bit back another curse. She knew. Which meant Mr. Moore was still alive when she first past through. I was the one who was too late. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I kept my voice soft coaxing. "Tru, I need you to go upstairs and call the emergency service." It was a long shot. The hospital wouldn't send an ambulance, not for a body, but the ES might send a unit to deal with the scene. It didn't matter. The phone call was a distraction and Tru knew it.

She nodded, miserable, her sweet face crumpled as she back pedaled up the stairs. "Please, be careful."

Her parting words made my shoulders tight. Between her and Kinami, I'd failed to keep a distance. I'd sworn no more attachments, yet I'd broken that cardinal rule in barely six months of freedom.

Worst fugitive ever.

Shooing her along, I turned back to the hall. Attempting to loosen my muscles, I cracked my knuckles, shaking out my hands and arms. For months, I'd kept myself wrapped tight. Yesterday's slip was a mere trickle. Now, I cracked open wide, the flow stiff and stilted but there, breaking ice in a spring thaw. My presence rolled outward, an invisible tidal wave that crested over the other alien energy emanating from Mr. Moore's apartment.

They didn't have a proper name. Years ago, during the first wave of tests, they'd slithered out of some horrific realm, unseen, latching onto the first locals they encountered. An eldritch parasite that parsed into our reality the more it fed, until it finally manifested, bloated and swollen as a well fed tick.

Ticks were as close a comparison as any, except when they fully manifested they were the size of a motorcycle and had far more mobility, scuttling up walls with long multi-hinged legs. Their claws clamped onto surfaces with iron precision, punching through concrete with ease.