The Blueshifters (Blueshifter Series Book 1)

The Blueshifters

Part 1 (episodes 1-10)

By V. A. Jeffrey

Copyright © 2014

An Epistle Publishing book

The stories contained in this book are works of fiction. Names and
characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, past or present is
entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

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The Blueshifters, season 2 now!

A Note from the author:

This series was first conceived as a free-writing exercise. Normally
I plot and outline my stories – I believe George R. R. Martin
calls it being an architect. When I was young I free-wrote all of my
stories – and I always had major issues with writer's block.
Outlining solved that. But I feel that from time to time it's a good
thing for a writer to challenge themselves. Short as this series of
episodes are, it was a bit of a challenge to go back to my old way of
writing. Nevertheless, I am attempting to free-write this serial from
beginning to end. So far I've found it fun to do. I hope you find it
fun to read.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program. . .

Episode 1 – The
Sickness

It was always that feeling that made him think that he was both drunk
and keenly alert. A hypersensitivity to everything around him, yet
his limbs felt like flailing, boneless appendages. It usually struck
at night and it was here again. Dan had taken to going for a short
walk whenever the sickness came on him. He was making his way –
slowly – down West Burnside. It was now a ritual. He passed by
the same unnamed bar he always did, a mouldering building with
filthy, blacked-out windows. The door suddenly swung open letting the
wild laughter of the crowd escape. They were packed in every crevice
like lice. He ambled across the street to escape the noise. Dan
caught the scent of strong, dank smoke and alcohol and a mind-bending
Tom Waits song blared from a radio somewhere inside. He was again
being transported into that realm of mental distortion. Everything
was real and not real. He leaned against a building to keep from
falling over, to catch himself. Footsteps and cars rumbling over the
street sounded like crashing drums. He felt disconnected from his
body in that delightfully frightening feeling of flying forward with
nothing to stop him. Just stop, please just stop. Oh, when will the
black-out happen again? He lurched his way, painfully, towards the
waterfront. The black waters of the river cast rippling images of the
city lights from its surface. He heard the slapping of waves against
the river wall below.

“Oh.” He mumbled. He heard footfalls behind him. Slowly
Dan turned. There were five men staring down at him. One of them,
standing in front, was wearing a bright red rag tied around his head.

“What do you want?” Dan couldn't keep his tongue straight
and the words came out slurred. None of the men answered him. Even in
the dark and with his compromised vision their eyes looked like
boundless black holes sitting in their heads.

“Think anybody'll miss this one?” Murmured one of them.

“Nah. Throw him over.”

“What. . .what do you want from me? Please!” Dan said.
Electric sparks of fear, which translated as pain radiated through
his body. They surrounded him. He staggered trying to break through
the circle. Unfortunately, his plea sounded more like a whimper. He
staggered through managing to push one of them away.

“Nothing man. Nothing.” Said Red-Rag, grinning. “Hey!
Where you goin'?” The others sniggered. They trailed him,
pushing him along, kicking at him.

“I don't have anything!”

“We don't want anything from you,” said one of them.

“Look, we got things to do. Finish it,” said Red-Rag. Dan
made an attempt to escape, half-leaping away. He started to run which
turned out to be more of a clumsy gallop. Except for himself and his
tormentors, the waterfront was empty. They all converged on him like
wolves on raw meat. He screamed and one of them began punching him
savagely until his screams died into the whimpers of a tortured
animal and he lost all sense. He felt the bones crack and break and
his body sprang alive with new pain. He then felt himself flying
through the air until he crashed into a wall of ice cold water.

. .
.

They dropped him on the ground and began punched and kicked him until
he lost all sense. Then they threw him over the wall into the river.
The freezing water filled every orifice; his nose, lungs, brain. His
body exploded with suffocating pain. And then, the pain faded. He was
falling and a kind of dreaminess overtook him as he drowned. Images
and memories he did not understand flooded his mind and then it
wasn't cold anymore. Beneath him he sensed there was light. Soft blue
light but he couldn't hold on any longer and everything went black.

Episode 2 – Red Shoes

He took the same path he always took, down the cruddy alleyway. The
air was ice-chilled and the long wisps of breath snaked around his
head he exhaled. A rich film of frost covered the grasses in the
backyards and the weeds that choked the pebbled ground. Broken glass,
tattered clothes, and gaping potholes littered the alley. Strolling
along, Jack passed by dilapidated garages, broken down cars and
weather worn back fences. He neared the large brown garbage bin
sitting against the pale blue concrete of his favorite diner. The
diner sat right in an intersection of the alley path and a main
arterial street. The whole neighborhood was mostly a dead place
filled with overgrown backyards of foreclosed homes. He walked around
to the front  and checked his watch.

10:30 a.m.

He pushed open the door and slide into a booth. The waitress, the new
one who had the unsettling gaze, who reminded him of a poisonous
insect, eyed him steadily as he came in and drifted slowly over to
his table.

“Coffee?” She asked. Her voice was flat. She was staring
with those unreadable, unblinking eyes. They were pale gray and if
you were looking at her from afar she looked blind.

“Black coffee. No, sugar,” he muttered. There was
something that caught his eye just below. She was wearing red, red
shoes. They were such a rich red that they seemed displaced from
reality. It was a disturbing color. He'd never noticed that before.
She went off to fetch the coffee. He couldn't remember if he had ever
seen her wear red shoes before. They were flat and very pointy, like
knives. The diner was nearly empty, save for a few customers and the
old T.V. on the wall blaring across the room, showing an old film.
The Stranger. He was pleasantly surprised by this. Usually, it was a
game show or the news. No one else in the place seemed to care or
even notice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red shoes
coming back with the coffee pot. He turned his head so he didn't have
to look at her weird eyes or her ugly shoes. She poured the coffee.
He felt the gaze burning into him, like a sudden, sharp heat flash,
as he imagined it. Then she left his table without a word, to wait on
another customer.

Relieved, he sipped his coffee and started to watch the movie but
found himself drifting, gazing out of the window. He still felt like
things were off like he was suppose to be doing something or
remembering something. The kind of unpleasant thought that gnawed at
him like a hungry rat. He watched the cars rattle down the street. A
car, an old black Buick Monte Carlo approached, slowed down in front
of the diner and then sped around the block. It had whitewall tires
and the chrome shined like platinum. A beautiful well kept car. Looks
like a '73 or a '74 he thought appreciatively. It came around the
block again. He couldn't see who was inside. The windows were tinted
too dark. It slowed down and then stopped in front of the diner. He
admired the paint job and the body. It looked powerful, built like a
bull. Suddenly, red shoes went in the back of the kitchen. He watched
and listened as he heard her open a door somewhere in the kitchen.

The car went around the corner again. Jack suddenly got an odd,
creepy feeling. He drained his cup, threw a couple of dollars on the
table and headed out the door. Everything was off. He didn't know why
and he suddenly felt like getting home instead of lingering. The
waitress was leaning into one of the car windows. She straightened up
and stared at him with that pale, unreadable, unblinking stare. She
suddenly smiled at him. Unsmiling, ice cold eyes with bright white
teeth. Teeth with tiny, unnaturally sharp canines. Startled, Jack
breathed in sharply. What in the world? He whirled around on his
heels and took off. He could hear the low growl of a powerful engine
behind him. The car was coming down the alley behind him. He walked
faster. Suddenly the engine roared like an angry grizzly bear. He
jumped, his heart lept in panic. His ears were burning. He ran down
the path trying to find a yard with an open gate to turn into as the
car followed him, engine roaring. He ducked into a narrow passage
between two small garages and waited for the car to pass. The engine
died down to a purr. A purr that vibrated through his body and made
his teeth rattle just a bit. It slowed down and stopped for a few
seconds. He peeked out from his hiding place. The windows were black
as night. There was something else. He had thought, back at the
diner, that the car was black. It wasn't. It was a red so dark it
seemed black. Jack stood there trembling, afraid of who might come
out after him. After some seconds, it sped away down the alley.

He was bewildered. Who was that? What do they want? What's going on?
How did I ever manage to wake up? Should I be dead?
Dreadful
thoughts flooded his mind all at once. Maybe that's what he was
trying to remember and couldn't. Imminent death. An angry bookie,
maybe? He thought of the waitress's grin. Werewolves? He hadn't done
any betting recently. Was he just losing his mind? Even though the
cold air bit his fingertips, he barely noticed it through the sweat
pouring off of him. He'd thought to go to the store to get some
groceries today but decided he'd had enough. He was ready to go home.
He was almost relieved that some small clue had been revealed to him.
He still didn't understand what had just happened or why but it was a
start. Someone or something was after him. Like Red Shoes, for
instance. He could work with that. Wouldn't be the first time.

And it was far better than wandering around in the dark, trying to
recall things that wouldn't reveal themselves.

Episode 3 – The
Looking Glass

Late that night she awoke screaming in terror. Sweating profusely,
she clutched at her shirt, choking and gagging. She sat up straight,
her stomach roiling. Once again she was waking from a nightmare.

Breathing laboriously, thoughts scattered, she wiped the sweat from
her face and pulled her knees up pressing them against her
chest. She buried her chin between them, shivering in the cold
sitting on the bed staring into the dark. The intensity of this
latest dream burdened her with a heightened sense of dread that she
had not experienced before. Yet, she could not remember what it was
that she'd dreamed about. She glanced at her dresser across the room.
The box. That was the problem. She had to get rid of it.

It was late dusk and the weak embers of sunlight were still hanging
on. She could still see most objects in the room if she squinted.
Wine bottles were spread about on the floor. She finally got up and
went to the bathroom, turned on the hot water, letting it run.

Time passed, she couldn't remember how much. Hot steam billowed up
from the sink and drifted towards the ceiling. She rinsed her face.
The air became very warm and moist. Steam curled and wafted all
around the bathroom turning it into a sauna. She wet her hair,
running her fingers through it and then reached for a towel. She
frowned, looking around her. The bathroom was enveloped completely in
thick steam. She couldn't find the door. Then she heard soft clucking
noises and snapped her head around, looking for the source of the
sound. There it was again, then a soft, mocking laugh. She slowly
lifted a hand and wiped the steam away from the mirror above the
sink. There, her reflection was staring back at her. Except it didn't
behave like a reflection. It wore a dark, blood red tailored Italian
suit and a silk, ink black tie. She merely stared at it, stunned.

“Hello, Mary. It's about time we got reconnected.” The
voice was deep and mellifluous, like oil. Her own voice. Only the
timbre was different.

“Who. . .who are you?” Mary felt an odd sensation coming
over her. It wasn't quite terror.

“You've forgotten already?” It smiled widely, showing a
set of beautiful white teeth. The canines were sharp.

“Come now. It's time for me to collect, Mary. I thought that
leaving a few clues would help you remember your debt.”
“Clues?”