Brooklyn Knight (21 page)

Reaching out with his other hand, Knight gently took Bridget’s hand and closed her fingers over the disc.

“It’s magic.”

And so saying, the pair began to levitate upward into the darkness that had begun to fill the cemetery. The professor did not allow them to travel more than a few feet upward. First, he could
not take the chance they might be spotted by someone else despite both the growing gloom and the fact that the graveyard was closed to the general public at that time. Second, he did not want to take a chance of Bridget losing her grip and suddenly falling to the ground. There seemed little chance of the latter happening, however. Clutching on to the disc with an almost desperate grip, the redhead exclaimed;

“Professor, we’re flying!”

“Well, we’re floating at any rate, but essentially, yes, at the very least we are giving that appearance. Now, do you think you understand?”

As the couple settled back to the ground, Knight replaced the disc within his jacket while Bridget attempted to regain her composure. Not able to do so sitting, she rose in a single, bounding motion. The pain in her aching feet forgotten, she began pacing back and forth before the professor, her hands in constant, somewhat comical animation. Waving them both frantically to emphasize her points, she said;

“My God, oh my God, it was unbelievable; it was like in a dream. I was floating, levitating, whatever you want to call it—it was
magic
! Just like you said … and we were off the ground … we were—”

And, just as suddenly as the young woman had risen and become practically a blur of random activity, she then stopped, frozen, her attention completely removed to a point outside herself. Studying her quickly, Knight could tell that something new had entered the picture, something so riveting that it had immediately commanded all of his assistant’s focus. The professor got no sense of uncontrollable fear or terror from Bridget, but still, the extremely heightened sense of agitation he was getting filled him with concern.

Perhaps,
he told himself,
it might be best to discover exactly what it is that’s stolen our young friend’s attention
.

Rising from the ground, Knight turned so that he would be able to scan the cemetery in the same direction as Bridget.

When he did so, he was able to see the same shimmering, spectral apparition floating across the graveyard lawn toward them that she had. Sighing, unable to fathom what exactly he had done to deserve such a never-ending series of out-of-the-ordinary events, he muttered;

“I’ve got to start praying to a better class of gods.”

“Is, is,” the redhead stammered slightly, her frightened amazement stumbling her tongue, “is that a
ghost
?”

“I don’t think,” answered the professor, “there is a much better word for that which, considering your question, I assume you are seeing as well.” As Knight studied the shape in the distance before them, eyes fastened to the undulating contours of the thing, examining the structure of the gliding wraith as best he could, Bridget asked;

“This, this
is
a cemetery. Are there … ghosts, um, like always running around in these places normally?”

“Well, more so than on your average street corner, I would suppose,” answered the professor absently, his concentration fixed primarily on the glowing shape still approaching their position. “I mean, reasonably, if you decide you want grapes, and you go to a fruit stand, you have a much better chance of finding some there than, say, at an auto dealership. But—”

“I get the idea,” answered Bridget curtly.

By this point the young woman had moved completely behind Knight. Eyes wide, unblinking, pulse running rapidly, she stared with a horrified fascination as the silent form continued drifting slowly onward toward them. Part of Bridget’s mind was working desperately to calm her increasingly jangled nerves. It whispered to her that she should not have anything to worry about, reminding the young woman that if the specter actually posed any sort of real danger the professor would have at least said something to her by then, if not removed her from the area.

At least, Bridget told herself, she hoped he would. Swallowing hard, the young woman made a fist of her left hand, squeezing until her fingernails were digging sharply into her palm. Biting at her lower lip, she concentrated on the pain in her hand as a distraction from her fear. Then, when finally she felt she could speak without stammering, she asked;

“So, okay—now what? What does this damn thing want from us? I mean, is it after us? Is it coming to us, or is it just flying around? Since you’re staying so calm, I’m thinking that you’ve seen ghosts before—yes? Were they like this one? Can you tell I’m rambling because I’m scared out of my mind?”

“You do an admirable job of covering it, my dear,” answered Knight in a vague, distracted voice.

The professor realized that Bridget certainly must be frightened to a great extent—not that he held such against her. Unless she had encountered some kind or another of spectral phenomena previously, which apparently she had not, it was only natural for her to be unnerved by the sudden arrival of such a figure now.

The only question I have for you, my spectral friend
, the professor asked himself,
is are you something out of the blue, unrelated to everything else we’ve been forced to survive lately, which would only prove that God is a bastard who
does
play dice with
the universe, or are you yet another piece to the ever-widening puzzle we’re being encouraged by Fate to solve?

It took a moment for the pair of observers to realize the glowing form had slowed its approach drastically, to the point where it barely seemed to be moving at all. Knight felt he might know the reason why. Ghosts, at least those specters that represented the life force of some departed human being, were for the most part nothing like they were portrayed in legend or by the various entertainment mediums.

Thinking he might have uncovered a clue as to why the shape had slowed its advance, Knight turned to his assistant. Taking her by the shoulders, he stole her attention by staring directly into her eyes, forcing her to look away from the wraith and at him instead. Feeling the tremors racing throughout her body vibrating within his palms, the professor told her;

“Listen to me: I don’t believe there is any reason for alarm in this. But I do believe your, ah, ‘apprehension’ might be the reason it’s stopped moving. Your fear might actually be acute enough to keep it at bay.”

“Is, is,” Bridget stammered, her teeth chattering as she spoke. Stopping, she dug her nails into her palm once more, forcing herself to focus, then said smoothly, “Is that a good thing, or am I messing things up?”

“Sadly, there’s no way for me to know without making contact,” Knight told her honestly. “So, that’s what I’m going to do. But, I want you to stay here. I’m going to go out to it, try to, anyway, just to see what happens.” As the young woman’s eyes went slightly wide, despite her best efforts to control her reactions, the professor added;

“Don’t worry, I’m really quite certain there’s no danger to either of us in my doing so. What I’m afraid of is that this might have something to do with everything else that’s been crashing
down all around us.” Moving one of his hands to her chin, he touched it lightly, saying;

“I simply can’t take the chance of losing a clue that might tell us what the devil’s going on around us.”

Bridget nodded, smiling briefly at Knight’s touch. As he removed his hand from her chin, beginning to turn away, the redhead touched him on the arm, halting him for a moment. As his head swung back, she told him;

“Just so you know, despite everything that’s been happening, I’m not sorry I left Montana.”

Giving her a comically leering smile, one meant to amuse her, he shifted his tone to one that was a fair approximation of Groucho Marx’s voice and said;

“And, just so you know, I’m not at all sorry you left Montana, either.”

After that, Knight turned back toward the still-hovering specter, focusing all his attention on the freestanding apparition. The thing had taken up a position some sixty to seventy feet away from the pair. Moving slowly, the professor took a step in the wraith’s direction, holding his palms out toward the entity. He understood that human energy was released through the eyes and palms. If the thing waiting across the manicured cemetery lawn still possessed any level of consciousness, Knight wanted it to be able to read his intentions, to understand that he neither feared it nor meant it any harm.

“Whatever it is you want,” he whispered to the wind, hoping the words could somehow reach the thing glimmering before him, “I want you to have it. So please, stay there now—wait for me. I’m here to help you.”

As Bridget watched she unconsciously began moving forward, returning to the Griffiths’ tomb. Grabbing hold of it, she bent low, unaware she was hugging the solid block as a shield. From the
imagined safety of her position she then scanned the scene before her with fearful fascination as Knight continued onward, taking one smoothly measured step after another. The redhead was no Scully to his Muldar, at least not yet—but she was ready to make the effort.

Continuing her observations, Bridget noted that Knight moved carefully, never rushing, making certain to keep all his movements uniform. Shifting her gaze from the professor to the apparition, Bridget began studying the thing as well, trying to get some sense of exactly what it might be—or what it might want.

She had heard the term “ectoplasm” over the years when various sources had spoken of parapsychology and ghosts, but she had little idea of what it might physically consist. Besides, if she remembered correctly, ectoplasm was something that was created when the spirit world came in contact with a human host, such as a medium in contact with some beyond force or another. But this thing hanging in the air before them, it was not even connected to the ground, let alone in contact with anything living. Forcing herself to blink, Bridget ran her tongue over her teeth, working to generate some spittle in her fear-dried mouth. As she did, she asked herself;

So, is this what you had in mind when you told everyone you were looking forward to all the new experiences New York City had to offer?

The comment made the redhead chuckle, a diversion she greatly needed. Even bitter humor, she told herself, was better than none. Using the moment to rein in her terror, to get her fear at least under some minimal amount of control, she took several deep breaths, telling herself that if Knight thought everything was all right, then it must be so. Then, working to bring her curiosity to the fore, placing her faith in her new boss instead of in the self-preservation fears urging her to run for her life, the young woman mumbled;

“Besides, anyone who thinks I’m going to start running across a graveyard, in the dark, in three-inch spikes no less, has got another thing coming.”

As she continued to observe, Knight’s journey finally came to an end. As he drew within arm’s reach of the wraith, the thing began moving once more, advancing in a forward motion. Bridget’s one hand shot out involuntarily in surprise, the other hanging on to the gravestone tenaciously as the specter moved in to envelop the professor’s entire body. Covering him like a great transparent cocoon, the specter began to swirl, changing shape and form, sliding across Knight’s body in a motion that seemed half dance, half some manner of communication.

The ghostly form writhed and swirled, beginning to move faster and faster over the professor, under his arms, between his legs, across his chest, racing in between his fingers, under his clothing, rippling his hair as it breezed about each individual follicle. Finally, as Bridget continued to watch, Knight finally made some reaction to his intercourse with the spectral presence. His body began to jerk, to spasm, not uncontrollably, but in a fashion unnatural enough to bring forth a rush of concern within the young woman.

The professor had assured her that such meetings were rarely violent or dangerous, but had not guaranteed it. As she reviewed his words in her head, she realized he had said a number of things meant to calm and reassure her, but he had never firmly stated that nothing could go wrong.

It’s doing something to him
, thought Bridget. Clinging to the tombstone, her brain tore itself apart trying to think of what she might be able to do to help, but she could not think of anything. She knew nothing of ghosts, not about communicating with them, combating them, dismissing or summoning or feeding them—nothing! Tears gathering in her eyes, her mind throbbed with shame, but there was no way available to her to assist Knight. If
the professor had been wrong to go out to meet the thing, what could she do? He was the magician. He was the one explaining everything to her.

Is that who you are, Bridget Elkins?

The voice sounding in her mind startled the young woman. For a moment she froze, not able to grasp her conscience’s meaning.

Crippled by fear—useless?

Then she realized the man struggling a handful of yards in front of her had done nothing since their first meeting other than befriend and protect her. If he was now in danger from having once more put her safety before his own, what was she doing still kneeling in the dirt?

Filled with a sudden resolve, Bridget threw herself to her feet and, with no plan in mind other than trying to help another human being, she launched herself at Knight and the specter.

“Here comes Scully,” she muttered, managing to cover slightly under half the ground between them before the sky was shattered by a monstrous peal of thunder, followed by a darkly colored shaft of lightning that struck the professor, dissipating the specter and sending both Knight and his assistant hurtling through the air.

“Professor, for God’s sake—speak to me!”

Bridget had recovered first. Such made sense, of course, since she had received only the barest edges of the explosive blast that had knocked Knight end over end. His body had come to rest badly against a sizable gravestone, one that halted his trajectory both violently and instantaneously.