Morning Mist

{c}Note, the parts of this story dealing with police and police procedure are mostly thanks to Becky Rae. She gave me a lot of inside information about how the Police really act, and cleared up a lot of misconceptions. Thanks a million, Becky Rae.

{c}Morning Mist

         Detective Jacobs hated the Midnight shift. He hated having to go to work at Midnight. He hated being away from his bed at night. But, someone had to do it, and since he didn't have anyone to go home to, it just made sense.

         This one was shaping up to be a worse night than usual. Ten minutes after getting in, the dispatcher took a call. Some drunk phoning in to report "Something horrible" down by the river. That was all he said, "Something horrible." "Probably an attack by pink elephants from Mars", muttered the detective as he drove. He wasn't sure what the barkeeps were putting in the drinks these days, but hallucinations seemed to be getting more common every week.

         As he drove, the fog thickened. Oh well, it was that time of year. Fogs were common year round, but in the Fall, they got ridiculous. Good reason to move out of this place. Not good enough to quit the job though, so Jacobs would go another year complaining about the weather and not actually doing anything about it. The fog obscured everything that was off the road more than about a foot. He was driving a road to nowhere. Breaking the speed limit to get there.

         The Autumn fogs of the city were the worst. It was like they wanted to kill someone. They would wrap you up in their mist and hold on tight. They blocked the view and never seemed to split until it was too late to keep from hitting whatever was in front of you. Jacobs knew he shouldn't be going as fast as he was, but more than anything he wanted to be out of this damn fog and back at the station.

         Thank the good lord Rodgers and his team was already out near the river. At least he wouldn't be the first on the scene. What a disaster that would be. After nearly no sleep the day before, Jacobs was in no mood to carry on a conversation with a two-legged whiskey bottle. They'd probably be mopping up whatever was actually there and he could go back to base for what would hopefully be a quiet night. Yeah, right, like the nights in the city were ever quiet.

         Pulling up to the scene, he saw two officers on the civilian side of the tape. They looked to be puking their guts out. Blasted rookies! Why send them out at night on their own. A closer look confirmed Jacob's suspicions. It was two new guys, Johnson and Baker. Still, he'd heard Baker had been in the Marines. Shouldn't be easy to gross him out. Maybe there was something here after all.

         Jacobs parked half a block away from the scene and moved in on foot. Stepping out of the car, the mist seemed to crawl up his pant legs and into his sleeves, leaving him chilled and wet. He detected a strange odor coming from the scene. It was a powerful acrid smell. It smelled a lot like an open sewer with battery acid dumped into it. Jacobs hated the fact that he actually knew what that smelled like. This was stronger, though. And there was something else to it too. "Probably whatever those rookies last ate", Jacobs said under his breath.

         Moving around the tape, things got worse. The smell got more powerful for one thing. All around the tape, everything was coated crimson. Someone took the expression paint the town red a bit too literally. As he looked over the scene, one patch of shrub appeared to be a lot more trashed than the rest. He got a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and proceeded to root through the foliage. His hand closed around something. It felt round and soft. Maybe wet too, but tough to tell through the gloves. Pulling it out, he found he was holding a wrist. The hand on the end still clutched what used to be a white purse. It was now more red than white. Jacobs figured he'd better take it to Rogers, the medical examiner. He certainly didn't want to take it back to the station.

         Walking around the scene, he finally spotted Rodgers' small frame. Rodgers would never be on a Basketball team, but there was no denying he was good at his job. The man had nerves of diamond. Nothing could shake him. Before he vanished in the mist again, Jacobs moved towards him. The fog seemed to be deliberately flying into his eyes to keep him from seeing where he was going. As he crossed under the tape, he heard something squish under his shoe. "What the hell am I standing in?", he called out to the medical examiner.

         "Judging by where you're standing, I'd say most of the victim's face." replied the small man as if this sort of thing happened every day.

         Jacobs recoiled and almost lost it. Sure enough, he had been standing on the lower part of a human face. "Why did you spread the remains like this? Shouldn't you guys be keeping things together?"

         "Look around you Lieutenant. This is as together as it was when we got here. The entire area bordered by the tape contains bits of the victim. If I didn't know better, I would swear who ever made this mess exploded. We've found organs as far as twenty feet away from the center. In fact the only reason we know our victim was female is the genitalia that are lying a couple of feet from where you're standing. We'll need some zipper bags to take the remains back for an autopsy. I hate to tell you this Jacobs, but this is not going to be a pleasant case. Oh, thanks for the hand. I was wondering where that got to." So saying, he plucked the severed hand from Jacobs. "You'll want to check the purse for ID I'm sure", he commented holding it out.

         Jacobs took the proffered purse, but kept it closed. He was rather nervous about what he might find inside. A spleen perhaps? "Thanks Rodgers. Any clue what happened here? This isn't a trend for this neighborhood is it? A new fad that's catching on?"

         Rodgers peeled off his gloves and rubbed at his eyes. He actually looked distressed by the situation. With a loud sigh, Rodgers replied, "Frankly Mitch, we don't have a clue. Nothing I know of could possibly do this to a human body short of swallowing some high explosive and detonating. Something tells me the autopsy isn't going to show much. We'd probably have needed to check dental records to ID the victim if you hadn't found that purse. Thanks again by the way. That is going to save us a few hours."

         "Okay then. Let's see who we have here." Jacobs opened the purse and looked inside. The interior was remarkably stain free. Inside were a few fives and tens, and some cards. One was of immediate interest. "Well, according to this College card, we have Miss Rachel Stevens, first year Psychology student at the Community College."

         Rodgers looked around the area. "Well, most of her anyway. I'll do some research for you and see if I can find anything that could cause this. I wouldn't wait for the report though. I think you are on your own on this one."

         "Thanks Rodgers. I guess I'll be going back to School in the morning."

         Jacobs returned to his car and headed back to the station. As he got up to speed, the car hit something and he nearly lost control. With some hard steering, Jacobs managed to keep the car on the road and out of the river. He stopped and checked around the area, but found nothing. He must have knocked whatever he hit off the road or something. Either that or the fog just tried to flip the car. Not bloody likely.

         Jacobs headed for the College with Ms. Stevens' ID card at eight. He didn't really want to put in overtime, but there was no way he was going to sleep tonight anyway. Not after viewing the mess down by the river. Thank God the fog kept him from seeing too much of the scene. He shook his head as he walked across the quad. The fog was still thick. Hopefully it would burn off as the day went on, but it didn't seem likely with this stuff. The mist liked where it was and it wasn't going to move for anything as simple as the sun. Could probably nuke the city and the fog would be the only thing to survive. As his attention wavered, a red blur ran right across his path. The collision was unavoidable and paper swarmed around the crash.

         As Jacobs got back to his feet he stammered "Oh Geeze. Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. Let me help you collect this stuff."

         The victim was a thin blonde woman in a red dress. "Thank you. I wasn't paying attention either. I'm late for class. I hate these early classes."

         "I wouldn't have pegged you for a student."

         "Nope. Instructor. Introductory Psychology. Doctor Andrea Mathews. And you are?"

         "Mitchell Jacobs. I'm with the police."

         "Why are the police interested in us? Is the college in trouble?"

         "I hope not. One of the students was killed last night. Rachel Stevens."

         "Oh, my God. She was in my morning Psych class. Can you stay around for an hour? Maybe I can give you some information to help."

         "Thanks. It's always appreciated when someone offers us information."

         "Fine meet me in my office in an hour. Room 504 in the Psychology wing."

         Jacobs spent the next hour checking basic information about Ms. Stevens in the admin building. Nothing of any real use turned up. Rachel was a psych student, taking first year Psychology, first year Sociology, a couple of Biology classes and a Genetics course. Last semester, she had done an intro English course, a couple of math courses, a computer class, and an Art History class. Nothing that would indicate she worked with explosives. Certainly nothing that would indicate she would eat them. The thought took him back to the scene of the death, and he didn't really want to go there right now.

         After a fruitless hour of record searches and discovering that Ms. Stevens hadn't done anything out of the ordinary on campus, Jacobs headed for room 504. As he got there, he considered how he could handle this. The good Doctor knew the victim, so obviously she was a suspect until she could convince him otherwise. Still, no reason to be nasty. Handle it cool and informal, that way he can get the most out of her, and maybe make her slip up if she was involved. Having reached his decision, he knocked on the closed door.

         "Coming" rang out the voice as the door opened. Dr. Mathews ushered him into the office. A quick look around revealed the usual office furnishings. There was a desk holding a computer. A few chairs were around the room. Two of them looked to have suffered some damage in the past. Of course there were bookshelves filled with large tomes. Many of them had titles relating to Psychology. There was also a collection that stood out. Legends of the Native peoples, A Guide to Spirits of the Netherworld, Psychic Phenomena were just the less esoteric titles.

         "Your interests go a bit beyond dreams and IQ tests don't they?"

         "Yes, my specialty is actually Parapsychology. There aren't a lot of positions for that field, though so here I am. I just got back before you knocked. Let me open a window. It gets awfully hot in here."

         "Why don't you turn the heater off?"

         "It's on the fritz. I called maintenance about it yesterday, but it will take them at least a week to get to look at it. Old buildings, lots of problems." Dr. Mathews opened the window. Immediately, the mist started gently flowing in like swarm of moths.

         "Sorry to hear about the heater. In any case, you knew Rachel?"

         "Yes, she was a very promising student in one of my classes."

         "She got good grades then?"

         "Oh, yes. Near the top of her class."

         "Probably some people were pretty jealous of her..."

         "I doubt it. She wasn't one to flaunt. It's not like anyone would know what her grades were unless she told them. Everything is done by ID number these days. You can't tell who is who by the grade sheets."

         "Okay. So jealousy probably wasn't a motive..."

         "In my opinion, detective, jealousy over grades is very rarely a motive for murder. It has to be something much stronger. Maybe over a lover, but not over grades. I've always felt the murder was the same as suicide in many ways. The killer has to be desperate and despairing enough that killing someone seems the only way out. Grades just won't do it."

         "Okay, in your opinion, did anyone you knew have a motive to kill Rachel Stevens?"

         "No, I can't think of anyone who might have a motive to kill Rachel. The only person that ever had a grudge against Rachel was that awful Barans girl..."

         "Wait a second, you mean Helen Barans? I rememeber that name. She was a real problem case wasn't she? I think we've got at least fifty complaints about her from the College here. Mostly disturbing the peace wasn't it?"

         "Mostly maybe, but not three months ago. One of my first semester students, Brad Garrett brought Rachel around to introduce her to me. He knew she had me in second semester, and he knew about my interest in Parapsychology. Well, apparently Rachel had a long interest in occultism and so forth. She had a Ouji board since she was a kid, owned her own set of Tarot cards, the usual stuff. I was telling her a bit about Parapsychology, when Helen burst in the room. She was in a rage, and I'm pretty sure she was sober."

         "Right, I remember that now. Former partner of mine got called out to deal with her. It took him, his partner, and three Campus security guys to drag her out of here didn't it?"

         "Yes, and the furniture still shudders at the mention of her name. Just before security showed up, she tried to strangle Rachel. She also attacked Brad and myself. She was wild, must have been on some massive adreniline surge or something. I couldn't believe one person could do so much damage."

         "Maybe, but she couldn't be responsible. While she was being dragged out of here, she fought so hard, she put herself and one of the security men through a window. Wasn't a long fall, but she hit first. The cuts and the impact finished her before the ambulance arrived. I don't think she was involved in this."

         "You know, I forgot about that. No, I guess she couldn't be involved. Well, I'm sorry I can't be anymore help. Maybe if I knew more about how Rachel died I could do more, but I doubt it. Criminolgy's not my field."

         "Well, thanks for your help, Doctor. If I think of anything else to ask you, how can I reach you?"

         She opened her purse and took out a business card. "My office number and cel number are on there. Call me if you think I can help."

         "Thanks, I'll do that." With that he left the office. It seemed strange to him that two female students of the Doctor's died in the last two semesters. Very odd indeed.

         On the way back to the station, Jacobs thought about the scene again. He couldn't get the images out of his mind. It nearly made him sick remembering the spread of tissue on the scene. It was like someone took every organ out and then threw them randomly around the area. It made no sense at all. The fog was just as thick as it was at midnight. As he drove, Jacobs had to swerved to avoid a dog. Then he had to veer back to miss an oncoming car. It was weird. Like something in the fog tried to hold him in the wrong lane so he would be hit. Must be nothing, just nerves. The mess last night could unsettle anyone, except maybe Rogers.

         As soon as he got back to the station, Jacobs headed for the interrogation room. Their witness was being questioned already. He seemed to be very upset. Sweat was pouring off him. This was supposed to be a normal questioning, so it was pretty odd. He wasn't a suspect, so why was he so nervous?

         "I'm telling you guys that's what I saw!" The witness was almost screaming. "I was in the bushes and I saw the girl. The fog was choking her. It was running into her nose and mouth, and she was choking. Then she just started getting bigger and bigger and she burst. Right where she was standing was a woman made of fog! It's the truth. I know I was a bit drunk, but I sure wouldn't make up something like that! Damit that's what I saw!" The man collapsed sobbing onto the table.

         As the questioning officer came out Jacobs pulled him aside. "Did you get anything useful out of him?"

         "No. Just that garbage about a fog woman blowing the victim up. Nothing we can investigate. Nothing that even makes sense. This guy must be more than a few sheets to the wind now. I can't imagine what he was drinking last night. Good luck on this one Jacobs. Better you than me."

         "Yeah, thanks Smith."

         Jacobs headed home to get some sleep, but images of the scattered remains of Rachel Stevens haunted his sleep. Finally, he got up at about six in the evening and called Dr. Mathews. They agreed to meet at a coffee shop near the college. On the way, lack of sleep started to catch up with Jacobs and he swerved into oncoming traffic. Again, he would swear that something pushed the car. Like a high wind or something. But the air was calm, although the fog was at full strength.

         At the coffee shop, Dr. Mathews was in the same dress she wore at work. "How was your day Detective Jacobs? Did you learn anything interesting this afternoon?"

         "Call me Mitch. Everyone else does. We didn't get anything. The witness is crazy."

         "He must have said something that could be useful."

         "No. Nothing. He was rambling about some woman made of fog. It was pure crazy talk."

         "A woman made of fog? That sounds familiar, somehow. I'm sure I've heard about something like that before."

         "Well, if you can get me her address, at least that would be a start. I don't know how we'd put the handcuffs on her though. Do you know of any temporary condition that could cause hallucinations like that?"

         "Well, there are drugs that could..."

         Jacobs shook his head. "I've seen what those types of things can do to someone. This wasn't drugs."

         "The only conditions I can think of that would cover this are psychotic breaks. Did he seem Psychotic otherwise?"

         "No. That leaves us with nothing. The guy was drunk, he thought he saw something he didn't. No help to us. Thanks for meeting with me, sorry to waste your time like this."

         "No big problem. I'll tell you what. Call me tomorrow sometime and I'll look into this fog woman thing. I'm sure I've heard something about this before."

         Jacobs decided to walk the doctor home. Even if she wasn't involved in the case, she might be at risk. And it wasn't that far. And it took his mind off the murder scene from that night. As he headed back to the station, the fog was as thick as Bingo hall smoke. His brain felt fogged in just as bad.

         Only a few minutes after arrival, Jacobs was sent out to another scene. The same repulsive sights and scents awaited him. Parts scattered across the landscape, the scent of sewage and acid. Blood and bile were staining the pavement. The only differences were the quantity of the remains, and one survivor. He was obviously drunk, but it seemed that whatever he saw sobered him up. He was stammering out a statement.

         "It didn't get me cause I was in the car and the windows were rolled up. It was dark; maybe it didn't see me. It got them. All three of them. Just flowed into them like the fog. Then it ripped them apart inside out. Oh god! What is it? It's gonna come for me, I know it! It got Brad, and Frank and Pete. It missed me so now it'll come for me! That's what happens in all the movies, man! It's gonna get me!"

         Jacobs muttered, "Great, more fog people. Just what I needed. Rodgers, are you seeing what I'm seeing? Same MO or what?"

         The small examiner came over to Jacobs. "Just like last time, except this time we've got three dead. According to our not so reliable witness their names are Pete Randolph, Frank Jones, and Brad Garett. And once again, their remains are spread across a rather large area. The only link seems to be that they all went to the same college. Any leads so far?"

         "Nothing except 'The Fog did it!' Maybe I should find out if the Meteorological Society can do anything. I'm sure...Hang on a sec. Did you say Brad Garrett?"

         "Yes, why? Is his name that important?"

         "It could be, Rodgers. It connects with something else I was checking today. Both the victims were in psych classes with a Doctor Mathews. This was the same Dr. Mathews whose office was the starting point of the Helen Baran death. Seems really strange that three students of the Doctors, two of whom she seemed to know very well, died in the last few months. I think I'm going to have to go back to the College tomorrow.

         "Well, good luck to you Jacobs. Could you step back, we need to collect the remains. At least we brought lots of buckets this time."

         Another Early morning visit to the College to examine more grisly murders. Once again he stopped to check the records on the dead students. Once again the mist wasn't burning off. This time, Jacobs was sure that something was pushing him into people as he walked along. All this talk of fog people was making him crazy. He kept telling himself "I'm just tired that's all. Two nights with almost no sleep is bound to put me off my game."

         After another pointless check, he headed back to room 504. As Dr. Mathews invited him in, she opened her window again. This time he could feel the heat and it was brutal. Once again trailers of mist flowed into the office.

         Dr. Mathews looked at his face. "You look like hell Mitch. Is there anything new?"

         "Yeah, three new deaths, one of them Brad Garett. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

         "Sure, first Rachel and now Brad. It sounds like everyone Helen Baran hated while she was alive is dying now. Anyway, I looked into that fog woman thing. I found a mention of something in some old Native legends. Apparently some of the tribes around this area believed that if someone died with strong enough ties to this world, they would remain in the mists between the living and the dead. Since they were caught in the mists they could only exist as mist in this world. Sometimes, if their emotional ties to this world were strong enough, they could exert a physical influence on the world around them, push things around, throw things at people, maybe do something more drastic. Unfortunately, nothing in the books showed how to stop these things. It said that if the spirit were severed from the fog that spawned it, it would be powerless to escape it's captors, what ever that means, but nothing..."

         "Wait a minute here! Are you seriously trying to tell me a ghost made out of fog murdered these people? If I report that, the chief will bust me down to crossing guard! And I'm really starting to think you..."

         "Hear me out, please. I did some more checking when I found that, and there are records of some pretty strange stuff around here. People who jilted a lover who suddenly leap off a cliff in a dense fog. A cheating business partner whose car runs off the road in a heavy fog two days after his cheated partner dies. There are dozens of cases like these." As the pair argued more wisps of mist drifted in through the window and crawled along the floor.

"It's just crazy! I don't believe in ghosts, and I certainly don't believe fog can kill people. We get fogs all year round and no one has died because of it. I seriously begining to think there is a connection, but not fog. Maybe some unauthorized Psychology experiments have been going on here!"

         "What, now you're suggesting that I'm responsible? How could I force Helen Barans to throw herself out a window? How could I kill three college students when I was here most of the night? I've got witnesses to that too, by the way! Maybe your just blinding yourself to the URK!"

         As Dr. Mathews spoke, a trailer of mist flowed up into her mouth. As she began gagging and gasping, Jacobs tried to give her the Heimlich. Suddenly, the mist at the window flowed into the room in a wave hurling him away. Stunned he watched Dr. Mathews begin to swell, her eyes wide in pain and terror. Finally, her pain ended as she erupted. She was spread across the room, much of her splattering on Jacobs. All that was left was an image of a woman, her face contorted in rage. In a voice that sounded like wind in the trees, she snarled, "That bitch called the police. She got me killed! And now it's your turn Mr. Police Officer. You're one of them. They killed me, now it's my turn!"

         Jacobs threw open the door and ran. As he fled, he remembered the incidents in his car. It seemed something tried to throw him into traffic or off the road. Dr. Mathews was right, but did knowing what the killer was help him? He passed a campus security man in the hall.

         "Hey, what's going on? Get back here you, you're..." The security guard was smashed into the wall by the racing mist. As his head slid down the wall, it left a crimson trail. Jacobs could hear the mist voice screaming, "He's part of it. You're all part of it. You can all DIE!"

         Jacobs shot past other people screaming at them to get under cover. He heard several crashes behind him, but was too afraid to turn back to look. Finally, he came to the Chemistry wing. He found a lab labeled Gases and Fluids. Inside was a single attendant cleaning the floor. "Quick. How do you handle toxic leaks here."

         "Well, if it's a liquid, we evacuate and send for clean up."

         "Can you deal with a toxic gas?" He could see the wisps drifting around the door.

         "Sure, we'd just turn on the vacuum system. It's pretty high powered so it gets anything out and seals it airtight. We're pretty high te..." The technician began to gasp as wisps of mist poured into every opening. Jacobs ran for the emergency station and found what he was looking for. As the technician sprayed across the lab, Jacobs punched a button. The evil face of mist leered and advanced, then began to break apart. "What's happening? What did you do! NO!!!!!!"

         The horrible mist figure was sucked into vents around the room. Jacobs dragged himself through the door and closed it.

         After getting his breath back, he headed for administration and got permission to check the waste tanks. In the basement was a gas cylinder hooked to the lab he was in. He took it away with him. He had a friend that did some construction work. He'd take it to a site and get his friend to bury it. This mist bitch won't get out from a building foundation. At least he prayed that this would be enough to stop her. As he drove to the construction site, the fog was rolling ever thicker from the river.