Chapter 3

It was a short ride up to the top floor. It opened on a disturbingly normal office space. The central area had an open floor layout with a dozen desks in two columns of three pairs of desks facing each other. Along the left and right sides of the room, a few offices with frosted glass walls lay empty except for one. I couldn’t see who the two people inside were, only their silhouettes. A small coffee station occupied a nook between two of the offices on the right. At the back, a large boardroom with its door closed led me to think the rest of the agents had gathered there. But it was the man in his early fifties standing in front of the open door of a big office on the right corner of the back wall that held my attention.

I immediately started moving towards him. He was tall, at least 6’3, with lovely blue eyes wrinkled by a welcoming smile, and brown hair sprinkled with grey. As expected, he, too, was dressed in a black suit, black shoes, and black tie over a white dress shirt. Instantly at ease, and grateful for the first agent to show any warmth, I returned his contagious smile as I closed the distance with him.

“Good evening, Ms. Connors,” he said, extending his hand towards me. “My name is Alfred Thomson, Director of the Mist Squad Program. Congratulations on making it this far.”

“The Mist Squad Program?” I repeated while shaking his hand, emphasizing the word ‘Squad’ that had never featured in any of the very cryptic literature about the program.

He smiled and gestured for me to come in. “I will explain everything.”

I stepped inside the imposing space and took a seat in one of the two comfortable black leather chairs in front of his massive desk. The bookshelf behind him contained a few personal decorations, many official looking books and manuals. A worktable occupied the right side of the room, next to a window with drawn metal shutters, preventing me from getting an idea of where exactly they’d taken us. A family portrait of him, his wife, and a pretty young woman I assumed to be his daughter, sat on his desk. That further put me at ease. There was something reassuring about dealing with a family man.

“So, I’m guessing I’m here talking with you because Zain followed me?” I asked without preamble, stunned by my boldness. It was common courtesy to always let the interviewer initiate the conversation.

His brow shot up, impressed. “Zain is your Walker’s name?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“He told you?” Director Thomson insisted.

“Yes. But I heard his voice in my head,” I said, immediately feeling self-conscious, and wondering if he’d think me wacko.

His eyes flicked to my chest—which was completely covered by the burgundy, sleeveless, leather top that I was wearing with black leggings—before locking back with mine. A slight frown creased his forehead.

“Did he touch you?” he asked. “Do you bear his brand on your chest?”

I blinked, utterly confused, then looked down at my chest. My top’s frontal zipper was raised all the way up to my neck, showing no cleavage. Normally, I wore it open fairly low, but this wasn’t the place to be sexy.

“I don’t have any markings on my chest,” I said, baffled. “But what are you talking about? I mean, there was a thick glass all around the Observatory—”

“I don’t mean tonight, but during that tragic incident at your house over a decade ago,” he specified with a sliver of impatience or annoyance, I couldn’t tell which.

I gaped at him in shock. “How—?”

“We investigate every candidate that applies before sending out the invitation,” Director Thomson said, interrupting me again.

I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling suddenly unnerved. “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I never came in direct contact with him anymore than I have here.”

“Ms. Connors, do you realize that Zain acts as your champion?” he asked cautiously.

I recoiled. “What? No,” I said, disbelievingly. “What would make you think that?”

“Back then, he saved you from your boyfriend’s attempt to murder you by killing him instead, just like he freed you tonight from the Beast’s hypnotic gaze by killing it as well,” Thomson explained. “Had you been outside, you would have stood there, immobile, while it devoured you.”

I shuddered and rubbed my upper arms in a comforting gesture. I still wasn’t sure the word champion applied to Zain. However, thinking back, I could now see the pattern in his behavior, charging the threat to me, no questions asked, and siphoning the life out of them until nothing remained but ashes and a desiccated corpse.

“Do you know how the Mist Beings come to life, Ms. Connors?” Thomson asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.

Something in the way he asked the question poked my curiosity.

“Mist creatures have Mist sex and make Mist babies?” I said, having no real clue. So much mystery was kept around those beings, despite the Mist having been around for nearly fifteen years now.

He chuckled and shook his head with an amused expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

“Have you noticed how familiar they look?” he asked, not providing the answer to his original question.

I took a moment before answering, reviewing in my mind the appearance of the monsters I had seen. However, the Walkers all looked similar, aside from their size.

“Well, they aren’t creatures found on Earth,” I said carefully. “But they do remind me of chimeras created by matching parts of Earth creatures with parts of fantasy creatures, like that Cthulhu praying mantis that hypnotized me.”

He nodded, visibly pleased with my answer.

“Even in that strange mishmash, what are the odds that creatures evolving in a completely different parallel universe would develop in such identical, easily recognizable parts?” he further asked with an unnerving intensity.

I hesitated and nervously licked my lips. “Honestly, I have no idea. One of the conspiracy theories lurking around claims that the portals between our world and theirs had opened in the past and that DNA cross-contamination occurred, which would explain those similarities. I mean, you guys have been fairly quick at removing the ash statues of the Beasts that fail to get back to their world through the portals when the Mist recedes. But there are tons of pictures of Beasts circulating on the net. So…”

I shrugged as my voice trailed off, feeling like a freak conspiracy theorist.

Thomson nodded slowly, a neutral expression on his face. His blue gaze boring into mine made me squirm on my chair.

“And what other theories have you heard?” he asked.

“Oh, the other one is completely cuckoo,” I said with a derisive snort. “Apparently, the Mist is the dream world, and the Mist Beasts are our dreams and nightmares.”

I’d expected him to chuckle with me. Instead, he held my gaze unwaveringly and without the tiniest sliver of humor on his face.

“That is insane. Right?” I asked, refusing to believe what his body language was telling me.

“It is not,” Thomson said in a very serious tone. “The first theory you mentioned is partially true in that the human mind is a doorway into the Mist. The Mist itself is the realm where dreams are born and normally die when we stop dreaming about them. But sometimes, those dreams thrive and become self-aware.”

I shook my head in denial. That was just too crazy, even though it echoed the wildest claims from those conspiracy theory websites.

“I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. That’s why we never bothered cracking down on those conspiracy websites,” Thomson said as if he’d just read my mind. “Their telling the truth only convinces the majority of the population that they’ve got a few screws loose. But in reality, they often help us figure out what is actually going on since the people who actually interacted with Mistwalkers are usually too afraid to speak to the government, but not to those guys.”

Yeah, I could see that. When my ex had tried to kill me, I had not wanted to contact the official number for incidents related to the Mist. I’d been afraid they’d make me disappear to avoid terrifying the population. But with Jared’s shriveled up remains lying on my front lawn, I’d had no choice but to contact the authorities.

“But… How?” I asked, confused and still struggling to believe any of this.

“Every time you fall asleep and dream, it creates a Spark—an ethereal version of whatever being or creature you”ve imagined,” Thomson explained. “Like that seahorse fairy you saw earlier. It likely stems from the dream of a child, but is already forgotten. We know this by how translucent and mostly apathetic it behaves. In a few hours, maybe even up to a few days, that seahorse will fade away unless it is eaten by another Mist creature. And then, you have others like Zain that are the result of recurring dreams—in your case, of recurring nightmares.”

I shuddered, my eyes widening at the undeniable truth of his last words. I hadn’t known the name of the dark figure that used to lurk in my darkest dreams before I began therapy, but it had undeniably been a Mistwalker.

“You see, the Walkers are divided in two groups: the Wishes and the Nightmares,” Thomson continued. “If you desire something strongly enough and dream of it with sufficient intensity and frequency, your Wish may become aware and then deliberately seek to communicate with you. But the same applies to your greatest fears if they haunt you often enough at night. The majority of the creatures you saw outside the Observatory were frequent dreams, but only a handful of the Mistwalkers become sentient. Those were the ones following their creators around the room, the same way your Zain was shadowing you.”

“And you”re assuming he”s a Nightmare because of his violent attack on that Cthulhu Beast?” I asked.

“Yes,” Director Thomson said with a nod.

“But what do they want?” I asked, still struggling to accept this as reality.

“It all depends on what you wished or feared,” Thomson said with a shrug. “Wishes will always seek to do something beneficial to you. Children, especially bullied ones, wish for a true friend and protector so that they”re not so alone or mistreated. Adults will often hope for someone that can get them out of whatever their greatest hardship is about. However, most of them are pushing for the perfect life partner,” he added with an amused glimmer in his eyes.

“Like a spouse?” I asked, my eyes bulging with disbelief. “How is that even supposed to work? Ghost sex?” I froze as a thought straight out of crazy town crossed my mind. “Don’t tell me that the lore on Succubi and Incubi comes from Mistwalkers?!”

Thomson burst out laughing. “Actually, I wasn’t going to say that, although it does partially apply. Mistwalkers feed on emotions and the lifeforce of others. When they mate with a human, sex is the best non-lethal way for them to acquire the energy needed to fuel their power.”

“But they’re made of smoke!” I argued.

“Smoke that taunted you by tapping on the window and clawing at the glass,” Thomson deadpanned.

That shut me up.

“Have you heard about the Thornhill Killer?” he suddenly asked.

I recoiled, taken aback by this abrupt change of topic. “Who hasn’t?” I asked. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“The images I”m about to show you are very disturbing,” Thomson said, ignoring my question. “After that, what I”m about to tell you is the main reason for the existence of the Fourth Division and of the program you”re currently being interviewed for. If any of this became public, there would be complete panic and chaos in every major city in the world. We are currently in a race against the clock that could determine the place of humanity in the food chain.”

Those ominous words were my only warning before he handed me a folder with a huge, red ‘confidential’ slapped on top. Heart pounding, I hesitated, knowing that once I opened it, a line would be crossed, and my life would change in a way that could never be undone.

Fingers slightly shaking, I flipped the cover open and was relieved to see the normal portrait of a pretty young woman named Emily Gates. She had been the first alleged victim of the serial killer of the Thornhill borough. Below, a standard form provided general details about her: date of birth, address, education, employment, contacts and relatives, and a summary of the date and place her body was found. When I flipped to the next page, a horrified gasp rose for my throat. I closed my eyes and jerked my face left, wishing to unsee the desiccated remains of the lovely young female she had once been.

If not for her dress and the handful of long strands of hair still attached to her skull, she could have been the twin of Jared’s dried up remains. Taking a few deep breaths to regain my composure, I forced myself to turn back to the folder. As I flipped through the pages, the same pattern repeated itself. Each and every one of the victims found sucked dry of their lifeforce.

And yet, none of this matched up.

“That’s not possible,” I argued, shaking my head in denial. “A couple of these cases were filed a day or two after the end of the Mist. So, I’ll buy that. But the others occurred well over a week after it. This last one took place less than four days before the following Mist. The Beasts and Walkers turn to ashes as soon as the Mist recedes if they are still in our dimension. How would that be possible?”

A glimmer of approval showed in his blue eyes. Under different circumstances, I would have been pleased to score points. Right now, however, I just needed to know what the fuck was going on, and if he was just messing with my head.

“Normally, you would be correct,” Thomson answered before running nervous fingers through his greying hair. “However, and in response to your earlier question, mating between a Mistwalker and a human is possible because the sentient ones, if they want it badly enough, can crossover into our world and take a human appearance.”

“All right,” I said, fed up and shaking my head. “This is where I draw the line. What kind of stupid mind game is this? Why go through all this expensive process just to pull this stunt? Do I have ‘gullible’ written on my forehead? I’m done with this nonsense.”

I rose to my feet, ready to leave. He imitated me and lifted his palms in front of him in an appeasing gesture.

“Please, Ms. Connors, hear me out,” Director Thomson said in a pleading tone.

“I don’t want to hear anymore. This is bullshit!” I snapped angrily. “First, you make me almost believe the monster that killed my sadistic ex is the figment of my imagination. And now, you’re trying to make me believe someone dreamed up some psychotic serial killer that somehow figured out how to become human, and is now roaming the streets murdering people? Do I look that stupid to you?”

“I assure you, Ms. Connors, this isn’t a game,” Thomson said in a less friendly tone. “Please, sit down so that we—”

“I don’t want to sit down,” I interrupted. “I want to leave.”

“SIT DOWN!” Director Thomson shouted, startling me.

A sliver of fear blossomed in the pit of my stomach at the sight of his anger. Gone was the gentle family man that had first welcomed me. I swallowed hard then quietly settled back down in my chair, not daring to provoke him further. He glared at me for a moment longer as if he wanted to smack some sense into me. As I stared at him, a sense of dread washed over me.

He’s not bullshitting.

His entire demeanor and body language confirmed it. But how could that be?

“Oh my God! You’re serious?” I whispered.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily before settling back in his chair. His anger faded away, and he leveled me with a sad, almost discouraged expression. He picked up a small, flat, black remote control that turned on the large, wall-mounted TV on the left wall. Seconds later, the camera footage outside an office building showed a tall and handsome man running up to one of the victims in the folder and attacking him. The man was clearly terrifying the victim for a few moments before shadowy tendrils started protruding from his back. The same way Zain had done with the Beast, the killer immobilized his victim with the tendrils then siphoned his life away, leaving a shriveled corpse on the floor.

I realized tears were rolling down my face only after Director Thomson ended the playback and extended me his box of Kleenex.

“I”m sorry that I”m forcing you to relive a traumatic experience,” Thomson said. “However, this is not a joke or a stunt. That monster is out there on the street killing people. The news has stated that there have been thirty-two victims so far. But the reality is that more than three times that number has been recorded.”

I lifted my hand to my throat and gaped at him incomplete shock.

“Nightmares used to be few and far between in the first decade of the Mist. But now, they”re taking over our world. Every time the Mist ends, at least two or three new ones are born in our city,” Thomson said in a grim tone. “Your Zain is the most powerful Walker I’ve seen in my entire career. There is no question in my mind that he was planning on crossing over at the end of the current Mist. Creating a human body requires a tremendous amount of energy. If the Walkers don’t have high enough reserves before they initiate the shift, they die within hours.”

I recoiled, a horrified expression on my face. “Are you saying that Zain intends to cross over to become the next serial killer?”

He hesitated, which frightened me even more.

“There is no question that Zain is a Nightmare,” Thomson said carefully. “He has the potential to become a serial killer. However, after watching his interactions with you, I believe him to be exactly the solution we seek. But that can only work if we have your full collaboration. Zain is clearly coming for you.”

“He’s coming here to kill me?!” I exclaimed, straightening in my chair.

“No, no!” Thomson responded quickly, lifting his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Mistwalkers never want to kill their creator, especially when they cross over. You would be his anchor in this world. If you die, there is a chance he would fade away with time, unless you had bound him to our world, and he’d become human enough to survive on his own. Zain is a psychopath. He wants—”

“Rewards,” I interrupted, seeing where his mind was going, as relief flooded me.

“Yes!” Thomson said with a smile. “And both you and your emotions are his rewards.”

“But he wants my fear,” I argued, not too crazy about that thought.

“And both your attention and admiration,” he countered. “Your gratitude and focused attention on him rewarded him far more than demonstrating his dominance by killing that fairy.”

“So, you want me to manipulate his impulses into getting him to…?” I asked, my voice trailing off.

“I want you to convince him to join his forces to ours to fight the Nightmares,” Director Thomson said forcefully. “We”re losing this battle. The entire middle drawer of this cabinet is filled with the files of my agents who died at the hands of a Nightmare in the past fifteen years. Half of them occurred in the past six months since the Thornhill Killer entered our world. And the deaths are accelerating.”

I stared at him, lips parted in both shock and understanding. “But… But why my Nightmare?” I asked, confused. “Zain is still unpredictable. I agree that he might be controllable with the right rewards, but wouldn’t a Wish be safer and more appropriate? You don’t recruit psychopaths or sociopaths in law enforcement.”

He nodded with a friendly smile. “That was our initial thought as well. But Wishes are… too nice. They have the same simple desires and needs as your everyday person on the street. It takes a different type of person and a different type of dedication to want to become a police officer, join the military, or become a firefighter. And even then, we don’t need a good cop or soldier, we need a ruthless predator to combat fire with fire.”

“So… The Mist Squad Project… You want to form an army of them,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Director Thomson said with a sharp nod. “We want them to hunt down existing Nightmares already on the loose, eliminate new ones as they are born during and after the Mist, and help police the streets when we can”t during the Mist to protect potential victims like you almost were.”

Before he was even done speaking, I already knew I couldn”t walk away from this. Of all the things I had imagined this project would be, this would never have been it.

“Where do we start?” I asked.

Director Thomson grinned, a triumphant expression descending on his features. “First, we go say hello to your Nightmare who has decided to play along.”