Spiar

By V. E. Bystry

"We are the ones that take care of the things that go bump in the night." SPIAR is an obscure government agency dedicated to fighting that which we do not want to believe is real. Augmented with supernatural abilities, the agents of SPIAR defend us everyday behind the scenes. A scientist discovered a way to awaken the hidden potential in us, and he is out for revenge. Earth will never be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: V. E. Bystry
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310183621

V. E. Bystry

Born and raised in Sturgis, MI, V. E. Bystry has always been a reader and writer. He enjoys crafting terrifying tales and fantastic stories to entertain, scare, and keep you on your toes. He has drawn inspiration from John Bellairs, Stephen King, R. A. Salvatore,  and Brian Jacques. He currently resides in Jacksonville, FL with his fiance and black lab. 

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SPIAR

By V. E. Bystry

Copyright 2014 V. E. Bystry

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Special Thanks

I would like to take a moment to thank a few people that I think were a huge motivation during the writing of this novel. Although there were countless amounts of those that helped out in some way, I will name a few here. Jill Bobalik, Dianne Gorsuch, and Dusty Bystry, thank you so very much! With your editing suggestions and pointers, I believe this novel is stronger than it was. All three of you have been an instrumental influence on me and I will forever be in your debt for that.

Vincent Hull, you have been awesome to serve with and I thank you for pushing me forward during deployments with my writing. All the times that we shared ideas and motivated each other to follow our dreams, this is just the beginning my friend.

To everyone else, thank you. If you have affected me in my writing you know who you are. I love you all.

CHAPTER ONE

Detective Friend couldn't believe his eyes. The crime scene was unbelievably horrific. Blood was everywhere, covering the hotel room bed, floor, and walls. The TV across the room from the bed had an arm protruding from it, the fingers frozen in an iron grip around a broken table leg. Every other part of the victim's body was strewn about the room in ways that Friend couldn't understand. The other arm was on the side chair, also doused in blood. A leg laid in the threshold that led to the bathroom, and the other leg was out on the balcony, apparently having been thrown through the sliding glass door, shattered with shards of glass everywhere.

Jesus Christ, Friend muttered and wondered who could have had enough strength to throw a leg through a sliding glass door so thick. He took a few more steps into the room, to take it all in. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with a sigh. He had seen his fair share of bloody scenes since being on the force, but this was the worst by far. He couldn't see how a human had this much blood in their body to spill all over this hotel room.

Are you all right sir? called the patrolman out in the hall.

Yeah, I'm fine, Friend called back and opened his eyes, I'm gonna go out to the balcony and have a smoke before I get into this shit. Give me a yell when James shows up.

Yessir!

Friend eased his way through the hotel room, being careful to not disturb anything. He couldn't help but notice pieces of what looked like paper sticking out from under the mattress around the foot of the bed when he reached the threshold. He shrugged, and continued out the unbarred door. The broken glass crunched beneath his feet and forced him to cringe. He went to the edge of the balcony, and leaned against the rail as he pulled out his cigarettes from his inside pocket. A fresh pack, he paused looking at it momentarily. He hadn't had one in what, two months? They were just his lucky charm he always told himself. Deep down he knew he would again need a smoke someday, so he carried them around just in case. He ripped off the plastic wrapper and tore away the foil seal from inside. He tossed them both over the balcony and pulled out a cigarette to put to his lips. He lit up and took a long drag. As he blew out the smoke, he slipped the pack back into his pocket and glanced down at the street. Twelve stories up seemed much higher up here than it did when he got out of his car below.

Daniel Friend wasn't a superstitious man, but he felt something weird in the air. He had these feelings more often recently, and he shivered as he thought of his prediction about the mall and the strange recurring dreams he'd been having of himself spontaneously combusting. He took another drag while he leaned on the railing and wondered how long they would be in the hotel room.

Roland James was his partner, and had been for two years now. He was interested in seeing his portly friend's reaction to the crime scene. A couple blocks down the road, he saw a patrol car with its lights spinning, heading in his direction. That would be Roland.

Friend turned, put his back against the balcony railing, and stared into the room as he pulled another drag from his cigarette. He could see half the bed and the TV that was growing an arm. It seemed as if the victim had tried to defend himself at least, judging by the weapon clutched in the dead hand.

Sirens sounded from a block away, and it seemed that Roland was getting a little anxious. Friend smiled to himself as he blew out some smoke. He could just picture Roland yelling and screaming at all the other drivers to get out of his damn way.

He stroked his chin and mulled over a few possibilities. Jealousy? Pure anger or hatred? Or was it a spur of the moment kind of thing? Whatever the reason, it obviously got violent very fast.

Friend must have zoned out for a few minutes and was only snapped back to reality when the patrolman yelled ,Detective James is here sir!

Friend jolted out of his reverie, realizing his cigarette was just a stick of ash. He flicked it up and over the railing and took out another to light up. He couldn't help but smile inwardly when he heard James barge into the room.

Jesus Christ! What the hell happened here?

James saw Friend out on the balcony, and made his way through the hotel room to reach him.

That's exactly what I said when I got here a few minutes ago, Friend stated.

That shit is insane! James cried as he pointed into the room.

James patted his coat down and cursed.

Forgot my damn pipe. I thought you quit smoking Dan?

I had. I always keep a pack on me though. You know, for emergencies.

Seems like a goddamn good time to me! Can I get one from you? James asked.

Of course, Friend replied as he pulled out his new pack.

James lit up and they stood there in silence for a few moments. They were both looking into the room, examining what they could from outside.

The glass door was shattered when you got here? James asked.

Friend nodded, taking a drag.

What the hell. This leg here had enough force behind it to shatter this sliding glass door? The killer must have been one crazy strong psycho.

Friend nodded again, blowing out smoke into the night.

There is something hidden under the mattress, Friend noted. I haven't checked anything up close yet. I figured I'd wait for you to get here before I got too deep into this mess. I know how you enjoy bloody and messy scenes, Friend teased.

Fuck you my Friend, James replied as he took a drag. James was a little disturbed, Friend could tell. He only hoped that he wouldn't end up evacuating his stomach contents all over the evidence.

I thought you were going out of town with the wife and kiddo? James asked.

Friend paused, trying to think of a good reasonable excuse. He couldn't think of anything off the top of his head, so he went ahead and told the truth.

I had a feeling that I would be called in this weekend, so I decided to stay.

Jesus, just like about what happened at the mall, James said.

I'd rather not talk about that, Friend snapped.

James's eyebrows raised in surprise as he frowned.

Sorry partner. Didn't know that still bothered you.

Friend shook his head and took another puff of his cigarette.

I know it happened months ago, but it's still fresh in my mind man.

James shrugged and dropped the subject. He again pointed in the hotel room and said, Doesn't look like it will be easy to identify the victim unless we find some form of ID in that bloodbath.

Friend nodded as he exhaled smoke out over the balcony. He turned, leaned out and looked down at the street.

Just another cold, dead night in NYC partner, Friend said.

Whaddaya say we get started on this shit pit? James asked. The faster we get done, the faster we can head out for some coffee.

Sure, let's do it, Friend replied as he flicked his second cigarette over the side of the balcony. James did likewise and followed him back into the room. They both sighed as they looked over the room.

I'll go take a look in the bathroom if you wanna get started out here, James said as he pulled latex gloves over his hands.

Yeah sounds good, Friend replied as he did the same.

He had his eyes focused on the bed first. They separated, James headed into the bathroom while Friend pulled several pieces of paper out from under the bed. He took a glance at them all, not really paying much attention to them yet. A couple of the pieces were actually pictures taken with a Polaroid. He went back through the papers and saw that the first piece was a photocopy of a page from a book. Several things were circled in red, though nothing made sense to Friend. The next piece in the pile was a picture, and it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It was a snapshot of a man on fire. His arms were spread out from his body, bent at the elbows, raised into the air, and it looked like his face was upraised in a shout.

Friend's own dreams flashed before his eyes, and it seemed uncanny; the picture was exactly what he dreamed about almost every night lately. He stood there and stared at the picture for a few moments. What was a picture of a burning man doing under the bed? The fact that it was taken with a Polaroid was proof that whoever took the picture was there when the man caught fire. Was it blackmail? No, that didn't make sense. If that was what the killer was after, he would have taken it with him. Friend shrugged and turned to the next piece of paper. Another photocopy of a page from a book scattered with seemingly random red circles.

Holy fucking Jesus! James shouted from the bathroom.

Friend threw everything on the bed and ran into the bathroom. The patrolman from the hallway ran into the room, holding his cover on his head. When Friend turned into the bath, he saw James holding his hand to his mouth, as if he was trying to stop himself from vomiting.

What is it? Friend asked frantically.

James shook his head and backed away from the toilet room, pointing toward it. Friend moved forward and looked where James was pointing. The toilet seat was lifted up, and peering out of the toilet bowl was the head of a young woman. The mouth stretched out into a scream of utter terror, the eyes were scratched out, just seeping red holes of gore. The hair was soaked with the blood that floated around the head in an eerie way that made Friend's pulse pound. Friend's eyes widened in horror, and he quickly turned away from the toilet.

Get out! Friend yelled at the patrolman.

Yessir! was the response as he retreated to the door.

Friend motioned for James to leave the room as well. He was only too happy to oblige. Friend followed him out with a hard swallow.

When they were back in the main room, James said, Who the fuck puts a girl's head in the toilet?

Friend wondered the same thing. This whole crime scene was too extreme to be a random act of violence. The killer either knew who the victim was, or had at least planned to do it well in advance.

Why was I the dumbass who wanted to check out the bathroom? Goddamn that scared the living shit outta me! Who was the sick bastard who did this? I'm going to start taking prints. I wanna find this guy!

Friend stood there and suddenly spied something on the floor, under a side table next to the TV.

It was a Polaroid camera, and it had a tongue of a picture sticking out of it.

James, wait! Friend exclaimed. Look at this!

He bent down to grab the camera. He flipped it over so he could see the last picture that would ever be taken. He couldn't believe his eyes. James looked over his shoulder and his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

The frame depicted the door to the hotel room, open. A few paces into the room, what seemed to be the killer, looked to be running at full stride with his right arm reaching back, left stretching out to the victim. The killer had a very unusual costume on as well. A trench coat attempted to hide what looked like a lizard face wearing a fedora. The hands didn't have fingers, they were claws.

What the fuck? James whispered.

Friend was dumbfounded. The costume was so well done, he thought that a professional working in Hollywood had done it. Either that, or there was a real Lizard from Spider-Man running around New York City.

Friend spun on his heel, reaching for the other pieces on the bed. He snatched them up, comparing the new evidence to another picture he had saw in the stack. There were some distinct similarities. The stacked photo also had the same lizard looking thing crouched down in an alleyway, illuminated by a streetlamp. Off to the left of the photo, it looked like an arm was on fire. The burning man from the previously stacked photo? Were the two photos related somehow?

Friend didn't know, but he did know he needed another cigarette. It was all too much to take in all at once.

Friend set the photos on the bed and stepped out onto the balcony. He pulled two cigarettes out of his pack and handed one to James. They lit up, just staring out into the night.

James looked at his watch and said, Do you think we should call the captain?

Friend thought it over, wishing that he had some sort of idea as to what the hell had happened here and hoping that he wasn't insane after seeing the lizard man in the photos.

Yeah, I think we should James, he said. This shit is just too bizarre and I think it will take a whole team to be able to dig through all this evidence in a day.

Roger, calling him now. James said.

He stepped away to dial Captain Richardson. After a few minutes of James mumbling some questions into the phone, he hung up.

Cap said that a couple of feds are already on the way, James said, and that he will hear all about it in the morning. James said.

Feds? How are they already on the way? Friend questioned.

I dunno man, Cap didn't say.

Great, now we get to stand around while a couple federal assholes tell us we don't know how to do our job, Friend said, irked.

They stood there in silence while they smoked and wondered what agency the feds were sending. They were both betting on the FBI. Neither of them had dealt with the feds before, but had heard plenty of stories of federal agents completely taking over the investigation and leaving the local police totally out of the loop.

Let's try and get through as much of the evidence as we can before they get here, James, Friend said as he threw his cigarette out into the night.

James took one last puff and chucked his over the side as well and followed Friend back inside.

The taxi pulled up in front of the Heathman Hotel, and the driver announced, Here we are fellas! That'll be ten o five!

The young man that sat in the rear passenger seat reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty to hand to the driver.

Keep the change man, and thanks for the ride.

Thank you sir!

The young man nodded to his fellow passenger and opened his door.

The other passenger stepped out onto the pavement. He ran his fingers over his thin layer of hair and said, Well Ken, here we go! Our first official investigation! You excited?

Yeah I'm ready to see what we can do, Ken replied as he straightened his suit out and checked himself over.

Hoping we are meeting some fine women detectives are you brother? Lance teased.

Ken laughed, and replied, Nah, I'm just trying to be professional, as should you.

Yeah yeah, keep your shirt on, Lance jabbed. Everyone could use some reasonable lightheartedness every now and then. We'll see how these people are first.

He took a step, looked up, and said, Whoa, watch out Ken! Looks like our counterparts are smokers!

Ken stepped to the side as a cigarette butt landed right where he was standing. Another came falling down, but Ken held out his hand as if to catch it. The butt stopped in midair, a few inches from his palm. He smirked and made it float over the side of his hand and drop to the pavement.

Lance chuckled, and started toward the hotel.

As they walked in, the lady behind the desk asked them if she could help them with anything.

We're here to investigate the incident miss, Ken said and pulled out his badge.

SPIAR? she said curiously. Hmm, never heard of it, but I know a badge when I see one. Right this way gentlemen.

Ken thought that since everyone on the ground floor didn't know what had happened yet, that discretion would be best.

The lady guided them to the elevators and said, Twelfth floor, Room Seven was the room you're looking for.

Ken thanked her and stepped into the elevator, and Lance followed to stand beside him.

You think the cops will be suspicious of the fact that we are here already? Lance questioned. I mean, the murder happened less than an hour ago.

Ken thought about it for a moment, then replied, I don't know. I've never met the subject or his partner so I couldn't say either way. We'll find out soon enough. Keep your cool and don't let anything slip out, Lance. Remember the real reason we are here.

Lance rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah.

There was a ding and the elevator doors briskly opened before them. When he Stepped out, Ken looked at both sides, searching for Room Seven. He saw a sign pointing to the right and headed down that way, Lance in tow. A patrolman stood guard at the door.

Hello officer, we're here to help with the investigation, Ken greeted, Agent Brightniss and Agent Mariner of SPIAR, and they took out their badges to show the police officer.

With a suspicious look in his eye, the officer asked, SPIAR? What organization is that? For whom do you work?

Department of Defense, sir, Ken stated. It's a relatively new branch. Special Paranormal Investigation and Response.

The officer looked dumbfounded.

O-Okay, right this way, the guard said as he stepped aside and gestured for them to enter the hotel room.

Thank you, young chap! Lance said as he passed by with a pat on the officer's head.

Ken shook his head but continued in.

Friend and James were studying the camera again when Ken and Lance walked in.

Greetings! Ken said, Agent Brightniss and Mariner reporting to help with the investigation, and he held out his hand.

Pleased to meet you, Friend said as he shook the man's hand. I'm detective Daniel Friend, and this is my partner Roland James. We are surprised at your quick arrival. We've barely been here long ourselves.

It's quite the unusual indeed, James reiterated, looking at Ken and Lance suspiciously.

You guys FBI? James stabbed.

Ken glanced at Lance, smirking and replied, No. SPIAR.

And let us guess....you've never heard of it? Lance finished.

No, we haven't. James sputtered. Spyer you say? Like to spy on people and stuff?

Ken smiled and said, Nah nothing like that. It stands for Special Paranormal Investigation and Response.

The hell does that mean? James blurted out.

It means that they investigate very unusual cases, Friend chimed in. You guys figured out how Lee Harvey Oswald did it yet? What's at Area 51?

Ken and Lance laughed. They had both expected this kind of reaction to them, but Ken could tell that Lance was a little irritated by it.

"No, but we have discovered Sasquatch, Lance retorted, and he's being held at Area 69, around the block on Prostate Street in Your Asshole."

James started to turn red and Ken could swear he could see smoke leaking from his ears, so he decided to end it.

That's enough, Lance! We're here to help these...

Incompetent police officers? James interrupted.

You're not helping matters detective, Ken scolded, and no, I was going to say 'gentlemen'.

Friend was tired of the hostility as well, and started off by changing the subject.

All right well, we haven't been able to get through that much as we said earlier. As you can see, there are limbs strewn about all over the hotel room, and blood on everything. There are some pictures and papers underneath the mattress, a camera we found under the table over there, and the victim's head was discovered in the toilet. The sliding glass door was already shattered when we got here as well, and by the indications, it looks like the leg being thrown through broke the glass.

Ken looked around the room. Grotesque was an understatement. Body parts were everywhere, blood congealing on the bed, floor, and walls. The hand sticking out of the TV made him the most curious, as it was holding a wood post.

All right guys, Ken said. Detectives, if I could ask you to start taking fingerprints, that would be great. Lance, check out the balcony while I take a look around the room.

They all split up to do their assigned task, James mumbling something under his breath.

Ken started at the bed, pulling out papers one by one. It was a good mixture of pictures and photocopies. Polaroid pictures to be exact. Ken's eyes widened in recognition. The man who seemed to be on fire, the lizard looking thing in the alleyway. He slowly put the pictures aside, looking at the photocopies. Book pages, all from some form of supernatural tome. Circled in red, Ken could make out things like; demons, portals, summoning, energy, projection, psychic powers. Digging further under the mattress, Ken found pages of documents. There were many things lined out in black marker, making him believe that the documents were classified to a certain extent and that whoever had these were unauthorized to have them in their possession. He bit his lip as he read through the pages. They had to do with experiments, tests, and evaluations. When he got to the last page, he gasped in surprise. Circled in red was his name, Kenneth Samuel Brightniss, and at the bottom of the page, SPIAR.

CHAPTER TWO

What the hell? Ken thought. What did SPIAR have to do with this? He quickly glanced through all the papers, noticing that almost all of the documents had SPIAR written on them. There were a lot of lined out words, making it hard to see what they were about. Ken could make out a list of names and that was about it. After a few moments of standing there trying to come up with a solution, he heard