Just Desserts

Our Very Own Hannibal

Ben Collerd muttered under his breath an understandable complaint about having to work this late at night. The sleek digital clock standing upright on his desk displayed the miserable numbers nine and forty-five. Ben should be at home, relaxing in front of his fireplace--fake fireplace--not worrying about a series of misfiled reports. His salary wasn't worth this, his thoughts grumbled. Not even an executive's salary. Ben turned to open one of the many black filing cabinets in his large office, momentarily presenting the door with his back. As he rummaged through the papers, he became aware of the prickling sensation up the back of his neck that only appears when your brain notices there's someone watching you.

After a second or two, the feeling faded, and Ben shrugged it off as an overreaction to the lateness of the hour. Far more importantly, the reports he was looking for were in fact missing. He looked again in the folder reserved for that date, but there were six reports when there should be nine. His secretary must have misplaced them, which only added to his aggravation. He turned around and picked up his office telephone, reasoning that if someone had had the audacity to call him at nine thirty at night, then calling his absent-minded employee at nine forty-five was perfectly acceptable. As he stood there drumming his fingers on his desk, waiting for that lout to pick up the phone, the prickling feeling returned. Ben glanced around, trying to ignore his heart rate, which had just spiked.

The phone rang to voicemail, and Ben muttered a curse as he hung up. He'd deal with his secretary and these damn reports in the morning. What was he thinking, coming to the office when he should be in his pajamas and slippers at home? Shaking his head, he grabbed his jacket from off the back of his leather office chair and headed out the door. He had only gotten a few feet from his door when a noise made him stop.

The prickling feeling came back now with threefold strength, making every hair on his body stand on end. As he listened, the noise identified itself as the low, guttural hoots and growls of . . . monkeys? Ben's forehead began to sweat. He suddenly had to go to the bathroom very badly. But he refused, as most men of his age and position do, to give into his body's sensible and usually correct suggestion that he should turn right back around and leave. Instead, Ben followed his ears. He followed that off-beat, primeval chant all the way through his office building and into the adjoining lab building. The lab building? That couldn't be right. Sure, there were some rats and mice in there, but not monkeys.

The noise crescendoed as he scanned his keycard and pulled open the door to the largest testing lab. The hoots became cries and screeches, echoing through the room and through Ben's mind. He covered his ears, but the volume remained the same, as if the unseen primates were inside his head. Or . . . were they unseen? Through eyes squinted in discomfort, Ben looked around the dark room and saw shadows darting around the tables and equipment, moving freely and easily, as if they were swinging through branches. The shadows came closer and closer, and now Ben could catch a glimpse of eyes or the flash of huge canine teeth as the screaming and shrieking grew even louder.

The first stab of pain came when one of the dark shapes pulled his leg out from under him and he hit the hard floor with a jolt. The cacophony of not quite human voices was joined by one horrible, very human scream--just for a brief moment--then it was silenced forever, lost to the chorus of shrieking voices.

~+~

Chloe Decker ducked under the yellow police tape and into the brightly lit lab. The place wasn't anything special, unless you count the swarm of police and the red mess spread across the once-pristine floor. Chloe arched an eyebrow and steeled herself for an inspection. Their lead forensic, Ella, was already crouched on the floor with her camera, snapping away. She glanced up and smiled at her when she stopped over her.