The Ladies Cavalier was everything Frank wanted his own to be: rich, famous…rich. Testament to their wealth was the artefact that they now wielded, the small magical map; looking much like a tambourine, it used coloured grains of some substance to etch a depiction of their location upon its surface, then also forming a series of small orbs to represent any people within the area, each bauble moving to match their current position as they progressed.
And only people, he noticed, the pretty picture absent any representation moving rapidly or stalking any other of the orbs upon it.
Seven pellets representing their small band, and four more to represent what should have been fifty-three other freelancers who were supposed to have been on this floor.
Frank watched as two of those little balls suddenly crumbled, a third then following soon after. The fourth lingered for some moments, twisting and shifting erratically, then moving rapidly as it attempted to outrace some unseen threat. Frank looked away before it could succumb to whatever befell the others.
“Right, then; gentlemen,” Heather Wolfe addressed the group, “back downstairs?”
The question was rhetorical, there was no way that they were going to try and venture through a floor already having been swept clear by whatever was stalking them. The group turned as one to the door behind them, Germain already in the midst of pulling it open.
“Frank!” Danny Called out.
As he and the others turned again, Frank saw something beyond the light coming down towards him. He dove to the left, holding his lantern out high in the opposite direction to prevent it from breaking. A loud, deafening bang echoed out as the thing crashed down, screams issuing forth as it did—the sound of Germain’s dominating the others by far.
They recovered themselves quickly, they formed up as they scanned their surroundings for whatever was assailing them, their effort to do so greatly hampered by the all-pervading darkness obscuring the museum’s interior.
“God’s breath, his leg!”
Frank turned to see one of the Cavaliers kneeling by the door, a play of shadows dancing across it as the people around shifted back and forth, the lanterns held before them in search of whatever had caused the thing to fall creating a twisted projection of their bodies with their combined light.
The thing had been a large wooden pole of some sort. Ornately carved. One of the Redman’s totems, if any were to guess. It had landed directly onto the door, wedging itself deep within the now damaged barrier, though to what extent, Frank could not say for certain, the reach of the poor yellow glow of the lanterns not strong enough to reveal it without withdrawing one from their combined defence.
“Gods’ sake, I can’t move it alone,” the woman cried out. “Wolfe?!”
“Someone help her?! Men?!”
Frank stared at her.
“I assure you, Mr Sullivan, even a mere woman can hold a lantern! Now if you please?”
His questioning look had not been for the capabilities of her gender but for the small silver chain dangling from the same hand with which she grasped her lantern’s handle, a small silver bell, barely the size of a thimble, hanging from its end.
Chastising himself for his inappropriate greed, Frank turned towards his partner, Donny already in the midst of attempting…something.
Frank bent over the pole to get a better look, resting his hand on the object for balance, the woman and his friend busy on the other side of it.
A muffled scream filled the air. Frank pulled back as he heard the third man of their group begin swearing up a storm. Germain had tried making it through the door before the totem hit...and almost did. Unfortunately, in their line of work, no one gave out medals for ‘almost’.
The man’s leg was near bent sideways, the twisted limb the only part of Germain still remaining upon this side, the door having all but severed the thing as it had forced the red-coloured barrier shut. Thankfully, that same force was keeping the injury under pressure, the nasty wound bleeding little to nothing as he lay there.
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“Something, at least,” Frank said to himself.
“It’s stuck fast! Someone needs to break it.”
“Godsdamnit, we don’t have time,” Frank swore.
“He’s your man! You wanna leave him?!” the unknown woman chastised.
Frank bit his lip. He gave his partner a look, Donny visibly agreeing with what he already thought, but neither of the men daring to give voice to that shared opinion.
“Bend it,” Frank realised, “we’ll never move this thing. Get it open enough for Germain to pull his leg through. ...Germain?! You got a belt?!”
“I’m not always broke like you, Frank! Of course I have a damn belt!”
“We get this thing open, you use it…”
“I KNOW, GET ON WITH IT!”
Frank nodded to Donny, the tall man raising himself to his full height then. Taking a step back and then forward, the man thrust his leg into the offending barrier in front of him with all his might.
A loud bang issued forth then as both Germain and Donny screamed.
“What the hell?!” Frank exclaimed as his hand shot to his right ear.
“It’s metal!” Donny screamed.
“What?!”
“It’s metal! The damn door’s made of metal!”
“Who the hell makes a door out of metal?!”
Neither of the men had been the ones to open any of the doors—Frank thinking The Ladies Cavalier not the types to appreciate chivalry from a lower-class bum such as himself, and Donny not one for caring about such civilities—up here or downstairs—with both of the men barely having given the objects a second thought as they focused on more important concerns. If they had, maybe one of them could have come up with some way of dealing with a barrier made of the much sought-after material beforehand, but right now, with no clue as to what to do to free their temporary companion, their next choice became clear.
“Gentlemen.”
It was all Ms. Wolfe said, the woman being of the same mind and experience as the two of them.
Still, no one gave voice to their shared thought. Being a bastard was all well and good when your actions did not really matter, but in situations like these? Even freelancers had to sleep at night.
Donny dropped another French stick, the harshness of its illumination still as blinding as ever despite their increasing familiarity with it.
Hopefully, it would keep Germain safe long enough for help to arrive.
Frank wanted to kick himself for having the thought. He was leaving the man to die, the least he could do was own up to it.
Everyone shared a look then, a moment’s hesitation before they did what they were about to do, the sound of Germain hitting his fist against the floor as he, too, no doubt realised what was about to happen.
Frank considered saying something, then thought better of it. He was about to nod to Donny for them to leave when something else then came flying out of the darkness. Nothing so large as the totem had been; it was palm-sized and light, but heavy enough that it easily knocked the sun-bright stick out of the way when it made its impact, the military’s gift then flying away from them, hitting the leg of one of the ladies as it did so.
“Bloody hell!” The woman screamed as her leg shot up from the pain, hand clutching the limb as she was forced to give a sharp hop to maintain her balance.
They formed up again, Germain calling out from behind the door in confusion.
Two of the women, one of them the girl who had been injured, uncapped three of the French sticks each in what seemed like the blink of an eye, dropping them to the left, right and centre of their positions as they set up a new perimeter.
“MR. SULLIVAN?! Any Ideas?! I would suggest making for the exit, but given the absence of our peers, I feel that might be foolhardy; and I can hardly imagine none of them thought to try the windows?!”
“Survive!” Frank yelled back as several more objects came flying out of the black shroud pressing in on the distorted orb of light produced by their combined illumination.
None hit, either the sticks or them.
Baby Doll uncapped another one and tossed it in the direction from where those objects had originated from, the small woman having quite the throwing arm on her.
Nothing happened then, other than some light appearing in the distance—but nothing more. No screams of some unearthly entity, no visions of some shadowy being fading into nothingness, just more damnable nothing.
And even more wretched silence.
They waited—to see if the attacks would resume—to see if it was over.
Nothing.
They waited more still in silent expectation.
And again, nothing but silence.
Ms. Wolfe turned to say something, her words going amiss as a flurry of minuscule objects—metal, wood and ceramic, then assailed them from all around like a hailstorm, the impacts of the various items certain to leave bruises come the morning. A suffering any of them would gladly take on if it meant that they could see that hour. They had no choice but to bear the attacks as running off now was certain to see any who foolishly did so easily fall victim to whatever was out there: no doubt what the wretched force assailing them hoped for, but the number of small objects seemed to be without end, and even a pocket watch could prove itself lethal if one was of a mind to attempt its use.
They needed to do something? Anything?
Whatever was out there either apparently grew bored or had failed to find any further suitable projectiles, the thing then sending a large wooden stand at them. It clipped one of the Ladies in the side, the woman dropping her lantern thanks to the impact, the tool of glass and metal breaking upon the floor beneath her, oil igniting and spreading out as it spilt from its container. The liquid bloomed into an awful flower of yellow and orange that blinded some, but did so much worse to others.
The poor woman lit up like a bonfire, her expensive clothing and high-end perfumes doing her no favours as they helped to spread the flame, her screams bringing a halt to their assault. The rest of the group retreated from the display as she performed her wretched dance across the floor, scattering in all directions in fear and panic.
It was not the only fire present, a small part of Frank’s mind noted as he fled. In their search for survival, none of them had given thought to what made up their current surroundings, the museum having had many a well-worn carpet lain down upon its cold marbled floors. Baby Doll’s earlier toss had landed directly on top of one, the ignited head and the weave beneath it then getting on like lovers in the night. The flame born from that meeting was slow going thanks to the age of the material and the well-trodden dirt embedded within, but it was certain to accelerate once the heat of the area grew greater.
So, Frank now had the choice of dying by monster or by fire. Not the options he had been hoping for.
“More light, at least…,” he muttered, nearly biting his tongue as he ran.
It would be some time before fatigue forced him to slow his pace, the man then forced to perform a geriatric shuffle as he tried to keep going despite his exhaustion, his fear of what had just happened and the fear of his now far more dangerous situation keeping him from his need to rest, his heart pounding like some unattended child’s drum. Frank’s lamp, still intact, did little to illuminate the area, the unnatural darkness somehow dampening I, and though still in possession of his map, without a point of reference to compare it to, he was, for all intents and purposes, running blind.
Given the direness of his current situation, Frank then did what any other man in his situation would have done: he found a large closet of some sort, an artefact on display or storage for one, and hid himself within it.