When Spirits Beckon

When Spirits Beckon, Part 2, Chapter 8

2 February, 9.38am

"What's new?" Justin Warnes asked Henrietta Bowman as he stepped into the office.

"A good morning would be nice, young man," chastised Henrietta with a smile, and Justin had the grace to blush sheepishly. Waving his apology away, she continued: "We may have a serious email virus attack. Barry and Tim are looking into it right now at Tim's office."

"The spam man and the techie; sounds like an all-day affair if you ask me. I'd better check with them on how long the email service will be down. Any other assignments for me today?"

"Just one in the afternoon; two sharp at WYDOT's press room. That is unless something else comes up."

"Okay, you know where to find me if anyone calls."

Justin, the crime and state government reporter, had gone out to cover a three-car pile-up near a gas station earlier. It was a rare enough event to merit news coverage, even though slick roads continued to be a hazard as winter drew to a close. Feeling that he had already done his fair share for the day of stomping around in the cold snow, he was glad that WYDOT (Wyoming State Department of Transport) had something scheduled for the day. It was probably more traffic routing changes, as WYDOT was experimenting with the creation of equine walkways to attract more tourists during the coming summer.

Draping his jacket over the back of his chair and tossing the gloves onto his table, he placed the VT that the cameraman Reggie Muldane had given him to take back to edit, as Reggie had called the station and was sent to cover another assignment. He glanced at the broadcasts of the station's programming, plus that of the other three national networks and ever-ubiquitous CNN, on the TV monitors hanging from the ceiling in the newsroom as he strode towards Tim's room. There wasn't anything interesting on and when he turned the corner in the corridor, he saw that as usual, the blinds and the door were shut tight, but there was some kind of orange glow outlining the slat edges.

Justin knocked on the door, but there was no reply. He repeated the knocking a bit louder, then placed his ear closer to the door – listening for any reaction from inside in case the response was muffled. Still hearing no voices, he turned the doorknob and found it unlocked.

As he swung the door open, he was momentarily blinded by the glow that had filled the whole room in bright orange. As his vision cleared, he saw the light source seemed to be the computer monitor near one corner of the room. Clearly seen in profile was Tim slumped sideways in a chair facing the monitor. Barry was in a loose heap on the floor behind him. Aiming to find out what had happened to his colleagues, Justin rushed into the room – and the last thing he remembered was that his legs felt odd and the room was whirling ...

2 February, 9.44am

Having soothed ruffled feathers down in the broadcast unit for authorizing Barry Steven's piece, despite not having anything ready for broadcast, Eric Lacostit headed to the reception area. "Has anyone returned from their morning assignments yet?" he asked Henrietta.

"Yep, Justin came in a short while ago. He's at Tim's room, Barry's there too, checking on the email situation."

"Thanks." Picking up the phone next to Henrietta, Eric dialed Tim's extension and stood there tapping absentmindedly on the countertop, waiting for someone to answer the call. "That's odd, no one is picking up the phone."

"Let me try again," said Henrietta, punching some keys on her receptionist console. "There had been no calls made from or answered on that extension all morning, and I see three missed calls already to that extension. You're right, it is unusual. Tim always answers his calls, even if only to say he's busy. Do you think something's up?"