section7mfu | The Boo from U.N.C.L.E. Chapter 2

I love posting on October 13th, the second spookiest day of the month even when it isn't on a Friday! Buwahaha....

I don't know if this is strong enough for a "Gen-Mature", but because of a couple of paragraphs I figured I'd better just be on the safe side and use it....

By Lucky_Ladybug

“Dead?!” the Security guard cried as soon as Napoleon made his announcement.

“Yes,” Napoleon insisted. “You remember, don’t you, Illya? It happened when Mr. Waverly’s brother-in-law was running a hustle on us to whip us into shape, so to speak. One of Dr. Egret’s minions was a mole here at U.N.C.L.E. and saw to it that Riley was murdered.”

“I remember.” Illya glowered at the screen. “And I can see that is his likeness.”

“You were the one who first noticed it,” Napoleon said.

“But I cannot explain it.” Illya folded his arms.

“Are you saying you still don’t believe in ghosts, my skeptical partner?”

“Of course I do not believe in them,” Illya snapped. “I do not know what caused the phenomenon we witnessed on the video screen, but there must be other explanations. Perhaps it’s some sort of projection.”

“Perhaps . . . but a projection couldn’t leave such deep and painful marks on people’s bodies,” Napoleon mused.

“I suppose you’re going to say that you believe in ghosts,” Illya frowned, “although that is completely illogical. A ghost has no physical form. You could not feel its touch the same as you could feel a living person’s.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” Napoleon frowned.

“I know that I don’t know what to think,” the Security officer exclaimed, clearly disturbed. “All I know is that I don’t like it.”

“There is something else to consider,” Napoleon mused. “Why would Riley come after his former fellow U.N.C.L.E. agents? He wouldn’t have any reason to. Not unless he blames one or more of us for his death.”

“It is a disgrace to Riley’s memory to consider such a thing,” Illya frowned. “What is more likely is that someone living wants us to think it’s Riley’s ghost.”

“Then the next question becomes, why would they want that?” Napoleon ran through the possibilities in his mind. “Do they blame us for Riley’s death and they want us to suffer because of it?”

“Why should they?” Illya retorted. “And unless they are also U.N.C.L.E., they shouldn’t be able to roam freely enough in here to create the disturbances we’ve seen tonight.”

“Good point.” Napoleon looked around in concern. “I’d say this development has opened several new cans of worms. We may have an interior problem and not have even realized it.”

“Maybe now would be a good time to call Mr. Waverly?” the guard quavered.

Illya picked up the nearest telephone. “The line is dead.”

“So they’re sealing us off with no means of communicating with the outside world,” Napoleon mused. “But why?”

The backup lights flickered and dangerously dimmed, but this time did not go entirely out. At the same time, a strange presence entering the area caused everyone to turn and look towards the open doorway.

The Security guard swore in horrified disbelief. Napoleon and Illya stared, unsure what to make of it.

The figure standing before them looked rather like a zombie, with decaying skin, sunken eyes, and head tilted to the side. But then he moved, focusing on the two U.N.C.L.E. agents, and gave a chilling smirk. The skin mended and the blue eyes regained their luster.

“Well,” said Napoleon, “that’s useful.”

“It is a trick,” Illya spat. “None of this is real. It cannot be!”

“Especially since you killed him during The Odd Man Affair?” Napoleon said in a low voice.

“Especially because of that,” Illya agreed.

As if in response to their exchange, the spectre untied his torn trenchcoat and began to pull it open. It was then that Napoleon noticed the blood that was starting to seep out and stain the cloth. The thick liquid was also spreading across the other clothes, originating from a gaping wound in the visitor’s stomach. He stood, letting the group process what they were seeing before he threw what looked like an umbrella with an exposed dagger straight at Illya with the dagger pointing up in the air. “Catch.”

Illya did . . . or at least, he tried to. The strange weapon passed right through his hand and clattered to the floor.

That did it. The guard drew his weapon and fired once, twice, three times point-blank at the wraith, with no results.

“I don’t think you’re helping,” Napoleon warned.

“This is too much of a coincidence,” Illya said icily. “I do not believe you’re real.”

“Believe what you like.” The ghost continued to smirk at him. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of strange things tonight, Kuryakin. All of you are. An entire rogue’s gallery of people connected to you who died. Fellow agents, enemy agents, innocents. . . . Were there ever any innocents who died?”

Illya’s eyes narrowed even more.

“. . . And why is this happening?” Napoleon asked. “Are we being blamed for these deaths?”

“Some of them you were responsible for, no doubt about it! But that doesn’t mean you’re being blamed, no. It just means the veil between the planes is very thin, as you said, Solo.” The phantom took several steps forward.

“Then perhaps you would like to close it up again,” Illya said. His voice was still a block of ice.

A shrug. “I don’t have the power to do that. There is at least one true enemy here tonight. I’ll tell you that much. It’s someone you’ve met before. And you may have to believe in things you don’t want to believe in and even ask for help from some of the dearly departed to triumph over your nemesis.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be good enough to tell us who that is,” said Napoleon.

“I don’t know who it is. They didn’t give me their name or their specific grievance. But are you saying that you can’t even do enough detective work to figure it out?” The ghost looked amused. “Maybe U.N.C.L.E. agents are only good for gutting people.”

Illya took a step forward now, his eyes dark.

Napoleon got between them. “Alright, Mr. Ecks. There’s no need to egg Illya on. Nothing serious has happened yet, but the next incident could be disastrous. Is this enemy out for blood? And are they willing to harm even the innocent to have it?”

“Napoleon, you can’t trust anything he says,” Illya objected. “You know what he was in life.”

“I want to hear what he will say,” Napoleon replied. “Then I will decide whether to believe it or not.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Ecks. “They are out for blood.” He folded his arms. “And no, Kuryakin, it isn’t me.”

Illya scowled. “Perhaps it is Mr. Wye then.”

“No,” Ecks snapped, his amusement gone. “It isn’t him.”

“Always protective of each other, aren’t you?” Napoleon commented.

Ecks started to fade into the darkness of the corridor. “If I were you, I’d start digging into your records,” he hissed. “I don’t know who’s out for your blood, but you do. You just don’t know that you know it. And if you’re not careful, you’re both going to end up joining me before the night’s out.”

Then he was gone, his last chilling words echoing down the lonely hall.