Falling back into old habits. Sorry for the late update (not six months late this time but late all the same) My laptop keyboard is now fixed. Yay.
I predict only one more chapter (maybe two) as long as there are no more flash backs. They keep finding their way in. I made a list of things to achieve in this chapter and by the end managed to get the first one. Damn you back stories!

Chapter 14

It almost felt as if the offending noise came from inside her own head, like it was trying to get out. Things had tried to get out before but she hadn't let them. There had been times of course when these things had escaped, tried to stop her from doing what she had to do, but she got them back and she held them. Megan thought about this while she stood in front of the door to the basement. Was it better to think that things were the product of your own mind? That everything was part of a personal world? She had always thought not, but maybe that wasn't so. Maybe it was more comforting to think it was in your head and you could just wish it away.

She remembered what her grandmother used to tell her before she died. Megan remembered little of her now, she had only been small at the time of her death, but could easily recall the chilling tales of a monster which once terrorised their town. This monster was in fact only a man, Mark Fillisk. A quiet, unassuming business man who, as her grandmother had put it, had a run in with the crazies. He shot two junior high school students, a young Biology teacher and the schools janitor (who was lucky enough to escape with only a flesh wound). It was said that his ghost would come and terrorise children who do not behave as they should. 'He's out there' she heard he grandmother whisper as a cold wind would echo through the chimney and chill the room, and for a second Megan's gaze would linger on the window. He's waiting for you to slip that candy from the shop into your pocket, for you to take that shortcut through the alleyways and then he's gonna getchya! If you're not good it'll be his face you see grinning in the window.

Of course Megan soon realised she was under no threat from Fillisk. He had killed himself before the police got him over five years ago. He was dead, long gone, and as time passed even the children of Mayfair began to realise this. But a monster is never really dead, her grandmother would tell her. Even the dead tell stories. Megan had thought about this for a while, and sometimes thought about it still. Things are never really finished.

But the ghost of Mark Fillisk had been fictional, the danger and fear all in her head, and once Megan realised this she had not given the man, dead or otherwise, another thought. He had been wished away, just as she thought she had been able to do with so many things. They all seemed to be slithering back now. Seeping through her tired armour and settling around her brain. Everything she thought and hoped she had lost for good,but even the dead tell stories. Even after the Fillisk house had long stood empty, even after the children's screams had died, even after the hammer came down, the trigger pulled, the holes dug, after everyone in that godforsaken town had forgotten the name Megan O'Hara and what passed in court that day.

Thud… thud… thud…

Maybe the devil had finally found her. All those slight glimpses and blurred smudges at the edge of her sight and he was finally here. Waiting for her. Waiting for her to open the door to her own damnation. Maybe she had done wrong after all.

…

The clock read 5:48, nearly two hours since they left but Cho was suspicious the clock was lying. Miles of endless countryside could add hours to a journey. They hadn't even seen a gas station since they left the main road.

"You could at least admit you're lost," he said, not turning from the passenger window. "It's the first step to acceptance."

"I'm not lost. The Satnav knows what it's doing." Rigsby replied, squinting into the distance.

"We should have been there by 5:00."

"There's a sign up a head. At least that must mean we're close to something."

Cho directed his eyes to the road without turning his head. There was a plaque shaped blob hovering above the road, shimmering in the heat. Glancing at the screen of the Satnav he saw that it still showed their triangle moving optimistically towards its destination, which was somewhere beyond the edge of the screen.

Rigsby leant forward in the driving seat and squinted at the fast approaching sign, now wiggling in a less frantic dance. The landscape had been be gradually dissolving into scrubland and was now looking a hell of a lot like a desert.

"Santa Rosa! See I told you I knew where we were going!" Rigsby exclaimed, pointing at the sign triumphantly. Cho looked up as they passed.

Santa Rosa
42 miles

"Damn Satnav…"

…

Megan stood in the basement doorway, the door still vibrating as if distressed and offended at the manner in which it had been opened. She had expected to find hell waiting for her on the other side, the devil grinning wolfishly exposing row upon row of sickeningly white pointed teeth, beckoning her inside with one long crooked finger. She had expected the corpses of Sarah and Clarice and all the others to come stumbling towards her. Their skin rotting, their eyes glazed and distant, their skulls collapsing and their broken limbs dragging behind them like chains. She had expected a monster with jaws that bite and claws that scratch, had expected Mark Fillisk wielding the razor he used to kill himself, had expected rats and roaches and rabid dogs. For her very soul to be wrenched and twisted from her body.

Only when the light from the hall illuminated the stairs and she watched stunned and shaking as an old matted tennis ball rolled down the stairs and was swallowed by the gloom did she realise she may have been a little dramatic in her imaginings. She had always been prone to exaggeration but in her later years her imagination seemed to be taking dramatic to a whole new level, and Megan recognised this. Somewhere she was still seven years old and hooking a chair under the doorknob of the closet in her room. Somewhere she still believed that if she moved the chair now the bogeyman would still be waiting for her. Megan thought her mind even less rational now as it had been at seven… it was probably those damned kids. Or old Lucy Thatcher, she was always trying to get the best of me. Tried to get me that day on the stand.

It vaguely occurred to Megan that old Lucy Thatcher was probably long dead. She had been old then and that was a good 40 years ago. And good riddance to her too.

It was at this thought Megan began to make her way down the stairs, noticing each groaning creak as her weight hit the steps which sagged gently but threateningly in the middle. Hadn't she put someone down here? The young policeman perhaps? No. That was too long ago, he was with the others. This was the woman. Megan had intended to deal with her later but her chores had a way of escaping her. They always had, and Megan still heartily believed someone was stealing her thoughts. They were getting good at it too.

As the step's groan ended with a sharp crack she quickly stepped onto the cold floor, feeling its chill through the thin soles of her shoes. Cold, but solid. It was dark in the basement, and the light hadn't worked in years. Megan looked accusingly at the shattered bulb as it swayed gently in the draft left by the open door. Although providing adequate air flow the door did little to illuminate the gloomy room, the light from the hallway merely dusting the first few steps with its glow before fading.

Megan began to move tentatively towards where she had left the body, shuffling her feet and stretching her arms out in front of her while waving them as if having to physically move the air out of the way in order to progress.

She stopped suddenly. Arms flailing in an attempt to keep her balance at such an abrupt and unexpected halt. She could see the wall in front of her, quite clearly in fact. It's pale plaster contrasting with the dark stone floor. Her eyes must have adjusted suddenly. However it was not so much the sudden appearance of the wall that had Megan puzzled, but rather the distinct lack of a crumpled shape on the floor. Megan knew the body had been there, she was the one who had left it crumpled. The woman had been dead hadn't she? Megan wondered as she turned her back to the wall. She had checked that hadn't she? Surely she had. She always checked.

What if the body had been stolen? She considered as she felt her back thud against the plaster. No, that wasn't possible. Could the body have been possessed? Was it Sarah? Or Clarice? Or Mark Fillisk come to get her? She imagined him, his head lolling on one side exposing the rip in his throat he had cut with a razor, eyes rolling.But the body would be that of the woman. Would his injuries be transferred, would the eyes still roll?

She heard a soft scraping and hoped it was a sound she had not been meant to hear, and not a sound intended to scare. Hoped it was a sound that would give her an advantage. She looked in its direction. Had the noise come from one of the boxes? She couldn't quite see them but she knew where they were.

Maybe there were rats. She had sometimes found holes at the corners, the edges jagged. She had put traps down but always found them untouched in the morning. They were sneaky, she'd give them that. With her back still firmly pressed to the wall, Megan stretched one foot out and brought it back down lightly, expecting a shrill squeak to fill the room. Her foot touched the floor without a sound. She was beginning to be able to see more clearly in the dim light and could now make out the vague lines of the boxes.

There was that sound again. A sharp scraping, a quick shuffling. Something moving, maybe dragging itself across the floor. Both legs broken from the fall into the quarry, or eyes bulging and lips turned blue from suffocation. A thin bruise around the neck where the bag had cut in.

The outlines of the boxes were moving. Shifting and sliding in and out of each other. Swimming backwards and forwards. The shuffling started again. Megan sprang forward at the wavering shapes with a loud harsh cry.

"Call me unstable?" She yelled. "UNSTABLE AM I LUCY? UNPREDICTABE? VIOLENT?"

As she made a grab for the boxes she was knocked to the side and landed with a thud. Grappling with the floor, fingernails scraping across the stone in a series of shrieks, gauging jagged lines. Megan began to right herself only to be knocked back on her side, her ribs crunching painfully. She glimpsed a pale, ghostlike hand and a flash of dark hair as her hand stuck out blindly, colliding with something soft.

It's Sarah! She's come back to get me. They've all come, they'll drag me back with them. Back to wherever they came from.

Megan sprang back to her feet and stumbled towards the shadowed figure, but was stopped by a swift kick to her stomach. Doubling over but retaining her balance, her eyes darted to find the woman at the bottom of the stairs. Lunging after her, Megan suddenly felt her body slamming against the floor as her feet flew from under her.

She's got my legs! She'll drag me back!

Megan heard a loud cracking sound in her head before she lost consciousness.
The tennis ball rolled swiftly towards the wall before bouncing triumphantly against it.
Lisbon leapt up the stairs before falling through the open door to the hall on the other side.