Purgatech: Jess' Horror

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan couldn't believe the amount of data that they were gathering from the users inside the house. He knew it was a windfall, exactly with what Marshall was looking for, but it still made him feel sick to his stomach.

Knowing that Jess was still in there and what her, Rob, and Grace were going through was bad enough. But seeing Erica on the feeds and that she hadn't moved in quite some time, Dylan instantly thought the worst.

He went over to Beth’s workstation and laid his hand softly on her shoulder.

"You're still monitoring the feed in the attic?"

She nodded without saying anything.

“Any movement up there?"

She turned and shook her head no a few times quickly. Her eyes were rimmed red and she bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

"What about the medics? Did you call them?"

She sniffled and wiped to her nose at the tissue quickly. "They're already on the grounds. I told them to come in the back route like you asked. They’re just waiting for our call to move in."

Dylan tried to manage a small smile and patted her on the back. "We'll let them know soon as were ready."

Dylan turned to walk away but Beth tried to stop him. "But Dylan. I'm afraid… I'm afraid it's too –"

"Don't." He snapped. "I mean… Let the medical professionals get in there and tell us what's going on with Erica, okay?"

She nodded and turned back to her computer.

Dylan couldn't think about it too much. He knew he should but he had to prioritize things and keep his head on straight. Not just for himself, but for the rest of his team in here and for those in the house still at the mercy of whatever they'd unleashed. If he didn't, he would fall apart completely and then he would be no good to anyone, especially not Jess.

When he brushed aside his thoughts, he saw the other techs engaged in a whirlwind of activity, Everyone sat hunched over their computers, talking into their headsets between one another. They were cataloging the data coming out of the gear of the team inside the house and Noah was backing up the feeds on disc so they would have all the evidence that they were gathering.

Dylan knew he was going to pull have to pull the plug on this thing eventually, but how was he supposed to know when that time came? Every night around 4 o'clock, Marshall left grounds and went to his cushy house in the suburbs. That was going to be the best time for Dylan to make his move unnoticed.

They had more than enough data to go on now. But did that even matter anymore? How long was he supposed to subject these people to the torment they were going through in that house just for the sake of making money? It was bad enough he was getting paid to do this. But knowing that Marshall was making money off the blood of others, Dylan knew he couldn't live with that on his conscience. He'd already done enough damage. Regardless of the consequences, he knew that he still had one card left to play.

As if sensing what was going on, the door to the tech room swung open and Marshall came striding in beaming from cheek to cheek. He clapped his hands together, moving into the middle of the room as though he was as though it was center stage.

"Bravo! Bravo to everyone of you for all the work you've done. What a great day this is, am I right?"

Noah turned to Dylan and gave him a wide-eyed look but didn't say anything.

"Now I know, you're all up to your elbows and work but truly, you should pat yourselves on the back for a job very well done."

When no one said anything still, Marshall turned to Dylan, his brow furrowed. "What? What did I miss?"

"You’ve been watching the feed, I assume?"

"Of course I have. That's how I've seen the remarkable footage were getting and data were getting from inside the house."

"Oh well then then I assume you seen what happened to Erica?"

"Is that the old lady?"

Dylan clenched both hands into fists at his side to keep himself from striking out at Marshall.

"No sir," Noah said, jumping into the conversation when he saw Dylan's reaction. "That's the girl up in the attic."

"Oh, the one who fell. Yes I did see that what happened but I'm sure she's going to be okay. You saw her respond her friend. She probably just got knocked out, that's all."

Dylan shook his head. Confronting Marshall again wouldn't even make a difference. He had tunnel vision. He’d had it this entire time. It was all about getting to market, about flooding the marketplace with his products. That was all that he cared about. It didn't matter what happened to anyone in that house. It sure as hell didn't matter to him what happened to the last group of subjects who he’d sent into that house. To Renee and the others. It didn’t matter what Jim did to them or the fact that he was under the effects of the power in the house which Marshall had helped them to unleash.

Oblivious to it all, Marshall continued to stand there, beaming like he had just won the lottery or something.

"Keep up the good work, people,” he said. “I want a report by the end of the day, Nixon. Got it?"

He spun around and swept out of the room like he was some royal consort. Dylan started after him. Noah jumped up from his work station and tried to go after Dylan and stop him. He grabbed onto his arm and pulled him, trying to keep him from leaving the room.

"Dylan, man. You saw him. It’s not going to make any difference what you do to him. All you’re going to do is get yourself arrested, believe that."

Dylan knew Noah was right. But Marshall was just so smug.

"Come on man. Let's just follow your directive to keep the people safe until we can get them out of there okay?"

Dylan nodded, it took everything in him not to go after Marshall and kick his ass once and for all but he knew he had to be smart about this.

"You guys keep doing what you're doing,” Dylan said, “You're doing an excellent job. I just…I need to get some fresh air."

Noah eyed him suspiciously but Dylan managed a weak smile and nodded to him. "Don't worry. I'm okay."

But as Dylan left the room he knew he wasn't okay. He would never be okay, not after what he'd seen, not after what he'd done.

By the time he made it outside, his head was swirling. Every muscle in his body ached from the tension he'd been holding inside. As he stood there looking up at the Ridgely estate, he could feel the pull within his bones to get in there. Just run up to the front door, kick it in and get in there and pull everyone out. Screw Marshall. Screw his bullshit threats. Nothing was worth this.

Dylan paced up back-and-forth along the gravel. It was freezing cold outside and pitch black but he didn't care. As he went around the side of the building, he came upon he could hear the faint voice of somebody inside. He looked up and realized he was directly under Marshall’s office window. Dylan rolled his eyes. He was probably on the phone to one of his investors, bragging about what was going on in the house and how they're going to make so much money. But when Dylan stood there and started listening a while, he realized it was much worse.

"That's right. Were going to go to market sooner than we thought. I know this sounds ludicrous but you've seen this footage I sent you, haven't you? Right, well it's all there in black-and-white. No, none of that's faked. It's all real and it’s happening right now in the house as we speak."

It figured he was bragging about what was going on in the house even when people were getting hurt. Dylan was pretty sure Marshall wasn't telling anyone about that. His investors would pull out so fast his head would freaking spin.

"Oh that's the thing. It's genius really. The general public have believed in ghosts forever, right? Well now when they see the footage and realize ghosts really do exist, they’re going to be snapping up every one of our products as fast as we can get them off the assembly line.”

Marshall cackled like a sadistic jerk. Dylan spun around in his spot. He needed to hit something, anything.

“We start out at the special introductory price and then when demand is at its peak, we increase the price tenfold. But that's just the start of it. People are going to realize that not only are the spirits real but our gadgets actually open those portals. That they allow those spirits to escape from the plane they exist on. That's the thing though. Think of it as a tube of toothpaste. You can't put the toothpaste back in once it’s squeezed out, can you?"

Holy s**t, Dylan thought.

This isn’t just about making money. It’s about creating the problem and its solution. Marshall wasn’t just trying to make money. He was preying on the beliefs of innocent people, giving them the tools to unleash a darkness on themselves and then forcing them to come back to him for the only way to get rid of it.

“It won’t work,” Dylan said to himself. “Jess and Rob and the others haven’t been able to even get past that thing up there, let alone get rid of it.”

Marshall continued with his boast-fest inside. "That's when we unleash our second wave of technology. The gadgets the people need to track, communicate with and eradicate those spirits. The thing is, you'll never be able to get rid of them. They’ll keep buying our products because they’re the only thing that will get rid of the very things they unleash. By the time they realize it's too late, it won't matter anymore. Not to us anyway, not to our investors. Think of the millions…no, billions of dollars well rake in. The general public will snap them up because they're that stupid and they’ll hold onto that tiny semblance of hope that one day, they’ll still be able to conjure up the spirits of their dead granny and grampy.”

Dylan felt sick. He staggered away from the window toward the front door of the offices. So, that's what Marshall had planned all along. It wasn't to make money on these gadgets. It wasn't just to corner the market with some new fad that would cater to those who believed in something that existed beyond this life into the next. It was that having used those gadgets, they would have no choice but to rely on Purgatech to help them deal with whatever they’d unleashed.

Dylan stood there looking up at the house. It stood against the night sky like an unbeatable foe, it’s brick facade all harsh angles and its windows like menacing eyes staring back at him.

The question in Dylan’s mind was which foe would be more formidable…the house and the spirits they’d unleashed or Marshall?

More importantly, would Dylan be able to stand up to either?