12:09am
It was a dark, lonely night for Peter Axon, who lay alone reading on the leather couch. Page after page he turned, trying not to think about the long day that he knew crept closer and closer. After three hours of reading reports, theories and Case Manager's log transcripts, he groaned to himself, lay his head back on the pillow and fell asleep within minutes. 
Awakening with a start, Peter sat up quickly, his heart racing. Still mostly asleep, he stood up, knocking half a dozen file folders to the floor. "Son of a--," he started to say, but then realized he was alone. He felt alone, too, for on the inside was a fear so deep and unforgiving he could not identify it. He crouched on his knees, and started cleaning up the papers. After he was done, he put the folders on the glass-topped coffeetable in front of him, and lay back down on the couch. He looked warily at the digital clock, which he could see on the small table at the other end of the couch, between his feet. The glowing numbers read 2:13am. The numbers swam out of focus, doubled, and disappeared as Peter fell into the deep, dark chasm of sleep.
Three hours later Peter woke up, rubbing his eyes and stretching. He rejected the thought of sleep, for he knew he would only be plagued by the reoccurring nightmare that had been haunting him for the past two weeks. He had noticed that the dream was affecting his work in the field, but he hoped that his teammates with the Office of Scientific Investigation and Research hadn't noticed.
He walked sleepily through the darkness of the house (it wasn't his, but he was 'house-sitting' for his friend who was on vacation) to the bathroom, and looked at his face in the mirror. It was a reflection of a work-stressed man, and he didn't like it. He took a long shower and dressed for the day ahead. He wore blue jeans, a maroon dress shirt, and a yellow-gold splattered blue tie. He combed his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, shaved, brushed his teeth and went back into the living room. He picked up the file folders from the coffeetable and put on his shoes and black suede jacket at the door.
Outside it was raining, leaving a dreary grayness everywhere. He quickly headed to his friend's truck, which he was allowed to use while staying at the house. It was an extended dark blue Chevrolet Suburban with chrome fenders and bumpers. Peter liked this truck; it was macho. He slid onto the leather upholstery and sat for a while, thinking about the case he was involved with. A teenage girl was reporting sightings of poltergeist activity, and she was severely traumatized by what she saw. Strange things had been happening at her house while her parents were away with her baby sister, Valerie. Lindsay and Matt were already at the event site; himself, Anton, Claire and the Mobile Lab had been sent for last night.
Peter started the engine and reversed out of the driveway. It was not a long drive to the Hunntersen's house, but to him it felt like an eternity. He could hardly keep himself from falling asleep, and several times he had to pull onto the shoulder of the road to keep himself from causing an accident, even though the traffic was scarce. It felt like he hadn't slept in two weeks, and that was almost true. When he had the nightmare, which was every two out of three days, he was not rested in the morning. He had been dragging in his work and he could not concentrate. He was depressed and uncommunicative most of the time these days, and it showed.
When he arrived at the Hunntersen's place, he marveled at the beauty of the house. It was Victorian-style and very old, but kept in good repair. It had gingerbread borders and ivy crept up one side of it, almost blocking the windows. Thin smoke curled from the stone chimney, one of three on the whole house.
The rain had stopped, but mist and morning dew took its place. He dragged his tired body into the mobile lab across the street from the house, and plodded into the conference room. Lindsay was already there, reviewing interview transcripts.
"Hi Peter. You're up early," she said in her cheerful voice.
"Not on purpose," Peter half-grumbled while settling into a chair across the table and one to the right of her.
She looked at him with a puzzled look on her face, then went back to what she was reading.
He began re-reading the files he had taken home with him, for he had forgotten practically everything he had read the night before. Memory loss was caused by the nightmares, he believed.
After several minutes of reading, he noticed (or thought he noticed) the print on the paper was getting smaller and harder to read. He rubbed his face and eyes with his hand, eliciting slight concern from Lindsay, and went back to reading.
As Lindsay watched, Peter's eyes slowly began to close, and his head got increasingly lower to the table. Eventually he sat, asleep, with his head on his arms, which were folded on the table. She rose to wake him, but decided not to, because there must be a reason that he's sleeping on the job; he never does anything like that. She settled back into her chair and continued reviewing her transcripts.
When Peter woke later that morning, he was lying on his back on something soft. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and noticed he was lying on a mattress in one of the bunks in the lab. Wondering how he got there, he sat up and threw off the blanket that had been over him. He stood in the dark room, waiting until his senses came fully awake, then put his shoes back on, which he discovered with his watch on the floor next to the bunk. He headed back into the main lab, and noticed everyone in the conference room. They were in their usual places; Matt at the head of the table, facing the screen at the back of the room, Claire to the right of him, Anton to the right of Claire, and Lindsay across the table from Anton. They were just having breakfast, take-out, as most of their food always was, and talking happily about nothing in particular. Peter slid the door open and stepped inside.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Matt said around a mouthful of pancakes and an apparent smile.
"Quiet, you..." Peter started, but unable to think of an insult, sat in his place to the left of Matt instead. "What time is it?"
"You didn't find your watch?" Anton asked.
"Oh, I forgot my watch, I guess."
"It's 9:32," Claire told him.
"When did you get here?" Anton asked, with a slight note of scorn in his voice. Anton was the lab doctor, and he had been noticing the changes in Peter's attitude and work lately.
"Umm... I left the house at 5:13, so I must have got here around 5:20. Why?" Peter asked, wondering at the physician's inquiry.
"Never mind," Anton said quickly.
Everyone looked at Peter inquisitively, but he seemed not to notice right away. Happy not to be dozing off again, he asked what the jobs were for today.
"Pete, you and Lindsay will do secondary interviews on Natascha, find out what you can about what she saw these past few days. Anton, you and Claire analyze the residue found on the floors and walls of the house," Matt informed them. Everyone rose from the table, going off to do their jobs. Matt was the last one out of the room, following Peter. "Just make sure you don't fall asleep again, alright, Pete?"
Peter scowled at him, then went outside to join Lindsay and go interview the girl.
"Hi, Ms. Donner. Come on in," said the cheerful Emily Hunntersen, opening the house door.
"This is my associate, Peter Axon," Lindsay told Emily while pointing at Peter, who just happened to be yawning at the time. They regarded Peter with concerned looks.
Lindsay and Peter stepped past Emily Hunntersen, into the small foyer.
"My husband's at the mall, but you can go ahead and talk to Nat. She's upstairs in her room."
Lindsay led the way to the small room upstairs, where the teenager was listening to music. Resisting the urge to leave before her eardrums burst, Lindsay knocked on the door to Nat's room. When she got no response the first time, she pounded on the door. The blaring music stopped, and Nat answered the door. She was 5'4 with black eyes and neon blue hair streaked with neon green. She wore tight-fitting black jeans and a short neon green spandex tank top that showed off her muscular form. She said nothing, but opened the door wide and let them inside. "Don't touch anything," she said with a sharp tone in her voice.
"Nat, this is Peter Axon, our Chief Science Analyst," Lindsay told the girl. Nat didn't even acknowledge that Lindsay had said anything, but instead walked out of the room. Lindsay went after her, but Peter remained leaning on the door with his eyes closed.
"Peter! Come on!"
His eyes snapped open, and he followed Lindsay down the stairs.
They rejoined Nat in the family room, where she was sitting on a small couch watching TV. She looked up when they came in.
"I already told you what I saw," she snapped, trying to get rid of the scientists.
"Yes, but we'd like to ask you some more questions and run some tests. May we sit down?" Lindsay inquired.
"Yeah, I guess."
Lindsay sat down next to Nat on the couch, and Peter took one of the oversized chairs next to them. Nat got up and turned the TV off, then took her place next to Lindsay again.
"What kind of tests are you talking about?" Nat asked, the sharpness in her voice diminishing.
"We want to do a psychological evaluation and some environmental control, stuff like that. That's what Peter's here for," Lindsay informed her. Both women looked at Peter, who was staring at something they couldn't see. Making no effort to be included in the conversation, he was left to stare into space.
"What's with him?" Nat asked, nodding at Peter.
"Good question. So, what exactly happened that night?"
"Well, I was downstairs doing my homework, and everyone else was asleep. It was just after 1:00 in the morning, but I wasn't tired, as usual. I heard this voice saying something, but I'm still not sure what it was. I think it might have been calling for someone in the house. So I went to find out where the voice was coming from, but I couldn't find it. It just seemed to be coming out of thin air. Wherever I went, it sounded like it was coming from another room. I went to check my room last, and when I got there, my favorite picture of my boyfriend, Mitch, was broken. I couldn't repair it. I ran through every room in the house, trying to find who had done that, and I almost slipped and fell when I came into the dining room. The floor and most of the walls were covered with this... goo. And my mom's favorite chandelier was shattered to bits. I remember something dark coming over me, then I guess I must have blacked out completely. I woke up the next morning in my bed, with my broken picture in my hands."
"But you don't remember what the thing was that came over you?"
"Not really, but it was like a cloud. A very big cloud. Like it was made of thick black smoke." The sharpness was gone from Nat's voice, replaced by a tone of fear.
"Alright, that's good for now. We'll be coming back later to do more tests later, okay?"
"Yeah, I guess I'll see you then."
Lindsay rose to leave, then noticed Peter was asleep again. She stepped over to him and shook him gently on the shoulder, whispering his name. After several tries, he awoke with a start. His hands shook violently for a minute and fear was apparent in his wide-open, clear blue eyes. Lindsay calmed him down as best she could, but he still wasn't 100% awake. He eventually recognized where he was, and that Lindsay was staring at him, concerned. He rose to leave, too, then turned to Lindsay again. "You won't mention this to Matt, will you? He'd go berserk," Peter asked with a pleading tone.
"Sure, I guess. What's been making you so sleepy lately? You seem so stressed-out."
"I dunno..." he lied.
"We should be heading back to see what Anton and Claire found in the goo."
Together Peter and Lindsay headed back to the lab.
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