The disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. The Tomorrow People are a creation by Roger Damon-Price, and Phantasm is a creation by Don Corscarelli. The idea to bring 'em together is mine. I've taken liberties with the character of Dr. Poole, first introduced in the TP episode "The Culex Experiment." Feedback is welcome.
It was one of those classic nights of the dark-and-stormy variety; the kind that makes creative writers go nuts with possibilities. It was England, so the odds of it being dark and stormy were fairly good. The countryside was soaked and the moon was obscured behind a thick layer of clouds. The only light came from the occasional fork of lightning, strobing the area in painfully bright detail for split seconds of time.
The lightning flashed with thunder accompaniment being almost simultaneous. The little used but well maintained road was highlighted in that brief pop of illumination. The darkness returned. Lightning struck again, revealing a figure standing by the roadside. A person who was not there a split-second before. A person who could have been deposited there by the lightning itself.
You cannot escape me, boy.
Michael Pearson whirled around, trying to locate the source of the voice. He was alone.
The time has come.
He turned violently again, pulling himself off balance, and stumbled into the middle of the road.
Mike lurched around, facing the other direction. From his vantage point, he completely failed to see the government-issued limousine bearing down on him.
Adam Newman looked out the window at the storm-washed landscape racing past the limo. He doubted that he would ever understand mankind, their desire for power only exceeded by their desire for money. The young man looked over at his companion in the seat next to him. Bill Damon, the father of Adam's best friend and surrogate guardian of the Tomorrow People, regarded the young man with paternal concern.
"Why so blue?" the older man asked.
"I've observed your scientific conference on the potential for telepathy and telekinesis for the past three days," Adam said. "And the consensus seems to be that we'd make great weapons for the military."
Damon sighed. He had had this discussion with Adam and his own son before, and he had to admit that Adam was right. Most of the practical applications that his science conference had proposed for the next stage of human evolution were militaristic, if not downright violent. There were a few voices out there, proposing diplomacy and research, but they were the minority.
"It seems like we've been charged with protecting the human race from itself," said Adam, seeming to hear the general's thoughts. "Whether we want to or not."
General Damon was about to recite the cliché about great power and great responsibility, but was interrupted as Adam suddenly went rigid and closed his eyes. The squeal of tires and smell of burning rubber hit his senses as the forward momentum of the limousine was abruptly and unexpectedly arrested.
"What the hell?' yelled General Damon, as he pitched forward off his seat. He looked back at his younger companion, restrained in the seat by his seatbelt.
"I think we almost hit somebody," replied Adam, undoing his restraint. "I'm pretty sure I managed to push him out of the way, but he could still be injured." Adam opened the door and was out in the night before Damon could stop him.
The driver was still in the driver's seat, his face pale and hands in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Adam was in the grass, kneeling beside the prone figure. Damon came up behind him.
"Is he all right?" Damon asked, giving the injured man a once-over glance. Who in the world, he thought, would be out here? In this weather? At this time? Doesn't he know walking roads in black clothes at night isn't safe?
"I don't know," Adam replied, breaking the general's train of thought. "I haven't had a chance to check on him. I gave him a pretty hard shove, telepathically speaking. We're lucky we didn't plow right over him."
Adam took control of his breathing and mentally prepared himself to use his TK powers to heal whatever wounds the young man had suffered. He still wasn't entirely sure how he healed people; but the ability was there and usually worked with astounding results. He placed his hands on the prone figure's chest.
As soon as contact was made, Adam's body went rigid. Images and voices came pouring into his mind at a frightening speed.
"First he took mom and dad, and then he took Jody, and now he's after me."
A tall man, dressed in a suit and tie, picking up a casket by himself.
"Mike! We're dreaming! Wake up!"
Being chased by something terrifying, fast, and lethal.
"He's harvesting the whole town!"
Row after row of empty graves.
The images suddenly stopped, and Adam found himself sitting back in the wet grass with General Damon gripping his shoulders. "What happened?" Damon asked.
"I don't know," Adam said, voice shaking. "I think he's telepathic. There's something wrong here. He's in trouble. We need to take him back with us."
"Are you sure?"
"I picked up images and a few memories. Someone is chasing him. Someone…well, I don't know how to put this."
"The only word I can use here is evil."
"Isn't that being a touch melodramatic?"
"I know how it sounds, but he is in danger. Serious danger. We can't just leave him here."
"Can you teleport him to Dr. Poole's lab?"
"I feel too shaky to teleport. That telepathic contact was unexpected and amazingly strong. I don't dare touch him again, and there's no telling where we'd end up if I tried to pull him along with me."
Damon waved the driver out of the car and between them loaded the limp form into the back seat of the limo. Adam sat in the front passenger seat at Damon's request, and drove back to London.
The clouds were just starting to break, allowing shafts of moonlight to touch the earth. As the sound of the limo dwindled into the distance, the moon danced across a pair of chrome columns growing out of the middle of the road. A low melodic hum resonated across the landscape as a silhouette took form between the columns; it was man-shaped and very tall. The details resolved themselves: a black suit, tie, long white hair, and jaundiced complexion. The Tall Man stepped from between the columns, flanked on either side by a pair of chrome-plated spheres that hovered just off his shoulders. He looked to see the taillights of the limo disappearing over the horizon. A thin smile crawled across his lips. Eyebrow cocked, he turned and disappeared between the columns, spheres following.
A split-second following the Tall Man's departure, another figure spilled out of the gateway, as if the columns were coughing up something stuck in their throats. He stood up, gathering a four-barreled shotgun from where it fell on the ground. He looked up the road in the direction his best friend was traveling. He looked back, and the ground, leaving no trace of their existence behind, immediately swallowed up the chrome posts.
"God damn it," Reggie said, tying his ponytail back with a piece of rawhide. He shouldered the shotgun and started walking.