I'm Oswald Goddard (not real name), and I wanted to write science fiction. Ended up doing everything but. Story Collections in the side bar! Call me whatever.
Young Lucia learns a harsh lesson about the world in Windhelm
Based off my alternate telling of the main storyline of Skyrim, where the Dragonborn is none other than the little orphan girl from Whiterun. I’ve had this story stewing in my mind for several years now and I think I might be close to actually writing it. The main premise is that Lucia is unable to adventure on her own (considering her age and lack of survival experience), so a small group forms with the goal of protecting her and saving the world. It’s entirely just because I want to write about my favorite followers and have them interact lol, and I thought that the idea of a Dragonborn that wasn’t fully capable of handling their destiny alone was neat (not to mention my love for found family tropes). I found this audio on TikTok and I found it to be rather fitting of one of the scenes in my mind.
Welcome to Night Vale and The Magnus Archives made me realize just how much I want magic to stay sporadic and mysterious. I really liked the early days of both podcasts but once everything turns weird and becomes the norm I lose interest. They didn’t turn bad, they just turned out to be a type of story I personally isn’t into.
I think that’s why I like Lord of The Rings but could never get into Harry Potter. Yes, LoTR is a fantasy world but actual magic is still rare and awe inspiring. In Harry Potter people use magic to wash the dishes.
The best example I can think of from the top of my head is The X Files. They managed to raise the stakes and give us a little more info but the weirdness never turned mundane. It stayed sporadic and mysterious the whole way through.
This is of course just a personal preference but my friend who doesn’t share it and still loves both podcasts got it when they said “When the weird becomes mundane it just turns into a drama using different words” I love how it took someone who doesn’t feel the same way I do about magic in fiction to put my thoughts perfectly into words.
I’d actually really like to hear how you feel about magic and weirdness in fiction. What level does it take to grab your attention and does it ever get too much and become boring or are all levels of magic/weirdness good in your book?
Concrete was never the best material to wake up on. Hard and sharp, digging into the bare skin and tearing it open with little effort. Too many children can attest to how much concrete hurts and point to their scraped knees and elbows like well-worn battle scars. No, concrete is perhaps the bottom tier of things to wake up on. I would have much liked to wake up instead on my apartment’s carpeted floor. Or my bed in said apartment next to my lovely partner. Or even the patch of grass that my right hand is currently getting to know as feeling begins slowly and agonizingly making its way back into my body.
I don’t know how I got here. My memories are hazy, like trying to picture a billboard you saw once on a car-ride years ago. Fractions make their way into my mind but thinking about them hurts too much for me to focus. I don’t know where I was the day before, what I was doing an hour before, or even where I was now. Or how I came to be lying on my back in the center of a broken basketball court, bleeding everywhere. And the pain. Jesus the pain. I try to lift my head off the ground, straining my neck. I see a large gash across my chest, my uniform in tatters.
Sleeveless was a terrible idea, I now realize, as a glance reveals the tiger stripes of blood across my arms. I lean on my right arm to sit up, my body rewarding me with the feeling of my lower half. The blood rushes to my head and I almost fall again, catching myself before doing so.
It has been a while since I was this hurt. Not since... I can’t remember but it hurt a lot. The tattered remains of my clothes fell off my body to the floor, making me look down in relief as my sports bra was not one of the many scraps. Would not want to wake up naked and lost. One too many university adventures ended that way. I eye up the white and blue scraps and wonder why I was wearing such..tight clothes. Was I going out clubbing or something? My shorts (Christ, why was I wearing shorts?) looked like they would hold up too, and at least they were more like bike shorts than clubbing shorts. When I looked at my shoes I was surprised to see that they were rollerblades of all things. Why am I wearing rollerblades?
Then it all hit me. Truly the only logical conclusion that someone with numerous bodily injuries and possible brain injuries could come up with.
I’m a superhero! I help people with my power of... Something. I groan. What kind of hero can’t remember their own power? Oh man I hope I’m not one of those weirdos that fights crimes without a superpower, those losers are so annoying. Oh man, am I annoying? My heartbeat picks up as my mind thinks about all the things I’ve ever done which could be considered annoying. This does nothing as I draw perpetual blanks on my memory, only coming back with anxiety anyways.
Oh god, do I have anxiety? What kind of superhero has social anxiety?! No wonder I’m torn up, I was probably afraid those bank robbers were gonna bully me like I was-
Wait! Bank Robbers!
I was in Massachusetts. It was a normal call, a smash-and-grab from a local bank. I was the only hero in the area because of…something. I can’t remember what, but I didn’t like it. I wasn’t thinking straight and just needed to distract myself. I wasn’t even on the clock, but whatever. It's what heroes do. I suited up in seconds before dashing down the freeway. Then it gets..hazy.
I remember running past the police cars, up to the back of the van they were in. I was planning on taking out their tires with the knife I keep on my belt when the back doors of the van flew open. I had faced this before, so it was nothing new. But they had something that made me stop in my tracks. A masked man leaned out of the van with a strange gun in his arms and fired. I tried to move out of the way but overcorrected myself, tripping over my own feet. A car rammed into me from behind, running over me just as this strange green bolt hit my body and it all went dark.
Yes, yes those memories are real things that occurred and happened. My brain is not just crafting narratives to better fit earlier misconceptions! I’m not making shit up! Look at me, using big words! I must be telling the truth. What kind of brain-injured person uses big words as goodest as I?
But that doesn't explain... This.
I roll over to my side and start to push up. I hear a disheartening *snap* as I fall back to the concrete, pain shooting up my left arm. I grit my teeth and swallow the scream building in my throat. OK. Left arm is broken, feel like I should have felt that earlier but whatever. Could be worse. Rolling to the other side I pull myself off the embrace of the ground and finally get a survey of my area. It was night I realize, but you could hardly tell because of the intensely bright lamplights around the basketball court I had arrived in. I seem to be in the middle of a large city park, as I can see tons of buildings around the horizon. Thank Christ, It would have sucked to not have a city. At least here I can find the local agency building and get medical treatment. I just gotta give them my hero name and… and...
Fuck what's my hero name?
Shit, forget that. What the hell is my name name.
“Oh goddamnit, this just gets better.” I spit out blood. Ugh. Better get walking then. They should have photos right? Maybe that will be enough.
I begin my shambling walk back to the city, leaving my comfortable bed on the basketball court behind me. Walking feels like coming back from an intense workout and every muscle is mad you decided to notice them. Or like a really bad hangover you get from drinking out of a random jug titled “Ronald Borgan” at a music festival. I don’t get very far until I have to sit on a bench in the park and take off those goddamn skates. I don’t know if you ever tried to walk normally in skates, but it is near impossible.
As I unlace them, I notice a tag poking up from the lip of the shoe.
“If lost return to Riley Wing.”
“What if Mrs.Wing herself is lost?”
My blood turns cold. I snap my head to my left to see a man walking towards me. He is dressed head to toe in a grey overcoat, topped off with a grey fedora. His face is obscured by the shadows of the night, the only thing poking out is the bright red of a cigarette. His hands leave his pockets to grab his cigarette, an almost impossible white.
Wasting no time I immediately grab my skates and throw them at his head. I have no clue whether this guy is a villain or just a real pale creep, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. My skates smack him straight in the face, making him swear in pain. I grin as he drops his cigarette. Not wasting a second, I stand from the bench and… leg it as far as I could from him.
Which was not very far. What little blood I had left in my body rushed to my head the minute I stood up, casting me into a realm of vertigo not yet seen by mortal men. Godlike disorientation aside, my fucking knees decide to give out at this exact moment. I curse my low iron diet as I stumbled to the ground, barely catching myself with my good arm. I manage to scrape together enough strength to stand up but stopped mid-rise. A heavy hand clasped my hurt shoulder, pain shooting up my back. I turn my head to look up, seeing a face just as pale as the hand that grasps me. Looking back is an utterly unremarkable face, one that seems to change to an equally mediocre look every time I blink.
“Mrs.Wing,” his gritty baritone shook me through his hand, “you look like you suffered a terrible accident. Allow me to help.” He lets go of my shoulder and walks in front of me, extending his other stark white palm. I look over him, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. I can’t tell if he has a weapon on him, but it's not like he would need one to take care of me right now. He was more than larger than I am, easily holding 90 pounds on me. His face, sporting a red mark on his forehead where my skates hit him, betrayed no intention of ill will. And frankly, I more than likely could not stand back up without his help.
I reach out with my non-broken arm, and the man effortlessly lifts me without even a sign of strain on his end. He guides me back to the bench, setting me down with a surprising amount of grace. I let out a pained breath, looking over at him. He stays standing in front of me, another cigarette appearing in his mouth where I smacked it out last. His smoke trails upwards, blending into the soft navy blue of night.
“Alright mister, what is it you want? Were you hoping for a thank you? An autograph? If you haven’t noticed,” I gesture to my tattered remains of what someone might have recently called clothes, “I haven’t any functioning pockets.” Come to think of it, I probably didn’t have any pockets beforehand either. Damn the women’s clothing industry.
The man chuckles, taking one more drag on his cigarette before dropping it on the floor and grinding it out with his grey dress shoes.
“No, Mrs.Wing, I did not come asking for autographs. I’m something of a helper. And frankly, you looked like you needed quite a bit of help.” He gestures to the entirety of me. Which, while a true statement, was rude. I scowl at him.
“How the hell do you know my name? Aren’t I a hero, don’t I need to keep that a secret?”
His eyebrows raise in alarm.
“You mean to tell me that you don’t remember that you’re a hero? My, this is quite a bad case you got going on Mrs.Wing, quite a bad case indeed. You’ve got a classic superhero malady afflicting you right now. Near cliche for my tastes, but common enough in your line of work to create the necessary drama I suppose.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I shake my head in confusion. Perhaps this guy is nothing more than a really bad hallucination. I mean, it happened in Fight Club. It could happen to me, right? That was a valid thing that could occur, right? Also, why is he talking like that?
“Hey, why are you talking like that?”
He cocks his head. “Like what?”
“God, never mind. What malady am I afflicted with?”
He cracks a smile, the bastard.
“I’m afraid it's a case of occupational amnesia. Hits all the heroes at least once in their careers. But I do have to say it hit you at a very hard time. Jade is going insane looking for you. Problem is, not sure she’ll find you.”
Jade.
Jade. Jade. Why does that name mean something to me? It means... Happy. It means safe. It means joy, it means love, it means… anger. It means upset. It means disappointment. It means betrayal. Why? Who is Jade?
And why won’t she find me?
“Ah well, I suppose it's not my place to get involved in those issues. Merely to get the ball rolling.”
I shake the thoughts out of my head.
“Wait, what do you mean ‘get the ball rolling’? Did you start this?! Did you put me here?!”
I move to stand up, readying my good arm to slug him across that greek chiseled jaw of his. One push from him sent me back onto the bench, the air leaving my lungs.
“Now, now. No need to go hurt yourself more. No, Mrs.Wing, I did not put you here. However, I see a great opportunity for character development right now. You have quite a bit of flaws, I think this will serve as a great opportunity for you to iron those out.”
“Fuck you too, asshole. You stand there, talking like you know so much about me and then tell me it's a good thing I caught goddamn amnesia and a broken arm? Because it builds character? Do you coach youth football after school too?” I scoff at the almighty jerkwad in front of me.
“Your growth won’t be as good if I just give you all the answers now. No, I think you forgot who you were long before you forgot who you were if you get my meaning.” He reaches up to his mouth, lighting another cigarette.
“What the hell do you mean?! Just tell me who I am, you jackass!” I stand up and grab his lapels. For the first time, I notice a wedding ring on my left hand.
I am married. He knows I am married and doesn’t tell me to who.
My rage grows. He knows. He knows so much and chooses not to tell me because of goddamn ‘character growth’? I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him right here, right now. I’d do it right here if I didn’t need him to tell me who I am.
He laughs in my face, blowing smoke into my eyes. My hands release as they go to my nose to block the smell. The smoke grows larger and larger until all I see is murky grey haze.
“All in due time, Mrs.Wing. However, right now I need to do my job and ‘get this ball rolling’. Pardon me, but this will be the only time I will do something this violent.”
“What?!” I scream out, looking all around me. I barely catch the movement of his fist in the corner of my eye before it all goes black again.
In my dreams, I hear the sound of fluttering fabric, the unlocking of deadbolt, and the arguing of strangers.
In my dreams, all I see is fiery orange. And all I want to do is feel its warmth, one more time.
Retirement was a foreign concept to the people of Landros. Not that they were financially poor, far from it. Every Landrian was well fed and had ample education, housing, and healthcare. No, what made retirement foreign was that they simply just lived too long. One didn’t know when to stop working to enjoy the twilight years because the Sun never began to set, just kept being reset. It wasn’t always like this, either. Many could remember when death was a natural thing that occurred to someone. Sure, people still died, but it was never of age or illness. Always some external threat. An alien army, a failed expedition into ruin, or just simple fatal happenstance. Death just didn’t come naturally anymore, so people continued to live as if they would never die. That meant retirement became a foreign concept. You simply didn’t become too old to work if you never became too old. Technology always seemed to outpace the previous age limit, always prolonging life just a few more years, a few more decades. Most thought it to be a result of the Empress’s divine power, bestowing upon all true believers a life most prosperous and (very) long. It did wonders for the Imperial Cult, and people still stayed steadfast believers. Afterlife was phased out of their worship because the concept of life even ending became less and less probable to the new generations.
So it came as a surprise when, out of the blue, the Empire’s 6 topmost political, military, and scientific minds announced they would be resigning in favor of retirement.
These figures who have guided the nation’s efforts in every field since it first took to the stars all those hundreds of years ago, who themselves have been deified to a small extent in their fields and the eyes of those proles beneath them. There was Logan Haines, the Governor Supreme. He was the first of his position, Governor of the new star empire in its early days. He would handle all the busy work and bureaucracy so that the Empress could put her attention to other things she deemed more important. His power was near to hers, and he held a direct line of communication with her. He commanded respect and used his position to maneuver the Empire through the most difficult of times. After he was Mason Nix, the Preserving. His mind was foremost in the Imperial Navy, and his victories stretched as long as the cosmos themselves. His men were steadfast and loyal, and his command was never questioned. A wiser man the navy would never have again. Benjamin Ziemecki, the top mind of Engineering and head of the Academy of Divine Science. His inventions brought us to the stars and beyond them. Much of the life extension work was done by him, but he would never divulge how he did it. Zachary Collins, Governor-General of Brillis. He commanded and trained every soldier to fight for the empire. His command in the numerous invasions of the Empire’s enemies saved countless lives and took countless others. Guillermo Perez, renown for his colonial expansion programs and pioneering of Xenos relations, made the very system of communication and language that the entire galaxy uses universally. Without him, such things would have been impossible. His tenure as Governor of the Xelteks acquired after the Xeltek War of Aggression was full of remarkable strides in Landrian-Xenos relations. And Doris McBride, renowned geneticist and Commandant of the Research Corps. It was thanks to her that the Super-Soldier Program was launched at all, and that Landrians experience a high degree of living.
It was these six people who kept the nation afloat. Some of them even put it out to sea to begin with. Their departure sent the higher echelons into a frenzy. Factions, suddenly without their figureheads to guide them, all jockeyed for the power and control that was in their grasp. And while the media outlets all reached out to contact the six “Founders” as the people called them, they would only be met with empty signals. Long gone before their announcement was even public and scot-free, the six made their way to their last stop. A resort.
The warm sun set behind the waves, casting a dark orange light on the sky. Waves rhythmically crashed against the warm sands, calming the nerves of anyone nearby. It was tranquility incarnate.
The sound of a beer can being opened was the reality that made Logan Haines return from his distant thoughts. He slowly turned his weary eyes to his left, glancing at the large man in the beach chair next to him chugging a beer. Logan sighed and took his headphones off, the once muffled sound returning to his ears.
“I thought we agreed drinks could wait until 9, Zach.”
Zach finished drinking, placing the can on the table between them.
“It is 9, Logan. The sun sets rather late on this planet. You should know, you were governor of it for almost 400 years.” A chuckle comes from a group of people approaching the two, chairs and coolers in hand.
“Hold on you two, don’t start without us.” The voice came from Ben, already sporting retirement fashion in full with a floral shirt and khaki shorts. Behind him, towering over everybody and carrying four chairs, was Mason. He finally let his hair grow out beyond the cut he had to have to be in the Navy. Doris and Gulliermo both had a cooler in their hands, each dressed for a good day at the beach.
Logan gave a light smile as he sat up, grabbing a chair from Mason and positioning it around the firepit he and Zach chose.
“Don’t you worry, “ Logan spoke as he sat back down, “the only one getting a head start is Zach.”
“Hey, I earned this. You don’t know what it's like being on a planet with a goddamn Imperial alcohol ban for 300 years.”
Ben rolled his eyes as he sat next to Logan. “Zach you know it was because alcohol literally killed you when you drank it within Orbit of Brisillia, let alone on it.”
Mason sat down next to Ben, stretching out to his fullest. “I can’t relate with you guys at all. Alcohol ban this, entertainment ban that, the navy had it all. I had a great time over there. Non-stop party.”
Guillermo tossed a drink his way, landing at his feet in the sand. “Yeah, until you had to wake up at 4 a.m. the next day more hungover than a priest on Divine Wine Night.”
Mason picked up the drink, chuckling. “Yeah, that sucked so much. But it never made me stop.”
Doris reached into the cooler and took out a dark brown drink, uncapping it with the scent of cherry. “At least you guys had the opportunity to party sometimes. Some of us were doing round-the-clock research and having to work triple shifts to get a project out in time.”
Ben snorted. “Yeah, been there. I wonder what jackass would put us through that.”
Everyone looked at Logan. He rolled his eyes.
“You know full well why I have to ask the things I had to ask. It's a different level of stress when you have not only the oncoming deadlines set up by yourself but also by the literal God of our nation.”
Mason leans forward, quickly swallowing the sip he took of his drink. “Blessed be her reign, of course.”
Brief mutterings of ‘blessed be her reign’ echoed from the group. Silence followed, only the sound of the waves and the sipping of drinks was heard. Logan looked out at the sea, at the setting sun. A flood of memories came back to him, all those years ago. He looks around the group, well into their 400th year of life soon. The last of their kind.
“We must be the only ones left that remember what it was like before she came to power.”
Ben put down his drink, a pensive look on his face. Zach’s brow furrowed.
“You might be right. We were the only Old Guard to not defect when Iccius seceded. All of the unifiers, save us of course, went over the Alphecca. And we know what happened on Alphecca.”
Zach bowed his head, silent. More silence in the group.
Guillermo swallows another gulp, setting it down. “You know, despite my position I have never once met her. I was never granted an audience, not once. I have had messages and conferences with her liaisons, of course. But I have never stood in the same room as her.”
Doris’s face turns inquisitive. “Come to think of it, neither have I. Which is strange, considering that I was stationed in the Palace Laboratory for so long.”
Logan, Ben, Zach, and Mason all looked at each other.
“I think we all have met her. In some direct capacity,” Logan said while sitting up in his seat. Ben looked deeply uncomfortable, trying to sink further into his chair. Mason rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. Zach took another shot.
“I didn’t meet her directly, but I was taken to trial before her court.” Everyone looked at Zach like he had killed a man in front of them. He looked back, confused. “What?”
“You were before the Empress’s court? What?” Doris asked, putting down her drink. Logan looked around the group, a look of surprise on his face.
“What, you guys didn’t know?” Ben leaned over to Logan, speaking in a snarky voice, "We weren’t all the goddamn Governor Supreme.”
“Why were you taken before the court?” Guillermo pressed the issue, leaning forward from his chair.
“I can’t believe I haven’t told this story yet.” Zach set down his drink.
“I can, you were censored to never speak of the event ever again. By law. Divine law.” Logan took another sip of his drink. Mason kicked sand at him.
“Ignore him, Zach, what the hell happened?”
“Ok so, I was gonna countercoup a general, right?”
It had to be done with the utmost care and quickly. It had to be down without no one knowing and it had to send a message so no one would attempt this again. And he had to do it by himself, or else he would lose everything. These were the restrictions and requirements placed upon the newly appointed Governor-General, mere years after his assignment to the planet of Brisilia. The whole place was a glorified boot camp, made to make soldiers from birth and the guns for them to fire. It trained the officers that commanded them, it created the tanks and trucks it used to drive the troops around. Brisillia was a near-infinite source of every resource, harnessed by the divine will of the Landrian Empire.
But behind the veneer of a perfectly oiled machine was a world of backroom deals, blackmail, and political trickery. The army was a nation within a nation, operating near autonomously but in fealty to the Empire. It took a steady and aggressive hand to nip the rebellions that were constantly planned in the bud and to keep ambitious officers in line with their orders. It was why Zachary Collins was chosen to be the Governor-General of Brisilia. He was loyal to the nth degree to the Empire, and a long-time member of the army. He had led the most successful brigade during the unification wars, and since he had taken a great injury in the final battle had mostly been behind a desk for decades. Many thought his mind was weak from inaction, that the office life had dulled his blade. He had no ambition to go higher than where he was put, simply because he had liked where he stood and made a good life out of it. Yet, when the call came from Governor Supreme and longtime friend Logan Haines, he answered the call.
The political elite of Brisilia did not like the outsider’s arrival. He turned things around, changed operations instantly. Policy and tradition changed overnight, and if you had an issue he was happy to discuss it with you. No one would take him up on the offer, yet he was completely genuine, something foreign to the planet. It was this climate that he navigated for a few years when he got word of something bad brewing.
“A coup?!”
The Governor-General yelled in shock as his intelligence advisor gave him the news. The former Governor-General, a man named Fractus Rayze, felt he had been pushed out in favor of nepotism. He felt slighted, and as such his loyalties to the crown were no more. A lot of the troops still followed his command, and he was in charge of a sizeable force. Should he choose to rebel, the government would not be able to hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Or if those reinforcements would matter.
Zach sat in his seat, hand over his mouth in thought. How could he not see it coming? Of course, the former would resent the current, but he never thought to this degree. He had to bring him out in the open, and catch him before the movement could be fully organized and launched. He knew from his years in the espionage legion during the Unification Wars that a movement dies without its figurehead. But how would he bring the traitor out? He wasn’t about to risk his own life, it would be putting too much on the line. But there was no one else Fractus hated more than Zach at the moment. Perhaps the crown, but…
Wait.
Zach looked up from his hands at the Intelligence officer. “You are dismissed. Thank you for the report. Keep this news secret. In fact, burn all evidence of your findings. This never happened. On your way out, send in my secretary.”
The officer salutes, grabbing the papers he brought into the office off of the desk and walking out the door. Mere moments later, a small woman walks in with a PDA in her arms.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, I feel like our troops need a morale booster from the upper brass. They need to feel like their work matters. Do you think we can get the Prince to do a tour of the planet?”
“No goddamn way,” Ben spoke with astonishment at Zach. The rest of the group, save Logan, similarly looked at him.
“You were going to draw out your murderous, traitorous general using the Prince?!” Doris put extra emphasis on ‘prince’.
“Yeah, I thought it was a great way to draw out a traitor without putting my neck on the line.”
Guillermo shook in utter confusion. “What?! To save your neck from assassination you put the royals in danger instead? That's not saving your neck, that's moving from one chopping block to another.”
“Will you guys let me finish the story? Anyways, getting a hold of the Prince was shockingly easy. Turns out, he didn’t do much.”
The royal arrival was a rare moment for Brisilia. The planet was outside the Imperial Core, so was often ignored during royal functions and visits. And it was no normal prince visiting either. Brisilia was preparing for the arrival of the crown prince himself, Lucius. Turns out that when your mother is immortal, you have a lot of time on your hands to do whatever you wish.
Just as soon as the royal tour was announced, the reaction Zach was looking for came. Immediately his intelligence officers reported buzzings from the separatist channels, and General Rayze took a sudden leave of absence from his duties to “take care of some urgent health problems”.
Urgent health problems. Zach mused on his excuse. Urgent health problems indeed. He would incur the most urgent of health problems. That is if the plan worked. And if it didn’t, Zach didn’t really care. He would be too dead for it to matter.
The royal arrival was large. The Prince’s flagship, a rather minute cruiser, moored proudly above the capital city of the planet as shuttles carrying the Prince and his guard burst through the atmosphere. The roads of the city were cleared, and on each and every sidewalk waited the civilians of the planet with excitement. Each troop marching the parade had prepared their dress uniform to perfection over weeks. Shoes have never been so shined, and rifles so clean. They stood in perfect formation, at attention, waiting for the Prince’s float to come down the street from his shuttle.
And as Zach stood from his vantage point, looking down at the parade grounds, he smiled. Already picked out in the formation of soldiers were the traitors identified by Intelligence. Their rifles would not fire, and their loyal friends would subdue them when they attempted to do so. Countless window snipers had already been caught, yet the general himself was still absent. A message came over his earpiece.
“Sir, did you change the location of your area of interest?”
The sentence sent a pit into Zach’s stomach.
“Negative. Explain.”
“Sir, there is someone who looks just like you shaking the hand of the Prince at the shuttle platform.”
Noir felt tendrils of wet and heat curl along his feet and arms before he was lifted from the grass and tossed through the opening in the side of the pyramid. Thudding on the cool marble floor next to him was Charlotte, who let out a gasp as the air was knocked from her lungs. Painfully turning his head, Noir caught a glimpse as the last of the light from the outside world extinguished itself against the closing pyramid. Sconces began to light themselves in a light orange flame one by one around a large chamber, illuminating a statue in the center. Pushing himself off the floor, Noir stared at the Statue as the shadows flickering from the torches poured around its base. Charlotte rose quietly, though through the sound of her bated breaths he could tell she was nursing a wound. A glance revealed a shard of rock on the floor where she fell, dripping the dark ochre of blood.
“Ants.”
The voice filled all space in the chamber, making no reverberation or notion of its origin.
“That is the simplest example, a representation, I can provide to you. Ants.”
Noir grabbed Charlotte’s arm as she stumbled towards him, a spot of red growing on her side.
He curses before angrily looking at the statue. It betrayed no simple shape or creature. It had features of flowing grain and grazing cattle, yet also of roving bands of locust and blight, all attached to a breathing stone.
“What do you want with this town, god? Of what use does it give to you? Do you not understand that your interference may wake up The One Who Dreams?”
The pyramid shudders at the mention of its name, the flames flickering along the wall.
“Insolent ants. Infesting my home, infesting my thoughts, angering those beyond their comprehension.”
The shadows pour from the base of the statue, leaving behind a pool of still water. They form in front of Noir into the vague manifestation of a man, formless and faceless. Noir, trembling and mind screaming at the mere presence of the shadows, stood as resolute as possible. The figure cocked its head to the side.
“Noir. You and your agency intrude into what is beyond its scope, beyond its ability.”
Charlotte coughed, blood splattering on Noir’s white shirt. Her weight became heavier on his arm. The formless figure reached out a dripping tendril to Charlotte’s face, but Noir backed away from its reach.
“Answer me, god! Before I invoke his name once more and summon his mind to your domicile again!”
“You would bring destruction upon yourself and all you hold dear.”
“I welcome the oblivion.”
The shadows receded. Noir takes off his tie with his free hand and wraps it around Charlotte’s bleeding wound while keeping the figure in the corner of his eye. Noir can feel the air around him feel like static, and the warping of his vision tugging at the edges of his vision. His invocation has already weakened the threads of reality in the chamber. It was a tangible tension, a Damocles sword that hangs over both their heads, threatening to tear asunder the very plane of existence they stood in. The shadowy man began to slowly glide around the detective, the air of frustration and anger emitting from its form.
“You want answers then, you so-called detective? Fine.”
The pyramid began to flash in colors of the harvest, faster and faster until images began to appear on the infinite walls of the pyramid. The Farming Commission house appeared on the wall, a group of men seen sitting within from its large windows along its porch.
“I was awoken to the spilling of blood in the fields of what you call France. My ancient slumber was stirred and I saw that ants had infested my residence. My palace of isolation, set upon by lowly lifeforms. Yet…”
The images changed, the men of the Farming Commission circling a scarecrow on their knees, arms to the sky in prayer. Piles of dead cattle lay before it, flies fly in patterns resembling that of a face. Charlotte looks up from Noir’s shoulder to see her Uncle on his knees before the scarecrow as well.
“No..” She coughs up more blood, falling further onto Noir’s arm. Noir pulls her up close to his face and whispers in her ear, his eyes never leaving the god.
“Dust storm after dust storm ravaged their neighbors, they were scared. They would have done anything. Anything. I would breathe life into their worthless soil, keep their sun in their sky when it would leave others. In return, I asked for blood. The blood of suffering. Drip after drip I would drink and laugh heartily at the silly ants circling their effigies.”
“You didn’t even need the blood. You don’t need to feed.”
“Astute. I am no god of their harvest like they wish me to be. I am a being beyond their understanding. What I did was nothing to me, but everything to them. I wanted to see how much they would sacrifice for me. Purely for amusement.”
“Don’t lie to me, god. You gain power from belief and sacrifice.” Noir eyed the statue, catching the tell-tale signs of the R’lyehian language.
“Shor Ya’thor.”
The figure closed the distance between them, its arm reaching and grabbing Noir’s throat. Charlotte fell to the floor with a cry of pain as she fell on her wound. Noir’s hands clawed at his throat, his nails only digging into a cold sludge.
“Careful of the names you utter, detective. They have power in them.”
Shor Ya’thor slammed the detective to the floor, creating a dent in the marble. Noir tried to crawl away, but the god grabbed his leg and pulled him into the air upside down. As he hung there, his pockets emptied and poured beneath him. His notebook and several pencils and pens clattered on the hard rock.
“My rouse was perfect, but I grew tired of their livestock. I wanted a bigger payment. One made of suffering from all involved. I wanted to feel their commitment. I asked for the true sacrifice, one of their own.”
He throws Noir behind him, the detective slamming into the statue and splashing into the dark liquid at its base. The detective crawled out of the pool of water, spitting out the foul taste in his mouth. Shakily standing to his feet, he stared at Shor Ya’thor and smirked, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. The god floated above him, an aura of pestilence about them causing a deep itching in his skin. He steps towards the god.
“So when one of them got cold feet you became worried. Worried that those above you will find out someone was breaking the rules, trying to sneakily gain power over your superiors. So you told your followers to kill him. Except -”
A long shadow tendril slapped Noir back into the pool as the pyramid shook again.
“Except the ants cannot follow orders. They were sloppy. Clueless. A simpleton like you could easily follow the trail they left behind. I had to intercede. They cried for my mercy but as you say, it fell on deaf ears. I culled the lame stock and took no time in capturing you further and further into my trap. I must admit though, detective. You and your companion were resistant to a degree I thought not possible.”
Crawling from the pool yet again, Noir keeled over on the edge, coughing up the black water.
“It's *cough* it's because you’re not a powerful god.” He looked up at the god and smiled
“Nor a smart one. NOW!”
The god turned his head instantly to see Charlotte, holding his notebook, begin to read aloud.
The pyramid began to shake without end, the tremors increasing and increasing in their ferocity. Tears appeared in the walls, huge cracks where emerald water began to flood into the room. A deep, low rumble began to reverberate from the walls. The god’s form began to flicker as it raced to its statue. Noir, stumbling from the pool and slipping on the flooding waters, rushed to Charlotte and covered her with his coat. He knelt next to her and yelled.
“DO NOT OPEN YOUR EYES! DO NOT LISTEN TO THE SOUND! COUNT FROM 100!”
The sound of a whale screaming, a large warship breaking in half, and the screams of millions filled the room. The cracks in the wall grew larger and larger, and Noir could catch glimpses of glowing yellow eyes peering through. The pyramid’s top, which Noir thought to be infinite in its height, was torn off from its base where a black sun could shine its heretical light down onto the statute.
“MY LORD! IT IS A MISUNDERSTANDING! I WOULD NEVER TRY TO SUPERSEDE…I WOULD NEVER…. PLEASE!”
Shards of obsidian flew from the wall like shattered glass, splintering across the chamber. The emerald waters rose faster and faster. Noir, grasping the notebook from Charlotte’s nerve wrecked and pale hands as she frantically counted faster and faster, began to read aloud from its soaked pages. Charlotte, whose eyes were closed, could only feel the cold of the water and the sharp pain in her side. She could see through her closed eyes flashes of light as green lighting struck the statue in the middle. The breathing stone flew off in chunks, a screaming never meant to be heard by human ears sounding in the ears of the duo.
“I BEG FOR YOUR MERCY! PLEASE SPARE MY EXISTENCE! DO NOT SEND BACK INTO THE UNCONSCIOUS! I WISH TO LIVE THE DREAM!”
The god was only met with the roar of the greater god, as Noir paused in his reading to witness the awesome. A hand, larger than any building or mountain he had seen, crashed through the wall. A tsunami of green following it, animals of the ocean with its arrival. The hand, marked with weeds and coral of the sea and tentacles grasped out at the statue and crushed it within a single clutch. At once, the pyramid began to collapse, and the water began to pour in greater and greater magnitudes. Noir went back to his book, reading faster and faster.
Charlotte stopped her counting, the water now at her head, and was waiting for the roaring water to finally cover her until -
Charlotte felt warm.
She opened her eyes and saw she was laying on a simple wood floor, though now covered in seawater. She sat up, still in pain. A cursory glance revealed she was in Noir’s hotel room at her mom’s Inn. before her, like a tear in fabric upon the air, knelt Noir as he looked at her through the tear.
“Noir…where..”
“Charlotte.” His voice came through echoey, distant. “I sent you through a tear in reality spawned by his arrival. I was only strong enough to push one of us through. My job is done. I’ve kept the balance. You have a long life ahead of you, Charlotte. Forget as much as this as possible and live a normal life. You still have that ability.”
Charlotte could see the rushing water approach faster and faster behind him and she feebly reached out to the detective. “Noir.. behind..”
“Thank you, Captain. For your help. Keep well.” As the water finally hit Noir, he tossed his hat through and the tear was shut, with only a few spurts of seawater remaining. Charlotte could hear the stomping of feet up the stairs behind her, but she was not focusing on it. She crawled to the hat, the soaking wet fedora, and held it in her hands. Her head, faint from the blood loss and stress, could only see its shape. She held it close to her chest, the world around her turning blacker and blacker. She could not hear her mother’s cry of fear when she saw her. She could not see the men who carried her down the stairs to the ambulance. She could only see the dying god who tossed her partner like a child’s toy. She could only see those orbs of yellow staring through the cracks in the impossible pyramid. The pile of dead bodies in the basement of the Farming Commission. The monsters are made of plants and scarecrows.
She could only feel the wet wool of the hat of the man who had sacrificed himself to save her.
No one knew what caused it, but happening after happening caused the near-instant decline of Rockwell Falls.
Within a month the once healthy soil dried up and died, capable of only growing weeds and “For Sale” signs. A harsh winter came and killed much of the livestock and halted any movements to move out of the town for a couple of months. What livestock wasn’t killed by the chill was eaten. A town built on the miracle of the endless harvest died the minute the miracle ended. And this wasn’t even including the arrests and flight of the affluent.
Charlotte walked down the once-bustling main street, looking into the windows of the abandoned storefronts and sighing. It was autumn, her favorite season. She remembers how the town used to look at this time of year. Pumpkins and gourds sat on the doorsteps of the homes and storefronts. She remembered the music that use to play from the radio on porches and the taste of the fresh apple cider that came from the orchard not too far down the road.
That orchard didn’t grow anything anymore. All the trees caught a blight and died before they could grow anything more than a flower. Charlotte sighed as she turned the corner on the road, looking out towards the winding trail that lead away from the place. So many times had she wanted to take it and leave. So many times had she been so close to doing just that, only to stop short of putting the key in the ignition.
She was stuck here. But it was worse than that. She was stuck here and alone in the worst way.
After she had gotten dismissed from the hospital, she went on a witchhunt. Exposing the basement of the Farming Commission (though the doors that she and Noir had walked through had vanished) opened an investigation into all members. Searches of their properties turned fruitful as journals and murder weapons were carted out by the handfuls. Past and present members of the commission were sent away to prison, and Charlotte thought she had saved the town somewhat, now that those who would murder for a few crops were gone.
Now she can see she did nothing but hasten its downfall. Within months the crop yields dwindled and the dust storms that ravaged their neighbors finally laid waste to them. Without the protection of Shor Ya’thor, all the pestilence that he had kept at bay for decades had struck at once. Farmers left the town, selling their property. Their friends and family followed. Charlotte’s mother moved away to stay with family in Detroit, inviting her to do the same. But Charlotte couldn’t leave.
So she stayed as the only officer of the law in town. It only needed one. Not more than 100 people were here, and most of them were over the age of 60. Her job consisted more of housework than police work. Her dreams of reforming a major precinct went out the window, along with a normal life in the process. All it turned up because a visitor to town appeared last fall. And even though he is long gone, Charlotte stayed. Hoping against all logic and reason he would come back.
She chuckled as she walked down the opposite side of the main street. Logic and reason had no place with that man. He worked in ways that seemed to spite logic and reason for the purse satisfaction of doing so. Logic and reason. The words felt funny to her. Logic and reason had lost all meaning.
Facing the end of her patrol, she returned to the mostly empty police station and stared at the emptiness of it all. She glanced at the hat rack where she was hanging up her coat, spotting the wool fedora of the detective. It would have been one year to the day since he came to this town. A year to the day since her life was flipped, turned away from the path of logic and reason. She reached for it, smirking. Yet as she tugged at the fabric she felt a tear in the stitching. Sighing, she slowly lifted the hat from the rack and walked over to her desk, taking her sewing kit out of the drawer. Turning over the hat looking for the tear she found it… along with a slip of paper peeking out from behind the stitching. Curious, her brow furrowed, she retrieve the paper from the hat, careful not to tear it any further. It was yellowed from age, and well worn from its hidden compartment. Unfurling the paper she saw a series of letters that didn’t form words, yet she recognized them regardless. They were the words that Noir had told her to yell while holding his notebook. The ones that caused the water to flood the pyramid and summon that beast with the huge yellow eyes. Coupled with the words was a small note scribbled at the bottom.
“In case I get stuck, read these aloud while holding the hat. Then, rescue me!”
“Rescue you?! That’s it? That’s all you thought was worth writing down?!” Charlotte helped the paper tightly, her face turning red while tears pooled in her eyes. She hated this man. Oh, she hated him with her entirety. Everything he does brings nothing but pure rage when she thinks of him. And yet despite her better judgment she stood up from her desk, grabbed her revolver, and stepped outside. Once on the porch of the police station, she bent over and grabbed a long length of rope she kept by in case she needed to tie a horse up. It's happened more than you think.
Taking deep breaths, Charlotte looked at the paper once again.
“Oh you bastard, I hope you’re still alive so I can kill your ass for making me do this.”
She cleared her throat. The fall wind picked up, orange and yellow leaves flowing in the breeze. She could feel the chill temperature against her skin, a slight tremble in her legs. She spoke aloud.
The sound of fabric tearing echoed, and lightning struck not four feet from her. An earth-shattering explosion, a symposium of green light overloaded her senses and for a brief minute, she could smell the salt of the sea and feel the spray of ocean mist. Opening her eyes she could see through the tear, into the collapsing pyramid. On the other side, she could see the detective being assaulted with wave after wave, his head barely above the water. His arms flailed pathetically against the waves and his mouth gasped for air as the pyramid only further crumbled.
“NOIR!”
The detective’s head glanced in her direction and a look of utter shock and awe washed over him before a wave did the same. Wasting not a moment, Charlotte grabbed the rope and tied an end to the hitching post in front of the station. Grabbing the other end she tied a hasty lasso. Not one of her best, but it’ll do. She stepped back to the tear, beginning to circle the rope above her head. Noir’s hand reached out from the water, the last wind of a drowning man. She catapults the rope through the tear, watching as it travels almost a full football field to the flailing detective. He makes way to the rope, swimming against the turbulent waves of green and black. Grabbing onto the rope, he tugs on it and Charlotte begins to reel him in.
Charlotte struggles against the weight, digging her feet into the concrete parking barrier in front of her. Every foot gained feels like a mile, but she can see the detective getting closer. The groaning of the beast gets louder the longer the tear is open, and Charlotte can feel her body and mind getting weaker but she persisted. A burning feeling overtakes her but doesn’t focus on it. She does not focus on her clothes, which turn more and more muted. She does not focus on her hands, which grow paler and paler. She only looks down at the detective. She focuses only on Noir. She sees only her partner.
As the man approaches the tear, his hands reaching through to the other world, the beast appears in its totality. Charlotte catches only a glimpse of its face, yet it is almost enough to drive her mad. In those eyes, she saw the creations and destruction of whole worlds and realities that once were and will never be. She saw her entire life at every stage at every possibility.
Yet she persisted, grabbing at Noir’s shoulders and throwing him over her shoulders.
As his feet left the tear, it disappeared. And with it, those glowing yellow eyes staring at her.
Charlotte collapses to her knees from exhaustion. She looks down at her hands, expecting to see the deep red rope burns that would sting her for days to come. Instead, she looks at her grayscale skin. For a solid few minutes, she sits there, silent. The only noise made comes from the wind and Noir’s deep breaths of exhaustion behind her. Her eyes look down at her clothes, covered in the same gray-scale filter of herself. Looking down at the pool of water before her, she sees her face is the very same.
And she laughs.
It starts small, a laugh of denial. But it grows. Grows into a laugh of acceptance of the loss of logic and reason. Logic and reason are long gone, and she went with them. Noir glances up from his spent state to see his savior carry the same complexion as him.
“Charlotte... Your skin is..”
“Yeah, yeah it's like yours, isn’t it?” She laughs, tears pooling in her eyes.
“You know detective, had this happened any sooner I would have freaked out. But now? It's just a confirmation. A confirmation that my life as I knew it is over.” Her laughs die down.
“It ended when you first came here.”
She turns to face the detective. He slowly sits up, soaking wet and bandages falling from under his shirt. She points a white finger at him.
“You owe me a job now, mister. I saved your life yet again. I expect to be compensated for it this time.”
Noir spits out some seawater that pooled in his mouth, a look of confusion coming over him.
“What? Charlotte, am I hearing you right, or is there still water in my ear?”
She stands up, shaking some of the water off of her before turning and leaning over Noir.
“What I mean, is that my ‘normal life’ you told me to live disappeared the moment you left. This town is empty. Everyone is gone. I have nowhere to go, no one to speak to. No one who would understand what I had gone through to supposedly ‘save’ this town. No one but you. So goddamnit you gumshoe you’re going to offer me a job right now and you’re going to keep me with you.”
“I’m going to keep you with me?”
“Of course you are, dumbass. Who else is going to save you every time you almost get yourself killed?” Noir looked up at her and started laughing in his own baritone.
“Well, I guess I don’t have a choice, do I? Especially with the way you look.”
“And how do I look, detective?”
Noir pauses, slowly rising from his puddle of water.
“I’m gonna muse on my answer for a little bit if you don’t mind.”
Charlotte chuckled, leading the detective into the police station to dry off and recover.
“Oh don’t worry, I'll be right by your side when you decide to answer.”
Too many questions clouded the mind of the detective. Floating points, some correlation, yet seemingly unrelated. A corrupt Farming Commission dealing with the deep unknown and eldritch, the murder of the mechanic, and the explosion of the truck of the Police Captain. How was this related? If the Journal was anything to go by, then the Captain was unaware of anything beyond usual police matters. A minor tracking of a bad apple. Not even his highest priority. So how was this related? What does Paul Allister have to do with whatever is behind this barn door?
Noir approached the door and placed both hands on the right handle and gave a mighty pull. The wood gave a loud scratch as he pulled it across the stone floor, echoing across the cave walls. Charlotte came to his side, pulling on the door with him with one hand, in the other her revolver. Noir could feel cold wind begin to blow out from the door and saw specks of snow make their way into the cave onto its stone floor. He stopped, motioning for Charlotte to do so as well. Slowly, he peaked around the corner of the door, and saw…
Snow. Snow for miles. The wastes stretched far beyond what should have been the horizon, curving inwards into itself and spiraling into the sky. Multiple stars and skies where there should have only been one, snow falling upwards into the infinite sky or the reflected floor. Noir saw a land of impossibility and incredulousness. His head hurt at the sights, mountains both pointing high into the sky and inwards to the earth. It contradicted yet conformed at the same time to every rule. He could see pyramids of black stone, lightly covered by the constantly falling snow. Steam rose from these pyramids, creating pillars which themselves followed no line of logic or rule in their travels. The closest pyramid towered concavely, bending and casting shadow in all directions. Charlotte stepped out from behind the door, hand covering her eyes. Noir fastened his coat tightly around his waist before turning back to her.
“Holy..”
“You’ll find nothing of the such here, Captain. This is as damned as it gets.”
Charlotte stepped outside the doors, the harsh winds and snow dotting her dirtied and tarnished police uniform. One hand instantly went to her head, a gasp of pain as she squinted hard.
“My eyes! Its like they’re being squeezed.”
“Give it a minute, you’ll adjust. Judging by the fact that we are not liquid or insane yet, we must still be on Earth but I have no clue where.”
Noir walks out further to get a lay of the land, climbing a snow dune to get a vantage point. All he sees is much of the same. Hurts as much too. Wincing as he returns down the hill, he finds Charlotte shivering, her arms wrapped around herself.
“So, whats the plan now?” Her teeth chattered as she looked around the landscape. Before Noir could get a word out, the doors behind her slammed shut. A large gale of wind then began to circle above them, the door distinegrasting into wood chips. Noir and Charlotte lept for the door, pushing at it with all their might. Though the doors were supported by nothing and were simply standing of their own accord in a field of snow, it was as if they pressed against stone.
The duo could only watch as the doors they tried to push only further splintered into the air, until all that was left was the indent in the snow where it once stood.
For a minute, the two just stood there in disbelief. Charlotte falls to her knees, a look of utter defeat on her. Noir lets out a long sigh, a funnel of steam rising above him.
“Well, this kinda narrows out choices by a good few margins.” He shuffles over to Charlotte and kneels next to her.
Charlotte stays silent, looking far off into the distance at nothing.
“Captain, less you want to become a Donner Ice Pop I think we best keep moving.”
She looks at him confused.
“Where? Where do we move to? One of the hundreds of hurt pyramids that simultaneously move closer yet further away from us?”
“If you don’t mind I was thinking so,yeah.” Noir reaches into his pocket and retrieves a cigarette, offering it to the Captain. She eyes it cautiously.
“I don’t smoke, Noir.”
“C’mon, pretty soon you won’t be doing much of anything.” She rolls her eyes, but reluctantly takes the cigarette. With the practice of a veteran she grabs the lighter out of Noir’s hands and cups the flame so that the wind doesn’t blow it away. Noir’s jaw fell slack.
“I thought you said you don’t smoke?”
“Yeah, not that I never smoked. I needed it, ok?” She stands up from the snow, still shivering from the cold. She looks at the calm, steely look of the detective and takes a long drag.
“And what gives with this supernatural calm of yours, Noir? Its really unsettling at this point.”
“Charlotte, this isn’t even the first time today we’ve thought we were going to die. Much less beyond a point of no return. We were destined to be here since we got stuck in that infinite corn road.”
“Corn row, you mean.”
“Charlotte, now is not the time for spitting hairs.”
“Splitting.”
Noir, bends over, gathers snow, and throws a snowball at her. She looks less than amused, however Noir’s target audience was reached and he laughs at her expression.
“I’m happy i’m rubbing off on you, this ‘sarcastic in the face of danger because the loss of my own life has lost all significance' act is gonna get you far in this line of business.”
He beckons for her to follow him as he starts walking off towards the nearest pyramid, Charlotte trudging through the snow behind him.
Each wraps their own around their own body to keep some warmth, the winds only slightly slowing their ferocity as they get closer to the pyramid. Charlotte looks skyward at the looming structure, its tip blocking out the sun. She can see how, unlike the pyramids in Egypt she had read about, this pyramid appears to be cut from one solid piece of obsidian. The errant rays of sunlight that peak through the grey and stormy sky only add this white sheen that blinds if you observe it incorrectly. Though, she felt in her mind that she might go blind if she looked at it correctly too. Her eyes look down at the cigarette in her mouth, long blown out by the cold. She spits it out. It didn’t help her then just as much as it didn’t help her before.
All she wanted was answers and all she got was more and more questions. And each question only gave partial answers to the last. They had found who put the car bomb in her uncle’s car, but why? They found this deep, hellish abyss within the cellar of the Farming Comission, which her uncle used to be a part of. Then he had left, and rather suddenly too. Said that, “they’re gonna end up hurting a load of good people for no reason one day.” She had kept this passage hidden from Noir, a page from the journal she had turned over in her head over and over again. It could have been written off as some men with power using it better themselves at the cost of others, a game as old as politics itself too. It could still be that, too. But there were many moving parts now that she had to deal with. Why had the Farming Commission wanted her uncle dead? It had been decades since he left them, he gave no reason for them to suspect he was going to sell out this secret… unless.
“Noir.”
He glanced back at her, “Yeah?”
“How did you know to come down here?”
“Your Uncle. He sent a letter out to the state bureau of internal affairs tipping us off about something potentially weird here. The IA threw it out almost immediately, but not until we got a hold of it. The whole thing was full of ramblings ‘bout yearly blood sacrifices to appease the gods of harvest and good weather. Well, we took a look at it and sure enough, your town seems to be in perpetual late August.”
“Wait, so you knew the farming commission was behind this the whole time?”
“No, I didn’t. I thought this was an isolated act that someone was blaming on the farming commission. Your Uncle’s departure was not pleasant. The anomalous stuff going on had some merit to it, but we had little to believe your uncle on who was behind it. Much like the IA, we chalked it up to a grudge.”
They walked in silence for a while, still shivering in the cold. Noir would look back at Charlotte only to see her watching her feet as she walked.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“More important things kept coming up, Charlotte. Plus, before we were brought here against our will I wanted to investigate the Farming Commission.”
“I asked why! All you said was ‘detective’s hunch’. Do I need to remind you aren’t even a real detective?”
“Whats with the third degree right now? I feel like there are more pressing matters!”
“Because I’m trying to actually figure out this damn mystery! Between the two of us, let someone who has actual training figure out the mystery while you keep us alive! I can’t do my job unless you do yours. I also can’t do my job if my partner keeps information from me!”
Noir stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to Charlotte.
“Partner?”
She silently trudges past him, leaving him a ways behind before he begins walking again.
Noir sat on grass not two feet away from the base of the pyramid. The structure radiated warmth and sunlight, giving a welcome respite from the cold. It felt like a flame when he touched it, so he chose to just rest near it like a campfire. Next to him, separated by tangible tense air, Charlotte was lost in thought. They had been like this for a couple hours, silent spare for Noir checkin in on her. Their heads still throbbed from the pain of comprehending the incomprehensible, but their bodies were atleast no longer on the verge of frostbite.
Noir gazed up the pyramid, feeling a thousand eyes meet his two.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing…” he muttered under his breath.
Charlotte’s head perked up at his words.
“Where’d you read Poe?”
Noir smirked. “When I met his ghost.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or telling the truth. Course…thats what its always like with you.”
Noir’s smile disappeared. “Charlotte, look. I didn’t intend to not tell you. I was well on my way to telling you before I..before we were shoved into this mess. We are so close to finding out what the hell the Farming Commission was so willing to murder for. Or whether or not they were even intending to.”
Charlotte’s brow furrowed at the end of his standing, the police captain standing up to face Noir.
“Intending to? And what does that mean?”
“You felt that pain in our heads when we walked into this hellscape. Those voices screaming at you back in the cave. The only reason you didn’t cave is because there’s something up with you. Perhaps with your uncle too. That's why he was able to leave. What I'm saying is, what if the commission got taken over by something big? A mind beyond our own, capable of offering great gifts-”
“-but at a price.” Charlotte finished his sentence, her hand rubbing her chin.
“So you’re saying that the farming commission somehow came across this god, got suckered by it via a few boons or something, before asking the commission to start making offerings for it? That would explain the cows my uncle talked about in that letter.”
“It would also explain the piles of corpses we found too. It’s all starting to connect here. Those doors? A gateway for that beast to come in and consume the sacrifice. The commission would then act on its orders and continue the perpetual harvest. The thing must've gotten tired of steak at one point and wanted to try the other white meat.”
Charlotte visibly recoiled at the reference to cannibalism. Noir just rolled his eyes.
“Anyways, the thing must’ve gotten worried that the secret would come out and its free meal ticket would go away. So it ate the farming commission.”
Charlotte shook her head. “That’s impossible. We saw their bodies in the pit, and hell I even saw some of them around town before we came here. They can’t have been eaten yet.”
“What if it doesn’t eat their bodies?”
“Come again?”
“What if it eats their minds?”
Charlotte's eyes grew wider. “And then supplanted itself in heir heads like a conductor on a train!”
Noir clapped his hands together in excitement. “I think we’re on to something! However, this doesn’t solve much for us.”
Charlotte gloomily nodded her head. “Yeah. Even if this ‘god’ did kill all those people and my uncle, its still not going to help us get out of here.”
“Or,” Noir added looking back at the pyramid, “will it really help us get rid of this.. Whatever this ‘god’ thing is. I’ve tussled with a few things, but I don’t think we can take one down. Send it to sleep maybe.”
Charlotte walked next to him, looking back up the pyramid. Maybe she had given him a lot of shit about not being a real detective. Sure, he’s not sworn in and trained like she is, but he still has an observational mind and attitude. She might not hate being stuck with him.
She thought back to the slip she made. Partner. Was she really thinking she could leave Rockwell behind? That easily? Go off with this strange man and just solve real mysteries with a real chance of excitement and danger?
Could she even go back to a normal life after this?
No. Those aren’t thoughts for now.
She shook her head. Lets get out of here first. She leans over to Noir.
“Where would we even look to find this thing?”
“Perhaps on his front lawn?”
The duo paused. The voice came from neither of them, but each heard it in their ears. They could feel the heat of it’s presence along their back. A long tendril of vine and root wrapped around their legs and traveled up to their torso. The voice felt deep and echoey, as if speaking from a well. The pyramid shifted before them, the wall melting and morphing into a doorway.
“Lets get acquainted while we discuss my, as you put it, meal ticket.”
Noir’s cheek still stung from where Charlotte smacked him and told him to get in the hole. He might need to work on understanding the audience of a joke. Ah well. There is always more time to work on your delivery.
Noir paused in that thought.
Well…maybe not much time.
The ladder was made of steel, and the chill of the underground had made it cold to the touch. And for some reason, wet. Noir could feel the water under his shoes try its best to make him slip off the rungs. He could hear the squeak of rubber from Charlotte’s boots above him to tell him she wasn’t having any easier of a time. Noir sighed as the descent continued. He had to tie his coat close to his body as the hole was tight. He could barely even look up. Not that he would anyway. Charlotte had told him if he did she’d fall on purpose.
It wouldn’t matter if he could look up anyway. Not long after the duo descended into the pit, the light faded more and more until they were descending in darkness. Charlotte had attempted to turn on the flashlight she had clipped to her belt, but the light was suffocated by the surrounding darkness. Noir focused only on his feet and hands, making sure to firmly grasp and stably step on each rung. Complete sensory deprivation as the duo climbed for what felt like an hour. They did not speak, too busy keeping their strength and breathing heavily through all the stress.
Noir stopped on the ladder, looking down. He could see a faint, purple light glowing beneath him. He could also see the bottom of the ladder, not two rungs beneath his feet.
“Charlotte, hold on. The ladder just stops.”
The police captain stops, looking down at Noir at a very awkward angle.
“What do you mean the ladder just stops? Are we at the bottom yet?”
“I mean the ladder just stops. There are two more rungs below me and that's about it. We are not at the bottom, though. I can see a faint light beneath us, but it's very beneath us.”
Charlotte groaned and let her head thud against the rungs.
“Noir, I am not looking forward to climbing back up this ladder. How far down is it? Can you see the bottom?”
Noir glanced beneath him once more. He might as well had been looking into a piece of black paper with a child shining a gag light through it.
“We are nowhere near solid ground worth standing on. We better start climbing up, see if we can’t grab some rope up there, and tie it to the bottom.”
“Fine, but we are taking an ample break when we get back up. My muscles haven’t hurt this much since…” she paused.
“Since..?”
“Nevermind.” Her voice mumbled out as she began to ascend the rungs.
Noir snorted through his nose and stifled a laugh, eliciting a kick of dirt in his face.
“Oh Charlotte, you young and embarrassed kids will never cease to make me laugh.”
“I will saw off the rungs beneath me.”
Before Noir could respond the entire ladder shifted downwards. Dust and small rocks bounced off the sides of the hole, hitting Noir’s hat. He looked up and saw Charlotte holding tightly onto the bent ladder hanging over her head. The top of the ladder had broken from the rungs above and lodged itself into the other side of the hole.
Noir reached up, trying to grab a rung. As his fingertips reached the rung above him, the ladder shifted downwards again, sending more rubble down into the pit beneath them.
“Charlotte! You ok?” He coughed as the dust got into his throat.
“A bit scratched but I'm fine. I don’t understand how it broke, it was fine going down!”
“We’re gonna have to think of a way to move up without the ladder. I think we oughta press our backs against one side of the hole and our feet on the other and scoot our way up. It’ll take a while, but -”
The ladder shifted again, this time breaking free of the friction keeping it in place. The sudden jolt caused Charlotte to jolt free of her holding and fall into Noir, bringing the detective down with her. They fell down the shaft, Noir painfully taking many hits and scratches to the sides and back of his body as he tried to protect Charlotte from the protruding rock.
Well, this is a rather ignoble way to go out. I wanted to at least go down swinging. Not just…going down.
Noir closed his eyes and held closer to Charlotte, waiting for the ground to catch up. He could only hear the whistling wind and Charlotte’s weak breathing of shock. The faint purple glow was beginning to glow brighter, seeping into his eyelids. And as he heard the wind grow sharper and sharper, his instincts telling him the ground was getting closer and closer, it all suddenly stopped.
It was as if a hand had caught him at the last second, like a child quickly catching a glass that had fallen off the table. Noir slowly opened his eyes to see why he hadn’t turned into ketchup and saw that he was simply floating in the air, mere inches off the ground.
“What the…”
The minute he spoke, the miracle dissipated and with a thud he and Charlotte hit the floor. The wind knocked out him, Noir wheezed as he slowly turned Charlotte off of him and painfully sat up. Charlotte had not gotten it much easier than he did, having used all her air hyperventilating as she fell to her death. Noir, straightening out his back and rubbing at the ripped sides of his jacket which only barely stopped several rocks from jutting into his ribs, scanned their location.
He glanced up, and with the help of the (what he determines to be) sourceless purple glow he saw that the hole they fell from was several dozen feet directly above them. With no rock wall nearby with even a hope of scaling. He sighed and looked to the left and right of him. They were in a huge cavern, several dozen feet high in every direction. It was a grand, and empty, chamber. He spied an offshoot tunnel leading away from them, towards brighter purple light.
Nowhere else to go I guess. In for a penny...
Noir groaned as he stood up, wiping the debris from his coat and pants. He glances over at Charlotte, still on the floor. He coughs.
“Charlotte? You alive?”
A groan came from her. At least she's alive. He shuffles over to her, crouching into a squat next to her. She rolls over onto her back, wincing.
“Am In hell?”
“Sadly, you’re still alive.”
“Figures.” She sits up, blowing air out her nose in stress and pain. She rubs the back of her head and looks around the cavern.
“Any idea where we are?”
“Down from where we were. I think we are still in the clubhouse if you can believe it. Your farming commission might be dabbling in the arts they ought not to.”
“I’m gonna dabble my foot up their ass when I get out of here.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling better. Take my hand.”
As Noir helped Charlotte up, noticed a huge amount of scars along her sides. And the blood that was coming from them. He cursed himself internally, he thought he protected her from most if not all of the stones. Charlotte, stretching out, surveyed the cavern herself. She saw the ladder that has fallen with them. She also saw, tucked into a corner of the cave behind a wall of rocks. She slowly stepped to it, looking over her shoulder at Noir as he gave her a confused look.
“You good, Charlotte?”
“I saw something over here.. Looked like a ladder.” Noir followed behind her, a quizzical look on his face. As Charlotte reached the wall of rocks, she covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Before her was the other half the ladder she suspected, what was supposed to be under Noir before they all fell. There were also piles of human bones. And some human bodies that had not yet begun to decompose. She could recognize many of their faces as members of the farming commission. Noir, having caught up to her, winced when he got the whole picture.
“Well, that crosses the commission off our list… seems like someone got to them first.”
“What did this? What could do this?”
“I can think of several answers, none of which give me joy. What perplexes me more is why its hidden. Something must care about the aesthetics of their cave.”
Charlotte shot the detective a scornful look then walked away, shaking the image of the piles of dead men out of her head. She needed to just clear her head, choosing to look around the cavern to bleach her mind. She saw that it was a strange cavern, not one that looked natural. She remembered the caves she and her uncle used to go exploring when he was the boy scout troop leader. She knows what a cave ought to look like and this… doesn’t look like it was a normal cave.
She then saw the hole they fell out of.
“Christ, Noir. How’d we survive that? This drop is lethal!”
“We floated.”
She turned to look at the detective with an unamused look.
“No joke, Captain. We fell, and then before hitting the ground we just stopped. Mere inches away from the floor. Then, we fell some more.”
“Noir, I am getting tired of this magic bullshit.”
“Frankly, I'm surprised it took you this long.”
Noir took off his overcoat and tossed it to Charlotte. She caught it, looking at him with a confused look.
“Put it on.”
“What? Why?”
“It’ll keep your sides safe from any more attacks. It's a thick coat.” Charlotte looked down at her sides, her eyes growing in shock as she saw the blood soaking into her blue uniform shirt.
“I… Didn’t even feel it.”
“Shock will do that. You’re gonna wish you didn’t feel it soon enough. Put on the coat so you don’t get infected.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but she could see in the dim light Noir’s serious look and thought best to just humor him. Besides... It wouldn’t hurt. She slipped on the coat, it was baggy and hung off her. It was warm too. A stark contrast to the cold air she felt around her. She looked back up at Noir, but he was already walking away to the cavern tunnel. She could see that he was cut up much worse than she was, his wraps that she put on him not two hours ago more than likely already torn. She noticed his face was much more pale than usual. She wanted to say something but could not open her mouth. Instead, you wordlessly followed him.
Noir stood at the entrance to the tunnel, running his hand over the stone that made the natural archway. Smooth. Sanded. Ancient. Wind blew past him from the tunnel, and with each chill that touched his wounds, he could feel a soft tingle of ancient magics. His eyes narrowed. The purple light down the tunnel pulsated in a steady heartbeat but made no sound.
“Noir, what is this place?”
He stepped back from the entrance, not fully turning his body away, speaking to Charlotte from the side.
“I think this is the source of our problems in your lovely town. I cannot tell you for certain what is down here, but I feel we are about to find out all our answers.” Noir took a step forward into the archway and could feel a huge gust of wind shoot into him. Charlotte clutched onto the side of the coat, desperate to keep it on her body as the gale swept past her. A deep, guttural sound filled the chamber. Noir stood defiant against the archway. Turning his head once more to Charlotte, he smirked.
“Coming?”
“It either die quick or slow at this point.”
“Life is a lot more fun when you look at it through that lens.”
The duo entered into the archway, Charlotte looking behind her in a longing look. All her worldly problems seem so far beyond what has happened to her in these past few hours. She had almost forgotten those forlorn feelings she had let out only minutes ago. Noir was right. Shock is one hell of a feeling. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t muster up even a memory of those feelings. It just seemed so… insignificant. Her human troubles. This was something beyond the wants, desires, fears of the common man. Nothing she did in the past few days could be called common. Not the person she worked with, not the work she did. Through it all, even after she discovered she had been lied to, she had kept to it. She felt more comfortable in the abstract and unexplained than the mundane of her small-town life. Her body was telling her this could not last forever. That this type of adventuring would kill her eventually. It was not an if it was a when. But her mind was whispering something to the contrary.
Such thoughts should be left until it's safe to think about them.
I agree, Ms.White.
Charlotte stopped in her tracks, quickly looking around her in all directions. Noir heard her commotion and turned back to see her move like a chicken without its head.
“Charlotte? The hell you doing?”
“I...I heard someone speak.”
Noir cautiously turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
“Where did you hear them speak.”
She began to open her mouth but stopped. It would sound like she was losing her mind.
Perhaps you are, Ms.White. You don’t want the only lifeline you have in these cramped conditions to abandon you, right?
“it .. may have just been a trick of the wind.”
Noir slowly stepped to Charlotte.
“Charlotte, you know as well as I do that means nothing. Where did you hear this voice?”
Tell him, you hysteric. Do it. See his reaction.
“I’m… having thoughts that are not my own.” Charlotte had to force these words out of her. Each one given felt like a hammer to a finger in her head. Noir looked around the cavern and cursed.
“This means we’re close. Charlotte, there's not much we can do to get the worm out of your mind.”
A look of fear flashed over Charlotte’s face. Noir shook his hands reassuringly in front of her. “ No no. Not that it's permanent, it's just that we can’t do anything about it right now. We can use this to our advantage even.”
“How?? How do I get rid of it, why is it in my head, and how does it help us?!”
“Charlotte, I need you to think of the most annoying moment of your life. Painfully uncomfortable moments. Not actual pain. No physical anguish. Only mental anguish. Manifest these memories in your head.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. Close your eyes and focus. We’re gonna keep walking, but I will guide you as we move. Don’t think about anything else.”
Having no reason to doubt Noir’s erratic plans, as they were in response to an erratic creation, she closed her eyes. She felt Noir step beside her, grab hold of her arm, and begin to slowly walk forward. Charlotte did not have to stretch very far back for uncomfortable memories. She remembers consoling people of her town that relatives or friends of theirs have passed. Or when she had to sit in on meeting after meeting, covering useless policy and department updates. Long phone calls with people she had not intended to talk this long to. Despite her relatively short life, Charlotte recalled constantly she was incredibly annoyed most of her life. A side thought told her she ought to be more accepting of people. This side thought was quickly squashed with a memory of attending a graduation party of someone she despised. She only went for the food.
Noir, in the world of the unannoyed, saw the very environment change around him. The very walls of the cavern shifted and changed, falling into each other and forming new pathways which would close instantly. Stone flowed like water down the wall, splashing onto the floor and turning into sands, dirt, eventually dissolving into mist. The room shook, the pulsating purple light flashing quicker. Noir smiled.
If you open a tunnel, something else can come back just as easy as you come in. Hope you like whatever she's giving you. It seems to be hell.
Charlotte was falling into a comfortable niche. Focusing on the worst parts of her life managed to make the predicament she was in now feel like it was just a part of the path of living. She would barely notice when Noir picked her up to climb a small jump, or the shaking of the wall and the strange feelings of sand and dirt on her arms that sprayed her. She could feel that whatever thing spoke in her mind was having an unfortunate time.
“Alright, Charlotte, I think we’ve pushed back the thing enough for now.”
Noir’s voice cut through the anger she had boiled in her head, letting the steam pour away. She slowly opened her eyes, the vision fuzzy before her. Charlotte rubbed her eyes.
“Don’t think I ever consciously made myself that annoyed before. Feel a little bit sleepy.”
“Fighting an eldritch being will do that.”
As Charlotte’s vision cleared, she could see a strange sight before her. Noir stood in front of what looked like a barn door. A huge, white, chipped paint barn door. Charlotte thought she may have rubbed her eyes a little too much.
A clubhouse would be a better description of the home than a meeting spot. The House had only two stories to it and had very little in the ways of a “meeting space”. Charlotte had come across smoking rooms, drinking rooms, smoking and drinking rooms, and a pool table was a common sight. She was getting a feeling that the Farming Commission did very little regarding the regulation of crops around the town. She was hoping for an office, a bedroom, a minutes book, something useful. But this place appeared to be no more than a hang-out spot for old men and their friends. The bottom floor had nothing for them. A locked and boarded-up door with the thumps of vines thudding against it in a rhythm of anger. Noir had limped upstairs to look into anything he could find, but by the sounds of slamming doors and yelling concerning just how many bottles of alcohol a place can hold, she can assume there is not much luck up there either.
Charlotte sighs, exiting the third smoking room she had found. To the commission’s credit, they did have excellent interior decoration. The chairs were all comfortable (she had indulged herself just once and had to fight to stand from the chair’s soft embrace), the fireplaces were extravagant without being gaudy, and you were never more than four feet away from the world’s best-stocked liquor cabinet. While standing in the hallway of the home, she looked around and cursed.
“Watch your language, Captain.” Noir’s voice echoed down the staircase behind her. She rolled her eyes and groaned.
“Noir, this place has jack for us.”
“Damn right it has Jack. Daniels and its offshoots.”
“You know I’m not talking about the alcohol.”
“There is nothing else in this damned building, what else could you possibly be talking about?”
Charlotte gave a loud Ha! before walking back to the room where Noir was bleeding out just an hour earlier. She sat down and put her head in her hands. Feelings of dread were beginning to creep back in as the quick shots of liquor she had earlier began to fade. There is no way out of the place that isn't an instant death. Her car is gone, blown up. There is no food. There is only whiskey.
There are worse places to die I guess.
Letting her hands fall to the wayside, she put her forehead on the edge of the table and closed her eyes. She hasn’t slept in a full day, day in a half maybe. It was beginning to get to her. Maybe this was all one hallucination? One weird murder in her idyllic little town, followed by a long night and a half without sleep? Yeah, that could do it. This is all one wild dream. She takes a deep breath in, calming herself. Noir isn’t a guy working for a supernatural police agency. And his name isn’t Noir, it's Chase. None of this makes sense, it has to be fake and in my head.
Looking up from the table she turned to face the boarded-up window. Tendrils of vines were slapping against the glass outside, and the serrated toothed monsters were howling at her. She could still smell the burning rubber of her car. She slowly put her head back to the table edge and took a deep breath, slowly letting it out.
I might move away after this. Somewhere far away from this nonsense. Maybe Oregon.
As Charlotte was contemplating her future, her eyes caught something strange beneath the table. When she had unceremoniously thrown herself into the chair, she had moved the carpet underneath it. She could see, reflected off of the dancing lights and shadows given by the vine monsters outside, the distinct sheen of a metallic hinge. Standing up slowly, tossing her chair to the side she lifted the carpet as much as she could from the side to reveal a hatch.
“NOIR!” She yelled out his name, already moving about the table and tossing chairs into the hallway. The sound of a heavy thump came from upstairs alongside a yelp, causing Charlotte to wince.
“Yeah?” came the weak voice of the detective upstairs.
“You ok?” Charlotte walked to the stairs, stopping just short of ascending by Noir rubbing his head walking down. He waved his hand dismissively at her.
“Yeah, yeah I’m ok. Was just reaching for something at the top of a shelf and fell, nothing bad. Fruits of my labor weren’t for nothing, though. I found this!”
Noir reaches into his pocket and takes out a silver flask.
“More alcohol, Charlotte! Can you believe it?” He spears the flask into the ground. Noir wipes his hand across his face before finally looking at Charlotte.
“So, what’d you call me for?”
Charlotte motions with her head to the adjoining room, and they both walk in. Noir looks around at the mess of chairs in the hallway and messed-up carpet. His brow furrows as he looks at Charlotte with a questioning look.
“I found a hatch underneath the table. I think it may lead to a basement, or maybe a hidden crawlspace. It could have something important under it.”
“It could also have prohibition-era corn liquor, but it’s better than just doing nothing. Old on, I’ll be right back.”
Noir turned and left the room, leaving Charlotte with the puzzled look now.
“Wait, where are you going? Are we not going to move the table out the way?”
Noir answered from a few rooms over, a loud tinny echo; “In a way, the table will be moved. I recommend you step aside by the way.” Charlotte cautiously walked to the doorframe where Noir had walked out from, only to jump aside as she saw the detective run straight at her with an ax. Just as she ducked into a corner, she saw the man jump onto the table and level the ax straight into its top. He made countless swings, tearing away piece by piece at the table, and before long the table buckled with the middle completely gone. Noir, gasping for air and standing on the floor surrounded by two halves of a table, let go of the ax in his hand and silently walked over to where Charlotte was standing in the corner and leaned against the same wall.
“Tables moved.”
Charlotte looked at the destroyed table in front of her, a splintering bit of it falling off. She turned her head to look Noir in the eyes, face nonplussed. She leans closer to him.
“Y’know.” She begins her voice the type of scratchy that comes with speaking in low tones. “I had a different idea about moving the table. I was thinking we just grab one end of it each and just move it out of the room like that. Y’know, normal style. What competent and normal, everyday people do. I don’t even know where you got that ax.”
Noir nods, his lips pursed. He spoke in the same whisper voice, his own voice scratched. “I.. uh. I wanted to break the table in half. I was…frustrated. I saw the ax tucked around the corner near the fireplace a few rooms over. Uhhh…I think my actions were… unnecessary now that they have occurred. However, I would recommend you give it a few swings. It will make up for wading through a Revenue agent’s wet dream.”
Charlotte just nodded, walked from the wall, and picked up the ax where he dropped it.”I was gonna go off on a huge rant about having to pay for this table and unhinged actions and what-not. But at the same time.” She swings the ax above her head and brings it down in a quick motion, splitting a fist-sized hole into the table half. She does it two more times, hard and heavy swings splintering the wood into hundreds of pieces around her. Noir watched, eyebrows raised as far as they could go as this rage he couldn’t imagine emerged from such a small woman. He sneakily reached for one of the many bottles of whiskey in the building and gave himself a quick shot. I travel with an interesting individual.
Charlotte had reduced her table end into nothing but splinters, turning to the carpet with a fire still in her eyes. Noir had been half-listening to the words she had been screaming out as she swung the ax. Her words ranged from complaining about her week, her uncle’s death, her overbearing mother, her relationship issues, and finally Noir himself.
“- AND THEN THIS GRAY AND BLACK JACKASS COMES IN MY LIFE!” A violent swing of the ax into the carpet, the sound of metal cutting into wood muted by the cloth. She grunts as she pulls it from the ground.
“PROMISES ME HE’LL SOLVE THE DEATH OF MY UNCLE, TURNS OUT HE WORKS FOR THE FUCKING GHOST POLICE AND ISNT EVEN A REAL COP!” Another thud.
“AND NOW I’M STUCK SURROUNDED BY HORRORS OF NATURE WITH ONLY HIM, ALCOHOL, AND THIS FUCKING AX!”
With this final exclamation, she throws the ax into the wood, leaving its handle sticking out from its embedded head.
She stands there, breathing heavily, staring at the destruction around her, and just begins to laugh. It starts in a short form, a little chuckle, before evolving into a full-body maniacal laugh. Noir puts down his bottle and walks over to her, cautiously putting his hand out to her. Before he could touch her, she falls to her knees and keeps laughing. Noir could see the tears beginning to pool in her eyes. He grimaced. He was not the best at this, thinking back to Mrs.Allister. He knelt down next to her, a cautious arm wrapped around her. The laughter had since stopped, and only crying sounds came from her.
“Charlotte, it’ll be alright. We are going to get out of this. It’ll go back to normal. I’ve faced far worse than this if you can believe it. And on my own. We are going to be just fine.”
“How do you know that?” Charlotte spoke through the sobs. “How do you know we will ‘alright’? I am just a person, a normal person. I don’t have your bullshit arcane knowledge. I don’t have your dumb monochromatic skin, I don’t have anything. I am going to die out here and no one will know what will happen to me. I will never solve anything. My mom will wait for me to come home forever, losing her daughter and brother in the same week.” She chokes back a sob.
“Noir, my uncle hasn’t even had a funeral yet.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. But I promise you, you will live to go see it. I’ve kept my promises so far, haven’t I?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, they’re long-form promises. We’ll get there eventually.”
This got a soft chuckle out of Charlotte. Noir smiled.
“Come on, you made it a lot easier to get into that hatch. We don’t even have to open the door up, you destroyed that thing. Which is good, because you know how my lockpicking skills are.”
Charlotte thought back to the brick he threw into the building to enter it and giggled.
“I guess. I’m sorry for getting like this. Right now we need to find a way out.”
Noir smiled as he stood helping, helping Charlotte up with him.
“Don’t be sorry, Captain. Happens to the best of us. You should've seen me in the trenches. Like a little baby. Let's get a cool head and venture to see what's behind that wonderful hole you cut into the floor.” Charlotte smiled and nodded and they both took a peek at the now destroyed floor hatch. Before them, leading deep into a dark and chilly hole of earth, was a ladder.
Noir stepped back from the hole, Charlotte following him. Noir grew a mischievous grin and did an exaggerated gesture to the ladder. “Where are my manners? Ladies first.”
The car skidded sideways, mere feet away from the porch of the large home. The home was stately, with a double-stacked porch with ample space on each. Colored white like a bleached stone and with a wide clearing around it, the home was more a monument than any location for living or meeting. However, given the circumstances, Blanca and Charlotte did not pay attention to the home in any great amount.
The doors to the car swung open, the police captain and monochrome man scrambled to the home’s porch steps. The dust cloud behind them began to part, a gang of scarecrow creatures running on all fours (or more). Blanca scarcely had time to grab his coat and hat from the front seat, the coattails almost being snatched at by a green tendril of a creature under one of the tires. He kicked at it, sending its split head clean off its lumberjack-patterned shoulders. He slid across the hood of the car, landing with a running start up the steps.
As Blanca climbed the footsteps, Charlotte was busy trying to open the door. Tugging on the doorknob, slamming her shoulder against the wood doing nothing.
Of course it's locked, she thought why wouldn’t it be locked? It makes perfect sense for it to be locked.
She looked around the porch for something to help her open the door, running over to the windows. She could see faintly through the glass and drawn drapes planks of wood laid across from within. Blanca threw his jacket and hat at the floor by the front door as he raced to a bench on the porch and started to pull it to the top of the stairs. The heavy bench made a dull scratching noise as it was dragged across the wooden porch, making a louder noise when Noir dropped it at the top of the steps. He took a knee behind it and withdrew from his shoulder holster his revolver, checking the shots left in.
4 shots left. Make them count.
“Charlotte, got a plan?”
“Not unless you have the key on you!”
Noir raised his revolver and let out a thunderous shot, piercing three creatures who ran atop the car, a viscous green liquid shooting from their wounds. Other creatures running up to them grabbed a hold of the wounded and their split-mouth heads opened up before ducking down behind the car where the wounded lay. Blanca grimaced at the noises he heard.
3 left.
“Charlotte, have you checked all your options?”
“I can’t break in the door! It has a deadbolt, the windows are all barred, there's no glass on the door! I think we may have to climb to the second-floor balcony.” She looked at the balcony above them, remembering the door she saw up there. But she saw the dozen or so beasts approaching from the front.
Noir turned away from Charlotte back to the approaching horde of beasts, the mass of plaid shirts and yellow burlap becoming closer and closer the more they waited. The car had 10 of them crawling over it, drool dripping out of their split maws. Charlotte took place next to Blanca, her service pistol in her hand. Noir looked over at it and grimaced further.
A 1911? They still use these things? We’re dead.
He glanced back at the door.
It was a simple wooden door with a double lock on it, nothing special to it. A well-placed kick could push the whole thing open. But a broken door just invites more creatures in…
Turning back to the approaching death, he could barely see the car anymore. More than 20 creatures were sitting on it, hissing and whipping their green tendrils about. Mere feet away from the steps. Yet…
“Noir, why aren't they coming closer?” Charlotte’s voice had a cautious tone to it, her eyes not fully moving from the creatures crouched on her car.
“I don’t know. Maybe this house has some sort of protective field? Maybe they’re waiting for more to make a pot luck outta us?”
Noir scanned the environment, a shocking chill coming down his spine when he looked out to his sides. These creatures were everywhere around the porch, coming out of the green but stopping just shy of storming the home. He took a slow step away from the overturned bench, standing up with all due caution and approaching the right side of the porch and peering out over the railing.
He could see to the back of the house a long line of the monsters, though not all dressed in the garb of the scarecrow anymore. Carnivorous plants with the legs of dogs or whips, their mouths opening and closing like a man breathing. They could move all at once and the duo would perish in minutes, seconds even.
So why had they suddenly stopped?
Charlotte stared down at the monsters sitting on her car, just looking at her. Would she have been in this situation had she just left Noir on the side of the road? Maybe he was more bad luck than fun.
I mean, all this stuff happened the minute he came into town. What's to say he isn’t the cause of all of this?
She shook her head, banishing the thought.
No, no this isn't the time to think about this. There will be plenty of time to yell at him, shoot him run him over with your car later. You need to get out of here alive.
She gave a peak to him as he was peeking around the corner. His face had a worried look of focus, sweat dripping down to his neck. She saw his eyebrows furrow, his body tense, his breathing quicken.
He’s just as worried as I am. If this is an elaborate plan, it's backfiring. And if he’s lying to me still, then his talents are wasted in doing supernatural bullshit.
She sighed.
I hope I get to see mom again.
“Charlotte.”
She was startled, not noticing Noir coming back and kneeling next to her.
“Jesus, give me a notice!”
“I did. I just said your name. And have you found a way in yet?”
Charlotte looked back to the monsters sitting on her car, their numbers growing each time she looked away. She looked around the porch, eyeing up the supports to the porch up above. It was possible to climb, but it would take too long and the beasts could attack at any moment.
She groaned, “No. I was thinking we could climb, but that would take too long and they would grab us in seconds. Why haven’t they attacked us yet? They outnumber us easily.”
Noir looked out over the corn and horrors seemed to chew on a thought. He glanced down to his revolver, obsessively counting the same three bullets over again.
“I have a working theory, but it doesn’t bode well for us.”
“I can’t imagine our situation improving, Noir.”
He laughed, a single Ha! one gives when they really don’t mean it.
“Yeah, I don’t either. But it can!”
“How welcoming. Care to explain?”
Noir scanned the car, looking towards the engine sides, leveling his revolver at any number of beasts that walked in front of the spot he was looking at.
“This place seems to be a place of power. Something is preventing these…things from entering within a certain circle around us. However, that could change at a moment’s notice, I'm feeling. And if climbing in is impossible, and the windows are boarded up,” he glanced at the windows, seeing they were boarded from the inside instead of the out, “and they are. If the windows are boarded up then the door is really the only way into this place. So, got any ideas?”
“Christ Noir. I got nothing. Do you have any lock picks or something in your coat?”
He gave her an offended look.
“Why would you think I carry around break-in tools?”
Charlotte just gave him a blank look.
Noir rolled his eyes. “I break into places with bricks and broken glass, locking picking is not my forte. Check my pockets for something anyways, though. No telling what's in that thing.”
Charlotte slowly crawled back to his jacket, thrown unceremoniously at the floor when he scrambled up the steps. As she began to dig into his pockets, finding gum wrappers and broken pencils mostly, she noticed the floor mat underneath it. Having that sort of itch in the back of your head when you have a suspicion, she lifted the mat.
A bronze house key lay underneath it, mocking her with its existence.
She laughed.
She stands up, key in hand, and inserts it into the door.
“Hey Noir, I found -”
Her voice was drowned out by the screeching of hundreds of monsters as they started to move at once towards the duo.
“CHARLOTTE I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DID BUT YOU BETTER GET US IN!”
Noir jumped from his position behind the bench, letting out another shot from his revolver. The bullet traveled through the monsters and into the side of the car, Noir hearing a loud plink! of metal on metal. He smiled.
Bullseye.
A fireball erupted in front of him as he turned and raced to Charlotte. His skin stung from the heat, and he could feel something sharp race across his side. The smell of burning burlap and plants reached him, making him cough and gag at the same time. Charlotte had just barely opened the door in time for him to leap in, turning and grabbing his coat and hat before the police captain slammed the door shut and locked it once more. Laying on the floor, coat in his right hand, gun in his left, Noir let out the loudest groan. Charlotte slid to the floor, the sounds of thudding hitting the door behind her.
We’re still in danger. We’re not safe. Only a momentary reprise from those creatures. Maybe minutes. But dammit am I gonna use those minutes.
She closed her eyes, throwing her head back into the wood, just letting the stress wash off her, preparing herself for much worse stress to make itself suddenly apparent later.
But then she opened them suddenly, a thought coming to mind.
“Damnit Noir, you blew up my car!”
The black and white man raised a single hand and just kinda waved her away, staying silent on the floor. She huffed at him, rising from the door.
“Do you know how much those cars cost in this town? And not to mention that was our only means of getting out of here!” She gave him a not-so-soft kick to the side, earning herself a loud groan from the floor.
Noir turned over from his stomach to his back, revealing the many burn marks on his shirt and darkened spots on his skin where he was burned.
“To my credit, it did stop those creatures from immediately killing us. So I would like that to be on the record.” His voice was scratchy, and she could have sworn she saw smoke come out of his mouth when he spoke.
Charlotte knelt next to him, looking over his injuries. A large portion of his shirt was missing, burned away, and revealing pink skin underneath. It was the first piece of color she’d seen on the man and it was his blood.
“Jesus, look what you did to yourself.”
“Don’t call me Jesus, Noir is just fine.”
She slapped him.
“Yeah, no, I deserve that.”
Another slap.
“And that's for the car.”
He just kinda nodded, still laying on the floor. Charlotte looked around the room they were in, seeing what new hell they have thrown themselves into now. It was a place not made for living, more of a lodge or meeting house. Numerous tables and chairs dotted the few rooms she could see in the reception area. Bottles of alcohol were visible on every table. Portraits of club members and antique farm equipment dotted the walls as decoration. She hooked an arm around Noir and helped him stand to his feet, groaning the entire time.
“Come on you old bastard, let's see if we can’t find alcohol that's medicinal in this place.”
“I'm not that old, I’m like 40 or something.”
“Or something?”
“You stop keeping track after a while.”
“A young person doesn’t say things like that.”
“They all do eventually.”
“Eventually being the key term here. I.e. when they are no longer young.”
“I’m gonna need some non-medicinal alcohol too.”
Charlotte chuckled as she led the man to a long table nearby and set him down in one of the many comfy chairs that dotted the place. Walking to a counter with several bottles of alcohol, she grabbed a jar that had no label and looked like water.
As she was grabbing at bottles, Noir gently put his revolver on the table. Peering out from the sides he could see one of the two bullets left in the chamber. They better be enough.
Charlotte returned, cups and a jar of the clearest liquid Blanca has ever seen.
“Alright, open your shirt.” She sat down across from him, placing two cups on the table next to the jar and a rag she grabbed the counter as well. Noir with one hand unbuttoned the shirt and let the sides fall away.
Charlotte saw several wounds and frankly did not know which ones to clean. Scars from numerous things dotted his chest. Bullet wounds, claws, bite marks. She saw the large burn scar and winced. What was left of the shirt covered it up the first time she saw it, but it was deep. Deeper than any burn wound should be.
“Christ, I don’t think regular burning should do this.” She began to pour some of the jar’s contents onto the rag.
“I think some shrapnel from the car must have reached me before I turned from the explosion.”
Reaching to her belt, Charlotte grabbed her flask and opened it, pouring some of the water onto the wound. Noir winced.
“OW! Jeez, give me a warning next time you do something like that. It kinda hurts, y’know?”
“I wouldn’t know, actually. I don’t go shooting people’s cars. Now be quiet while I treat this.”
Noir reached for his jacket and withdrew his wallet. Pouring the coins and dollars out of it onto the table, he opened it up fully and inserted it into his mouth. He gave her the thumbs up, slowly applying the alcohol onto the wound.
Noir’s body stiffened, his knuckles immediately growing white as he grasped onto anything and held tightly. A stifled scream came from his wallet-ridden mouth as Charlotte continued to clean up the wound.
Blanca Noir had died before, been shot, and left to bleed out in a muddy field in France. This was a far more painful experience. Minutes felt like hours as Charlotte cleaned up the wound, eventually putting the bloody rag on the table. Noir let the wallet fall from his mouth, his teeth almost engraved into the leather. His breathing heavy, he weakly reached for the empty cup next to the clear jar.
“Charlotte, I request a reprieve from my suffering.”
“Not yet, sorry.”
Charlotte took her knife from her belt and began to cut up the table cloth where she had gotten the alcohol from. The long strips of white linen were then wrapped around Noir as he stood.
“You reek.”
“I can say the same about you.”
“But you won’t, because you have manners and would never say things like that to pretty women.”
“True, I would never say anything like that to pretty women. Charlotte, you smell like blood and a doctor’s office.”
She tightened his wraps and he wheezed in pain.
“... Is what I would say if I were a calloused and inappropriate fool.”
“That's better.”
Finishing up the wraps, Charlotte collapsed into the chair across Noir. He buttoned up what was left of his shirt and put on his coat over it. He slowly approached the opened jar and brought it up to his nose and sniffed.
“Shit, Charlotte. This could start a car!”
“That's how you know it's good. Now start pouring.”
He put the lid back on the jar. “I think we can save this one for later. I'll grab a whiskey or something for us instead.” Charlotte just hand waved him, still staring forward exhausted. Noir admired the selection of spirits before him, not reading the labels and grabbing the one that looked the most like apple juice. Sitting down and hating every second of doing so, he poured the two glasses and handed one to Charlotte. She downed it in a single gulp.
Noir looked at her as she grew another head. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“What?”
“I just… I’m surprised.”
“At what? I can hold my alcohol well.”
“Like hell you can. Not three or two days ago you were plastered in front of me not even half a bottle deep.”
“Yeah, half a bottle of the good stuff from Kansas City. This is nothing.”
Noir shrugged and downed his all the same.
He turned into a coughing mess, dropping the glass on the floor (thankfully not shattering it).
Charlotte gave a snort-filled laugh.
“Hah! Look who can’t hold their alcohol now!”
Noir wheezed.
“How the hell could you drink that so easily? Shits poison!”
“There isn’t a lot to do in Rockwell, Mr.Big City.”
He rose fully in his seat, Charlotte catching a glimpse of red in his otherwise pale face.
She sighed.
“So, where are we? What's happening?”
“Well, good news I guess. We are in the Farming Commission meeting house. So I guess the investigation continues. The bad news is I have nothing beyond that. A few inferences, but that's about it.”
Charlotte began to reach for the bottle. “Care to explain more on those inferences?”
Noir moved the bottle away from her hands as naturally as she reached for it.
“Well, this place is obviously shifty. Given how we found it, the monsters that are here, how the monsters are repelled from entering this place, something is going on in this building.” Noir put the bottle in his jacket pocket, next to the jar. Charlotte wondered how his jacket could hold so much and not impede him at all.
“So, what's the next move then? I see it's not drinking until we wake up somewhere better.”
Noir smiled. “If that were even remotely a solution, I would take it. However, I think we have to do something drastic.”
“What?”
“Actually stand up from the table and investigate this home.”
Charlotte laughed.
Maybe not leaving him on the side of the road was good after all.
Chapter Two / Chapter Three Pt. 1 / Chapter Three Pt. 2 / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve
Warnings: cussing, blood, fighting, monsters, brief gore, mentions of death, killing, and corpses (Don’t worry, this still has a happy ending, I don’t write sad)
Inspired by this and this lovely set of posts!
*If anyone would like me to tag them when I post a new chapter, let me know!
Obermann could hear him muttering to himself, somewhere in the dark compartment around her head.
Chase and Charlotte stared into each other’s eyes, speaking not a sound. The brisk autumn air cuts like a sharp knife, and the stars shine dully. Chase takes a step towards Charlotte but she quickly scrambles back from him, kicking dust up from her boots. He reaches a hand out and she flinches.
He hesitates.
“Charlotte, I...I told the truth.” He moves his hand away, putting it on the back of his pale neck.
“I am… was someone named Blanca Noir. I served in the Great War. I didn’t come back the same way I came in. I work for a special agency that investigates strange occurrences in the United States. And there have been some strange happenings in your town.”
The Captain rose up from the dirt road, still keeping a healthy distance from the detective. Her steel-grey eyes regarded him with rank suspicion and betrayal. She crossed her arms.
“Mr.Noir -”
“Please just call me Cha-”
“Do not interrupt me.”
Chase quieted.
“Mr.Noir, I ought to bring you in on charges of impersonating a government official, breaking into a business, conspiracy, and whatever the hell else I can think of with a law dictionary and enough whiskey.”
She spoke quickly, with the authority of someone who has given similar statements and had held up her end. Chase pursed his lips. He was never good with women yelling at him.
“You went this long without giving any relevant information? What kind of detective are you? You had the biggest repository of town evidence with you for your entire stay here and opted to instead follow what bread crumbs of leads you had on your own? You relegated your best chance of information retrieval to house calls?”
“And another thing! You promised me you would find out who killed my uncle, that we would find out who killed my uncle. Yet you strung me along for some extrajudicial agency investigation?! The fact that we found anything illegal in your bullshit crusade is astounding! Let alone find something that aligns with your ‘strange happenings'. What does that even mean, huh? What strange thing could possibly be happening in this tumbleweed basket of a town? Does Capone holiday here? Did bigfoot make his summer home? Maybe the Lord himself decided to play at being a farmer! Well? Tell me, oh detective. Tell me what ‘strange happenings’ are going on here.”
Chase gave the Captain a generous pause to catch her breath. Her face had become red, and she was breathing deep breaths. The detective cleared his throat.
“When was the last time you left town, Charlotte.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Chase sighed. “When was the last time you left town, Captain,”
She straightened herself up before answering. “I left in February of this year for Kansas City.”
“And you came back a couple days later, I assume?”
“Sure.”
“Same drive you’ve always taken to Kansas City, there and back?”
“What are you getting at?”
“What I am trying to establish, Captain, is that you were in Kansas when you left and Kansas when you returned. Am I right?”
Charlotte gave Chase a side-eye. “Yes. I was in Kansas the entire time.”
“We are not in Kansas right now.”
The statement hung in the air, no party reacting to the other for a minute straight.
Then Charlotte began to laugh.
It came slowly at first, starting in the short breathy laughs before bellowing into a larger cacophony of laughter.
“We’re not in Kansas?! Really?! All this build-up and that's your big ‘strangeness’!? That isn't anything! Why the hell would I believe you?! How can you even prove that?!”
Chase stood there awkwardly as the Captain laughed more, becoming agitated.
“Well if you quiet down I can explain it to you!”
The Captain started to stifle herself, bringing it down to a simmering giggle.
“Alright, *giggle* show me. Show me your proof.”
“You look at the stars often, Captain?”
The smile waned from her face.
The question had brought back a snapshot memory of a cold night outside her Uncle’s home. She remembers sitting in his backyard, covered in his jacket as he pointed out the constellations and told stories of Greek and Roman legend. Every night she stayed at his home she asked him to tell her the stories again, and every time he would take her outside to point out the constellations.
“Yeah, I can name a few constellations.”
Chase turned around and looked up at the sky.
“Are you familiar with the Cancer constellation?”
“Yes.”
“If you look up you’ll notice it isn’t there.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m not falling for that. I look up, you break for the crop line and run away from me.”
“And go where, exactly? All my stuff is in town, several miles away. I would freeze to death in your eclectic weather before I could stumble into a town no doubt hostile to me. And no, I won’t attack either. I have a job to do.”
“I’m not going to look.”
“Just look up, take a moment, and see that it's not there.”
“Fine. But then you’re getting in the back of the car and I’m taking you in.”
“If you find that constellation there, I’ll cuff myself.”
Charlotte sighed, then finally looked up.
Cancer was not there. Nor were the correct parts of Canis Major. Or the right orientation of Ursa Major. Or several other stars and constellations. They were in the wrong spots.
“What..why are... Why are they in the wrong spots?”
“Because we aren’t in Kansas.”
Charlotte looked back at the detective, expecting a smug look but only seeing a serious face.
“Then where are we?”
“We are in upstate New York, a few miles off of Utica. Your town moved overnight from Kansas to here. We do not know why. It has done so for years. Normally, we would ignore it as what few roads go in and out of your town can be easily monitored and shut down when the place moves. However, this time was different.”
“How is it different? Why do we move?”
“We don’t know how you move, but we suspect it's the reason for the difference.”
“What's the difference?!”
“Captain it's December.”
The Captain looked at him with a look of total disbelief.
“December?! It's September!”
“Before we left in the car, I made a call to my home office. Time works differently in this town right now. What we thought were weeks were months. One day was several days. Charlotte is December and your leaves are still red and orange. There are still unwarranted crop yields coming in. If anything it is getting warmer, did that strike you as odd?”
“Its…its always been warm in Rockwell. Even during the winters.”
“Ever wonder why, Captain? Something is affecting your town. And it's getting worse. Stronger. Someone did something to the natural unnaturalness of your town and it is having consequences! Pentagrams, carved open people, car bombs, Ms.White this doesn’t happen to normal towns!”
Chase stepped closer.
“I am so close to finding the people behind this, please do not throw me out. I’ll follow your rules, your lead, but please let me stay. There is something wrong here, can’t you see it now? Aren’t the coincidences lining up into something more than just chance in your mind?”
Charlotte’s eyes darted around her head. Strings tied into knots, synapses fired off, connections made. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She had felt something was wrong. She had suspicions but she pointed them at Chase. For good reason, too. But it goes far deeper than one man, far grander in scope. And far more concerning in danger.
She let out a breath.
“Yes. Yes, dammit I see it. It is …disconcerting how much doesn’t line up with how things ought to be versus how it is. It is worrying how some things seem to happen right when other things happen. Something is going on here, I will give you that.”
“Ms.White please, I ask for just three more days. Three more days and I can narrow down what is causing this issue, report it to my agency, and I will be out of your hair. You’ll never see me again, and you can go back to your normal life.”
Normal life? Like I can do that after this. She thought to herself. As much as she wanted this man out of her life, as much as she could not stand the betrayal she felt, she was conflicted on agreeing. I hate him. I hate him so goddamn much. I have known him for four days if even that. Yet in those four days, he’s just been so.. Friendly. And fun. No one around here is any of those. He found out about who I am and was more worried about my consequences over his. This man is a thorn in my side and a liar. But...
“Fine. But I have conditions.”
Chase’s face lit up. “Name them.”
“One: we do not break the law. Ever.”
“Ok, that's ok. I can do that.”
“Two: you will tell me everything about this case, your agency be damned.”
Chase pursed his lips. “I will give you everything I am allowed to give you within reason.”
“Chase.”
“My boss is scarier than you, Captain.”
“We’ll see about that. Just don’t leave me in the dark.”
“I can do that.”
“And three: you have no legal authority. Do not act as if you do. No arrests, no nothing.”
“I understand. Can I ask a question though?”
“What?”
“How about we.. start over. From the beginning. Reintroduce ourselves with this new set of rules in mind. Not as some deception, but as equals.”
Charlotte looked at the pale man and thought back to when she first saw him. She had no idea what to make of him. His features seemed to always be shifting, never determined. He had a build of bravado, strength, authority, and mystery. He was a real suit from the feds and one who had no qualms about breaking windows or arms to get his case solved.
Now before her was someone who wasn’t any of that. There was no big strong man, there was a thin rough man. His face was tired, sad, but his eyes burned with determination to finish any task. He would break windows, but she knows he would be joking the entire time. She felt they met on equal footing for the first time since they met.
“Sure.”
She stepped towards him and raised her hand.
“I am Captain White of the Rockwell City Police Department. You can Charlotte. For now.”
He walked forward and gently, but firmly, shook her hand.
“My name is Val…My name is Blanca Noir. I am not a detective. I am not a cop. But I can help out with some strange occurrences around town.”
Charlotte cocked a smirk. “That's better. Now, get in the car before I find something else to yell at you about.”
Noir looked out the window of the car as Charlotte drove back into town. Rows upon rows of corn, broken up by the occasional scarecrow or two. The rising sun of the morning was beginning to peak out over the horizon, as the dirt road they traveled on was far out of town. Charlotte drove by a sign posted alongside a cutaway in the road leading to a large house in the distance. Blanca caught the wording of the sign in the dawn light,“Rockwell Farming Commission”. He grunted.
“We need to look into that commission, I think.”
Charlotte looked over at Blanca, face almost pressed against the glass.
“Why?”
“I think they’re up to no good.”
“Ok…why?”
“I don’t know, call it a detective’s hunch.”
“I’m not sure I will.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not a detective.”
A silence hung in the air.
“Oh yeah…I forgot.”
Thirty seconds of silence passed before Charlotte began to snicker.
“What’re you laughing at?”
“I have seniority now.”
“Oh come on I have at least forty more years of life on you.”
“I’m sorry, I only speak to sworn-in officials.”
“Oh for the love of ..”
Charlotte broke into more laughter as Blanca stared out the window, cracking a small smirk.
The seas of corn seemed to stretch on forever from the passenger seat. Almost to the horizon.
Actually, it seemed to go on past the horizon. Lots of scarecrows too.
Hold on.
“Charlotte.”
“What?”
“Drive faster.”
“What?”
"Quickly!”
Without further question, she stepped on the gas, and the police car jolted with the increased torque of the engine. Faster and faster the stalks of corn whizzed past the passenger window as Noir looked out.
The road seemed to stretch on and on, as did the fields around them. Blanca looked behind the car to see a billowing cloud of dust kicked up by the tires, the road stretching just as far into forever backward as it was forwards.
“I’m rolling down the windows, keep driving.”
“Noir, what's going on? What did I just say about keeping me in the dark?”
“I think we are in a trap and being hunted, so until I say we’re good keep driving. Unless you wish to be hunted, then by all means keep asking questions.”
“Fucking… FINE.”
She hit the gas again and the car jolted again the engine revving. Noir began to roll down the window.
“And watch your language. We are in a fine Christian town.”
“I will shoot you.”
Laughing, Noir climbed out of the window and to the side of the car, shimmying along the side before climbing onto the roof. Hooking his feet into the police light stand on the top, he looked around the car, wind smacking him in the face.
Corn. Corn for miles. More than just your average planter-state. There was corn where there ought to be trees, lakes, grassland, anything. The road went on forever too. A straight line in an ocean of greenish-yellow.
And there were so many scarecrows.
And they were moving in the fields.
“AH! THAT ISNT GOOD!” Noir yelled from atop the car roof.
Charlotte rolled down her window.
“WHAT’S WRONG?”
“THERE’S JUST CORN EVERYWHERE.”
“THAT'S NOT ALL THAT STRANGE?”
“NO, I MEAN THERE IS JUST CORN.”
“OH.”
“AND SCARECROWS ARE CHASING US.”
“WHAT?”
“JUST KEEP DRIVING!”
Noir turned around at the cloud of dust the car was kicking up to see shadows in it, creatures racing in the car’s tail.
The first creature cleared the dust, and Noir was taken aback. It was a scarecrow, but it had tendrils of vines and greenery sticking from its bodice and had the heads of the scarecrow split down the middle, writhing vines like tongues whipping the air.
Noir reached into his shoulder holster and pulled his revolver, firing a shot into the creature.
The bullet went right through it, unfazed.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Charlotte yelled from the driver’s side.
“I FIRED MY GUN AT A SCARECROW.”
“WELL?”
“IT WENT THROUGH IT.”
“ITS MADE OF STRAW, DUMBASS, OF COURSE IT WOULD.”
Noir aimed again, this time at one of the creature’s green limbs, and let loose another shot. Piercing through the greenery, the creature tripped and fell back into the dust cloud.
However, two other creatures soon stepped out to take their place, slowly approaching the racing car. Noir checked his revolver.[i]4 shots left.[i]
He leveled his revolver again when Charlotte yelled out.
“I SEE A TURN UP AHEAD, I’M TAKING IT!”
Noir whipped his head around to see the turn and head a wash of deja vu.
The Farming Commission sing stood proudly on the side of the road as Charlotte spun the wheel like a pirate ship’s and spun down the driveway to the home.
Noir was almost flung off the car had he not bent down to grab the light rack in time. His feet kicked several ears of corn before he could pull himself back on top. However, he quickly changed his mind after seeing the amount of corn being pushed aside in the distance.
Not wanting to fight these scarecrows in close quarters, Noir crawled headfirst into the passenger seat and awkwardly raised the window in between his legs.
“Noir what the hell is going on?!”
“I really don’t know. At least we get to follow up on that Commission hunch I had.’
“How are you so calm right now?!”
“Not really my first time.”
As the car approached the house at the end of the road, Noir wondered to himself.
What was more important?
To sacrifice one’s sense of self, pride, and life’s purpose in the pursuit of justice and truth? Or to preserve their life so that they may continue another day, already on the razor’s edge of acceptance by those around them?
She’s seen their stares, the looks of disappointment when she walks out of her squad car. The laughing behind her back, the crude comments made to her, the jeers and insults from those who think she is walking somewhere that is not where she should be. That she was stepping out of line. She had grown used to it, shown them she was more than capable. The begrudging acceptance she has now she worked years to earn. She was no longer laughed at, she was respected. She would like to think that those she works with have changed some amount.
Yet she knows of the prejudices that infect her town.
She hears how they talk about the town’s few black citizens. She hears about the “meetings” they go to talk with like-minded people, making sure to pack their white sheets. She doesn’t have to stretch her thinking far to assume how they feel about… people like her. It's why she had to travel so far away every month to Kansas City. It's why she assumes a different name when getting a hotel room in the city. It's why she has a PO Box in a different name to receive letters from her partner.
She is afraid.
Yet.
“Go downstairs and make the phone call.”
Chase looked at her from the side. “Charlotte, are you sure?”
“Yes goddamnit, I’m sure. Don’t ask me again just… go.”
Chase tightened his lips, nodded, then started for the door and began to descend the stairs.
Charlotte stared down at the body, looking intently at the face of the man. His open eyes stared right back at hers, and the memories of yesterday played in her head. She didn’t like the guy, hell she even suspected him a small amount. But looking at him now just made her feel pity and no small amount of fear. The thoughts ricocheted in her head, colliding with each other.
Should I really be calling the station? Is it too late to call Chase back up? How can I tell mom about this? What if they attack her? What was Chase so disturbed about that he didn’t even address it? What does he know?
She paused.
What am I going to do after this gets out?
She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling cold. The world around her suddenly felt so distant, her vision fuzzier, hearing softer. Few places would hire me as it stands, and even less after this news gets out. I would have to move to just stay safe. Even then where would I -
A hand is placed on her shoulder. The mental whiplash from her thoughts strikes all at once. She turns to see Chase standing behind her.
“You ok, Kid?”
“No, Chase, I’m not ok. Why would you ask that? It's fairly obvious that I am freaking the fuck out. “
“Well, it's more a turn of phrase for checking in on someone.”
“I KNOW WHAT IT IS!”
Chase backed up, raising his hands above his head. “Hey now, I’m just trying to help out. We’re in this boat together right now, let's not rock it.”
Charlotte just exhaled in frustration, gripping her hair and turning away from Chase.
“Chase I… I don’t know what I’m going to do if this gets out. You can’t possibly understand what this means for me. I’ll lose my job and be driven out of town at the minimum. I don't even want to fathom what could be worse. I don’t know what they have on you, Chase, but pardon me for saying that it won’t upheave your life like it will mine.”
Chase propped his hands on his hips and looked around the room, pausing on the dead body. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head.
“Well, it’d still be fairly bad for me but nothing I couldn’t bounce back from. My employer is a fella that's a bit… outside the general chain of command. But Captain -”
“Just call me Charlotte when it's just us. I bet I’ll be hearing that more than Captain in the future.”
“...Charlotte. We won’t let them get the chance to get this stuff out. We can track them down easily. We already have a lead. That one officer, the one in your uncle’s journal. We shadow him and find out who he was taking orders from.”
“How can you say that and believe it though? How can you be so sure that we can stop them and bring them to justice or whatever it is you’ve come here to do? They have the advantage completely. I feel like they know where we are at all times, they could be anyone! Any pair of eyes we see on the street, any voice we hear could be them. They know where we live, they know where we’ll work, they have access to people who know and … and ..”
“They can get to people we love.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything, staring back into the detective’s face. The sound of a police siren got louder outside, the sound of slamming doors soon following. Chase walked up to Charlotte, putting both hands on her shoulder.
“We’ll get ‘em. They won’t stand a chance.”
She looked up at him, on the verge of tears.
“Why do you care so much? We barely know each other! Why put it all on the line?”
Chase smirked.
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. Heard that from a fella once. Resonated. With me.”
Chase patted the shoulder of the police captain.
“Now, get yourself presentable. We have company to explain ourselves to. And remember,” he put on his hat, “Broken window, handsome man.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The setting sun painted brilliant yellows and oranges across the slowly darkening sky. The wind blew across the fields of corn and wheat, picking up small clouds of dirt and dust along the sole road in the area. The sounds of crickets rose with the lowering of the sun, joining with the rustling of crop leaves to create the cacophony of an autumn night.
Disturbing the symphony of nature were the sounds of rubber turning against the dirt, and beams of yellow light covering the once dark crops in its glow.
The black sedan slowly pulled off to the side of the road, parking parallel to the high corn stalks. The headlights switched off with the sound of the engine’s effort slowly dying out. Stepping out of the car, Detective Val Chase was confused as hell why Charlotte asked him to drive out here. They were filling out the paperwork for the murder, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s to make sure so one would look twice at the murder as anything other than a procedure manner. One that wouldn’t make anyone reading it garner any feelings of further foul play.
Well, outside of murder at least.
As he was about to finish the paperwork, she passed him a note with an address and with instructions to stop about halfway down the road.
"We’ll take your car. We need a place to talk where we won’t be heard.”
Chase could have thought of a few other places they could meet that were better. Not on the side of a road. Or in the open. Or as cold. And within walking distance.
Chase was a little grumpy at the place chosen by the Captain.
He glanced over at the passenger side of the car, Charlotte stepping out and closing the door.
“Alright Chase, let's talk about some stuff.”
“As much as I look forward to planning our next move, I thought we had it sussed out already.” Chase was patting down his coat, feeling for his notepad. Charlotte walked around the front of the car, hands in his police jacket.
“Chase that's not what I mean.”
She stops next to him, leaning on the still-warm hood of the car with her side. Chase gives her a side glance, staying silent. Charlotte does a quick roll of her eyes, letting out a frustrated puff of air.
“I’m talking about today. What we saw. Of the crime itself, the photos, the implications of it all. I want to talk about it and we are not leaving until we get to the bottom of it. I didn’t need to see those photos to know that you weren’t the FBI agent you said you were, and frankly, with all that is going on I want an explanation.”
Chase’s eyes grew and he looked around frantically, Charlotte looking on with an annoyed look.
“Chase, there is no one out here and your car isn’t bugged. This is the sole reason why I had us meet up here and in this manner. Complete privacy in explaining everything.”
Chase turned back to Charlotte, a clear look of nervousness on his face.
“What...uhh… what gave me away?”
“Frankly, Chase, it was your legal knowledge and procedure. I know the FBI likes to play by its own rules, but to the degree you operated the only thing actually FBI about you was the badge you showed me. You seem to forget, I am a detective too.”
Chase sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I thought I was doing so well too.”
Charlotte crossed her arms.
“Well, you were doing well until we got to the mechanics. How you entered, your outright violation of the 4th amendment, and your hesitation to call the police to the scene of a murder. That and your identity made no sense upon further thought. My Uncle hated working with the federal government and voted Republican his whole life, twice even for Hoover. So I doubt he called you down to the station. Second, you say you were a lieutenant in the Great War. You are nowhere near that old. Finally, German spies? Really? Why would a German spy be in this town of all places? We are nowhere near the Mississippi, let alone anything worth sabotaging or investigating, hell even if they were running from you why would they go here and not Kansas City? Chase, if that is even your name, I want to know about the man I am working with. It's only fair, seeing how you know more about me than even my Mother does at this moment.”
Chase’s hand fell from his face.
“Well damn,” he said, "you really have me figured to a T.”
“As I told you, I am a detective.”
Chase cleared his throat, simultaneously rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, I guess it is only fair. Plus, you were gonna need more information about what's going on anyway.”
“I am so glad you felt that way, to bring me in on the loop this far in.”
“Captain give me a break, it's only been a week if even that!”
She points at him.
“Spill.”
Chase raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, but I brought a thermos of coffee with us out here. I think you outta take few sips. The full story is a doozy.” Chase reaches into the car again, pulls out a silver thermos, and tossed it to the captain.
“Get comfy too, ma’am. It's a long one.”
“I have all night.”
Chase leaned against the driver side door and put his hand to his chin.
“To start it off with something I can explain easily, Val Chase is not my real name. Though, I like it far better than my actual one so I think I'll keep using it.”
“I knew it! So, what is your real name.”
“Well, I'm not sure if you saw it in the photos but my name is Blanca Noir.”
Charlotte looked at him with a puzzling look.
“Your name is ‘white black’? But in two different languages?”
“Yes. My father was a Frenchman and my mother was from Mexico.”
Charlotte sipped her coffee.
“Mind if I stick to Chase? I think it suits you better.”
“By all means.”
She nodded. “Well, you can continue.”
Chase chuckled.
“Well, I didn’t entirely lie to you about other things. I am a detective, and I did serve in the Great War.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious. I served with the 6th division down on the Argonne. It was 42 days of fighting for me, and there was no amount of preparation any camp could provide that could ready us for the hell we encountered down there. And we only did barely three months, nothing compared to the British and French down there.”
Chase paused, staring into nothing along the distance. Charlotte quietly sipped her coffee.
“My squad was the final one sent over the trench. I was leading them, confident I would bring them to victory and this would be the final fight we’d have to fight that war. I was only 21.”
Chase turned his gaze to the ground at his feet.
“The Germans gunned us down like a reaper to wheat. I saw them all staggered with bullets before I felt them myself. Easily a dozen in my chest alone, more in my gut. I fell backward into a ditch and could feel the blood leaving my body. Eventually, most of it did. And then I died.”
Charlotte choked on her coffee.
“Fuck off, Chase. You did not die.”
“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn't died.”
“And I wouldn’t believe either if you did. How the hell do you expect me to take this as the truth?”
“In due time, it’ll make sense. Want me to continue?”
“Sure, why not. If you aren’t going to tell me your actual story, maybe I can at least pick up clues from your fake one.”
“Ever the flatterer.”
Chase took a deep breath.
“I woke up in the middle of an office, still wearing the same uniform I died in. Bullet holes and all. I remember patting my body down, overjoyed I was still alive. Until that is, I saw that my hands were still that pale white that took a hold of me on the battlefield. And that I was in an office and not a hospital bed was not a welcome sight either. It was a strange office, much like yours Captain. Straight out of a police station. I don’t know how long I sat in that uncomfortable wooden chair before, suddenly I tell you, this man appeared across the desk from me. He looked like that old breed of cops, the kind with the huge mustache and rotund belly. A real Captain.”
Chase paused.
“Not to imply you aren’t a real Captain, Charlotte.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you get what I mean. A real donut and coffee guy. Anyways, this guy appears across from me and says to my face that I had two choices. He said I could take this job he was about to give me, or I could go back to whatever deep abyss I was about to slide into upon my death.”
Chase paused.
“I took the job. I think anyone would. I was scared, I didn’t want to die. I took the job and everything changed. Suddenly I was in a New York City alley with a handgun and a scrap of paper with an address that said it was my new home. I also found out it was about a year after I died, or thought I died at least. I also found out that, in the time I was gone, my parents passed away. I had nothing left to do but just wait to find out what it was I signed up for.”
“And what did you sign up for? Supposedly.”
He glanced at her, then chuckled.
“I can’t say I blame you for not believing a lick of this. No reasonable person would. Just helps that I’m an unreasonable kinda man. Charlotte, I did private detective work for an agency that calls itself the -”
“I think that's enough, Noir.”
Charlotte and Chase quickly turned their heads to the trunk of the car. Standing there in a beige suit and cane in hand was a man of indeterminate age. His head was bald, and he had spectacles that reflected nonexistent light, masking his eyes. Charlotte stepped out from the car, hand reaching for her belt.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?”
“Miss White, I advise you to keep your firearm holstered and secured.”
Chase slightly turned his head, not taking his eyes off the man. “Charlotte, do what he says.”
Charlotte drew her revolver, barrel pointed straight into the chest of the strange man.
“Why on earth should I listen to this man? He is unarmed and strange, I will not take orders from a man who sneaks up behind me and somehow knows our names.”
The strange man simply raised his hand, palm facing the duo. Then, slowly, Charlotte saw her revolver twist and curl into shapes that steel should not. The barrel split off into fractal shapes, bending in on itself and spiraling into smaller and smaller shapes until the human eye could no longer follow their paths.
Charlotte dropped her “revolver”, watching as it wriggled like a worm on the dirt road before erupting into green flame and dissolving into a pile of ants that scurried away into the stalks of corn.
Shakily, she looked up at the strange man.
“Who are you?”
“None of your concern, Miss White. Though, I would like to apologize for the destruction of your revolver. You will find it as you found it this morning on your desk. Additionally, I would like to apologize for the involvement of Mr. Noir in your life. I cannot offer anything but my condolences in that respect. However, apologies are not what I came here for.”
The strange man turned his spectacles to Chase, and though she could not see his eyes she could feel them narrow.
“Noir, Miss White’s detective skills aside, you know you are forbidden from discussing your terms of employment. While up until you were about to utter the agency’s name was allowed, though suspect and unbelievable to any reasonable listener, you have delved too deep.”
“Sir, let me explain. It is for good reason.”
The strange man raised his eyebrow.
“For good reason? For what reason can there be an explanation?”
“The agency is already known. They know I am Blanca Noir.”
The strange man just stood there, and then in one blink of her eyes, Charlotte saw him standing inches in front of her.
“Noir, you must be certain of your statements.” His breath smelled like damp stone, and he radiated cold.
“Sir, I am certain of it. Captain White has also been targeted as a result of our investigation and is following the “Civilian Protection Clause” of our field operations, she is to be informed of important facts of the case and protected until the execution of the suspect.”
Execution?? Charlotte thought with fear.
Charlotte could feel the strange man’s eyes scan her, a shiver going down her spine.
The strange man turned to chase, and Charlotte felt the cold he gave off intensify.
“How rich you are to quote agency doctrine to me. Then, detective, what did you determine to be ‘facts of the case’?”
“Starting with the agency name, the thing we are investigating, and … “
“And? There was going to be more? How much were you going to tell her and write off as “information that is important” ?”
“That is up to the agent’s discretion.”
“It is up to his handler, to decide what is and isn't important. I’m cutting you off at explaining what you are investigating. Be lucky I’m letting you explain it all. Do you not understand what this means, Noir? This brings this threat level up exponentially.”
The strange man steps away from Chase, pacing in the dirt. Finally, he stopped in the road.
“I will inform the rest. Noir, consider this a warning. While I am not overly enjoyed at the inclusion of,” he glanced at Charlotte, “additional actors in the investigation, I cannot say it isn’t necessary. Especially one with investigatory skills like Captain White. Do not explain any more than what I consider is necessary. That is all.”
And like that, just as he appeared, the man was gone. Charlotte fell to her knees, looking at the spot on the ground where her revolver turned into ants and scurried away. She turned her head, eyes tearing up.
Walking down the street to the Mechanic’s Garage, Chase could not stop himself from staring at all the people in town today. People were walking up and down the sidewalk going into the candy kitchen and restaurants, the downtown park had children running and playing tag, and there were men in their reed hats and vests smoking their cigars outside the town’s bar and pool hall. Chase’s eyebrows were furrowed and a wave of concern passed over his face. He leans over to Charlotte, speaking out the side of his mouth.
“Is there a town holiday or something today? Why is everyone here in town?”
“It's Saturday, Detective.”
“There are this many people that live in this town? I thought there were no more than 70, 90!”
“No again, Detective. There are a few hundred people in Rockwell. They don’t all live in town, you know.”
“Well obviously, but still. This place has a substantial population yet I had to ask for directions to this town six times on my trip down here!”
“Well, maybe you lack the ability to properly read maps?”
Chase exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, causing Charlotte to chuckle.
“I’d challenge that assumption, but looking back to my days in the army I can’t quite deny you. They called me Lieutenant “Compass” because I always ended up going north.”
Charlotte looked at the Detective and gave a small laugh.
“You were in the army? For what?”
“The War? What else?”
“You look very good for your age, y’know? I haven't seen a single war veteran that hasn’t looked older than the radio. What's your secret?”
“Carrots and plenty of sun.”
Charlotte looked at the detective’s near pale skin.
“You must eat a lot of carrots then.”
“Ha Ha.”
As the group walked down the side of the street further, the paved sidewalk now disappearing into dusty dirt, Chase started to notice the weather. He was fairly certain he entered this town in September, and though he forgot it was Saturday whole weeks could not have passed him by.
No, he was certain it was still September. He was sure of it.
So why,he thought as he was taking off his overcoat and rolling up his long-sleeved undershirt, does it feel like Summer?
He looked over at Captain White, but she was walking as if nothing was happening. He could not fathom how she could keep her coat on. The wind is stagnant and the sun is relentless.
“Captain, just how far is this garage? I thought you said the Mechanics were in town?”
“Oh, he is in town. The city limits, that is. See certain ordinances require that automobile service areas be a required distance away from -”
“Captain, your city council is full of clowns and men who never had to walk.”
Charlotte stifled a laugh, air blowing out her nose. “Oh detective, don’t tell me you’re getting winded? This is a short walk around here. I think the Big City spoils you.”
“It's not the walk, it's this heat. Why is it so warm?”
Charlotte quizzically raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean? Aren’t Septembers warm where you’re from?”
An incredulous look took over Chase’s sweating face as he looked at the Captain.
“September is not supposed to be warm anywhere! It's supposed to be chilly! Not too warm, not too cold. It's the Goldilocks month.”
“Well, not here. September has always been kinda warm down here. It's what makes our growing seasons so good. In fact, Rockwell Falls is the highest producing town in North East Kansas!”
This caught the attention of the detective, the feeling of gross sweat quickly subsiding as curiosity took form.
“The highest harvest? Most production? This place?”
“I’d like it if you didn’t say it that manner, but yes truthfully. The Farming Commission here does its best to keep it that way too. A bunch of old men, but they know their stuff about farming. They have these techniques that they hand out members of the group to keep the harvest high.”
Chase was digging in his coat pockets for his notebook. “What kind of techniques, if you don’t mind me asking about the secret lore.”
“Oh, it's nothing dastardly if that's what you’re thinking of, detective. Though, I couldn’t rightly say it isn’t, either. My Dad was a farmer and on the Commission, but when he died they stopped talking to us.”
Chase was near tearing the fabric off his coat to get to his notebook, grasping it by the pages and tearing the pencil held in its rings out to scribble down in his rat-script of a shorthand. Charlotte looked at him with confusion, as it was a sight to behold on the side of a road.
Then, jerking his head up from the writing, Chase speaks.
“Captain, why are we walking to the mechanics? Why are we not driving?”
“Well, you started walking so I just followed.”
Charlotte walked onto the driveway of the Mechanics, the only paved road in three miles.
“See, City-Slicker? We’re here and you’re alive. Walking never killed nobody.”
Val Chase had eschewed his tie, vest, and a few buttons of his shirt on the walkover. The detective wiped the sweat off his brow, looking at the still unaffected Police Captain with questioning eyes. Not even her sleeves were rolled up.
“I guess my blood is just too thick for your advanced and intricate weather, Captain.”
It gets warmer the farther away you are from the center of town... Interesting.
Chase turned his eyes away from her to look at the brick garage before them. A skinny, two-story building of shabby make. It looks like a firehouse stolen straight out of a Brooklyn neighborhood. Charlotte stepped back from the driveway, standing by the side of Chase.
“Now Detective, I know you said "break in", but that was just a way speech, right?”
Chase’s face did not betray that he even thought of listening to her, his eyes looking at the windows and the doors. Charlotte elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to give out a small yelp.
“Detective, we’re not actually breaking and entering, right? This is very much against the law, and do I need to remind you that we are officers of the law? And that I am this town’s police captain?”
“Why, not at all, Captain. We are not breaking in at all. You are investigating an anonymous tip that someone was attempting to break into this building.” The Detective bent over, grabbing a medium-sized rock and weighing it in his hands.
“Really? I am? And what evidence do I even have that there is a break-in?”
Val Chase handed Charlotte his coat and other clothes he shed during his walk, she took them with a questioning look on her face. Chase then spread his base, passed the rock into his right hand, and threw the stone with the velocity of an MLB baseball player straight into the first-story window.
She immediately dropped his clothes to the ground and smacked him.
“THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?”
“Ow? See, now it was you who wasn’t listening this time. Captain, may I present to you your evidence for breaking and entering? You may now investigate at your leisure. Perhaps you even saw a tall and handsome man lurking about inside as well?” Chase bent over, picking up his clothes from the dusty road, and began walking to the front door. Turning his head back, he called out to Charlotte, who was still standing in the driveway with a shocked look on her face.
“It's not like anyone is home anyways. They’d definitely be giving us some choice words about this. Now help me look for stuff.” With that, he turned his shoulder towards the door and gave a hard shove, opening it easily. Charlotte quickly walked into the building, talking about procedure and integrity in policing. The speed in which it entered and left Chase’s ears rivaled that of Aircraft.
Inside the lobby of the garage, Chase hopped the reception desk and began to open the filing. cabinets. His fingers grazed over the top of several files, mostly receipts and profiles of customers’ vehicles. Charlotte, objecting to his blatant disregard for property rights, still peeked over his shoulder as he thumbed through.
“Ah! Here’s what I was looking for. Paul Allister.” Pulling a manila folder from the cabinet, he kicked it close. Turning to Charlotte, he found the file taken from his hand.
“Just what the hell are you doing Chase? This can’t be admissible in court! We are blatantly committing crime to gather evidence!”
“Well, down in Quantico they taught me this great thing about plain view evidence. Basically, if there is evidence that's just kinda out and about, you are allowed to take it! I think, at least. Didn’t exactly graduate top of my class.”
“That's not inspiring, Chase. Besides, I am not here lawfully!”
“I thought we established that you are? Remember; broken window, handsome man?”
He pulled out a chair from behind the desk, reaching behind him to grab the manila folder from Charlotte’s hands.
“Captain, if you’re so worried about admissibility, then let the guy who doesn't care do your dirty work. I’ll even leave it out afterward to make it seem like a real break-in. Maybe leave a few doors open. Steal their 10mm wrench bits.”
He flipped open the folder and went to the most recent receipt. His finger traced words, stopping on one with widening eyes.
“Charlotte, I think we have something.”
“I’m not listening, this is illegal. As much as I want answers I can’t justify -”
“The last time your uncle’s truck was brought here, it was brought by an officer from the department. And I have a feeling... Hand me the journal.”
Charlotte instantly reached into her pocket, pulling her uncle’s journal out. Chase flipped through the pages, noting the one with a bunny-eared page.
“AH-HAH! Look at this. The officer that dropped your uncle’s car off? Same one your uncle had suspicions about corruption. One Officer… Smith. John Smith.”
He glances at Charlotte.
“Not exactly an inspired name.”
Charlotte stepped back from the desk, rubbing her temples.
“No, no. I won’t consider this. My police force is good. Maybe they’re a little rough around the edges but still!”
“Charlotte, you have to consider the possibility. Looking in the Journal, this officer of yours didn’t even join the force until two months ago. It lines up with our predictions of when the spies came into the town.”
“There is simply not enough proof. My uncle asked for favors from the force all the time. This means nothing.”
“Would your uncle let someone he thought was corrupt drive his brand new truck? I mean Charlotte, open your eyes! He brought this truck here the day before the explosion. The recorded repairs deal with the gas tank of the truck. It seems all too suspicious.”
Charlotte opened her mouth but closed it shortly after. She turned away in frustration and cursed and screamed at the same time. Turning back, she had a look of frustrated acceptance.
“It makes sense. I’ll give you that. But think about what this means. It means not only that this office is complicit, but the mechanic who installed it, the officer’s wife, and any number of people. Doesn’t that seem a little big?”
A smile crossed Chase’s face.
“Just a little. Which means we must look into more evidence.” Chase sat up from the chair, walking away from the desk before pausing. Backtracking, he went back to the filing cabinet and then tipped it over. The crash was loud, and the drawers flew open, sending papers everywhere.
“What was that for?!” exclaimed Charlotte.
“Broken window, handsome man.”
“I am not above hitting you again.”
Chase chuckled as went to the back of the lobby, opening a door to find exactly what he was looking for. Stairs.
“Let us abscond to the top, oh investigator. You saw this door ajar when you entered and pursued with due diligence.” He began to climb the steps. Charlotte took a deep breath and exhaled in an anxious sigh.
“Hey, uh, Captain? You might wanna see this.”
“No, I refuse to continue to-”
“No. I’m serious. Come look at this.”
Taken aback by the Detective’s change in tone, she ascended the stairs. And when she came to the top.
“Oh, God.”
The upper floor was empty, bare without any furniture and decoration. Bare, except for one thing.
A body on the floor carved open and dissected with entrails spread about it. Blood dried on their face, mouth still open in a scream. Surrounding them were sigils carved into the wood floor. The detective was taking notes violently in his notebooks, drawing the sigils to the best of his ability. Charlotte approached the body, and her stomach turned.
It was the mechanic she spoke to yesterday.
“What depraved..” she uttered, still looking at the viscera.
Her eyes stopped at something poking out of the Mechanic’s hands. Kneeling down to retrieve it, she saw it was a scrap of paper. Pulling it from the cold, dead hands, she unraveled it.
“Detective, come take a look at this.”
Chase looked up from his notepad, walking over. Looking over her shoulder, he read aloud.
“Good Morning Detective Chase and Captain White. You have been looking too deep into things that do not concern you. This is your only warning. Leave now, and never be bothered by us again. Continue, and we will bring your lives to an end. One way or another. If the body before you is not enough to show you of our seriousness, check his right pocket.
Do not contact us.”
Charlotte and the Detective looked each other in the eyes, and then Chase knelt and began to search the pockets of the mechanic. He pulled out a small manila envelope and opened it.
“Oh.” He spoke in a shaky voice, looking down at the photos he pulled from it.
“What?” Charlotte knelt next to him, and her blood turned cold.
In the detective’s hands were two photos. One of which featured a birth certificate with the name “Blanca Noir” on it. The other was a photo of Charlotte White, in the arms of another woman, shot through a third-story window outside the Kansas City hotel she was in.
Charlotte staggered back, looking worriedly at the detective. She hit the back wall, sliding down, hyperventilating. Fear began to overtake her.
The detective stood, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter. Holding the photos up before him, the clicking sound of flint against steel sounded and soon the detective was basked in soft warm light. Letting go of the photos, Charlotte watched as the glowing embers fell onto the body and burned to dust.
She looked at him, breath held. Chase cleared his throat.
“Well, uh... Hm. We might, uh... We might have some things in the way of our investigation right now.” He turned to look at Charlotte still on the floor. Her eyes looked at the federal agent with fear. He grimaced.
“Listen, I don’t care about who you lay in bed with.”
Charlotte’s face turned a shade redder than a corvette.
“But I think I need to explain some things about this investigation.”
Chase walked over and held his hand out to her. Tentatively, she took it and he helped her up.
“However, before we do, we need to make a decision now. Charlotte I don’t care about my future but you might give some more thought to yours. Do we call the station, or do we grab the shovels?”
Val Chase has had a series of unfortunate mornings ever since driving into this town. The first morning brought with it the death of the person he was hoping to meet. A small setback, but at least he has their niece. Who, while not as experienced and knowledgeable as he would like, was willing to help him out. Then he had the morning call with his boss, something he would be very happy in forgetting. The first hours after he crawls out of the death-coma that he calls his sleep are typically the worst he has in any given day.
As he put on his pants and buckles his belt, he sighed. His thoughts were on how bad his mornings always are. And thinking about how terrible is mornings were typically make them worse. He tries to think on the bright sight, not every morning can be terrible. Statistically speaking at the very minimum, he should be able to wake up and not have a terrible day. The thought warmed up in his mind, and as he was straightening his tie he wore a smile as well. Grabbing his coat off the rack next to his door, he was just reaching for the doorknob when it flung open.
Standing in front of him was Captain White, dark bags under her eyes besetting a pale sickly complexion. An aura of murderous intent emanated from her as she quickly straightened out her wrinkled shirt and patted down her frayed hair. The smile quickly fell from his face.
So much for hoping.
He stepped back from the door to allow the policewoman in, but she just stood there breathing as if she had just run a half marathon. If stares could be knives, Chase felt that he would be skewered.
“Spill it, Chase. Now.” She spoke articulated and short, her eyes not moving off him.
“I have no idea what you are talking about. What on God’s green and blue marble has you so worked up and ragged? You look like a cowlick and about twice as salty.”
She lets a single incredulous laugh out, crossing her arms as well. “As if you don’t know. As if you didn’t predict this exact thing last night. As if you didn’t look me in the eyes and say in your deep ‘big-city-man’ voice, “Oh Charlotte you should keep that book with you and not keep in the police station, I think someone may try and break into the police station, because for some reason people would know that we have this book and would be desperate and stupid enough to try and rob the police station.”
“I take offense to this. You’re doing my voice far too comically deep, I’m more of a baritone than a pure bass.”
She steps into the room, grabbing the detective by the lapels on his shirt. “Tell me right now or I swear to God, I will break down in a fit of stress and tears. How did you know this was going to happen? To the T, it was carried out like you said it would. Textbook. Now, I don’t want to call you a rat, a snitch, but Chase I am outside the loop right now and would very much like to know what the hell is going on. Did you have a change of heart, fallin’ love with the law? Huh?!”
She has very sharp nails, lord help me this hurts. Have to keep a neutral face. Act cool, act like you knew this was going to happen.
“Truth be told Captain, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Can I get the full story here before I explain my parts in it? Otherwise, I really don’t know what to tell you.” The detective’s face was one of pure stone, however, his voice was one that wavered under the pressure. It was one of Chase's few fears… a woman yelling at him.
Her grip relents and she steps back, composing herself. “Well. Last night, a couple hours after you left and around one hour after I left, there was a break-in at a nearby cattle farm. The fence was broken, a few dozen feet of it. Then, someone shot a gun into the air.”
Chase nods his head, using one hand to caress his chin while the other massaged where her nails dug into his neck when she grabbed him. “Ah. I can see what follows. I can assume the police force responded in full? All hands on deck, all farmhands in trucks to go catch em?”
“As one can assume.” She replied through grit teeth. “We sent all cars out to help round up the cattle and put them back in their pens. IN THAT TIME.” As her rising voice cracked, she raised a finger shakily into the air.
This lack of sleep is really getting to her.
“In that time detective, the station evidence locker was broken into. Everything was torn open, dug out, and searched. Especially my desk. Especially my locker.”
The detective nodded. “I can see why you would suspect me. I did say something like this would happen. To the letter, even. And of course you would be confused, if after assuming that, why I told you to take a specific piece of evidence home with you rather than keep it in the station. Evidence I imagine you have placed in a more secure place, not bringing it with you to someone who you assume is lying to you?”
She stood there, silent. She slowly walked backwards, giving a quick glance into the lobby before closing the door behind her back, locking herself in the room with the detective. She reached slowly into her inner jacket, and Chase’s eyes widened. He immediately dove for the window, but in his haste he had forgotten he had closed its shutters and slammed his body into the wood paneling. He could hear the Captain’s footsteps approaching, and he quickly turned over onto his back to launch his feet at her.
They must have gotten to her, changed her mind somehow. I need to put an end to this quickly.
However, before the detective could launch his legs into the Captain’s body, he stopped. Looking up from the floor at the woman, he saw she was holding a note in her hand. And also the most confused look upon her face. She mouthed to the detective on the floor, “What the hell are you doing?”
Rising sheepishly but with caution, he never took his eyes off her. She extended an arm with the note displaying it to him.
"I am being followed, play along”.
Ah.
“Detective,” she said loudly again but this time with a look of utter confusion on her face, “Your alibi checks out but I’m still suspicious. You’re not to leave my side today, you got that?”
“If you say so Captain, but I [swear I did nothing wrong! You gotta believe me.”
Captain White quickly leaned in, whispering to Chase, “Listen don’t ham it up or anything, alright? This isn't Shakespeare.”
With that, she opened the door to the room and walked out, looking over her shoulder.
“Finish getting ready, I’ll meet you in the lobby in 15 minutes. I have to make myself not look like a chewed rag.”
Chase nodded in affirmation, mind still failing to comprehend why the actions of the day have transpired, and the Captain walked down the stairs of the hotel.
Chase waited on the porch of the Hotel, really a glorified sidewalk with rocking chairs. His back and one leg kicked against the outer wall of the establishment, he looked over the main street and its passersbys. The note Charlotte showed him was troubling. He was already suspicious of the people in the town, but that note made him all the more suspicious. Every car could be a lookout, every pedestrian a spy. He understood why someone would want to follow the Captain, but not the means for how they'd do it in a town as small as this one. Another puzzle in the ever-growing picture. Chase chewed on the un-lit cigarette in his mouth. Too many moving puzzle pieces for it to be a picture he’d ever put together on his own.
He wouldn’t be putting together on his own for long, though, as Captain White walked out of the hotel shortly after the detective was thinking of poor puzzle analogies. Dressed in freshly ironed clothes and a cleaner face, she looked as awake as her dark bags could allow. Taking in a deep breath she looked around the street much the same way the detective did. Catching a glimpse of the tall monochromatic man, her look turned dower.
With a quick motion of her long arms, she grabbed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked him in the nose.
“That's a bad habit, you know.”
“Ow?”
He rubbed his nose, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Been there, done that. However, your news does not bring much reason to not be stressed.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
Chase chuckled.
“So, what's been bothering you?” Chase made the motion of a person walking with his fingers.
“We picked up a report on stalking recently. Male, medium height, medium weight, Blonde. Other than that we have nothing. They’re a recent thing, only showing up since last night. Good thing is, they’re very local. As in only this town.”
Chase nodded. So a standard stud, seen only around here. Not much to go off of.
“Well, we can get around to it when we get around to it. We have a busy day ahead of us right now concerning our other cases. Got anything from your review of our recently acquired literature?”
The Captain sighed, hands dragging down her face in exasperation. “Not a lot. My Uncle was a respectable man, but his handwriting was not renowned. Plus, its substance isn’t anything to write home about. Mostly complaining about his underlings.”
“Well, there could be something to that. What's he saying?”
“Again, nothing of any great importance. Though something did catch my eye, it was very minor. He thought someone was corrupt.”
Chase’s eyebrows raised. “I’d say that is important and worth noting. Didn’t think a place this small could have a corrupt cop.”
“You’d be wrong, detective. Local governments are the most corrupt of them all. A lot less oversight when compared to the big cities. But I’d be agreeing with you on this. I c
Police work is largely boring when done correctly. Respecting people’s rights to privacy, getting warrants from the Judge, and going over and filling out the paperwork necessary to make evidence admissible in court. Captain White was dreading breaking out the file cabinet all the papers she only heard about in training upstate. What's worse, she would have to ration out what to write down. Word just came in that every road leading out of town had sinkholes at numerous points, blocking all travel in and out of Rockwell. Which meant grain silos would start being too full after the harvest, the barns would have excess crates and containers of root vegetables, and a wave of angry farmers knocking on the Mayor’s door. Which meant an angry Mayor yelling at her in the station and she can’t do anything about it. In addition, she is trying to hunt down the murderer of her uncle, catch German spies, and make sure no one else dies in the process while jumping through the hoops of an eclectic g-man.
She sighed as she walked up to yet another front door and knocked. It was her 12th home, and she suspected it would be her 12th waste of time. Because despite everyone in this town being nosy and into each other’s business like an IRS agent into your financial records, they tell her nothing. As she waited at the front door, she looked around the front porch she stood on, listening to the barking dog in the home. It had to peel white paint with a pair of hand-carved rocking chairs outside. The garden was kept with care out front, as reputation was tied directly to how pretty your yard was. Footsteps sounded behind the door and a few seconds later was pulled open in front of her. Standing in the frame was a man in his thirties wearing a grease-stained flannel shirt with a pair of equally dirty jeans. His very pale skin on his face had smears of oil across it and his hair was twisted and matted. His eyes looked much older than the rest of him, she noticed. She also noticed them looking her up and down.
This man did not enter her list of people she would enjoy talking to.
“Good afternoon, Sir. I am Captain White from the Rockwell Falls police department. We are investigating a case and would like to ask you some questions about what you may have seen that day.”
The man scratched at his patchy face, a look of boredom and annoyance perched on it.
“Is this going to take long? I’m in the middle of doing something.”
Irritating would not begin to describe this man’s tone of voice. Through great effort, she kept her neutral face.
“Two days ago there was an explosion a few houses down from you. Where were you that day, early in the morning?”
“You think I did it or something?”
“No, sir. I am asking where you were that day to determine other factors. Can you please answer the question?”
“I don’t gotta answer nothin’. Especially from some lady cop.”
An iron will was beginning to loosen its grasp on Captain White. She took in one deep breath, letting it out slowly. The man smirked, knowing he was getting to her.
“Sir, I do not have all day for this. Can you answer or not?”
“Sure. I was down at the mechanic's downtown working on a tractor-trailer that some high-schooler hit last week. It was a large and ugly-looking thing, so it didn’t fit in the garage. I had to work on it outside the garage in the driveway, halfway pulled into the thing. You people came and took my boss not too long after I started my day for some wack shit somewhere at the school.”
“Did you see anything strange or out of place that day?”
“Yeah, I got to go home early.” He grinned with a full set of yellow teeth, thinking he was a funny man.
“Sir.”
“I didn’t see anything weird or queer, Captain. All that I heard was the driving of cars on the street and the bossman bumbling around in his office.”
Her ears perked up.
“You heard your boss in his office after the squad cars went by the street?” The man got an annoyed look on his face.
“Yeah, didn’t you hear me?”
“The same boss you said we took and drove away with.”
“Yeah.”
Captain White wrote something down in her notebook. “The same boss that was in his office and the squad cars at the same time while they drove by your garage.”
“Yeah, what part of that don’t you get?”
“The part, sir, where your boss is in his office even though he left with the police earlier. And I know he did not return from school until well past 4. And since you said you went home early, I imagine you and his paths did not pass. Am I correct?”
“No, you’re an annoying woman standing on my porch.”
With that, he turned away from the door and slammed it in her face. However, this walking IQ of 30 was not a total waste of time. Someone was moving around in the office of the mechanics. Someone that snuck in while the mechanic was busy and his boss out. But this is a confusing conundrum. Were the people in the office related to the bomb, or just some common crook trying to bust the auto-shop safe? She knew the mechanics only had two employees, it was a small shop that really only worked on farm vehicles and the occasional personal car that the rare citizen-owned. If what that man said was true, then someone was back there. If this was the same person that bombed the car of her Uncle, then what did they want with the auto-shop? And why did they bomb his car to begin with?
She had to stop herself before she got too far into this line of thought. She had a lot more houses to go through. And paperwork to file if she wanted to search that mechanics office. And to find a Judge that would even consider such a weak claim for a warrant. She’d have to pull some strings.
She sighed. 12 houses and only a light lead to a crime that may or may not exist. And if it does exist, it could be entirely different from the one she was investigating. She hoped the detective was having better luck.
Not a minute went by when Chase hadn’t considered putting his revolver in his mouth and pulling the trigger.
He would rather be back in Chicago, or New York. Hell, D.C. would be a better place to be than where he was. Chase had been through hell in France, see the degradation of mankind in the streets with the mess that is the criminal underworld. No, Val Chase has seen the true horrors that mankind can inflict on each other. And right now, he was in the midst of the worst.
Diane Allister clutched onto the shoulder of the detective, weeping and staining his shirt with her tears. The house was silent, save for the occasional ticking and tocking of a clock. Her sobs echoed into the hollow home and resonated in the ears of the detective like a tuning fork. He sat with the recent widow, still dressed in her black dress, on the world's most uncomfortable couch in the bleakest of homes. This poor woman was in dear need of someone to hold her close and comfort her and is trying to find someone to hold dear in Chase.
He hated it.
“Oh..oh detective I just don’t understand!” Another round of sobbing followed her strained voice.
“Why, oh why did this happen to him? Who could have done this?”
“Well, you see ma’am that's why--”
Chase was cut off by another round of sobbing as she buried her head in his shoulder.
“WHY! Oh, WHY detective?”
“I don’t know, but If you let me look around a little bit at Paul’s-”
More wailing at the mention of his name. His arm was damp and sore from being clenched so hard. He mentally slapped himself for mentioning her dead husband’s name. He should have expected this, it wasn’t his first time speaking to a widow. Consistently he has a problem with talking to grieving people. It's not that he doesn’t emphasize with them, it's that he doesn’t care. There are more pressing things than her emotions. He groans internally, suppressing the motor functions in his arms to shove the woman off his arm. Her incessant shoving and tears are getting to him.
“Ma’am if you would please. I am looking into the bo...incident. I think this would be helped if I could look around the house a bit.”
She looks up from his arm, eyes red and lines of mascara running down her cheeks.
“W-why would that help?”
Chase slowly moved Mrs.Allister off his shoulder as he stood up, wiping the tears off his sleeves. “Well, ma’am, there is a chance that there is something in your husband’s...”, he pauses expecting another sob. She looked apprehensive but remained silent.
“Your husband’s records and personal writings. As well as his effects. There is a chance that he wrote about something peculiar and we’d like to find out about that.”
She nodded. “Oh yes, sure! Yes please look through anything if you think it can help! I want whoever did this to...to..” she throws herself face-first into the pillows on the couch with another round of crying. Val stood there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Not knowing what to say, and wanting to get along with the day he left her there on the couch to wander the home looking for things to turn over and dig through. Thankfully, he found out where the former Police Captain's office was when he walked in. it's where he hung his coat up.
Walking past a couple of doors along the way, one of them ajar revealing the room of a young girl he noted, he entered into the office. It was a small affair, but a cozy one. The floor was a brown hardwood with a large rug thrown over most of it. A large desk in front of a large window, a comfy office chair in front of it with large cushions that looked well used. On every surface not occupied by a comfy rug and big desk, there was a bookshelf. Full of legal books, long and dense books of fiction, and the occasional magazine collection about hunting. Passing by the coat rack which bore Paul Allister’s autumn and winter wear as well as Chase's coat, he sat down in the desk chair and gave it a big swivel. He had a small joy in sitting in other people’s chairs, it let him think like them for a while.
For example, he thought, if I were to write in something every day, I would keep it in a place I would be every day. But not just any place, like my office. No, I’d keep it in a private place I frequent. And in that place? I’d keep it somewhere convenient. Like the top drawer of my desk.
Chase leaned forward in the chair, pulling the first drawer on the desk. Inside, he found a pile of blank paper, ink wells, and empty pens.
Ok, maybe I keep it in the second drawer so that I don’t spill my ink on it.
Opening the second drawer revealed a small collection of folders. Spurned by this discovery, Chase began to leaf through them. Taxes, birth certificates, titles, deeds...damn not anything important.
Which only left...
Chase eyed up the third drawer. He dreaded it, knowing that if there was an absence of a journal or diary he knew he would have to go through every nook and cranny in this place. There is no reason to believe there wouldn’t be anything that Paul wouldn’t have to indicate fault. He is… was a very experienced cop. He would notice something out of place and make note of it somewhere. Whether or not he put those notes in any place easy to find to any soul other than his own is a different story.
Chase slowly opens the third and final drawer, revealing…
In the late evening at the police department, Captain White and Detective Chase sat in exhausted silence. Chase leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie and throwing his boots on the desk. Charlotte White would have given him an annoyed look if she hadn't done the same thing, having unbuttoned the top of her shirt. Despite the nice chill wind of the autumn season, the frequent walking and long time in the sun is enough to bake anyone. Chase had moved his hat from his head and drooped it lazily to the ground where his coat was piled. Chase was by no means any better looking than the police captain. About as exhausted and three times as spent emotionally.
Here they sat in silence, save for the sound of groans when they moved their arms or legs. A bottle of alcohol was passed between them soundlessly. Two strangers, brought together through the stress of a hard day.
“So.”
The detective was the first to break the silence, lazily moving his head over to face Captain White. He noticed her shirt was unbuttoned. It reminded him to do the same, as he was feeling hot too.
He brought his hands to his collar, unbuttoning it.
“Find anything good?”
She sighed. “I have something small, intangible, possibly unrelated, and from an unreliable source. That, and a lot of complaints about people’s neighbors.”
She brought her hands up to her hair and untied it, letting it fall to her shoulders. Letting out an exasperated breath of irritation while doing so, catching the detective’s ear.
“Something bothering you, Captain?”
“Yeah, some of the people in this town are jackasses and I found no witnesses to anything. Even his neighbors saw nothing. Nothing the previous day, the previous night, the morning of until the bomb went off. Not a damn thing. My first real job as Captain, a very personal one at that, might I remind you Detective, and I have nothing but the half-heard rummaging in an office overheard by a good for nothing pig!”
The silence was present in the room again. Chase’s neutral look was on his face as always, unchanging to the venting of the Captain. He took note as she swigged from the bottle.
“Well,” he said as he took his feet off the desk and leaned the chair back to standing on all four legs, “I found something interesting in his home.”
“AND ANOTHER THING THAT'S BEEN BUGGING ME, [i]DETECTIVE![i]!”
[i]Oh dear.[i]
“Why did I go door to door why you went to the home of my Uncle to look for things?! Why wasn’t I a part of that particular bit of the investigation? This is my case after all!”
Chase was half-listening as he searched through his coat on the floor for something.
“Because you wouldn’t look where I looked, looked as well, and this isn’t your case.”
“And what do you mean by that, Chase?”
“I mean your personal relations would have held you back and would have stopped you from doing your job well out of respect for your recently deceased uncle. Second, this is a federal case. You are County level at best and town level at worst. AH! Here it is.”
The detective came back up from his coat, a small book in his hand.
“I found this, hidden away in your uncle’s office. And when I say hidden I mean hidden. This little journal of his,” he wiggled the small thing in his hand, “was hidden inside of [i]another[i] book. A Dostoevsky, [i]Crime and Punishment[i] at that. For a cop, this shows a shocking amount of humor.”
“I’m on the floor, detective. I’m rolling in laughter. What’s in it?”
“Well, I’m sure. Haven’t read it yet. Was gonna let you do that. My head hurts from how much I’ve done today. Can’t tell you what. I nearly overturned the floorboards. I looted his garage, took apart his desk, emptied the bookshelves, hell I only ever found this book because I threw [i]A Study in Scarlet[i] at a bookshelf in anger.”
“An awful bad temper, detective. Did you leave my dead uncle’s office a mess?” Her tone was lethal.
“No, don’t worry. I put everything back together the way I saw it. I was no more disrespectful than a curious child in their dad’s toolbox.”
“Very colorful, Chase. Be careful you don’t say that about my mother’s brother when you walk into her Inn tonight.”
He pointed at her while raising both his eyebrows. “Good point.” Chase began to gather his things.
“Captain, I’d recommend sitting on this journal until tomorrow. We are not in the most logical of minds right now. You are exhausted and irritated at the local color and I am exhausted and enraged at the extent this book was hidden away.”
He catches himself.
“Which reminds me. Captain?”
“Yes, Detective?”
“Take that book home with you tonight, but file it under evidence before you do.”
She looked puzzled at this. “Why do I need to do that, Chase? Think someone is going to be foolish enough to break into the station? The relief team is coming in tonight, there is always going to be someone here
“Call it a hunch. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.”
“You don’t have to call me Captain. You can call me Charlotte. I hate ‘Captain’ right now. I only got it because my Uncle died. Its not mine.”
Noir stopped at the door. He turned back to the police woman, and really got a look at her. Carrying the world on her shoulders, a mess of problems that she was never prepared to take on. He had a feeling she didn’t even want to be a police officer in the first place.
I understand that, believe me.
“Well, then ill see you tomorrow morning, Charlotte.”
With that, Chase left through the door of the station.
Charlotte White sighed. A strange man. She was planning on taking the book home with her anyways. A little bit of comfort reading, to remind her of her uncle. Though, what Chase implied bothered her. Who would try and invade a police department? And how would they know they had something important?
The detective looked a mess while he stood in front of the front desk. Though no less shabby than when he first entered in yesterday, his face had the telltale signs of someone very quickly realizing that he left something important behind him. And also the face of someone who
Chase had slept through the rest of the day and night, feeling a wave of fatigue he seldom felt unless hed been active for longer than he should. And when he sleeps that long, he forgets he was supposed to do several important things. Like, call his boss when he got to town.
Mrs.White picked up and dropped the rotary from her desk onto the counter, the small bell giving a slight chime as she did so. Chase nodded a thank you before dialing in the phone number. Mrs.White, torn between being the nice midwestern lady who respected the privacy of her peers and customers. At the same time, however, she was very interested in the life and private matters of this strange detective from the government. Choosing to compromise, she left the counter for the door behind her desk, closing it behind her but pressing her ear up against it to garner some juicy gossip.
Chase must have been on the phone for two minutes dialing the number alone. She could hear the man muttering the long string of numbers under his breath as he twirled the wheel. He eventually stopped, waiting on a tone to catch. She leaned closer into the door, trying to hear all she could. She heard the line pick up, and the detective cleared his throat. Then… nothing. There was nothing there she could hear. She could usually hear at least one-half of the conversation, but she heard nothing. It was even quieter than when she left him with the phone, sound was absent. As if there was a void that existed outside the door she held her ear so close to. It confused her to no end. She crept to the side of the door, cracking it open and trying to peer at her desk where she left the detective. The door creaked as she pulled back on the handle, her hair falling to one side as she peaked. What she saw was the detective putting the phone back down on its receiver, walking to the door to grab his hat, then leaving the building.
And she saw a cold sweat on the detective’s face as he left.
Chase saw Mrs.White leave through the door behind the counter, though he would call himself a terrible detective he couldn’t guess she would try and listen in on him. Such is the culture of the average west American. It didn’t matter in the end, she wouldn’t be able to hear anything anyway. Not that she would want to either, the type of words about to be screamed at him would make most mortals quake. They still make him sweat.
He pulls the phone to his ear and waits. The world around him begins to melt, the desk beginning to lopsidedly drip onto the floor and the paneling he stands on starts to warp and turn like puddles being stirred. The lights flicker and dim before they themselves begin to fall by the wayside and melding into the assortment of melted colors forming around him. All pigments and shades are now gone, he stands in a room that is but a facade of what it once was. All the warm shades and welcoming assortments so carefully assembled by Mrs.White to create the nicest atmosphere for her little inn, drained. The detective only sees black and white around him, the only source of color standing in front of him in an ever-swirling humanoid shape. Slowly, the colors began to walk, dripping in footsteps behind him.
“Noir, you fool.” Its voice speaks to him through the phone, full of discontent. Its tone is only accented further by its warped and layered voice. It sounds as if four people spoke at the same time, only a second behind each other. Chase just stands there, phone to his head.
“Well, boss. I made it to the town. It is exactly as you described it. Very homely. Cozy. Nice fall weather. You know, for June.” He kept his voice steady, taking all his willpower. The human meld of color steps next to him, leaning in.
“I feel so glad you deigned to call me after all, detective. And that you found such nice quarters as well. Tell me, how is the investigation going? I want to know all the details. Yesterday.” It let the last word hang in the air, continuing to walk around Chase. He clears his throat.
“Well, I arrived in the town at dawn with a plan to meet with the captain of the local police force. This did not happen because of a car bomb the same morning.”
The colored figure paid no attention to this as it kept walking.
“I entered the town under the alias, Val Chase, working for the FBI. The current tracking story for this town is the investigation of two German spies. I have gotten full cooperation of the police force and will begin my work this very morning.”
“But, of course, after your 24-hour nap?”
“I apologize...ma’am? Sir? I had traveled without sleep for three days.”
The colored figure was irked by Chase’s remarks, visibly bristling.
“No matter. We’ve taken precautions as detailed in your notes when you wrote them down yesterday. There is a forty-mile perimeter around the center of the town. Nothing will enter or leave without our say-so. This is taking a lot of resources, Noir, which is why I wanted to talk about this [i]yesterday[i].”
The word ‘yesterday’ hung in the air once more, striking Chase visibly.
“Boss, I can only do so much over such a period. These people we’re after need to sleep too. I just got here, and there is much to discuss and investigate. I have things to do, people to talk to. If this call is only going to be being remanded for missing [i]one call[i] then I ask that -”
Chase was forced to his knees, muscles suddenly straining as if he ran a marathon on all fours.
The melted figure walks behind Chase, grabbing his hair and pulling it back, looking into his eyes. “Don’t forget who you talk to and why things exist as they do, Detective. We have had to pull a lot of resources for this job. It carries a lot of implications should it fail which is why we want it solved quickly. There are already consequences to our slowness to attack this issue, to your slowness in coming here. It is June, detective. I shouldn’t see leaves falling. Nor a chill breeze. Do not miss your check-ins again.”
With that, the melted figure throws Chase to the floor, the colors dripping off it and returning to the surroundings. The detective groans and sighs as he stands up, color returning to everything but him. He shakily slams the phone down on the receiver and grabs his hat from the rack as he walks out the door.
His face met the cold air as he walked onto the sidewalks, a gust of wind following a truck as it rolls down the road carrying barrels and crates. The sounds of Bing Crosby playing from its cabin radio as it rolled by him. The tails of his overcoat flow in the wind, and Chase sighs as he starts to walk down to the Police Station. He had one lead and one lead only, best to start where it all blew up.
“Well, Detective? What do you think?”
“The truck has seen better days.”
Chase had hoped that the truck could have stayed at the homestead where it had exploded, but he accepted that this was the punishment for sleeping for 24 straight hours. However, procedure and good manners of moving your dead husband’s car from your driveway before your daughter got home meant he had to look at the husk in the parking lot of the police station.
Deputy White, now Captain White, stands next to the detective overlooking the wreck of Paul Allister’s truck. The poor thing had folded in on itself, having fallen into two parts at the halfway mark. The hood of the truck, and most of the front, is a burnt and twisted mish-mash of metal. Chase approaches the driver side of the truck, looking at the ruptured gas tank behind the door. He reaches for the car door, but before he could even touch it the thing just fell off and landed standing up on the ground. Chase turned to look at Captain White with a look of concern.
“Truth be told, Captain, this is much worse than I thought.” She sighed, tugging at the hat on her head while walking towards the detective.
“The thing was on fire for an hour, inside and out. The fire marshal’s report is on my desk. He said that the initial explosion was very weak, only sending a light fireball into the cabin. It was the ignition of the fuel that... That did the job.” She moves the door to the sunken bed of the truck, brushing her hands on her pant legs.
“Beyond that, we don’t know how the thing went off. The Marshal said this kind of thing happens all the time in Chicago, but we’re no gangster city. Must be the work of those Germans you were talking about.”
Chase leans into the cabin, looking around at the leather seats and the console where the radio still sat. He opens the glove box, taking out a few burnt papers and looking over them. Mostly burnt receipts and the registration. He drops them to the floor before focusing on the radio, where he suspects the ignition came from. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a flat head screwdriver, and starts to remove the radio from the console.
“I’ll tell you my running theory, Captain White.” He pauses, leaning out of the car to face her.
“Actually, hold on. How is Allister’s kid? She somewhere safe?”
This elicited a raised eyebrow. “She is at the school right now, why should she be?”
Chase rubbed his chin. “No, no I think the school is fine. However, for the next few weeks keep a car on her until she gets home. And also, can you send a message to Mrs.Allister? I would like to have a visit to her home.” He turns around back into the truck, screwdriver in hand, fiddling with the radio.
Captain White has a mildly shocked look on her face and crosses her arms. “Detective, while I am here to help assist you in your investigation I will not be your secretary. You can go into the station on your own time, find the addresses, and make your own calls. As for the car, there is already one accompanying the school bus. I’ll be sure to make sure it keeps an eye on Annabelle.”
Annabelle... Annabelle Allister. Why on Earth did they name her that? They wanted to love their daughter, right?
The detective also chuckled to himself. This new Captain has a good head on her shoulders, not letting herself be bossed around by me. She’ll make it far.
The radio was removed from the console finally, chipping the wood to splinters and metal around it. As he pulled the radio out, wires trailing behind it, he spotted exactly what he was looking for. Nestled behind the tuner for the radio was a bent and melted circular object. Picking it up slowly with his fingertips, he leans out of the truck with a grin on his face.
“Captains, come here and look at this.” As she walked over, he held out the object in the palm of his pale-white hands. A confused look took over her as she looked at it.
“Well...What is it?”
“Captain, you’re looking at a shortwave radio transmitter. Some high-high brow invention. Here’s my theory, alright? This truck does not have the room to fit an ignition bomb. Especially without making it obvious to Allister. He was a cop for a few years on the East Coast, he’s seen things. No, they needed to be creative. The relayed the ignition wires from the radio to the bomb that was behind the wheel of the console. However, they needed to know when this happened. I don’t know why, but they needed confirmation for something. Possibly so something else could happen and all the emergency services were distracted. This,” he points to the metal thing in his hand, “ told them the bomb went off. Which means, during the exact same time as you and everyone else was running to the bomb-”
“They could get away with doing something else without anyone coming to the rescue!”Chase smiled as the Captain cut him off. “Exactly. We got something to look for, and we got to look for it quickly. People are going to forget at rate quicker than you imagine.”Chase pockets the metal object and wipes his greasy hands on his coat. Captain White notices that the color of his coat doesn’t change when the ashy hands are rubbed on them.
“Well, Detective, what do we do now? Whats our next step?”
