#jacob bain

[all-thingsstrange]

Being

Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for Been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor

Here I am.  Every waking moment, every drop of sweat and blood, all of that seeking, searching, studying - it’s led up to this.  I’ve done it once and I can do it again, right here, right now.  This moment is the very last chance to back out, to remember everything that happened to the last man to succeed - but he didn’t take half as many precautions as I’ve taken.  I’m here now, I’m watching the formula bubble up and change.  I’m here now.  There’s nothing left to do but go through with it.

And buried in your bones there’s an ache that you can’t ignore Taking your breath, stealing your mind And all that was real is left behind

It hurts like hell - it hurts more than the first process.  Everything hurts, bones, muscles - my head more than anything, it hurts like a devil, I knew I’d have to expect this, but it’s worse -

Transformation - that’s what he called it - transformation, I’m changing, better or worse everything that was me is changing, that’s why it hurts so much -

Don’t fight it, it’s coming for you, running at ya It’s only this moment, don’t care what comes after Your fever dream, can’t you see it getting closer Just surrender ‘cause you feel the feeling taking over

Stop resisting, I realize.  The more I fight it the more it’ll hurt, the worse it’ll be for me.  Let the moment come, let it pass.  And so I do.  I open my mind and let the pain come.  I relax my body, nearly collapsing as I do so as whatever-it-is finally breaks through, as the fabric of my soul changes, as I start to fall away, as whatever-it-is takes control.  

It’s fire, it’s freedom, it’s flooding open It’s a preacher in the pulpit and you’ll find devotion There’s something breaking at the brick of every wall, it’s holding All that you know

I feel different, after surrendering.  I am different.  Who I was is gone - he’s someone else.  He’s not me, not anymore, anyway.  I’m my own person.  It’s a bit odd, but the feeling - that’s something that nothing else can be compared to. It’s fantastic.  It’s a dream, a dark dream, it’s burning around me, through me, a flood of cold fire that is amazing.  It’s shouting like a preacher warning of hellfire - maybe it’s hellfire itself.  I break through who I was, to make way for what I am now.  

So tell me do you wanna go? Where it’s covered in all the colored lights Where the runaways are running the night Impossible comes true, it’s taking over you

Everything’s different.  Every color, sound, taste - it’s a thousand times better, more enjoyable.  Every feeling is sweeter.  I’m well aware I don’t belong anywhere near humanity - or at least, that’s what they feel.  I can still feel ‘em.  They’re in here somewhere.  But they’re not in charge.  I am.  I, the outcast, the mosnter, the thing they both feared.  I’m in charge. I’m master of our body, now, against a thousand odds, and I love it.  I love the power, the control.  The freedom.

We light it up, we won’t come down And the sun can’t stop us now Watching it come true, it’s taking over you

He’s tried to keep me in.  That’s all fine and good for him - but this room isn’t enough to get the feeling of being me.  The moon and stars need to witness - even the sun, if this lasts long enough.  Everyone should know, shouldn’t they? Even if he doesn’t want that.  But first - for this to be complete reality, if I’m going to be introducing my I suppose I should come up with a name for myself.  It’ll make me easier to remember.

Colossal we come these renegades in the ring Where the lost get found in the crown of the circus king

Getting out isn’t all that hard - he didn’t expect me to keep his memory, apparently, or else he wouldn’t’ve kept the key in the room. And now I’m here - out here, with the wind blowing around me.  The sky’s clear; every star feels like it’s judging me, but it feels great.  I’m an act against nature, I’m artificial, I shouldn’t exist - I shouldn’t be outside, I’ve gone beyond my place.  I shouldn’t have a place, they seem to be saying, from their thrones.  But crowns and thrones don’t mean anything to something like me.  I’m a free spirit in every sense.  

Don’t fight it, it’s coming for you, running at ya It’s only this moment, don’t care what comes after It’s blinding, outshining anything that you know Just surrender 'cause you’re calling and you wanna go

I see it - a small light, a fire at the center of the camp.  I wasn’t expecting anyone to be up, but I’m not upset.  In fact, I’m excited. I want to see if people know.  If they can see what I am, what they’ll think of this coming from what I was.  I’m excited - even more excited when I get a better look at who it is.  It’s all I can do to not start running. I want to enjoy tonight, I remind myself.  This time, I’ll take my time.  From here on out I can push through, rush things, enjoy them quickly before jumping to the next - but tonight I’ll take it slowly as I can manage. 

Where it’s covered in all the colored lights Where the runaways are running the night Impossible comes true, intoxicating you

“So, you did it.  Color me impressed, Mr...” 

“Bain.” The surname comes naturally to me as I bow, grinning.  “Jacob Bain.” 

“You’re not wearing any shoes, Mr. Bain.” 

“You’re quite perceptive.” 

“So, this is the first time you’ve ever...” She looks for the word.  I already know it.

“Been?” I finished, then nodded.  I didn’t describe how amazing it was, how ecstatic I felt.  I didn’t need to say that it was impossible, because it wasn’t.  Obviously it wasn’t, because I had happened.  I was bitter that I wasn’t the first, or even the second, but still - I wasn’t a miracle. Somehow that made me feel better, that I wasn’t the result of the impossible, but the possible.  

It’s everything you ever want It’s everything you ever need And it’s here right in front of you This is where you wanna be

My first night isn’t my last, though when he first came back I was afraid it might be.  I misjudged how much he’d enjoyed it along with me: he loves being me almost as much as I do.  The other one - his first - he doesn’t like me half as much, but there’s nothing he can do about it, about me. He’s a prick, a prude, stuck-up and self-righteous.  He doesn’t realize how much he should be enjoying life. But then again I don’t think he can enjoy it, or anything else, for that matter.  That’s not my problem.  

I’m right where I need to be.    

[all-thingsstrange]

Monster

Ever since I could remember, Everything inside of me, Just wanted to fit in 

Jamie rested his face in his hands, elbows on his lap, and felt the movement of the train beneath him.  The fourth train ride in as many weeks.  He didn’t want to think about it - about any of it.  So he put his head down and sank into memory, memories of before this - before any of this - before the first train ride, before the notes, before even the library.  

He closed his eyes and he thought back to before the war - when there were only three people in the world, to him.  His mum, Cait, who shared his red hair and hazel eyes.  His father... John, with his kind green eyes, and warm smile.  And him, their little Jamie.  He remembered them going to church together.  

Going home together.  

I was never one for pretenders, Everything I tried to be, Just wouldn't settle in 

After the war - after his father died - Jamie took a long time to find his niche.  He had just barely narrowly avoided the draft.  If he hadn’t he might have been discharged quickly - who knew. But he dodged a bullet there.  Or a million.  Others hadn’t been so lucky - most boys his age hadn’t been so lucky.  If they asked “where did you serve,” he used to just kind of duck his head and say, “I didn’t.” It was the truth.  But eventually he felt he had to say something, so he’d just say “I don’t want to talk about it,” or try to remember where his father served.  That made it a little easier.  

In college he’d dabbled.  He’d touched on a few different sciences, a few different subjects, before settling into behavioralism and philosophy.  Most would see it as an odd mix, but he liked it, even if those specific areas he still hadn’t quite found where he was comfortable.  

Not until he found the notes. 

If I told you what I was, Would you turn your back on me? And if I seem dangerous, Would you be scared?

College was where he’d met Eloise... bloody hell, he’d been so afraid to talk to her.  They’d been such good friends, but when he stepped behind her back - especially after her reaction to finding out he had just tried.  He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if she had succeeded - or knew the cost.  

I get the feeling just because, Everything I touch isn't dark enough If this problem lies in me

Did it say something, he wondered, that it took that to arouse even the best part of him? That she... that after all they’d been through together, that, specifically, had been what caused his first experiment to work.  And that... that he couldn’t even risk facing her.  That he left instead of staying, standing by her. Sure he had been in pain, sure he felt like she would disapprove, but he should have stood there and waited it out.  

Maybe she was right.  Maybe he was a coward.  No - no “maybe.” He was a coward. That was all that there was to it.  Even now he was running. Even now he was trying to get as far away from her - from all of that - as possible.

I'm only a man with a chamber who's got me, I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me.

“James.” 

“Go away.” He waved the voice off absentmindedly.  

It didn’t listen.  “James, you’re only human.  And you still have the chance to fix this.  It isn’t your fault.” 

“And whose fault is it,” he mumbled back, “Yours?” 

“Perhaps.”  The voice was gentle, quiet, and resigned in its reply. Jamie couldn’t bring himself to respond to it.  

A monster, a monster, I've turned into a monster, A monster, a monster, And it keeps getting stronger

Not even that was human, was it? The best part of him.  Was he even human anymore? He hoped so.  If his theories were true, then yes.  He’d just found a way to turn a jewel to a different facet - he hadn’t broken the original facet.  Had he? 

If he had, if Jekyll’s theory on shards was true, then... then he couldn’t say yes.  If he wasn’t whole anymore, then no.  Even if he wasn’t completely evil, he wasn’t completely human, and there were those who would say that made him a monster.  But... if he was right.  If he was still human.  Then did that make what he did next even more monstrous?

Can I clear my conscience, If I'm different from the rest, Do I have to run and hide? 

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to block out images he’d much rather forget.  First there was Quin - good Lord, he didn’t want to think about her now.  No.  Not after... not after everything he’d done.  

Then the first time he’d seen his demon’s grinning face. Drunk on freedom.  Drunk on life.  And at first, he hadn’t been all bad.  He hadn’t been so terrible.  Mischievous, sure.  Sinful? Sure.  But the quiet sins most men would engage in.  

Until the deaths.  

Two dead, mutilated bodies.  Both unresisting.  One struck down, pounded and beaten until the screaming and fighting stopped.  One... shot.  His demon was dissatisfied that he hadn’t seen the soldier’s last moments - but Jamie was glad.  He had tried - he had tried, God knew he had tried - to stop him.  But in his arrogance, he thought he had the power of complete control.  And as a result, in the moments before, the moment they had been in agreement, the beast had gotten what he wanted: complete freedom.  Almost universal control.  

And they had condemned an innocent man to a far more painful death than even the sinner they had already killed deserved. 

Perhaps, the death that they now deserved.  Even if he ran from it, like a coward, Jaime Hunter might have accepted that death right there, even as his worst self fought to stay alive.  Especially if he’d known... known... what he knew now. 

I never said that I want this, This burden came to me, And it's made it's home inside

“If - when - you become something that people will tell their children about to scare them - “

Had he become that? A part of him - a desperate part, a part that welled up in panic to meet the thought, and encourage it - told him yes.  Hell, the monster itslef would say yes, and laugh.  But... but he hadn’t, not completely.  The fact that he’d been able to fight told him so. The fact that he’d been able to resist, told him so.  They were in him but they weren’t him, especially not the worse of the two.  But... he was losing his grip on the worse one.  He’d already lost the fight for control not once, but twice.  And if it happened again, if Adam was right, if he was going down the same path as Henry Jekyll - 

“- I will end you.”

If I told you what I was, Would you turn your back on me? And if I seem dangerous, Would you be scared?

He couldn’t.  He couldn’t fight it off forever.  Jekyll was proof of that.  And if it took over, if the evil inside him finally won complete control, drowned him, and with him, the good facet? What would it do then? Would it be satisfied wherever they were, or would it...

A terrible thought crossed Jamie’s mind.  Would it go looking for trouble? Not just from Adam, either.  Adam last of all.  His skin crawled to think about it, and the laughter in his head didn’t help matters at all.  

I get the feeling just because, Everything I touch isn't dark enough If this problem lies in me

But it wouldn’t, he told himself.  Its core was in him, it wanted what he wanted, secretly or openly. It wouldn’t touch Eloise, not without provocation.  It would never go near his mum.  And it would be the last creature on earth interested in harming Quin. 

But by that reasoning... all the evil it had wrought was founded in his own soul as well.  The death, the subbornness, the hate - if the restraint would be his, all of these would have to be his as well.  The bad would lurk in his heart as well as the good.

I'm only a man with a chamber who's got me, I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me.

“So you’re finally ready to admit I’m a part of ye, eh, Jamie boy?” 

He groaned, but didn’t answer.  Answering this one made things worse.  He sighed and sat up, pressing his head back against the seat.  Maybe... maybe he was willing to become one sort of monster if it meant avoiding the other.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last sample of tincture he had, and the purified salts.  

“You can’t run from me, Jamie boy.  You can’t hide.  Even if you do this, you’re not going to be able to -” 

He took the medicine and closed his eyes, bracing for the pain.  

A monster, a monster, I've turned into a monster, A monster, a monster, And it keeps getting stronger

His eyes opened, after he’d drifted off, and he saw another’s hands.  Heard another’s thoughts.  But not the monster’s.  No, the monster couldn’t touch this facet, not when it was in control, at least.  They were on opposite sides of the soul.  He had no power here. Maybe he would, maybe he would fight and struggle enough.  

But until then, their head rested back against the seat, and their green eyes closed once more as the least monstrous part of them sank into silent prayer for assistance in overcoming their weaknesses, and forgiveness for their sins.

[all-thingsstrange]

Optimism

I was left to my own devices Many days fell away with nothing to show

I spent most of my time watching James toil away at his work.  That - Lord pardon me if this is blasphemy - but that God-forsaken work of dividing the soul.  It was terrible enough that he had come this far, but he wanted to go further.  He was desperate to complete what his predecessor had done, to somehow be better than him.  He rarely ate, and he slept even less.  The latter might have had something to do with me.  

I think he was afraid of me.  He didn’t need to be, of course.  He had no reason to fear me.  I had no intention of harming him.  It was against my nature, after all, and I suppose it still is.  But idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and even though James was constantly at work, even though he never allowed himself so much as a moment, it wasn’t meant to accomplish anything.  I didn’t do anything, though.  I sat and I watched, speaking occasionally but well aware he wouldn’t listen.

And the walls kept tumbling down In the city that we love Grey clouds roll over the hills Bringing darkness from above

I could feel James falling away.  It was a familiar feeling, by now; Holmwood insisted that the results be replicated.  Again.  And again.  But he wasn’t falling away for me, no.  Not at all.  I had said my piece, done my duty, and he refused to listen.  He insisted.  

And so I let him, feeling something new surge forward.  It was excited, independent, new.  Was it innocent? I would argue, yes.  Yes, even more innocent than I was at my birth.  It was hungry, it was awake, it was alive.  There was no fear in its existence, and it loved that.  

But no harm had come from its creation, not yet.  Nothing dangerous had come from its birth.  It was not good, but it was not wicked, either.  It was grey.  Even grey clouds, however, can blot out the brightest sun.  Even grey parts of the human being can darken everything.  And so, as it became more awake, I found myself falling asleep, sinking into its shadow. 

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?  How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

It named me.  I still don’t know how I feel about that, but the fact is, it named me before naming even itself.  It was well aware I didn’t wish to be named, didn’t wish for my own being, and yet it insisted, with a sort of cruel glee I remember quite clearly. He disliked me from the beginning, and despite what I felt regarding its innocence at birth I had a sense of foreboding as to what would come next.

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices In your pose as the dust settled around us

We quickly learned we had to tolerate each other when and while James was in control.  When James’ mind cleared, when all was settled, we were left facing each other.  The other had already made his distaste toward me rather clear, and as I disapproved of his very existence... well, much to James’ irritation, we quickly became caught up in our differences, and the trouble only grew worse from there.

Oh where do we begin? The rubble or our sins? Oh where do we begin? The rubble or our sins?

James found a balance, for a while, but when things spiraled out of control, it spiraled much too fast for any of us to quite realize what had happened until it was over, until we were on a ship overseas and James was looking into a mirror at himself.  I watched him, but I wasn’t able to protect him from what came next.  I wasn’t able to stop any of what came next.  

I couldn’t even say where exactly it went wrong, where the tipping point was.  Was it my first night? The other’s first night? That last night - or perhaps that last day? I couldn’t say.  What I can say is it’s much too late for any of us, now.  Too late to go back.  All we can do is forge ahead, try to escape the collapse of the past and press on into the future.

But if you close your eyes Does it almost feel like Nothing changed at all?

But sometimes I can’t help but look back.  When all is quiet, when I’m alone with my memories, without James or the other or Ms. Norton or the professor, I can still recall a time when chaos was beyond our hope.    When we cheerfully, almost playfully, danced under the moon, into and out of fairy rings, watched the stars.  When we had people who cared.  And when I’m alone, sometimes I can still see them, even hear their voices.  

And if you close your eyes Does it almost feel like You've been here before?

Perhaps I’m not so different from James, or the other.  Perhaps we’re more similar than we care to realize.  Independence, activity, curiosity - we share these things and more.  Sometimes the other and I will experience moments of deja vu, either from each other’s past or our own.  It’s almost easy to forget what brought us here, why we live as we do.  But if that happens, even for a moment, it’s a relief from the reality.  I wouldn’t ask that it change, I wouldn’t question whether we have always been this way.  Because no matter what harm comes to us, no matter what may pass, some things are bound to remain the same.  

I believe I can hope that those constants are the good things in our life.

[all-thingsstrange]

Saints of Gold

When the days are cold And the cards all fold And the saints we see Are all made of gold

Everyone at least knew of Mr. John Mitchell, even if not by name.  He was a local saint, a man who always attended church, who would do his best to help any man, a man who frequented hospitals and shelters, who spent his free time reading or praying.  He was a strange little man, with fair hair worn too long, and uncovered; with bright, intelligent green eyes; always in grey; rarely smiling.  But despite this, despite the odd first impression he made, despite his initially apparent reclusiveness, Mr. Mitchell was a trustworthy man.  

This is what Detective Silas Jackson had heard, anyway.  He stood on the steps of St. John Cantius and watched the people filing out of their service.  He didn’t understand why Catholics held daily services - nor did he care.  He was here to find one person, who, by description, would be relatively difficult considering the number of lean, fair-featured individuals - Polish, probably - were leaving the building to make their way to work, or home, depending.  

When your dreams all fail And the ones we hail Are the worst of all And the blood’s run stale

“Mr. Mitchell?” 

He was the last to step out of the church, and every physical description was accurate, right down to the grey suit, lack of a hat, and umbrella.  The man addressed turned toward him. There was something odd about him that Ogden couldn’t place a finger on, something... superficial? Artificial? But at the same time, there was something gentle in that face, a quiet sort of peace with himself and the world, reinforced when Mitchell gave a small smile. 

“Hello, detective, can I help you?” 

Jackson hesitated.  “You know me?” 

The man laughed softly.  “And you know me, I believe through the same person.  It shouldn’t be so surprising.” 

“No,” the detective answered slowly, “I suppose not.” 

The smile faded off Mitchell’s face.  “You’re here regarding that person, aren’t you?” 

Jackson couldn’t deny it.  “I’ve been investigating Mr. Bain’s activities for several months now.  I know there’s more to him.” 

“More to him?” The question was combined with a slight tilt of the head.  “What do you mean by that?” 

It was Jackson’s turn to laugh a little.  “I’m an officer of the law, Mr. Mitchell, I think you can guess.” 

I want to hide the truth I want to shelter you But with the beast inside There’s nowhere we can hide

Something crossed Mr. Mitchell’s face that the detective recognized as a mix of relief, and concern.  It was the look of someone hiding something, but in the manner of a man doing so to protect those around him.  Jackson became serious again. 

“Mr. Mitchell, it’s important that you tell me what you know about him.  It’s necessary for the investigation.” 

“He’s not in any immediate trouble, is he?” Mitchell leaned on his umbrella, still wearing that odd, defensive look.  

“I’m hoping you could tell me. I don’t know much about Mr. Bain - he’s a mystery, he doesn’t like talking, and he avoids any tail we can put on him. I was hoping... well, you two seem very similar.” He waited, and watched for a response. 

Sure enough, more concern now crossed Mitchell’s face.  He obviously didn’t like being compared to Bain, but how he knew him was still a mystery.  Finally, he sighed deeply, and gestured down the stairs.  “We shouldn’t do this outside the Lord’s house.  Shall we?” 

No matter what we breed We still are made of greed This is my kingdom come This is my kingdom come

“I met Bain in Europe a little over a year ago, now.  We were both approached by a certain man regarding a... business opportunity, let’s call it.  We didn’t like each other from the outset, but there was something about him that said that he was... similar to me, if in all the worst ways. And he seemed to see the same, or something similar, in me.  While we disagreed, we were... certain circumstances rendered us inseparable.  Over time we found a way to avoid contact, but we’re required to remain close.” 

Jackson listened to the story.  He didn’t believe it, not all of it, anyway.  It was told with the expertise of a man who had practiced it many times.  But some points did match what the detective already knew.  Bain had come from Europe about eleven months before, he had contact with someone - an “employer,” likely with mob connections - who had likely brought him here just to do their dirty work.  And, from his experience with Bain, it wasn’t hard to believe that the Scottish ginger didn’t get along very well with the soft-spoken man walking beside the detective.  

Still, even the gentlest of men weren’t above lying, if the reasons were right.  Jackson just had to figure out what those reasons were.

When the curtain’s call Is the last of all When the lights fade out All the sinners crawl

They spoke and walked for a long while.  Neither seemed to be paying attention to where they were going; Mitchell simply didn’t appear to care, while Jackson was much more focused on trying to learn something, anything, else about his companion’s relationship with Bain, with little success.  When they parted ways, Ogden didn’t have another ounce of useful information than he had when he began.  

He wasn’t finished with Mitchell, however.  If he wanted to continue the case, he had to know as much as he could about Bain.  So he fell back and tailed the grey-clothed man.  A library, a hospital, a few houses.  Nothing of real interest, until Mitchell came to a stop once again - outside of Bain’s apartment building.  

Intrigued, Jackson waited across the street.  The sun set behind the skyline, bringing the shadows in closer to the door of the building.  A church bell began to toll, one, two, three, four, five, six. Six in the evening.  

So they dug your grave And the masquerade Will come calling out At the mess you made

The bell had rung again - quarter past - before the door opened again. He was disappointed, but not particularly surprised, to see Bain step out, give a wary glance around the street, and begin his nightly stroll of the city.  He was unpredictable in everything except that he always, always, spent the whole night on the town.  If he came back, it would be between half-past five or quarter til six.  Sometimes he didn’t come back at all.  

What happened on days like that, Jackson didn’t know, and he hated that.  Bain was skilled at avoiding followers, and getting caught in the act of whatever trouble he stirred up on his nightly outings.  He was also very good about not having any witnesses to said outings; only once had someone reported him, and shortly after, came to the police station to apologize - that his accusation was some kind of joke.  When asked about his black eye, he made some excuse, but Jackson had an itching hunch about the truth.

Don’t want to let you down But I am hell bound Though this is all for you Don’t want to hide the truth

Jackson stood there all night, but there was no sign of either Bain or Mitchell.  At quarter til six Bain came back, as expected.  He saw the figure across the street, and while there was no possible way that he could have recognized the detective, Jackson still felt that the broad, lamp-lit grin, and the obnoxious tip of the hat, were meant for him.  

He kept waiting.  When the clock struck six his growing concern for Mitchell’s health reached a climax, but he waited ten more minutes before crossing the street.  He was in such a rush that he nearly ran over the man walking out of the building. He paused long enough to apologize, before recognizing him.

“Mr. Mitchell?” 

When you feel my heat Look into my eyes It’s where my demons hide It’s where my demons hide

The green eyes betrayed surprise, and for just a moment - just a moment the saint’s look felt like a glare of judgment.  He could have sworn he recognized the look, but for the moment he couldn't recall where he’d seen them before.  Then Mitchell relaxed, and smiled.  He smiles more than I expected.  

“Detective Jackson, what brings you here this early in the morning?” 

He opened his mouth, but any explanation would seem strange, at best.  So instead he asked, “Do you live here?” 

“I do.”  The smaller man had now had time to look him over.  Ogden wondered wheter there was a way he could tell that he had spent the night watching the building.  Apparently there was... something, because the look changed to something resigned and sad.  

“You’re here looking for Mr. Bain.” 

Jackson didn’t answer.  He didn’t see the need. 

John Mitchell appeared to be seeing something there, or hearing something, he couldn’t tell.  But whatever it was, it led to a small smile.  “If you’re willing to walk with me to church, I’d be willing to offer a few more explanations than I gave you yesterday.” 

They say it's what you make I say it's up to fate It's woven in my soul I need to let you go

“So you and Mr. Bain are being blackmailed -” 

“Coerced would be better.” 

“Coerced, then.  Coerced into working with one another?” 

“In a way.” 

“That way being Bain goes about this individual’s shady work, while you are Mr. Bain’s handler.”

“That is correct.” 

Ogden knew that he was still withholding something, but at least he finally had more substance to work with.  “You wouldn’t be able to give me the individual’s name, would you?” 

“No.” The word was solemn, and Jackson knew that whatever was being held against both Bain and Mitchell, it was serious.  He knew better than to press the topic with Mitchell, at least.  

Your eyes, they shine so bright I want to save their light I can't escape this now Unless you show me how

They were outside the church, now, and Mitchell crossed himself before turning to face Jackson.  

“Detective, may I give you a word of advice?” 

Jackson had a feeling he knew what the man was about to say, but answered, “Of course.” 

“The man you seem intent on investigating is dangerous, perhaps too dangerous for you.  And I do not mean Mr. Bain.” When Jackson didn’t reply, the strange man’s face fell a little further.  “Detective, believe me, I wish I could tell you everything, and I pray for the day when I can.  But as things stand I’ve told you everything I can.  Please.  There are some things too dangerous - and some too strange - to be explained fully.”

Don’t get too close It’s dark inside It’s where my demons hide It’s where my demons hide

Detective Silas Jackson watched the man climb the stairs toward the church doors, and continued staring long after those doors closed behind him.  He was trying to make sense of what Mitchell had said, and decide what the best direction would be the best to investigate from here.  But something kept bothering him, even as he put his hands into his pockets and began to walk away, toward home for some sleep after his night-long stakeout.  

“Some things too dangerous - and some too strange.”

[all-thingsstrange]

And Now We Just Sit

I ponder of something great My lungs will fill and then deflate They fill with fire, exhale desire I know it's dire my time today

Our hands were folded, pointed up at the arched ceiling with its buttresses and beams.  It’s surprising, what we remember from my boyhood, without trying.  Like folding our thumbs over each other when our hands were folded, that was something the priest told me back home when I was learning to altar serve. Good Lord that was a long time ago.  I’m surprised I still remember that, even subconsciously.  Even if I’m not the one folding our hands and praying.  

Lord, make me a channel of Thy peace, he prays.  Lord, it’s easy for him.  He’s always at peace.  It fills him up, even as good old Catholic guilt tries to push it out.  The Spirit of the Lord, going in.  The spirit of something else, going out. 

I have these thoughts so often I ought To replace that slot with what I once bought 'Cause somebody stole my car radio And now I just sit in silence

I know the silence can be oppressive. Especially once you’re used to hearing voices even in the quietest of places.  I know he’d like to hear me, every once in a while. He doesn’t mind the external silence, but he doesn’t like just hearing his own thoughts, either.  He doesn’t like being his own self, not because I benefit him in any way, no.  It’s because he knows he’s at least a fragment of me, and he doesn’t like being separated from the rest.  There’s nothing wrong with him, no, as a matter of fact I wish the other one would be more like that.  It would be better.  And besides, John doesn’t mind the silence.  Often he’ll go looking for it.  

But that doesn’t make sitting in the silence any easier.

Sometimes quiet is violent I find it hard to hide it My pride is no longer inside It's on my sleeve My skin will scream reminding me of Who I killed inside my dream

In the quiet, you can hear memories.  Sometimes the memories are yours, memories of being warned, or of warning.  A warning that arrogance leads to downfall.  A warning that pride, left to its own devices, can cause more harm than it is worth. 

But sometimes they aren’t yours.  Sometimes those memories are just a sound - a sharp crack.  Crack of bone, followed by more.  Crack of a handgun, once, twice.  Sometimes even the crack of his own joints was enough to make him pause, the way a gentle touch was enough to make the other freeze.  I don’t want to know what would do that to me, if I stepped to the surface.

I hate this car that I'm driving There's no hiding for me I'm forced to deal with what I feel There is no distraction to mask what is real I could pull the steering wheel

Our body is none of ours.  It’s all of ours, but none of us hold sole claim to it.  One might argue that it’s all mine, the other that it belongs to whomever is in control, but truth be told, none of us own it.  Some of us just have more control than others.  I could jump to the top whenever I felt the need, I could push whichever facet is conscious away, but then... then I’d be left in the silence, too.  It might be fine for a while, but eventually I’d be used to it.  It wouldn’t be a distraction from my own thoughts anymore.  I’d have to face up - and I’m not ready to do that yet.

I ponder of something terrifying 'Cause this time there's no sound to hide behind I find over the course of our human existence One thing consists of consistence

Of course they both have their own terrors.  Some of them I share.  Adam, Addy.  God Himself.  Sinking too far back into my own mind and never finding my way out.  But none of those were my worst fear.  They weren’t the most terrifying thing that could happen.  Adam would be a mercy. Adelaide was run-of-the-mill, she was a constant factor.  She was grating, painful, but not horrifying, not the way some things were.  She was consistent. I’m expecting God’s wrath, and have been for a long time.  And falling into my own head, becoming my own prisoner - well, one could argue I’m already there.  

And it's that we're all battling fear Oh dear, I don't know if we know why we're here Oh my, too deep, please stop thinking I liked it better when my car had sound

One thing I couldn’t bear to see again, the one thing, was her face, like that.  Frozen in fear and betrayal the way we left her.  I know once the grief passed, once she learned everything, all she would know was wrath.  She’d be angry, and while forgiveness is one of her virtues I doubt I could ever bring myself to face her at all, let alone beg.  Just the idea makes me cold.  

There are things we can do But from the things that work there are only two And from the two that we choose to do Peace will win and fear will lose It is faith and there's sleep

There were two things we could have done.  One was go back.  One was to tell Adelaide she and her employer could go to hell, and go back and face consequences.  The other was to resign, to refuse to fight.  To sink into self-pity and cowardice and to stay where we were, consequences be damned. 

We need to pick one please because Faith is to be awake And to be awake is for us to think And for us to think is to be alive

Sometimes I think about what might have happened if we’d done the first.  Davies might have killed us - but that’s better than everything Adelaide and the Professor have done since then.  Again, I would have considered it a mercy.  Or perhaps... perhaps we could have explained, too.  If they knew everything, maybe there could be a chance we wouldn’t be an ocean away now.  Maybe I - we - could be home now, with friends.  It’s a nice thought, but it’s too late for nice thoughts like that.  It was too late the moment we made the decision to follow Ms. Norton from the library, one of the first times I fully settled into their subconscious mind.  

And I will try with every rhyme To come across like I am dying To let you know you need to try to think

He’s left the church, walking down the wind-swept streets of Chicago to the apartment we call home.  It’s a small place, sparcely decorated.  A desk, a bookshelf with a small clock, a bed, and a mirror, with a bathroom to one side.  It’s as far from my childhood home as I could expect.  It’s a lot like my Oxford dormitory - but that’s as far from here as one could expect, too.  

I have these thoughts so often I ought To replace that slot with what I once bought 'Cause somebody stole my car radio And now I just sit in silence

He sets the key on the desk, then washes his face.  He moves quietly, patiently, from one room to the next.  When he’s finished, he looks to the clock.  It’s almost time, we both know.  He walks to the bed and leans quietly on the post, waiting in silence for the familiar chimes to echo and fade away like the pain in our head, our chest, in every muscle and bone.

I ponder of something great My lungs will fill and then deflate They fill with fire, exhale desire I know it's dire my time today

One stands up, where the other had been. He’s shaking, his ginger hair plastered to our forehead as the pain in our chest recedes.  He looks around the room, getting his bearings, as he always does.  He looks at the mirror, at his own pale face and dark eyes, and he sighs.

And now I just sit in silence 

[all-thingsstrange]

First Night

“Ms. Harker- I’ve been alive less than two hours and I already know that I am one of a kind...would you spend the night with me?”

Quin raised her brows. “And I thought Americans were forward.”

“You assume I want something else from you.” I’m mildly embarrassed. “I just want to spend my first night alive doing things with someone I...trust.”

“You mean you and Nurse Kline aren’t-”

At this point I burst out in laughter. “Definitely not.”

Quin relaxed a little before nudging my arm playfully. “And I’m in my own room tonight?”

“On my honor.” I don’t know if I have any, but I continued,“I’m curious to see what I become.”

“I am too, Mr. Bain. I think you’ll be something great.” Quin steadies my arm as I stumble over a tree root.

We did a lot of things tonight. We drank through another bottle of scotch. Quin taught me about certain constellations and told me about America. I think at one point we went for a swim in the river underneath the moon.

We floated around in the cool water in nothing but our underthings. “Why did you choose this life anyway, Quin? You could be a proper lady.”

She splashed at me, before swimming closer. “I like this life...people and things like you- things unexpected and strange. I want to see everything the world offers.”