Just as I was about to pick up the phone and face the music with Ravyn Fyre, I felt a Call of another kind, the kind that would require me to leave my body behind and step into the Spirit World. From the urgency of the Call, I couldn’t resist, not that I minded very much delaying THAT call for a little bit...
I sat back, found my focus point and slipped from my body. I slipped through the walls of my RV and found a nearby rabbit hole to facilitate my journey to the Other Side. The darkness of the tunnel closed in quickly and briefly formed a womb-like passage that openned into a fog enshrouded plain. In the distance, I could see huge, dark shapes that appeared to be Standing Stones of some sort. The Call was coming from beyond the first one.
As I moved closer to the huge stones, I could see that they formed a series of very large circles, very much like the Stonehenge I had seen in books and films, but bigger, more complete.
Crossing the threshold of the outermost circle, I felt an almost tangible crackling in the air about me, like I had crossed from the normal into a place of...holiness (not a sensation I have felt very often in my various incarnations!). I slowed a little bit, feeling more than a little bit like a trespasser, but the urgent Call kept me moving forward. I passed through the next two circles, each time sensing that I moved deeper into Mystery, deeper into Sacred Space.
Finally I found myself coming to last circle, the impossibly giant stones towering overhead, with the capstones forming a complete circle overhead. The archway immediately to my front was completely shrouded in swirling fog. I was battling dual urges at this moment.
First, it felt that my very presence in this place was somehow wrong, that I did not belong here, this was not my Place. But the Call inside me head was irresistable and constant. It urged me forward, told me that I was welcome, but only for the moment and only when so Called.
I stepped through the curtain of fog and found myself facing the music and then some!
Once I was on the other side, I saw four female figures waiting for me. The first to draw my eyes was the Frau. In this place, she stood without the use of her cane, although she was still obv iously older than the other figures. Her kind face was still showed the prominent lines around her eyes and mouth of someone who smiled more than she frowned. She was shrouded in robes made of some natural fiber and was barefoot. Her head was bare, except for a simple leather band that kept her hair back. She was holding a wooden wand that was tipped by part on antler, held together by more leather straps.
The next figure turned out to be Cerrydwen. She was also barefoot, but she was wearing pants that appeared to be made of sackcloth and belted with some sort of rope. Her chest was covered, just barely, by a leather vest, held together with a series of leather ties. She was holding a tall wooden staff, the surface of which was carved into various Celtic designs. Her face and other visible skin was painted with swirls and other designs in blue ink, her glare was as dark as forboding as usual.
I winced as I recognized Ravyn as the third figure. Like the Frau and Cerrydwen, she was barefoot, but she was wearing a long woolen dress that came down to her ankles. The dress was a deep blue in color. The hemline, the ends of the sleeves and the neckline was embroidered in bright reds and oranges in a style that evoked the flames for which she was named. Her arms were crossed, and for once her glare was darker than that of Cerrydwen.
The fourth figure however was the most shocking. It was Jasmine. Like the others, she was barefoot. She was dressed in a simple green woolen dress that came to her knees. Unlike Ravyn’s dress though, hers was plain and unadorned, except for a simple golden cord which wrapped around her waist and tied, with both tassled ends dangling as the only decoration. Her eyes were wide and curious, but also showed a hint of concern.
“Jasmine, what are you doing here? Where are we?”
Cerrydwen stepped forward to answer. “Rusty Bones, you have been Called to this Circle of Glimmerdown Fells by my own hand and are offered safehaven as a Guest. Do you come here of your own Free Will and without Malice in your heart?”
“Uh, yeah I guess.”
“Then as Guest of the Keeper, I grant you the right of Free Passage from this Circle when our business with you is complete. No Guardian of this place shall impede your departure when you leave.”
“I didn’t see any Guardians on the way in.”
Cerrydwen smiled, a chilling smile that spoke of hidden things. “No one does. But they are out there, and the Rites must be performed or bad things will happen. Welcome for now, but be warned, this place is Sacred and its Mysteries are not for you. Please do not try to return on your own unless you are invited to return.”
“I’ll...keep that in mind.”
“Good.” She stepped back into her previous place, apparently satisfied that the Rites, whatever the Hell they were, were complete.
The Frau stepped forward, “Rusty, we called you here because Jasmine sensed that you were in danger and was very concerned. We also felt that it would be easier to discuss the entity that you have gone to face on your own.”
“Wow, how did you know all of this so quickly?”
The Frau smiled and pointed to the rest of the women present with a sweeping gesture. “We are women, we are all touched by the Fey. Your daughter sensed the dangers first and approached Ravyn. Ravyn contacted Cerrydwen and myself and told us of her concerns. I asked Cerrydwen to bring us to this place because of the protections that are here and your proximity to that creature makes it unsafe for us to come to you. Even now, without the Guardians of this place, such a meeting would be dangerous.”
“Do you know what this thing is?”
Ravyn couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. She stepped forward as the Frau stepped back. “You know, if you had even bothered to contact any of us for information before you went galivanting off to play hero all by your lonesome, we could have told you a little something about this.”
“Whoah now, Ravyn, I was sent on here by the government. I was doing my job!”
“Yeah well that’s no damn excuse to go off on your own against an unknown foe with no warning. Just because your body is dead doesn’t mean that you are invincible you know! You have people who care about you and who need you to be around more than you have been.
“Now we’ve got some information about this thing, but there is a lot more to this than meets the eye. We’ve had a couple of our members disappear when they started looking into this same creature, but we’ve learned a lot in that time. That creature is not alone down there.”
“You mean there is more than one? Oh shit. One of those things was pretty damn deadly.”
Ravyn looked more than a little perturbed that I had interrupted her just when she was getting on a role. I could tell she was about to let loose the tongue lashing of my...death when Jasmine stepped forward and spoke up.
“Daddy, didn’t you read Beowulf when you were in school?”
“Beowulf? You mean that old poem?”
Ravyn waved her silent and pointed a finger at me. “Yes, it’s an old Anglo-Saxon tale about an epic hero. He kills a monster named Grendel in that story. A monster that snuck up in the middle of the night and killed and ate its victims. Does any of this sound familiar now?”
“Well, yeah, this thing I tracked has been pretty messy when it kills and has eaten a lot of the victims’ bodies...but how does an old story like that matter today?”
She was looking exasperated again. “Old stories survive because there is almost always at least a kernel of truth to them. We believe that the monster you are facing is an incarnation of the creature from that story. If it is, it means that it has a more powerful companion...its mother, down there somewhere.”
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Mike and the Mechanics
It took a heck of a lot longer to get my ass back up to where the Agent Murphy and his men were waiting, but I managed it eventually.
I was pretty pissed for having gotten ambushed in the first place, so my mood was grim to say the least. I had little patience for the alternating shocked and sympathetic looks I was getting from those knuckleheads. They were sympathetic because they just couldn’t comprehend that I wasn’t in any pain from my injuries, but shocked with the idea that something down...there...kicked my ass so thoroughly.
They could easily see the mangled end of my arm where the metal infused bone was twisted and crushed as if it had been caught in the grip of a very powerful vise. The vise that got me had some nasty teeth and powerful claws. My one leg was only a little better off. My foot was still connected, but was twisted at a sickening angle. The flesh and ‘muscle’ in my lower calf had been shredded and I was missing the knee cap in that damn leg now, which meant that I couldn’t support any weight on it without the whole thing collapsing on itself.
You shoudl have seen Murphy’s face when he saw me though. He went for his normal arrogant air of superiority that he had in greater measure than most FBI agents, to a ghostly white, he was almost stammering when I emerged from the manhole cover into dead gypsy’s place.
“W-wh-what happened to you Agent Bones?” He asked while trying to help me up off the floor, grunting with exertion.
I pushed him and another agent away with my stubby arm, which they recoiled from rather quickly. “Well, let’s just say I found our guy, sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of? Didn’t the killer do this to you?”
“Oh yeah, it did. I definitely found our perp. The ‘sort of’ referred to the fact that I don’t think it qualifies as a ‘guy’.” I managed to scramble to my one good leg. I started hobbling towards the exit.
“A woman did this to you?” He followed along, motioning his agents to move ahead while he kept by my side.
“No, let’s just leave it as an ‘it’. Whatever the Hell this thing is, it isn’t human.”
He looked real worried at that assessment. “Is it some kind of animal?”
I was getting tired of this game of 20 questions. “Look, if I knew what the Hell this thing was I’d tell you. But I’ve never seen anything like it. I think you’ve got yourself one nasty supernatural critter running around there. It fucked me up pretty good, but I did some major damage to it as well. I don’t know if that thing will heal up or not, but I need to get a repair job before I go looking for it again.”
“Do you think I should send some men down there to finish it off?”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Only if you want to be writing to their families and arranging funerals for the scraps that thing would leave after it slaughtered and ate them. I’m telling you, this is not your average human killer, or a even a rabid animal of some sort. This thing is a fucking monster. The kind of monster that will give you nightmares for the rest of your damn life. If you send any of your agents down there before I am ready to go again, I’ll have your fucking hide if that thing doesn’t take it before I get the chance.”
That shut him up for a bit.
In blessed silence, I stumbled my way out of the poor old gypsy’s place and dragged my leg up the steps to the worried looks of the agents waiting outside.
Murphy had one more stupid question. “Do you need to go to a...hospital or something?”
I sighed, held up my stump for examination.
He looked at it briefly, winced and looked away, as did the rest of the agents.
“No. I need a ride out to my motor home. I’ll call headquarters and see if they have any qualified mechanics down in Quantico and some spare damn parts. I’ll write up some after action reports from my motor home and send them to you by e-mail or fax. I’ll also ask if you can get someone to bring my motorcycle out to the place for when I am repaired. Is that possible?”
“Uh yeah. I think we can manage that.”
“Good, then let’s get moving.”
* * *
The ride back to my motor home was a quiet one. Murphy took me back himself, leaving his other agents to secure the scene and erect what he hoped would be some barriers to that thing getting loose through the gypsy’s house. I was lost in thought in about who I could contact to find out more about this thing, he had finally gotten the clue that I wasn’t in a talkative mood.
Once I was back inside the motor home, I shut the door without inviting him inside. I did tell him that he would get my report in the morning. Then it was time to make some phone calls, first back to Quantico, and then to my friends in the Organization of Responsible Casters, or ORC for short.
In Quantico I was able to get ahold of my most immediate boss, a short, stocky fellow named Mike Hauser. I had only met Mike a couple of times in person, but he seemed like a well meaning guy who was trying to learn about the program that Drake had created.
To my surprise, Mike told me that he had already acquired a supply of spare parts (I think some were scaveneged from Greg’s body, but some were just spares) from stuff that Drake had left behind and that he had assembled a small team of technicians to study all of the diagrams and specifications that Dr. Geek had so kindly left behind in the NecroLab. He was eager to bring the team up and get a chance to work on me.
Luckily, he was able to get a truck requisitioned and was planning to head up the next morning.
After I finished with Mike, it was time to give the Professor a call.
Jim was very interested in the encounter and asked if I could dump any of my optical images into a computer file and send them his way, so he could run some comparative searches on the image of the thing. I spent the better of the evening figuring out to do that with one hand and no patience, but I was able to link to my PowerBook and record a couple of good still images and zip them off to him.
Then it was time to face the music. I decided to give Ravyn a call. If there was anyone who might know who would have knowledge of something like this, it would be her. Of course, calling her meant having to listen to a scolding of epic proportions, but sometimes even zombies just have take their medicine...
I was pretty pissed for having gotten ambushed in the first place, so my mood was grim to say the least. I had little patience for the alternating shocked and sympathetic looks I was getting from those knuckleheads. They were sympathetic because they just couldn’t comprehend that I wasn’t in any pain from my injuries, but shocked with the idea that something down...there...kicked my ass so thoroughly.
They could easily see the mangled end of my arm where the metal infused bone was twisted and crushed as if it had been caught in the grip of a very powerful vise. The vise that got me had some nasty teeth and powerful claws. My one leg was only a little better off. My foot was still connected, but was twisted at a sickening angle. The flesh and ‘muscle’ in my lower calf had been shredded and I was missing the knee cap in that damn leg now, which meant that I couldn’t support any weight on it without the whole thing collapsing on itself.
You shoudl have seen Murphy’s face when he saw me though. He went for his normal arrogant air of superiority that he had in greater measure than most FBI agents, to a ghostly white, he was almost stammering when I emerged from the manhole cover into dead gypsy’s place.
“W-wh-what happened to you Agent Bones?” He asked while trying to help me up off the floor, grunting with exertion.
I pushed him and another agent away with my stubby arm, which they recoiled from rather quickly. “Well, let’s just say I found our guy, sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of? Didn’t the killer do this to you?”
“Oh yeah, it did. I definitely found our perp. The ‘sort of’ referred to the fact that I don’t think it qualifies as a ‘guy’.” I managed to scramble to my one good leg. I started hobbling towards the exit.
“A woman did this to you?” He followed along, motioning his agents to move ahead while he kept by my side.
“No, let’s just leave it as an ‘it’. Whatever the Hell this thing is, it isn’t human.”
He looked real worried at that assessment. “Is it some kind of animal?”
I was getting tired of this game of 20 questions. “Look, if I knew what the Hell this thing was I’d tell you. But I’ve never seen anything like it. I think you’ve got yourself one nasty supernatural critter running around there. It fucked me up pretty good, but I did some major damage to it as well. I don’t know if that thing will heal up or not, but I need to get a repair job before I go looking for it again.”
“Do you think I should send some men down there to finish it off?”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Only if you want to be writing to their families and arranging funerals for the scraps that thing would leave after it slaughtered and ate them. I’m telling you, this is not your average human killer, or a even a rabid animal of some sort. This thing is a fucking monster. The kind of monster that will give you nightmares for the rest of your damn life. If you send any of your agents down there before I am ready to go again, I’ll have your fucking hide if that thing doesn’t take it before I get the chance.”
That shut him up for a bit.
In blessed silence, I stumbled my way out of the poor old gypsy’s place and dragged my leg up the steps to the worried looks of the agents waiting outside.
Murphy had one more stupid question. “Do you need to go to a...hospital or something?”
I sighed, held up my stump for examination.
He looked at it briefly, winced and looked away, as did the rest of the agents.
“No. I need a ride out to my motor home. I’ll call headquarters and see if they have any qualified mechanics down in Quantico and some spare damn parts. I’ll write up some after action reports from my motor home and send them to you by e-mail or fax. I’ll also ask if you can get someone to bring my motorcycle out to the place for when I am repaired. Is that possible?”
“Uh yeah. I think we can manage that.”
“Good, then let’s get moving.”
* * *
The ride back to my motor home was a quiet one. Murphy took me back himself, leaving his other agents to secure the scene and erect what he hoped would be some barriers to that thing getting loose through the gypsy’s house. I was lost in thought in about who I could contact to find out more about this thing, he had finally gotten the clue that I wasn’t in a talkative mood.
Once I was back inside the motor home, I shut the door without inviting him inside. I did tell him that he would get my report in the morning. Then it was time to make some phone calls, first back to Quantico, and then to my friends in the Organization of Responsible Casters, or ORC for short.
In Quantico I was able to get ahold of my most immediate boss, a short, stocky fellow named Mike Hauser. I had only met Mike a couple of times in person, but he seemed like a well meaning guy who was trying to learn about the program that Drake had created.
To my surprise, Mike told me that he had already acquired a supply of spare parts (I think some were scaveneged from Greg’s body, but some were just spares) from stuff that Drake had left behind and that he had assembled a small team of technicians to study all of the diagrams and specifications that Dr. Geek had so kindly left behind in the NecroLab. He was eager to bring the team up and get a chance to work on me.
Luckily, he was able to get a truck requisitioned and was planning to head up the next morning.
After I finished with Mike, it was time to give the Professor a call.
Jim was very interested in the encounter and asked if I could dump any of my optical images into a computer file and send them his way, so he could run some comparative searches on the image of the thing. I spent the better of the evening figuring out to do that with one hand and no patience, but I was able to link to my PowerBook and record a couple of good still images and zip them off to him.
Then it was time to face the music. I decided to give Ravyn a call. If there was anyone who might know who would have knowledge of something like this, it would be her. Of course, calling her meant having to listen to a scolding of epic proportions, but sometimes even zombies just have take their medicine...
Monday, June 27, 2005
Might have to get me one of these...
Zombie Dogs...Here is the link: http://www.news.com.au/story/0,10117,15739502-13762,00.html
I can tell you however, that my own existence is proof that this technique is just the tip of the iceberg as to what has already been done to humans...
I can tell you however, that my own existence is proof that this technique is just the tip of the iceberg as to what has already been done to humans...
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Subway Ambush...Part 4
Staring face to upside down face with the creature I had been tracking, time seemed to stop. I can’t excatly say why, but the two of us remained frozen in place, unblinking. Perhaps we were both assessing the strange face of the other, or perhaps we were both just surprised and it took a moment or two before reaction could take place.
In my moments of analysis, I came to the full realization that whatever this creature was, it surely wasn’t natural, at least not in any world that I knew of. Its scaly skin was stretched tight over its reptillian face, its snout full of teeth resembled a cross between an alligator and a wolf. Its eyes were bulbous and wide and emitted an eery red glow that seeped forth from behind the largest, blackest pupils I had ever seen. Its forked tongue snaked out to taste the air as we remained locked into our little staring contest. Our faces were so close that we could have smelled each others breath, if either of us had the ability to do so. (I know I didn’t, I have no idea if it smelled me, but since I don’t have breath per se, I’d say that was a wash.)
Neither of us moved, neither of us even flinched as the mutual evaluation took place. Just before that timeless moment came to an end, I got the sense that there was a mutual recognition of Spirits that were in some unknown way kindred. I am sure that this thing had never before encountered a human that didn’t cower or scream in fear or terror at the sight of it.
I was just about to try something that I’ve since learned would have been my undoing, perhaps for good, by reaching out Spiritually to this thing when the moment was broken by the sudden squawking call from my pants. “Agent Bones, advise of your position please.”
Things became a blur of furious movement as each of us reacted.
The creature lashed out with both huge claws, grabbing at my one hand holding the flashlight in its face while I had decided that best course was to allow myself to fall from my current vulnerable position.
What resulted was a spinning, slow motion fall on my end that would have made any martial movie director proud. The bad part about that though was that what allowed me to spin so effectively was the beast’s grip on my hand that somehow went from its massive claws to inside its mouth in less than the time it took me to fall.
As I landed, I was swinging my baton with my other hand at one of its knee joints, which landed with a loud, thudding crack that seemed to buckle the critter momentarily. Its claws however remained wrapped around my wrist and my hand was still inside its mouth. Unable to pull m y hand out, I decided to try the other approach, throwing my weight into shoving that hand as far down its throat as possible, esepcially since I still had that small flashlight in my grasp.
That maneuver definitely caught the critter off guard as I used my much greater than normal strength and my heavier-than-it-appears bulk to push the thing back on its haunches. Unfortunately, the thing had its own hidden reservoir of strength and its own tactics.
With an awful crunching sound and violent twist of its head and jaws, my hand was severed and I was thrown past the creature to sprawl in the shallow stream of water behind it.
As soon as I landed, I twisted to get a view of the thing and bring my baton up for defense. In that short period of time, it was on me. It pounced towards me in one great leap, claws extended as it went for my head.
I was able to get my left leg up to keep it from reaching my head, while also bringing the baton up to smash one of its bulbous eyes. A spray of reddish black fluids showered my face and obscured my own optical lenses somewhat, but I was able to see and feel enough to know that its claws were in the process of tearing my leg up.
I kicked up with my other leg, smashing into the same side of the head that I had destroyed the eye on, giving me just enough of an element of surprise to knock the thing off of me, but not until it had pretty much shredded my knee and lower leg. I regained a small m easure of balance as I got on my one good knee and landed a series of blows on its head, snapping off one if it horns and a couple of fangs in the process .
It rocked back out of reach and we sat there facing each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. I was missing a hand , a knee cap and big chunks out of my lower leg. It was missing one eye, a horn, some fangs and had a gimpy leg now to boot.
I guess the creature decided I wasn’t worth the price of admission since it got up and lurched away down the tunnel, splashing heavily with each injured step. I was in no shape to go chasing after it at that moment, so I let it go, but I watched as it made a turn to the right, hopefully heading for its lair. I knew I would be coming back as soon as I could get repaired.
Now, it’s a damn good thing that I don’t have to worry about pain. The injuries I had suffered could well have killed me if I hadn’t already been dead, and if they didn’t I surely would have been in shock and suffereing from severe blood loss. Instead, these injuries were more an inconvenience than anything else. Getting my dead ass up and hopping over to the rusted ladder was frustrating, but not deathly urgent. Trying to climb a ladder with one hand and one useful leg wasn’t any fun, but was eventually manageable.
In my moments of analysis, I came to the full realization that whatever this creature was, it surely wasn’t natural, at least not in any world that I knew of. Its scaly skin was stretched tight over its reptillian face, its snout full of teeth resembled a cross between an alligator and a wolf. Its eyes were bulbous and wide and emitted an eery red glow that seeped forth from behind the largest, blackest pupils I had ever seen. Its forked tongue snaked out to taste the air as we remained locked into our little staring contest. Our faces were so close that we could have smelled each others breath, if either of us had the ability to do so. (I know I didn’t, I have no idea if it smelled me, but since I don’t have breath per se, I’d say that was a wash.)
Neither of us moved, neither of us even flinched as the mutual evaluation took place. Just before that timeless moment came to an end, I got the sense that there was a mutual recognition of Spirits that were in some unknown way kindred. I am sure that this thing had never before encountered a human that didn’t cower or scream in fear or terror at the sight of it.
I was just about to try something that I’ve since learned would have been my undoing, perhaps for good, by reaching out Spiritually to this thing when the moment was broken by the sudden squawking call from my pants. “Agent Bones, advise of your position please.”
Things became a blur of furious movement as each of us reacted.
The creature lashed out with both huge claws, grabbing at my one hand holding the flashlight in its face while I had decided that best course was to allow myself to fall from my current vulnerable position.
What resulted was a spinning, slow motion fall on my end that would have made any martial movie director proud. The bad part about that though was that what allowed me to spin so effectively was the beast’s grip on my hand that somehow went from its massive claws to inside its mouth in less than the time it took me to fall.
As I landed, I was swinging my baton with my other hand at one of its knee joints, which landed with a loud, thudding crack that seemed to buckle the critter momentarily. Its claws however remained wrapped around my wrist and my hand was still inside its mouth. Unable to pull m y hand out, I decided to try the other approach, throwing my weight into shoving that hand as far down its throat as possible, esepcially since I still had that small flashlight in my grasp.
That maneuver definitely caught the critter off guard as I used my much greater than normal strength and my heavier-than-it-appears bulk to push the thing back on its haunches. Unfortunately, the thing had its own hidden reservoir of strength and its own tactics.
With an awful crunching sound and violent twist of its head and jaws, my hand was severed and I was thrown past the creature to sprawl in the shallow stream of water behind it.
As soon as I landed, I twisted to get a view of the thing and bring my baton up for defense. In that short period of time, it was on me. It pounced towards me in one great leap, claws extended as it went for my head.
I was able to get my left leg up to keep it from reaching my head, while also bringing the baton up to smash one of its bulbous eyes. A spray of reddish black fluids showered my face and obscured my own optical lenses somewhat, but I was able to see and feel enough to know that its claws were in the process of tearing my leg up.
I kicked up with my other leg, smashing into the same side of the head that I had destroyed the eye on, giving me just enough of an element of surprise to knock the thing off of me, but not until it had pretty much shredded my knee and lower leg. I regained a small m easure of balance as I got on my one good knee and landed a series of blows on its head, snapping off one if it horns and a couple of fangs in the process .
It rocked back out of reach and we sat there facing each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. I was missing a hand , a knee cap and big chunks out of my lower leg. It was missing one eye, a horn, some fangs and had a gimpy leg now to boot.
I guess the creature decided I wasn’t worth the price of admission since it got up and lurched away down the tunnel, splashing heavily with each injured step. I was in no shape to go chasing after it at that moment, so I let it go, but I watched as it made a turn to the right, hopefully heading for its lair. I knew I would be coming back as soon as I could get repaired.
Now, it’s a damn good thing that I don’t have to worry about pain. The injuries I had suffered could well have killed me if I hadn’t already been dead, and if they didn’t I surely would have been in shock and suffereing from severe blood loss. Instead, these injuries were more an inconvenience than anything else. Getting my dead ass up and hopping over to the rusted ladder was frustrating, but not deathly urgent. Trying to climb a ladder with one hand and one useful leg wasn’t any fun, but was eventually manageable.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Subway Ambush...Part 3
Her home was far larger than it appeared at first glance. It seemed that the entire basement of this building was choked with metal shelving units, piles of boxes and collections of various odds and ends. An entire wall seemed to be made of stacked and bundled newspapers, most them too yellow with age to even read anymore.
I had to step over or around a number of bookshelves that had obviously been knocked over in a struggle. There were trails of blood just about everywhere I looked. I located what looked to be her bedroom, which was little more than an alcove surrounded by yet more bookshelves stacked high with yet more knicknacks. Her actual bedding was shredded in the struggle, soaked in blood.
Just past her bedrom though, I noted that several footprints in the blood seemed to lead further into the warren of shelves. I began to follow the prints until they led me toward what seemed to be the middle of the basement. The prints quickly began to get fainter, but remained visible until they stopped right at what for appearances was a man-hole cover.
Now this is the point at which my dear friend Ravyn would have suggested I stop and somehow or another get ahold of some other folks to go with me. However this also the point at which my own curiosity began to overcome any small sense of caution that I have left in this existence.
So, I reached down and pried the lid up, using my fingers to pull up on the lip of the very heavy metal cover so that I could peer down into what was revealed.
The drop beneath the cover was steep, the whole area shrouded in darkness so deep that I had to pull out the flashlight and use it to illuminate the area. The beam of light showed a drop of about eight feet into another passageway below. I could make out a couple of bloody prints from where the killer had landed on all fours, a torn piece of bloody paper that must have come from above was also visible. So, I now knew which way the killer had gone.
I grabbed the radio and tried to call out to Murphy, but no one answered. I shrugged to myself and muttered, “So much for backup.”
I slid the metal cover all the way off and then dropped it to clang loudly in the silence. I sat down on the edge, dangling my legs for moment before dropping down to the cement floor beneath.
I landed with a thud, flashlight in one hand, the other holding my usual collapsible baton. I had flicked it open in the drop, doing my best impression of an ever-so-cool comic book hero, and failing miserably.
The passageway was likely a remnant of some forgotten subterranean system in the cities distant past, as it was clearly abandoned long ago. There was a thick layer of damp dirt that coated the floor, easily revealing the two sets of tracks leading up to and away from the nearly rusted out ladder that led up to the manhole cover above. I have never been an outdoorsman, but Stevie Wonder could have followed these tracks. It also wasn’t hard to tell that these were more like claw marks than footprints.
I know, I know...with such a clearly marked trail, and such an obviously dangerous opponent, the smart thing would have been to go back up the ladder and grab some of those underpaid hero wannabes and make a party out of this affair. But would this blog be nearly so interesting if I had that kind of sense in the first place?
No, I didn’t think so. Shit, if I had half that much sense, I wouldn’t be a damn zombie and this would be another boring assed political blog. Who wants that?
So, I started following the tracks down the passageway, keeping to the right wall, just like my erstwhile prey. I followed those tracks for a good hundred feet before the first intersection occurred. Luckily, it was as dirty and unused as this passageway, so I was easily able to see where the critter turned to the right into this smaller, cozier hallway.
Now, instead open space, blank cement walls with the occassional ladder up, and echoing footsteps, I was faced with seemingly random sets of pipes and drains. I also noticed that every few feet I seemed to cross over a metal grate of some sort. This side passage also seemed to be angling downwards at a very slight angle.
The tracks were still visible where there was solid flooring, as were the spots of still fresh-looking blood where the creature had rubbed up agains one of the walls, or up against a set of pipes.
After another couple hundred feet of crawling over and around more and more of these damn pipes, I came to a spot where the grate on the floor had been violently ripped from the floor, leaving an openning that was easily large enough for a man-sized creature to jump down to the next level.
Using my little flashlight, I peered down into the darkness below one more time. This time I saw a thin stream of flowing water covering much of the floor. As I peered around, looking for where the critter might have gone to, I ducked my head down into the hole get a better view of things and pan the light. Unfortunately for me at that moment, our little friend happened to be waiting for me. I nearly jumped out my dead skin when I came face to face with the creature in this rather compromised position, but I didn’t have time to react that quickly...
I had to step over or around a number of bookshelves that had obviously been knocked over in a struggle. There were trails of blood just about everywhere I looked. I located what looked to be her bedroom, which was little more than an alcove surrounded by yet more bookshelves stacked high with yet more knicknacks. Her actual bedding was shredded in the struggle, soaked in blood.
Just past her bedrom though, I noted that several footprints in the blood seemed to lead further into the warren of shelves. I began to follow the prints until they led me toward what seemed to be the middle of the basement. The prints quickly began to get fainter, but remained visible until they stopped right at what for appearances was a man-hole cover.
Now this is the point at which my dear friend Ravyn would have suggested I stop and somehow or another get ahold of some other folks to go with me. However this also the point at which my own curiosity began to overcome any small sense of caution that I have left in this existence.
So, I reached down and pried the lid up, using my fingers to pull up on the lip of the very heavy metal cover so that I could peer down into what was revealed.
The drop beneath the cover was steep, the whole area shrouded in darkness so deep that I had to pull out the flashlight and use it to illuminate the area. The beam of light showed a drop of about eight feet into another passageway below. I could make out a couple of bloody prints from where the killer had landed on all fours, a torn piece of bloody paper that must have come from above was also visible. So, I now knew which way the killer had gone.
I grabbed the radio and tried to call out to Murphy, but no one answered. I shrugged to myself and muttered, “So much for backup.”
I slid the metal cover all the way off and then dropped it to clang loudly in the silence. I sat down on the edge, dangling my legs for moment before dropping down to the cement floor beneath.
I landed with a thud, flashlight in one hand, the other holding my usual collapsible baton. I had flicked it open in the drop, doing my best impression of an ever-so-cool comic book hero, and failing miserably.
The passageway was likely a remnant of some forgotten subterranean system in the cities distant past, as it was clearly abandoned long ago. There was a thick layer of damp dirt that coated the floor, easily revealing the two sets of tracks leading up to and away from the nearly rusted out ladder that led up to the manhole cover above. I have never been an outdoorsman, but Stevie Wonder could have followed these tracks. It also wasn’t hard to tell that these were more like claw marks than footprints.
I know, I know...with such a clearly marked trail, and such an obviously dangerous opponent, the smart thing would have been to go back up the ladder and grab some of those underpaid hero wannabes and make a party out of this affair. But would this blog be nearly so interesting if I had that kind of sense in the first place?
No, I didn’t think so. Shit, if I had half that much sense, I wouldn’t be a damn zombie and this would be another boring assed political blog. Who wants that?
So, I started following the tracks down the passageway, keeping to the right wall, just like my erstwhile prey. I followed those tracks for a good hundred feet before the first intersection occurred. Luckily, it was as dirty and unused as this passageway, so I was easily able to see where the critter turned to the right into this smaller, cozier hallway.
Now, instead open space, blank cement walls with the occassional ladder up, and echoing footsteps, I was faced with seemingly random sets of pipes and drains. I also noticed that every few feet I seemed to cross over a metal grate of some sort. This side passage also seemed to be angling downwards at a very slight angle.
The tracks were still visible where there was solid flooring, as were the spots of still fresh-looking blood where the creature had rubbed up agains one of the walls, or up against a set of pipes.
After another couple hundred feet of crawling over and around more and more of these damn pipes, I came to a spot where the grate on the floor had been violently ripped from the floor, leaving an openning that was easily large enough for a man-sized creature to jump down to the next level.
Using my little flashlight, I peered down into the darkness below one more time. This time I saw a thin stream of flowing water covering much of the floor. As I peered around, looking for where the critter might have gone to, I ducked my head down into the hole get a better view of things and pan the light. Unfortunately for me at that moment, our little friend happened to be waiting for me. I nearly jumped out my dead skin when I came face to face with the creature in this rather compromised position, but I didn’t have time to react that quickly...
Monday, June 20, 2005
Subway Ambush...Part 2
On the way to the scene, I sat in the rear of the second car, next to Murphy. Curious about this series of particularly gruesome murder, I asked him, “OK, so I see why you have some concerns that these murders are out of the ordinary, but I’ve been riding around this city over the weekend, and I didn’t see a single hint that there was a mass murderer loose here. How has that happened?”
He sighed, looked away for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re right. Under normal circumstances, the murders of even the dregs of society like prostitutes or drug dealers on the kind of scale we are seeing now with this killer would be the top story on every channel and in every scandal sheet in the city. But, the first couple of murders were very close to the secure zone near Ground Zero, so the first people to find the bodies were city workers. The NYPD called us in pretty quickly, and between the two agencies, we’ve been able to keep the clamps down on the press.”
“But how? I’ve never seen a beat cop who didn’t have the phone number of some up and coming City Beat reporter who wouldn’t kill for a bleeder story to lead the headlines.”
“True enough. But we’ve been able to lean on the the key reporters who have learned of this story, invoking some very obscure clauses of the Patriot Act to keep them in control until we authorize the stories for release. From what I hear, one reporter was going to break the story open, until he received a night time visit from some friends in Washington. They convinced him that he would have a much easier time pursuing his career if he wasn’t sitting in a cell in Gitmo. The word got around after that. This story is taboo until we release it for general consumption.”
“Wow, that’s pretty fucking scary. That’s not the America I grew up in.”
“Yeah, well until we know what the Hell it is we are facing, we can’t allow rampant speculation and fear to grip the City. Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like these killings. I’m not sure this killer could even be called human. But what the Hell else can it be?”
It was my turn to look away at that. “You don’t even want to know...” I trailed off as the vehicles pulled up next to a ramshackle building not more that 4 blocks from Ground Zero. The street was very narrow, one of those one way affairs that serves more a service drive for garbage pickups and greae dumps than actual thoroughfare.
There was a battered looking metal door just in front of our car, at the bottom of a small stariwell down. There was yellow police tap strung across the stairwell. Hung above the stariwell was a battered looking, hand painted sign that read simply, “Henna’s Hole--Tarot, Astrology, Palms.”
As I got out of the car, I remarked, “Some neighborhood.”
No one bothered to respond. Murphy lifted one corner of the police tape for he and I to pass. The others seemed content to let us look on our own.
The door didn’t really close tight, so Murphy just grabbed the rusty metal handle and pulled it open with a grimace, apparently the smell was pretty bad.
I stepped to the dimly lit interiror of a very cluttered place that had clearly been ransacked. I could make out streaks of blood and other dried bodily fluids seemingly randomly dragged across torn open boxes, torn furniture and dreary walls. The place was a veritable treasure trove of obscure books, scrolls, broken vials, overturned cauldrons and other odds and ends of an eclectic pagan shop. Papers from dozens of files had been scattered on the floor, most of the stained in blood and marked with footprints or...clawprints of some sort. The room seemed rather small at first glance, but closer examination showed that shadows and torn curtains obscured the fact that there were paths leading away deeper into the vast collection of...stuff.
I looked to Murphy. He remained close to the, breathing deep from the air outside. He saw me look over at him questioningly, and pointed towards one of the passageways behind me, “She was killed back there, you won’t be able to miss it. Her body parts have been removed, what was left of them, but you’ll have no trouble finding the spot where she was killed. She had a lot of blood, she was a very big woman.”
“Do you mind if I have a look around for myself then?”
“Be my guest, that’s why you’re here.” He toosed me a small flashlight that he pulled out of one of his jacket pockets. “You might need that, it gets pretty dark back there. She wasn’t much for electricity.”
I had noted that just about every empty surface either held a candle in some sort of strange holder or was covered in some sort of multicolored candlewax. Dozens of half burned candles lay scattered about the floor, many broken or crushed by unknown feet.
Just as I was about to head off into the darkness, Murphy called out again. As I turned, I saw a small black two-way radio coming towards me.
He called out, “Hey, I’ll be up by the car, call if you need anything.” With that he bolted out the door, letting it swing mostly shut again.
“I guess I’m on my own for a bit. It must really reek to high heaven down here. I guess there’s another advantage to being dead.”
I slipped the radio into on pocket, after making sure it was still on and the volume was set at high. I kept the flashlight in hand, but left it off for the moment. My dark vision is better than that of anyone alive I knew. But having it handy to peer into corners might be useful.
With that I began to explore the...warrens...that this poor lady had used as her home and her business....
He sighed, looked away for a moment before turning back to me. “You’re right. Under normal circumstances, the murders of even the dregs of society like prostitutes or drug dealers on the kind of scale we are seeing now with this killer would be the top story on every channel and in every scandal sheet in the city. But, the first couple of murders were very close to the secure zone near Ground Zero, so the first people to find the bodies were city workers. The NYPD called us in pretty quickly, and between the two agencies, we’ve been able to keep the clamps down on the press.”
“But how? I’ve never seen a beat cop who didn’t have the phone number of some up and coming City Beat reporter who wouldn’t kill for a bleeder story to lead the headlines.”
“True enough. But we’ve been able to lean on the the key reporters who have learned of this story, invoking some very obscure clauses of the Patriot Act to keep them in control until we authorize the stories for release. From what I hear, one reporter was going to break the story open, until he received a night time visit from some friends in Washington. They convinced him that he would have a much easier time pursuing his career if he wasn’t sitting in a cell in Gitmo. The word got around after that. This story is taboo until we release it for general consumption.”
“Wow, that’s pretty fucking scary. That’s not the America I grew up in.”
“Yeah, well until we know what the Hell it is we are facing, we can’t allow rampant speculation and fear to grip the City. Let me tell you, I have never seen anything like these killings. I’m not sure this killer could even be called human. But what the Hell else can it be?”
It was my turn to look away at that. “You don’t even want to know...” I trailed off as the vehicles pulled up next to a ramshackle building not more that 4 blocks from Ground Zero. The street was very narrow, one of those one way affairs that serves more a service drive for garbage pickups and greae dumps than actual thoroughfare.
There was a battered looking metal door just in front of our car, at the bottom of a small stariwell down. There was yellow police tap strung across the stairwell. Hung above the stariwell was a battered looking, hand painted sign that read simply, “Henna’s Hole--Tarot, Astrology, Palms.”
As I got out of the car, I remarked, “Some neighborhood.”
No one bothered to respond. Murphy lifted one corner of the police tape for he and I to pass. The others seemed content to let us look on our own.
The door didn’t really close tight, so Murphy just grabbed the rusty metal handle and pulled it open with a grimace, apparently the smell was pretty bad.
I stepped to the dimly lit interiror of a very cluttered place that had clearly been ransacked. I could make out streaks of blood and other dried bodily fluids seemingly randomly dragged across torn open boxes, torn furniture and dreary walls. The place was a veritable treasure trove of obscure books, scrolls, broken vials, overturned cauldrons and other odds and ends of an eclectic pagan shop. Papers from dozens of files had been scattered on the floor, most of the stained in blood and marked with footprints or...clawprints of some sort. The room seemed rather small at first glance, but closer examination showed that shadows and torn curtains obscured the fact that there were paths leading away deeper into the vast collection of...stuff.
I looked to Murphy. He remained close to the, breathing deep from the air outside. He saw me look over at him questioningly, and pointed towards one of the passageways behind me, “She was killed back there, you won’t be able to miss it. Her body parts have been removed, what was left of them, but you’ll have no trouble finding the spot where she was killed. She had a lot of blood, she was a very big woman.”
“Do you mind if I have a look around for myself then?”
“Be my guest, that’s why you’re here.” He toosed me a small flashlight that he pulled out of one of his jacket pockets. “You might need that, it gets pretty dark back there. She wasn’t much for electricity.”
I had noted that just about every empty surface either held a candle in some sort of strange holder or was covered in some sort of multicolored candlewax. Dozens of half burned candles lay scattered about the floor, many broken or crushed by unknown feet.
Just as I was about to head off into the darkness, Murphy called out again. As I turned, I saw a small black two-way radio coming towards me.
He called out, “Hey, I’ll be up by the car, call if you need anything.” With that he bolted out the door, letting it swing mostly shut again.
“I guess I’m on my own for a bit. It must really reek to high heaven down here. I guess there’s another advantage to being dead.”
I slipped the radio into on pocket, after making sure it was still on and the volume was set at high. I kept the flashlight in hand, but left it off for the moment. My dark vision is better than that of anyone alive I knew. But having it handy to peer into corners might be useful.
With that I began to explore the...warrens...that this poor lady had used as her home and her business....
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Subway Ambush...Part 1
(I have been repaired, thanks to the spare parts that were recovered from Drake’s last hideout, and can now type somewhat normally again. I will restart the narrative where I left off before my injuries.)
I looked at the spirit of the fallen hero and asked, “Do you know anything else that might help me to find and destroy this thing?”
He looked at me directly for the first time since sitting down and replied, “We only know that it feeds on two things, fear and spiritual energy. The problem we have experienced with our Call is that the only people who can hear the Call and respond are those who are most vulnerable to this creature. We sensed something different with you. You are sensitive to the Call, but you look like you might be able to face the creature and survive.”
“Yeah, one advantage to being dead myself, I suppose. How long will you and the others here stick around this site?”
“As long as the need exists. If you fail, we will send forth another Call.”
“I see. Well I will make sure that I don’t fail then.”
“One more thing, that thing is gathering objects and is picking its victims for the objects that they possess, it looks like it is trying to build something. We don’t know what it is, but it can’t be something that is good for the city or the people here.”
“No, it can’t be good for anyone if this creature is as nasty as you have shown it to be.”
“Good luck Agent Bones, please destroy this thing so that we may pass on to the next world.”
With that, he disappeared as did the vision of the dust clouds and debris from the collapsed buildings. I sat there for a moment, marvelling at the difference in perspective and the incredbile void that remained in this spot. The surrounding buildings seemed somehow diminshed by the loss of their magnificent neighbors, the current emptiness of the place echoing the silence.
I walked back to my bike and returned to the RV park where I had parked the main vehicle. I had some work to do before the morning meeting with the Special Agent in Charge of the Manhattan office.
* * *
The next morning I rode back into the City well before 6 AM to avoid the usual traffic jams. I rode past Ground Zero again to see if the strange visions would come back, but I felt none of the same feelings as I did that first time.
I found a semo-respectable looking parking lot in which to park the Ninja and forked over the outrageous sum of money the heavily accented man barked out for the cost of a day’s parking. I had an hour before my scheduled meeting, so I took the time to take a little walking tour of the nearby Chinatown neighborhood.
New York, especially the ethnic enclaves like this one, is like no other American city. The sheer number of people crowding the streets, the constant noise of passing buses and honking cabbies, the vendors hawking their wares in half a dozen different languages all worked to create an international flavor that makes New York City unique in America, a city more of the world than of any one country.
I passed buildings that contained sweatshop factories on one floor, living quarters on other floors, and had ground floors that were crwoded with vegetable stands, restaurants and tiny little grocery stores. Since my death, and my return to action, I have rarely been in such a public place, yet I felt almost invisiible as nearly every passerby was brusquely heading about their own business. It was almost like the people of this strange city were so focused on their own affairs that they couldn’t take the time to notice what, and who, was happening around them.
It was easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the morning rush hour, but I was able to circle back around to the impressive looking, and highly secured building that served as the home to the Manhattan office of the Bureau. There was a long line of folks waiting to get through security, so I joined the line, pulling out my badge case to flash when I got closer. I knew that damn metal detector would go crazy when I went through it.
I got rather strange looks from the contract security guards as I approached the security check point. Showing my badge seemed to satisfy them though, although the looks they gave each other as I passed through seemed to reflect that I was probably the strangest looking agent they had ever seen.
The elevator took me up to the 32nd floor and opened into a quiet hallway that was carefully decorated to reflect the power and majesty of the US governments premiere law enforcement agency. A sign pointed me towards the reception area, where I found a small waiting area lined with comfortable looking sofas and a single, locked door that stood next to a small window that looked into the receptionsts area. The sofas were separated by small tables with tasteful lamps and a single, water filled vase on each table. Looking into one of those vases, I saw a small but colorful Siamese fighting fish called a Beta swimming around slowly. I moved up to the window and flashed my badge to the young woman behind the window and announced my name.
She touched two buttons in quick succession, the first one to toggle the intercom when she said, “Come in Agent Bones, the SAIC is expecting you. Please go to the conference room, the third door on the left.” The second button activated a buzzer that indicated the door was now unlocked.
Passing through the now unlocked door, I dound myself in a more spartan hallway with several frosted glass doors on each side of the hall. I counted to the third one on the left, pulled the door open to reveal the conference room, already occupied by half a dozen well dressed agents and a large table covered in open files and large, gruesomely detailed photographs.
The agent closest to me turned as I entered. He had the easy air of someone used to being in charge. His suit was the nearly uniform dark blue, his shirt crisply starched white, and his tie a nice conservative red. He held out his right hand towards me, and introduced himself. “Agent Bones I presume, I’m SAIC Brian Murphy. I’ll introduce you to the others here in just a moment, please come in.”
I shook his hand, careful not crush it in my grip. Even so, he sort of grimaced as I released and dropped the hand quickly, trying to shake the circulation back into it out of my eyesight. “Pleased to meet you Agent Murphy.”
After the initial pleassantries and introductions, we got right down to business. Just as i suspected after meeting with the ghosts at Ground Zero, I was being called in to try and hunt down a previously unknown serial killer who was haunting the underbelly of the city. Whoever the killer was, he was killing seemingly at random, and was badly mutilating the bodies. There were no signs of any kind of sexual motives and robbery had also been ruled out, since most of the victims were poor gypsy types. The common threads seemed to be that the victims were usually known for being psychic or made claims of such previously, they were being killed in some very remote locations not far away from Ground Zero, and more than one of the victims had previously contacted both the Bureau and the NYPD in attempts to get assistance in hunting for the ‘real villain’ of the 9/11 attacks. Of course these requests for assitance had all b een rejected as crackpots looking to waste law enforcement resources on wild goose chases, until the poor souls were actually found slaughtered in grisly fashion. There were a total of 9 confirmed victims and another half dozen suspected victims to date, with the most recent being a gypsy fortune teller killed in her own shop just Friday.
After allowing me to look over the files and photos that they had available, Murphy offered to take me to the scene of the last killing, which was only a couple of miles away. Soon, we were on our way, using a pair of unmarked black sedans.
I looked at the spirit of the fallen hero and asked, “Do you know anything else that might help me to find and destroy this thing?”
He looked at me directly for the first time since sitting down and replied, “We only know that it feeds on two things, fear and spiritual energy. The problem we have experienced with our Call is that the only people who can hear the Call and respond are those who are most vulnerable to this creature. We sensed something different with you. You are sensitive to the Call, but you look like you might be able to face the creature and survive.”
“Yeah, one advantage to being dead myself, I suppose. How long will you and the others here stick around this site?”
“As long as the need exists. If you fail, we will send forth another Call.”
“I see. Well I will make sure that I don’t fail then.”
“One more thing, that thing is gathering objects and is picking its victims for the objects that they possess, it looks like it is trying to build something. We don’t know what it is, but it can’t be something that is good for the city or the people here.”
“No, it can’t be good for anyone if this creature is as nasty as you have shown it to be.”
“Good luck Agent Bones, please destroy this thing so that we may pass on to the next world.”
With that, he disappeared as did the vision of the dust clouds and debris from the collapsed buildings. I sat there for a moment, marvelling at the difference in perspective and the incredbile void that remained in this spot. The surrounding buildings seemed somehow diminshed by the loss of their magnificent neighbors, the current emptiness of the place echoing the silence.
I walked back to my bike and returned to the RV park where I had parked the main vehicle. I had some work to do before the morning meeting with the Special Agent in Charge of the Manhattan office.
* * *
The next morning I rode back into the City well before 6 AM to avoid the usual traffic jams. I rode past Ground Zero again to see if the strange visions would come back, but I felt none of the same feelings as I did that first time.
I found a semo-respectable looking parking lot in which to park the Ninja and forked over the outrageous sum of money the heavily accented man barked out for the cost of a day’s parking. I had an hour before my scheduled meeting, so I took the time to take a little walking tour of the nearby Chinatown neighborhood.
New York, especially the ethnic enclaves like this one, is like no other American city. The sheer number of people crowding the streets, the constant noise of passing buses and honking cabbies, the vendors hawking their wares in half a dozen different languages all worked to create an international flavor that makes New York City unique in America, a city more of the world than of any one country.
I passed buildings that contained sweatshop factories on one floor, living quarters on other floors, and had ground floors that were crwoded with vegetable stands, restaurants and tiny little grocery stores. Since my death, and my return to action, I have rarely been in such a public place, yet I felt almost invisiible as nearly every passerby was brusquely heading about their own business. It was almost like the people of this strange city were so focused on their own affairs that they couldn’t take the time to notice what, and who, was happening around them.
It was easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the morning rush hour, but I was able to circle back around to the impressive looking, and highly secured building that served as the home to the Manhattan office of the Bureau. There was a long line of folks waiting to get through security, so I joined the line, pulling out my badge case to flash when I got closer. I knew that damn metal detector would go crazy when I went through it.
I got rather strange looks from the contract security guards as I approached the security check point. Showing my badge seemed to satisfy them though, although the looks they gave each other as I passed through seemed to reflect that I was probably the strangest looking agent they had ever seen.
The elevator took me up to the 32nd floor and opened into a quiet hallway that was carefully decorated to reflect the power and majesty of the US governments premiere law enforcement agency. A sign pointed me towards the reception area, where I found a small waiting area lined with comfortable looking sofas and a single, locked door that stood next to a small window that looked into the receptionsts area. The sofas were separated by small tables with tasteful lamps and a single, water filled vase on each table. Looking into one of those vases, I saw a small but colorful Siamese fighting fish called a Beta swimming around slowly. I moved up to the window and flashed my badge to the young woman behind the window and announced my name.
She touched two buttons in quick succession, the first one to toggle the intercom when she said, “Come in Agent Bones, the SAIC is expecting you. Please go to the conference room, the third door on the left.” The second button activated a buzzer that indicated the door was now unlocked.
Passing through the now unlocked door, I dound myself in a more spartan hallway with several frosted glass doors on each side of the hall. I counted to the third one on the left, pulled the door open to reveal the conference room, already occupied by half a dozen well dressed agents and a large table covered in open files and large, gruesomely detailed photographs.
The agent closest to me turned as I entered. He had the easy air of someone used to being in charge. His suit was the nearly uniform dark blue, his shirt crisply starched white, and his tie a nice conservative red. He held out his right hand towards me, and introduced himself. “Agent Bones I presume, I’m SAIC Brian Murphy. I’ll introduce you to the others here in just a moment, please come in.”
I shook his hand, careful not crush it in my grip. Even so, he sort of grimaced as I released and dropped the hand quickly, trying to shake the circulation back into it out of my eyesight. “Pleased to meet you Agent Murphy.”
After the initial pleassantries and introductions, we got right down to business. Just as i suspected after meeting with the ghosts at Ground Zero, I was being called in to try and hunt down a previously unknown serial killer who was haunting the underbelly of the city. Whoever the killer was, he was killing seemingly at random, and was badly mutilating the bodies. There were no signs of any kind of sexual motives and robbery had also been ruled out, since most of the victims were poor gypsy types. The common threads seemed to be that the victims were usually known for being psychic or made claims of such previously, they were being killed in some very remote locations not far away from Ground Zero, and more than one of the victims had previously contacted both the Bureau and the NYPD in attempts to get assistance in hunting for the ‘real villain’ of the 9/11 attacks. Of course these requests for assitance had all b een rejected as crackpots looking to waste law enforcement resources on wild goose chases, until the poor souls were actually found slaughtered in grisly fashion. There were a total of 9 confirmed victims and another half dozen suspected victims to date, with the most recent being a gypsy fortune teller killed in her own shop just Friday.
After allowing me to look over the files and photos that they had available, Murphy offered to take me to the scene of the last killing, which was only a couple of miles away. Soon, we were on our way, using a pair of unmarked black sedans.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
quickie update
still typing one handed...should be able to type normally tomorrow andwill update fully on events in new york this weekend.
after events are updated, i will post drake's second message in its entirety...with his next damn clue...can't wait to get use of second hand again.
thaks for your patience.
after events are updated, i will post drake's second message in its entirety...with his next damn clue...can't wait to get use of second hand again.
thaks for your patience.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
limited post due to injury
i must apologize for the format of this post. i am doing this with one hand. monday, i had an encounter with the critter i described in my last post.
let’s just say that it was a bit of a draw. we wounded each other pretty bad. i ended up crawling out ith a badly damaged leg and one hand missing...i managed to hurt it pretty badly too.
i have lots to post about the encounter, but first i need to repaired, this one handed typing just won’t do.
i am waiting on a team to come up from quantico to fix me up so i can finish that thing off...
i will try to make short posts each day until i am fully operational again.
let’s just say that it was a bit of a draw. we wounded each other pretty bad. i ended up crawling out ith a badly damaged leg and one hand missing...i managed to hurt it pretty badly too.
i have lots to post about the encounter, but first i need to repaired, this one handed typing just won’t do.
i am waiting on a team to come up from quantico to fix me up so i can finish that thing off...
i will try to make short posts each day until i am fully operational again.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Big Apple Bound
Before I update you on new events, let me address a couple of issues from my last post and the comments I received from that one.
Thanks to Ravyn and the Professor, I have an answer to that riddle, it does appear that Rasputin is who that asshole was using for the answer to that clue. So I Google’d Rasputin and came up with enough information that I am prepared to try a couple of dates for the password to the next clue.
Second, it appears that surprises go both ways. It caught me off-guard that Drake would bother to read this blog, which of course means that I will have to pay careful attention to what is said here, particularly when I have the chance to take up the trail after him. There was also something the bastard said that I did leave out of my last post, which of course the prick used against me to try to show me as being less than honest. To clear that record, I will now provide the part that I left out of the last post, it was said after the riddle was given. I left it out because it appeared to be a purely personal message that I wsn’t sure I could trust in the first place, but also because it seemed out of place given what has so recently taken place. Anyway, here is that last part of the message:
“Finally, dear Rusty I want to offer you my assurances that our conflict, our contest if you will, will no longer involve your family members unless you or they bring themselves into it. I had specific reasons for involving your children and your ex-wife in our last encounter, which I may choose to reveal to you at a later date, but the need to involve them in our little game has now passed.
“I look forward to seeing if you are up to the challenges ahead. So many others before you have failed to rise to the occasion, but I have a feeling that you my boy, may just be the One I have searched so long to find. How ironic is it that I had to create my own best foe?” His cackling laughter ended the recording.
So there it is. I have one message to my dear ‘creator’: Fuck off. This my damn blog, you want to talk to me, you’ve got my number and I’ve got your damn PDA Puzzles.
OK, back to the business at hand. By the time I did my research on this Rasputin fellow to get the dates I needed, I had to put that issue aside for the moment. Over the secure fax machine in my vehicle, I received a very short message, essentially it was instructions to report to the Manhattan Field Office of the Bureau for a mission briefing on Monday. Apparently the Bureau has decided to put my dead ass back to work. So much for the vacation!
So Saturday I spent the day driving up to the Big Apple, trying to manuever this big honkin’ bus through the narrow streets of that overly congested city before giving up and taking the thing over the bridge and onto Long Island. I was able to find a nice RV park about 30 minutes outside of the city.
Earlier today, I spent the day riding my Ninja around the seashore and then back into the city to get an idea of where I would be going tomorrow. There is quite a lot to see in that city, I had never been there before. As I drove in though, I felt a strange pulling sensation deep inside, it was pulling me towards Ground Zero.
I didn’t try to resist that Call very long. Soon I found myself pulling up near the fenced off perimeter of that yawning maw into otherwise towering landscape of manmade mountains. The Power of that place was overwhelming. I parked the bike and began walking the perimeter. There were hundreds of others who were similrarly drawn to this place, but we were all lost in our own thoughts and feelings at what had happened at this place.
I still felt the strange pulling sensation, so I knew I was being called to do more than just see the place. I found an empty bench across the street from the barricaded area and parked myself there.
Once seated, I openned my Inner Eye to the energies of this place and was immediately taken aback. The image of the Two Towers burned brightly in that world still. Smoke seemed to burn my eye. The current sounds of the busy New York streets were replaced with tinny, almost muted sounds of sirens and screams that I remembered from watching images of this scene on television almost 4 years ago now. The ghostly images of thousands of people fleeing the building while hundreds of other brave souls, the police officers and firefighters who responded to the terrible scene, rushed in to help those still trapped inside.
As I sat there stunned by the raw emotions and the wrenching images of that disaster, I felt so small and insignificant in the face of such enormous loss. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t stop watching, I was transfixed as the scene played out, until I noticed one ghostly figure walking towards me.
He was a firefighter, his turnout coat was grimy with dirt and smoot, his helmet shattered by some fallen object. He had obviously been killed by something that had fallen from the building, but his spirit was standing directly in front of me before I realized it. He looked into my eyes, with his one remaining eye and spoke to me.
“Did you call me here?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“Why?’
He stood silently for a moment, then said, “There is something you must see.”
“But why? This was hard enough to watch on television. I was not ready for this!”
“It is never easy, but it is necessary. You must witness soemthing. Wait, it will happen in a few minutes.” With that, the figure came and sat next to me on the bench.
“Can you give me a hint at what I am watching for?”
“You will know it when you see it. Be patient. Not much longer now.”
I waited, watching the scene play out as it had that long day years ago. It was getting close to the point where the first tower came down. The emotional power of the scene began to build as I watched people fall from the highest floors of the burning towers. More people were escaping the buildings, some being helped by rescuers, others moving in small groups, clutching at each other for support.
Within a minute, the first tower began to collapse in a cloud of smoke. The plume of dust and debris quickly enveloped us as we sat there. I flinched, expecting to be hit by the force of the implosion and the debris as it hurtled towards us. The firefighter sat there motionless.
When the cloud enveloped us, our vision was obscured. I was just about to ask the man how I was I going to see anything in this, when in the sudden stillness and strange silence of the moment, a bizarre form came forth from the dust cloud.
It was a hunched form, slightly shorter than an average sized man as it walked. It was naked, revealing that its skin was more like scales, although with all of the dust covering the thing, it was hard to be sure. The feet of the creature appeared to avian like, while its arms reached almost to the ground as they swung. The hands were huge, claw-like appendages that looked very dangerous. It’s head was clearly reptillian in nature, its open mouth protruding from its skull revealing very large, sharp teeth and flicking split tongue like a snake. It had a pair of small black horns that angled back. A series of small horn like fins seemed to trail down its back towards its short, stubby tail. It appeared for all intents and purposes to be the spitting image of a...demon of sorts.
The creature walked in slinking motion past us, oblivious to us, before it found a spot of pavement just past one ghostly firetruck that showed a man-hole of some sort. It reached down with one massive claw into a hole in the large metal cover and pulled up the heavy cover withg little effort. It cast the cover aside and slunk down into the hole, disappearing from sight.
I looked to the firefighter and asked, “What the Hell was that thing?”
“None of us knows. It came from above in the collapsing tower. It killed every living person who even glimpsed it. We have been Calling for someone to come and find this creature ever since that fateful day.”
“Has anyone else come?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“Everyone who has tried to find it has gone and never returned. So far, you are the fifth to respond to the Call.”
Thanks to Ravyn and the Professor, I have an answer to that riddle, it does appear that Rasputin is who that asshole was using for the answer to that clue. So I Google’d Rasputin and came up with enough information that I am prepared to try a couple of dates for the password to the next clue.
Second, it appears that surprises go both ways. It caught me off-guard that Drake would bother to read this blog, which of course means that I will have to pay careful attention to what is said here, particularly when I have the chance to take up the trail after him. There was also something the bastard said that I did leave out of my last post, which of course the prick used against me to try to show me as being less than honest. To clear that record, I will now provide the part that I left out of the last post, it was said after the riddle was given. I left it out because it appeared to be a purely personal message that I wsn’t sure I could trust in the first place, but also because it seemed out of place given what has so recently taken place. Anyway, here is that last part of the message:
“Finally, dear Rusty I want to offer you my assurances that our conflict, our contest if you will, will no longer involve your family members unless you or they bring themselves into it. I had specific reasons for involving your children and your ex-wife in our last encounter, which I may choose to reveal to you at a later date, but the need to involve them in our little game has now passed.
“I look forward to seeing if you are up to the challenges ahead. So many others before you have failed to rise to the occasion, but I have a feeling that you my boy, may just be the One I have searched so long to find. How ironic is it that I had to create my own best foe?” His cackling laughter ended the recording.
So there it is. I have one message to my dear ‘creator’: Fuck off. This my damn blog, you want to talk to me, you’ve got my number and I’ve got your damn PDA Puzzles.
OK, back to the business at hand. By the time I did my research on this Rasputin fellow to get the dates I needed, I had to put that issue aside for the moment. Over the secure fax machine in my vehicle, I received a very short message, essentially it was instructions to report to the Manhattan Field Office of the Bureau for a mission briefing on Monday. Apparently the Bureau has decided to put my dead ass back to work. So much for the vacation!
So Saturday I spent the day driving up to the Big Apple, trying to manuever this big honkin’ bus through the narrow streets of that overly congested city before giving up and taking the thing over the bridge and onto Long Island. I was able to find a nice RV park about 30 minutes outside of the city.
Earlier today, I spent the day riding my Ninja around the seashore and then back into the city to get an idea of where I would be going tomorrow. There is quite a lot to see in that city, I had never been there before. As I drove in though, I felt a strange pulling sensation deep inside, it was pulling me towards Ground Zero.
I didn’t try to resist that Call very long. Soon I found myself pulling up near the fenced off perimeter of that yawning maw into otherwise towering landscape of manmade mountains. The Power of that place was overwhelming. I parked the bike and began walking the perimeter. There were hundreds of others who were similrarly drawn to this place, but we were all lost in our own thoughts and feelings at what had happened at this place.
I still felt the strange pulling sensation, so I knew I was being called to do more than just see the place. I found an empty bench across the street from the barricaded area and parked myself there.
Once seated, I openned my Inner Eye to the energies of this place and was immediately taken aback. The image of the Two Towers burned brightly in that world still. Smoke seemed to burn my eye. The current sounds of the busy New York streets were replaced with tinny, almost muted sounds of sirens and screams that I remembered from watching images of this scene on television almost 4 years ago now. The ghostly images of thousands of people fleeing the building while hundreds of other brave souls, the police officers and firefighters who responded to the terrible scene, rushed in to help those still trapped inside.
As I sat there stunned by the raw emotions and the wrenching images of that disaster, I felt so small and insignificant in the face of such enormous loss. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t stop watching, I was transfixed as the scene played out, until I noticed one ghostly figure walking towards me.
He was a firefighter, his turnout coat was grimy with dirt and smoot, his helmet shattered by some fallen object. He had obviously been killed by something that had fallen from the building, but his spirit was standing directly in front of me before I realized it. He looked into my eyes, with his one remaining eye and spoke to me.
“Did you call me here?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“Why?’
He stood silently for a moment, then said, “There is something you must see.”
“But why? This was hard enough to watch on television. I was not ready for this!”
“It is never easy, but it is necessary. You must witness soemthing. Wait, it will happen in a few minutes.” With that, the figure came and sat next to me on the bench.
“Can you give me a hint at what I am watching for?”
“You will know it when you see it. Be patient. Not much longer now.”
I waited, watching the scene play out as it had that long day years ago. It was getting close to the point where the first tower came down. The emotional power of the scene began to build as I watched people fall from the highest floors of the burning towers. More people were escaping the buildings, some being helped by rescuers, others moving in small groups, clutching at each other for support.
Within a minute, the first tower began to collapse in a cloud of smoke. The plume of dust and debris quickly enveloped us as we sat there. I flinched, expecting to be hit by the force of the implosion and the debris as it hurtled towards us. The firefighter sat there motionless.
When the cloud enveloped us, our vision was obscured. I was just about to ask the man how I was I going to see anything in this, when in the sudden stillness and strange silence of the moment, a bizarre form came forth from the dust cloud.
It was a hunched form, slightly shorter than an average sized man as it walked. It was naked, revealing that its skin was more like scales, although with all of the dust covering the thing, it was hard to be sure. The feet of the creature appeared to avian like, while its arms reached almost to the ground as they swung. The hands were huge, claw-like appendages that looked very dangerous. It’s head was clearly reptillian in nature, its open mouth protruding from its skull revealing very large, sharp teeth and flicking split tongue like a snake. It had a pair of small black horns that angled back. A series of small horn like fins seemed to trail down its back towards its short, stubby tail. It appeared for all intents and purposes to be the spitting image of a...demon of sorts.
The creature walked in slinking motion past us, oblivious to us, before it found a spot of pavement just past one ghostly firetruck that showed a man-hole of some sort. It reached down with one massive claw into a hole in the large metal cover and pulled up the heavy cover withg little effort. It cast the cover aside and slunk down into the hole, disappearing from sight.
I looked to the firefighter and asked, “What the Hell was that thing?”
“None of us knows. It came from above in the collapsing tower. It killed every living person who even glimpsed it. We have been Calling for someone to come and find this creature ever since that fateful day.”
“Has anyone else come?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“Everyone who has tried to find it has gone and never returned. So far, you are the fifth to respond to the Call.”
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Drake's First Message
I entered the password into the PDA using the stylus that came with the device, careful to type out the five letter word that was the name of ‘my’ project--Omega.
When the password took, a single MP3 audio file was revelaed. I clicked on it, activating the file. I steeled myself, suspecting that his voice would be the next thing I heard. I was right.
“Congratulations Rusty. You have shown yourself to be a resourceful and dedicated foe. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have gotten this far. I know now that I have succeeded beyond my expectations with the Omega Project.” His voice broke into a brief cackle of satisfaction.
He brought his voice back under control, restarting his narrative. “You will want to keep this device after this message concludes because I have taken great pains to detail many of my most valuable secrets within it, secrets that you will not be able to discover anywhere else, but secrets that are vitally important for you to truly discover who I am and why I have done the things I have done.”
At this point, I was ready to terminate the damn message and destroy this tool that he had created, but I gritted my teeth and figured I would let the bastards voice drone on for just a bit longer...
“I know you you will not want to believe me at this point. I know that you are holding a terrible grudge against me for the things that I have done to you and your family. But I also know you too well Rusty, I know that you are too good an investigator to casually throw away the answers that you may find here, to throw away the key to your own revenge.”
Well, he was right on that point. I decided to keep listening for now, if for nothing else than to get a clue to where he might have gone after the battle.
“So, now that you will have decided to keep listening, let me tell you something you may have surmised as a result of our battles to date: I have found my own form of immortality. You may have found a way to defeat me temporarily in our most recent battle, but you will not have slain me. How do I know this? That is a secret that I am not yet ready divulge. Suffice it to say that I cannot be slain by any method that you or your allies will have thought to be prepared for at this point.
“My immortality is not without a price however, a price that to many would be too high to pay, which is why I have been looking for other ways to achieve this goal for others. The process that was used to create you was just one such way that I have tried over the uncounted years of my quest to save humanity from the greatest curse of our existence...the curse of our own mortality.”
Holy shit, I knew this bastard was crazy, but I had no idea he was this unhinged! I couldn’t stop the damn recording now, so I continued to listen to his ramblings.
“Now, I know that you have cast me into the role of a villain, a role that I am very familiar with over the years. I have no illusions that I can persuade you otherwise with any sort of recording. So I have decided to present you with a challenge, a puzzle if you will. I will let you come to your own conclusions about who and what I truly am, but you will receive the pieces to that puzzle one at a time. Consider it my challenge to you. Are you willing and able to meet my challenge, to beat me at my own game? If you do, the rewards of such a victory will be beyond your wildest dreams. If you can’t, or won’t meet this challenge, then I will be free to continue my own quest unhindered for a better foe, for a better pupil, for immortality to any who wish it.”
Son of a bitch. He is certifiably crazy. But what the Hell? If I take up his damn challenge, I am playing right into his damn hands, allowing him to lead me where he wants me to go. If I don’t take up his damn challlenge, he’s gonna continue fucking with people like he did with me and Greg and all the rest of the guys on our team.
“If you decide to take me up on my challenge, here is your first clue. In order to unlock the next piece of my puzzle, you will need to find out the identity of one of my prior students. The next password is the date of his death.
“The student to which I refer is rather famous. He was an adviser to a Court, a healer of no small skill, revered by many, but feared and reviled by a key few. He was widely known to be both a man of the cloth and of the flesh. He started with nothing in this life, but through my teachings reached the highest circles in his society. His death was easy to arrange, but extremely difficult to accomplish. His death was necessary to save the Realm, but in fact hastened it’s demise. He died less than a hundred years ago, yet it is still talked about.”
Great, I hate riddles.
“The sooner you solve this riddle, the sooner you will find the next piece of the puzzle.”
With that the recording stopped. Once it did, a second password screen came up blinking at me, daring me to take up the bastards challenge.
OK readers, help me out, I was a cop, not a damn history major. If anyone knows who the Hell this riddle refers to, it would be very much appreciated.
When the password took, a single MP3 audio file was revelaed. I clicked on it, activating the file. I steeled myself, suspecting that his voice would be the next thing I heard. I was right.
“Congratulations Rusty. You have shown yourself to be a resourceful and dedicated foe. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have gotten this far. I know now that I have succeeded beyond my expectations with the Omega Project.” His voice broke into a brief cackle of satisfaction.
He brought his voice back under control, restarting his narrative. “You will want to keep this device after this message concludes because I have taken great pains to detail many of my most valuable secrets within it, secrets that you will not be able to discover anywhere else, but secrets that are vitally important for you to truly discover who I am and why I have done the things I have done.”
At this point, I was ready to terminate the damn message and destroy this tool that he had created, but I gritted my teeth and figured I would let the bastards voice drone on for just a bit longer...
“I know you you will not want to believe me at this point. I know that you are holding a terrible grudge against me for the things that I have done to you and your family. But I also know you too well Rusty, I know that you are too good an investigator to casually throw away the answers that you may find here, to throw away the key to your own revenge.”
Well, he was right on that point. I decided to keep listening for now, if for nothing else than to get a clue to where he might have gone after the battle.
“So, now that you will have decided to keep listening, let me tell you something you may have surmised as a result of our battles to date: I have found my own form of immortality. You may have found a way to defeat me temporarily in our most recent battle, but you will not have slain me. How do I know this? That is a secret that I am not yet ready divulge. Suffice it to say that I cannot be slain by any method that you or your allies will have thought to be prepared for at this point.
“My immortality is not without a price however, a price that to many would be too high to pay, which is why I have been looking for other ways to achieve this goal for others. The process that was used to create you was just one such way that I have tried over the uncounted years of my quest to save humanity from the greatest curse of our existence...the curse of our own mortality.”
Holy shit, I knew this bastard was crazy, but I had no idea he was this unhinged! I couldn’t stop the damn recording now, so I continued to listen to his ramblings.
“Now, I know that you have cast me into the role of a villain, a role that I am very familiar with over the years. I have no illusions that I can persuade you otherwise with any sort of recording. So I have decided to present you with a challenge, a puzzle if you will. I will let you come to your own conclusions about who and what I truly am, but you will receive the pieces to that puzzle one at a time. Consider it my challenge to you. Are you willing and able to meet my challenge, to beat me at my own game? If you do, the rewards of such a victory will be beyond your wildest dreams. If you can’t, or won’t meet this challenge, then I will be free to continue my own quest unhindered for a better foe, for a better pupil, for immortality to any who wish it.”
Son of a bitch. He is certifiably crazy. But what the Hell? If I take up his damn challenge, I am playing right into his damn hands, allowing him to lead me where he wants me to go. If I don’t take up his damn challlenge, he’s gonna continue fucking with people like he did with me and Greg and all the rest of the guys on our team.
“If you decide to take me up on my challenge, here is your first clue. In order to unlock the next piece of my puzzle, you will need to find out the identity of one of my prior students. The next password is the date of his death.
“The student to which I refer is rather famous. He was an adviser to a Court, a healer of no small skill, revered by many, but feared and reviled by a key few. He was widely known to be both a man of the cloth and of the flesh. He started with nothing in this life, but through my teachings reached the highest circles in his society. His death was easy to arrange, but extremely difficult to accomplish. His death was necessary to save the Realm, but in fact hastened it’s demise. He died less than a hundred years ago, yet it is still talked about.”
Great, I hate riddles.
“The sooner you solve this riddle, the sooner you will find the next piece of the puzzle.”
With that the recording stopped. Once it did, a second password screen came up blinking at me, daring me to take up the bastards challenge.
OK readers, help me out, I was a cop, not a damn history major. If anyone knows who the Hell this riddle refers to, it would be very much appreciated.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
New Beginnings...
In beginning this new endeavor, I find myself wanting to say something deep, something pithy and worthy of a new beginning. But hope and optimism are concepts that seem so foreign to me, even now, and the best beginnings seem to brim with such things.
I can tell you though, that the events of the Everglades are several weeks behind us now. It took far longer to record those events in blog format than it did for those events to take actually occur. This allows me to be far more current, at least unless (more likely, until) events begin unfolding so quickly again.
So even as I was concluding the tale of how Drake was defeated and Papa Locks was slain, I was helping Katherine to sell her (formerly our) house and to move her and Jasmine to the Chicago area. Kenny was allowed to enroll for the soon to begin summer classes at the small, liberal arts college that the Professor teaches at in western Michigan. So the couple of weeks of free time that I was allowed before returning to work at the Bureau was taken up with packing boxes, moving vans and the other mundane aspects of moving family members across states.
After waking up from her bizarre journey, Katherine took a great deal of convincing for her to accept the idea that she had actually seen her husband’s modified corpse wandering around in the Everglades, coming to her rescue. She didn’t fully believe the truth of any of this until I actually showed up a few days later with Kenny in the car. Once she did come around, it was hard to contain her excitement at seeing all of the very real magick that surrounded her. After recovering from her reality check, she immediately asked to be allowed to study with Ravyn and her students. She also rather eagerly accepted a junior membership in the ORCs and the paid position of House Mother of the co-op where Ravyn taught many of her students.
Jasmine literally threw herself into Ravyn Fyre’s teaching. Her favorite part of the whole thing was getting to take care of the Phoenix. She easily spent more time with that creature than she did in her studies. Because of her duties with the Phoenix, Jasmine lived not in the co-op house, but with Ravyn on the Sanctuary, about ten miles outside of the town where the co-op is in.
Ravyn was just now finding out how difficult it was to keep nosy media folks away from the environs of WyldFyre Sanctuary with all of the rumours of sightings of a giant, flaming eagle flying nearby. She spent far more of her time than she would have liked on the phone with various television stations, denying them permission to film on the large tract of private land that she had acquired over the years and allowed to return to its natural state. Even the small old farm house and its associated barns and sheds seemed to melt into the now dense forests that had sprung up so unnaturally quick over the last decade or two.
After helping to get everyone else settled, I returned to Virginia to collect those few things I wanted to keep from my old apartment there. I had already determined that I would be unable to set up any kind of permanent residence, but I wanted a home of sorts of my own, a place that could be both mobile and very customizable. I settled on a motor home that closely resembled a bus in size. I had the Bureau pitch in to get the best computer and communication gear that I would need in order to be functional from anywhere in the country. They weren’t exactly happy with the costs, but a quick call to Zulu had that matter resolved within a day.
I also had the back end of the thing configured to carry my new local transportation, a supercharged Ninja type motorcycle, all black, of course.
So I now have a home that is as mobile, as transient as I am.
In getting all of this accomplished over the last few weeks, I had completely forgotten about the little present that Drake had left for me until I came across it in packing up my new home. When I found that, a very high-end PDA with the capability of recording and playing back sound and pictures as well as the normal text files, I sat down heavily in my new living room, holding the thing in my glove covered hand.
I knew I couldn’t resist the urge to turn the device one and type in the password for very long, so I didn’t bother to resist...
I can tell you though, that the events of the Everglades are several weeks behind us now. It took far longer to record those events in blog format than it did for those events to take actually occur. This allows me to be far more current, at least unless (more likely, until) events begin unfolding so quickly again.
So even as I was concluding the tale of how Drake was defeated and Papa Locks was slain, I was helping Katherine to sell her (formerly our) house and to move her and Jasmine to the Chicago area. Kenny was allowed to enroll for the soon to begin summer classes at the small, liberal arts college that the Professor teaches at in western Michigan. So the couple of weeks of free time that I was allowed before returning to work at the Bureau was taken up with packing boxes, moving vans and the other mundane aspects of moving family members across states.
After waking up from her bizarre journey, Katherine took a great deal of convincing for her to accept the idea that she had actually seen her husband’s modified corpse wandering around in the Everglades, coming to her rescue. She didn’t fully believe the truth of any of this until I actually showed up a few days later with Kenny in the car. Once she did come around, it was hard to contain her excitement at seeing all of the very real magick that surrounded her. After recovering from her reality check, she immediately asked to be allowed to study with Ravyn and her students. She also rather eagerly accepted a junior membership in the ORCs and the paid position of House Mother of the co-op where Ravyn taught many of her students.
Jasmine literally threw herself into Ravyn Fyre’s teaching. Her favorite part of the whole thing was getting to take care of the Phoenix. She easily spent more time with that creature than she did in her studies. Because of her duties with the Phoenix, Jasmine lived not in the co-op house, but with Ravyn on the Sanctuary, about ten miles outside of the town where the co-op is in.
Ravyn was just now finding out how difficult it was to keep nosy media folks away from the environs of WyldFyre Sanctuary with all of the rumours of sightings of a giant, flaming eagle flying nearby. She spent far more of her time than she would have liked on the phone with various television stations, denying them permission to film on the large tract of private land that she had acquired over the years and allowed to return to its natural state. Even the small old farm house and its associated barns and sheds seemed to melt into the now dense forests that had sprung up so unnaturally quick over the last decade or two.
After helping to get everyone else settled, I returned to Virginia to collect those few things I wanted to keep from my old apartment there. I had already determined that I would be unable to set up any kind of permanent residence, but I wanted a home of sorts of my own, a place that could be both mobile and very customizable. I settled on a motor home that closely resembled a bus in size. I had the Bureau pitch in to get the best computer and communication gear that I would need in order to be functional from anywhere in the country. They weren’t exactly happy with the costs, but a quick call to Zulu had that matter resolved within a day.
I also had the back end of the thing configured to carry my new local transportation, a supercharged Ninja type motorcycle, all black, of course.
So I now have a home that is as mobile, as transient as I am.
In getting all of this accomplished over the last few weeks, I had completely forgotten about the little present that Drake had left for me until I came across it in packing up my new home. When I found that, a very high-end PDA with the capability of recording and playing back sound and pictures as well as the normal text files, I sat down heavily in my new living room, holding the thing in my glove covered hand.
I knew I couldn’t resist the urge to turn the device one and type in the password for very long, so I didn’t bother to resist...
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Epilogue
For the past couple of days, I have been reluctant to write this post. But the time has come when I must overcome this reluctance and finish this story, because even as I write this now, it appears that a new tale is about to begin. So let me bring this tale to a satisfactory conclusion...
After taking the card from Zulu, I put it in my wallet. We rejoined the Elder and the assault team who were beginning to load the prisoners who were more easily moved into a second chopper that had descended for that purpose.
The noise and wind of the choppers pretty much prevented any meaningful conversations, so we just watched the well-coordinated team work. Within 10 minutes, all of the prisoners had been loaded into first one, then the second of the wing choppers that had accompanied Zulu's chopper. Once those two were loaded up, they left with a roar, back towards Miami.
The third chopper remained above, waiting for the unseen signal to be sent to pick up Zulu and the only other remaining member of the initial landing team, the female. Zulu spent a moment to thank the Elder for his support and help during the crisis and promised to seek out additional funding for the reservation in the next appropriations bill.
Without any further comments or conversations with me or the Professor, Zulu waved his arm, calling the circling chopper down to retrieve them.
Within minutes, the Elder, Jim and myself were standing alone on an otherwise deserted island within the River of Grass. As the sounds of the last chopper disappeared, the normal sounds of this peaceful, primordial place began to return. The Elder shuffled off without comment to get the small airboat ready that would be taking us back to our vehicle.
I turned to Jim, "How the heck did you guys get involved with a guy like that?"
Jim shrugged, "He sought us out a few years back. He asked for the utmost privacy when we dealt with him, so that his position and politics wouldn't be impacted, which we respected."
"Why would a famous, conservative, Evangelical Christian seek out a group as off the wall as the ORC's are? Don't you guys represent everything he fights so hard and so well to suppress?"
"He was seeking help, which we provided. You see, according to Ravyn, that man has a natural level of magickal talent that was manifesting itself in ways he didn't understand and couldn't control. His faith didn't provide him with an effective way of dealing with those manifestations, so he found the only group out there that could give him confidential, effective training in how to control and even to use his talent safely. In exchange for that, he has provided us resources and political cover that we would otherwise lack, even if he is unable to publicly declare that he is a Caster."
"So does he have any control over the group?"
"No, he is not even an official member. However, we do work together and cooperate when our interests go in the same direction, much as we have with you, Rusty."
"I see. Well, I'll give him a call, but I am done following the orders of mysterious men."
" I don't blame you."
By now the Elder was waiting for us to board the boat and depart this island. The loudness of the engine and the rushing wind effectively ended our conversation for the moment.
We returned to the place where our vehicle was parked, the Frau and Cerrydwen were waiting for us there. Each of us made our farewells to those warriors and Elders we knew, loaded into the van, and departed for Miami International Airport.
The drive back to the airport was quiet, each of us being lost in our own thoughts. At the airport, Jim and I said our farewells to Cerrydwen and the Frau who each had flights out within a couple of hours. Jim made arrangements to delay his flight until after he visited Herne in the hospital and made arrangements for the payment of the bills. Jim rented his own vehicle, so we parted at that time as well.
As he grabbed his own bags from the van to transfer them into his car, we clasped hands.
He asked, "So, you'll be bringing Kenny up to the school?"
"Yeah, after check with Katherine to make sure she's OK with all of the arrangements. I don't expect any problems with Kenny going to your college. She might put up an argument about selling the house and working for Ravyn, but I think she'll come around when she sees that it wasn't my idea."
Jim laughed, "Ah yes, glad I've never had to worry about that."
"Then you haven't been married or divorced."
"True enough."
"I'll see you in a week or two. Make sure Herne is OK, send him my regards, and let him know I'll make Drake pay for him as well."
With that, we parted. I got back into the van and started the long trip home, back to Michigan. In a little more than 18 hours I would be able to hug my son for real. And if he wanted to play catch with his old man again...well that just might be a little easier now. It was almost like having a second chance at life...almost.
After taking the card from Zulu, I put it in my wallet. We rejoined the Elder and the assault team who were beginning to load the prisoners who were more easily moved into a second chopper that had descended for that purpose.
The noise and wind of the choppers pretty much prevented any meaningful conversations, so we just watched the well-coordinated team work. Within 10 minutes, all of the prisoners had been loaded into first one, then the second of the wing choppers that had accompanied Zulu's chopper. Once those two were loaded up, they left with a roar, back towards Miami.
The third chopper remained above, waiting for the unseen signal to be sent to pick up Zulu and the only other remaining member of the initial landing team, the female. Zulu spent a moment to thank the Elder for his support and help during the crisis and promised to seek out additional funding for the reservation in the next appropriations bill.
Without any further comments or conversations with me or the Professor, Zulu waved his arm, calling the circling chopper down to retrieve them.
Within minutes, the Elder, Jim and myself were standing alone on an otherwise deserted island within the River of Grass. As the sounds of the last chopper disappeared, the normal sounds of this peaceful, primordial place began to return. The Elder shuffled off without comment to get the small airboat ready that would be taking us back to our vehicle.
I turned to Jim, "How the heck did you guys get involved with a guy like that?"
Jim shrugged, "He sought us out a few years back. He asked for the utmost privacy when we dealt with him, so that his position and politics wouldn't be impacted, which we respected."
"Why would a famous, conservative, Evangelical Christian seek out a group as off the wall as the ORC's are? Don't you guys represent everything he fights so hard and so well to suppress?"
"He was seeking help, which we provided. You see, according to Ravyn, that man has a natural level of magickal talent that was manifesting itself in ways he didn't understand and couldn't control. His faith didn't provide him with an effective way of dealing with those manifestations, so he found the only group out there that could give him confidential, effective training in how to control and even to use his talent safely. In exchange for that, he has provided us resources and political cover that we would otherwise lack, even if he is unable to publicly declare that he is a Caster."
"So does he have any control over the group?"
"No, he is not even an official member. However, we do work together and cooperate when our interests go in the same direction, much as we have with you, Rusty."
"I see. Well, I'll give him a call, but I am done following the orders of mysterious men."
" I don't blame you."
By now the Elder was waiting for us to board the boat and depart this island. The loudness of the engine and the rushing wind effectively ended our conversation for the moment.
We returned to the place where our vehicle was parked, the Frau and Cerrydwen were waiting for us there. Each of us made our farewells to those warriors and Elders we knew, loaded into the van, and departed for Miami International Airport.
The drive back to the airport was quiet, each of us being lost in our own thoughts. At the airport, Jim and I said our farewells to Cerrydwen and the Frau who each had flights out within a couple of hours. Jim made arrangements to delay his flight until after he visited Herne in the hospital and made arrangements for the payment of the bills. Jim rented his own vehicle, so we parted at that time as well.
As he grabbed his own bags from the van to transfer them into his car, we clasped hands.
He asked, "So, you'll be bringing Kenny up to the school?"
"Yeah, after check with Katherine to make sure she's OK with all of the arrangements. I don't expect any problems with Kenny going to your college. She might put up an argument about selling the house and working for Ravyn, but I think she'll come around when she sees that it wasn't my idea."
Jim laughed, "Ah yes, glad I've never had to worry about that."
"Then you haven't been married or divorced."
"True enough."
"I'll see you in a week or two. Make sure Herne is OK, send him my regards, and let him know I'll make Drake pay for him as well."
With that, we parted. I got back into the van and started the long trip home, back to Michigan. In a little more than 18 hours I would be able to hug my son for real. And if he wanted to play catch with his old man again...well that just might be a little easier now. It was almost like having a second chance at life...almost.
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