Some future, some past, and some hell of an imagination.
It’s burning, the baking, the bodies, they’re burning. Light fractured through crystals.
Morning can’t come too quick, sure as rabbits are rabbits, are things to be afraid of.
No, no that’s wrong.
Piper wakes gasping.
Black coffee. He hates the stuff, but it serves a valuable purpose in his life, keeping him alive and kicking. Oliver is frustratingly cheery. Pip sometimes wonders if he behaves this way just because it’s incredibly annoying, but his friendisn ’t that cruel. Three steaming cups later he feels as human as he ever does, and it’s back into the field, at the home of Hugo Armando.
“Police, open up,” Oliver shouts through the door. Their corpse used to live in an apartment in a particularly drab corner of town. Ollie knocks again, and after not getting any answer he kneels in front of the door, and picks the lock.
The inside is as plain as the surroundings. Oliver and Viv sweep through the place, searching out hidden things with practiced efficiency. Piper walks through dreamily, reaching out, running his hands over the walls and the furniture in hopes of catching a lingering impression.
Nothing comes to him. The others do better. The bookshelf is packed with a breed of New Age instructionals that makes the team roll their eyes. Oliver finds mystical herbs among the commonplace kitchen variety, but it is Vivienne who scores big, scouring the innards of Armando’s computer, which reveals that he had been part of a local circle of occultists. Their emails cryptically referred to “the calling.” How the calling would work, and how “the higher one” would be in their debt, eternally, and raise them above all others. Foreboding hints of great power, with no real information.
While they may have been hiding their plans, they weren’t hiding their identities, so the next stop is the home of Silas Hoyt, who appears to be the leader of the gang. His place looks more like one would expect the head of a shady, secretive organization to live in. (A shady, secretive organization that is not their own, of course. They live in style.) The paint covering the small house was a chipped and faded pink, and the lawn acutely overgrown.
The knocking, breaking, and entering was a note for note repeat of earlier. Inside the first thing they notice is the smell. Something had died here. The team exchange looks, silent reminders to be cautious as they go further in.
The living room is cluttered, but barren of any ghastly evidence. Viv has taken her gun out. It’s unnecessary. Whatever did this is long gone, but the weapon does more to reassure her then it does to make the boys nervous, so it will stay. The kitchen is messy, but clear of decay. Viv kicks her way through a locked door, and they find a study, and a stack of burned pages sitting on a particle board desk. Intriguing, but it will wait. Nothing else stands out, until only the door at the end of the hall is left. Any remaining secrets the house holds will be behind it.
It’s unlocked. Oliver goes first, slowly pushing the door open. The room is dominated by a large bed. On the bed is the body, spread out and burnt, charred flesh hardly hanging on to bones. Oliver closes his eyes and breaths through his mouth for a second before backing out of the room.
“We’ll wait for forensics on this one,” He says. “Viv, double back to the office, grab any papers that look useful, but leave the blazed ones, wewouldn’t want to turn them into ashes. Pip...”
“Tell you if I know anything, and be generally helpful?” Piper offers.
“Yeah, that. I’m going to go call Alec. Outside.”
“I think I’ll go with you,” Piper says hurriedly. Vivienne mutters something spiteful as they leave, tying her scarf up over her nose.
It isn’t long before Vivienne joins them on the porch with a haphazardly assembled stack of journals and documents, shoving half to Piper. Oliver paces the lawn, talking rapidly, and kicking at stray plants. Piper considers scolding him, but it is too much work, and ultimately futile. Oliver half shouts a few last words, then heads their way.
“Alec and Cleo are on their way,” He says. “I’m going to take snapshots of the burned papers to send back home.”
“Good luck,” Piper says, thinking, better you then me. He wouldn’t go back in there voluntarily.
Edith is so used to Oliver hanging up on her that her emotions no longer register anger. Her immunity to that particular rebellion had been acquired after replacing her phone for the fifth time because it was hurled at something, like a wall, or the refrigerator, or Merit with considerable force.
He doesn’t have to be such a snot though. Note to self: hire people who are respectful and have good phone skills. She had planed to look over the reservists in the afternoon, but when she looked for the stack of files she had pulled and remembered placing on her desk, theyweren’t there. Edith is reasonably sure headquarters isn ’t haunted, but it could be worth investigating. She curses, and begins to search through the rooms that were frequently in use. She’s gotten as far as the kitchen when her phone beeps, alerting her to a new text from Ollie, letting her know he’s sent through the pictures. Good, hopefully there will be answers soon, but answers just means new questions, often trickier then before.
Oliver has just pocketed his phone (featuring a camera superior to anything on the open market) when he hears footsteps behind him. Hesubvocalizes a half dozen profanities in a half dozen languages, and freezes. There must be another way in, that or this intruder got past Viv and Piper, unlikely, as people generally don’t get past Viv, at least not in one piece.
Plans form and reform, mutate and evolve, first discarding things that will get him killed or injured, and then considering how to best preserve the scene. He turns with a dramatic spin, and charges, crashing both the intruder and himself to the floor.
Piper gasps. “The burning of focused light has come to lead us to the second age once again, bringing cooperation and destruction.”
Oliver sighs and unpins his friend, saying, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
Piper blinks rapidly. “I don’t remember walking in here. I don’t remember choosing words. I...”
Oliver does his best to be reassuring, murmuring, “Relax. Psychic powers and inexplicable behaviors go together like macaroni and cheese. Nothing to worry about, just hazy shielding or not enough sleep.” Plausible but empty excuses, but they help. Oliver picks himself up, and offers a hand to his friend. “Now, I think we should go outside.”
Piper nods in agreement, and they seek untainted air.
Ed still can’t find the personnel files, and it’s starting to be a problem. Maybe she has lost her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time insanity bothered someone in her position of leadership. Unease has settled in her gut guilting her, saying, You should be out there. You should be with them. You should have found that body. You should keep them safe, as it’s obvious they can’t do that on their own.
She ignore the inner nagging, instead attempting to engage herself in things here, now, but it keeps getting louder, and louder. Thank god the intercom goes off when it does, otherwise she may have had to do something considerablyunadvisable.
She takes the stairs two at a time to the archives. The commonly used section is part of the oldest layer of the compound, it’s dark wood a world away from the later Seventies' futurism.
Ernest doesn’t leave the library when he doesn’t have to. There is always some ancient scroll that needs translating, or classified document that must be coaxed out a secure network. His domain is cavernous, and dark besides the fixtures and open curtains concentrated around his desk.
“What have you got for me?” She asks.
“Not much, which in itself is remarkable,” he says. “Ollie scanned in a bunch of notes, but one set’s exceptional. They’re burned. Scorched through, but not like someone set a match to them. It’s as though each page was individually roasted just enough to blacken, but not enough to disintegrate.
“That makes me think it’s not paper, but animal hide of some sort. I can’t say for sure, because, um, they’re in another country, but Ollie agrees, though he opinionisn ’t worth much. They’re about thirty percent readable with only digital enhancements. I’d really like to get my hands on these, but it’s not something you can drop in the post. Iwouldn’t really trust a courier service either.”
Edith enjoys listening to his stream of revelations and analysis. Too often he is quiet, consumed by dull archival processes, storing away evidence that will likely never be needed again, and this is obviously a welcome change. “I’ll see what I can do,” She says.
“Point the second, there are three languages used. A fair amount of what I can make out seems to be Mayan. Really bad Mayan, written by someone whoisn ’t near fluent. It’s been annotated, presumably at a later date, in what looks to be Latin, but could be Spanish or Italian. I’d like to run some tests to see if these notes belong to it’s last owner, or predate the current mystery. The big story is that there’s a third script, and it’s one that I don’t know.”
Edith doesn’t know what to say to that. Ernest tends to know everything, or at least find out before he volunteers to fill her in. Admitting a lack of knowledge is a total surprise.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. I cross referenced with everything even Cleo’s alien texts. I do have theories. It could just be really illegible from the burning, but that’s just too simple. Aliens we haven’t met. Not a comforting thought, but at least someone would be ecstatic. It could be a code language, nonsense to anyone thathasn ’t learned it. That would be my pick, especially if it’s a more recent creation. That fits along with the screwed up Mayan, and the margin notes. It is not customary to write on age old pages. However, we must consider the opposite, that it’s older then history. Something lost to time. Possibly, S.A.F.E. has actually has dealt with something along those lines in the seventies. However, this is life, not Lovecraft, so I’d say no.”
Edith considers his words. “I’ll try to call in a favor to get the papers over to you for dating, but there’s a good chance this current caper will be wrapped before that could happen.”
“Whatever. If they can get the job done without all the facts done, good for them. I just think it’s something we should figured out. Plus, I’m curious.”
“That’s why you’re here,” she says.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
Edith, the occasional champion of non sequiturs, asks, “Have you ever considered getting a secretary? I do. All of the time. I dream of it.”
It’s burning, the baking, the bodies, they’re burning. Light fractured through crystals.
Morning can’t come too quick, sure as rabbits are rabbits, are things to be afraid of.
No, no that’s wrong.
Piper wakes gasping.
Black coffee. He hates the stuff, but it serves a valuable purpose in his life, keeping him alive and kicking. Oliver is frustratingly cheery. Pip sometimes wonders if he behaves this way just because it’s incredibly annoying, but his friendisn ’t that cruel. Three steaming cups later he feels as human as he ever does, and it’s back into the field, at the home of Hugo Armando.
“Police, open up,” Oliver shouts through the door. Their corpse used to live in an apartment in a particularly drab corner of town. Ollie knocks again, and after not getting any answer he kneels in front of the door, and picks the lock.
The inside is as plain as the surroundings. Oliver and Viv sweep through the place, searching out hidden things with practiced efficiency. Piper walks through dreamily, reaching out, running his hands over the walls and the furniture in hopes of catching a lingering impression.
Nothing comes to him. The others do better. The bookshelf is packed with a breed of New Age instructionals that makes the team roll their eyes. Oliver finds mystical herbs among the commonplace kitchen variety, but it is Vivienne who scores big, scouring the innards of Armando’s computer, which reveals that he had been part of a local circle of occultists. Their emails cryptically referred to “the calling.” How the calling would work, and how “the higher one” would be in their debt, eternally, and raise them above all others. Foreboding hints of great power, with no real information.
While they may have been hiding their plans, they weren’t hiding their identities, so the next stop is the home of Silas Hoyt, who appears to be the leader of the gang. His place looks more like one would expect the head of a shady, secretive organization to live in. (A shady, secretive organization that is not their own, of course. They live in style.) The paint covering the small house was a chipped and faded pink, and the lawn acutely overgrown.
The knocking, breaking, and entering was a note for note repeat of earlier. Inside the first thing they notice is the smell. Something had died here. The team exchange looks, silent reminders to be cautious as they go further in.
The living room is cluttered, but barren of any ghastly evidence. Viv has taken her gun out. It’s unnecessary. Whatever did this is long gone, but the weapon does more to reassure her then it does to make the boys nervous, so it will stay. The kitchen is messy, but clear of decay. Viv kicks her way through a locked door, and they find a study, and a stack of burned pages sitting on a particle board desk. Intriguing, but it will wait. Nothing else stands out, until only the door at the end of the hall is left. Any remaining secrets the house holds will be behind it.
It’s unlocked. Oliver goes first, slowly pushing the door open. The room is dominated by a large bed. On the bed is the body, spread out and burnt, charred flesh hardly hanging on to bones. Oliver closes his eyes and breaths through his mouth for a second before backing out of the room.
“We’ll wait for forensics on this one,” He says. “Viv, double back to the office, grab any papers that look useful, but leave the blazed ones, wewouldn’t want to turn them into ashes. Pip...”
“Tell you if I know anything, and be generally helpful?” Piper offers.
“Yeah, that. I’m going to go call Alec. Outside.”
“I think I’ll go with you,” Piper says hurriedly. Vivienne mutters something spiteful as they leave, tying her scarf up over her nose.
It isn’t long before Vivienne joins them on the porch with a haphazardly assembled stack of journals and documents, shoving half to Piper. Oliver paces the lawn, talking rapidly, and kicking at stray plants. Piper considers scolding him, but it is too much work, and ultimately futile. Oliver half shouts a few last words, then heads their way.
“Alec and Cleo are on their way,” He says. “I’m going to take snapshots of the burned papers to send back home.”
“Good luck,” Piper says, thinking, better you then me. He wouldn’t go back in there voluntarily.
Edith is so used to Oliver hanging up on her that her emotions no longer register anger. Her immunity to that particular rebellion had been acquired after replacing her phone for the fifth time because it was hurled at something, like a wall, or the refrigerator, or Merit with considerable force.
He doesn’t have to be such a snot though. Note to self: hire people who are respectful and have good phone skills. She had planed to look over the reservists in the afternoon, but when she looked for the stack of files she had pulled and remembered placing on her desk, theyweren’t there. Edith is reasonably sure headquarters isn ’t haunted, but it could be worth investigating. She curses, and begins to search through the rooms that were frequently in use. She’s gotten as far as the kitchen when her phone beeps, alerting her to a new text from Ollie, letting her know he’s sent through the pictures. Good, hopefully there will be answers soon, but answers just means new questions, often trickier then before.
Oliver has just pocketed his phone (featuring a camera superior to anything on the open market) when he hears footsteps behind him. Hesubvocalizes a half dozen profanities in a half dozen languages, and freezes. There must be another way in, that or this intruder got past Viv and Piper, unlikely, as people generally don’t get past Viv, at least not in one piece.
Plans form and reform, mutate and evolve, first discarding things that will get him killed or injured, and then considering how to best preserve the scene. He turns with a dramatic spin, and charges, crashing both the intruder and himself to the floor.
Piper gasps. “The burning of focused light has come to lead us to the second age once again, bringing cooperation and destruction.”
Oliver sighs and unpins his friend, saying, “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
Piper blinks rapidly. “I don’t remember walking in here. I don’t remember choosing words. I...”
Oliver does his best to be reassuring, murmuring, “Relax. Psychic powers and inexplicable behaviors go together like macaroni and cheese. Nothing to worry about, just hazy shielding or not enough sleep.” Plausible but empty excuses, but they help. Oliver picks himself up, and offers a hand to his friend. “Now, I think we should go outside.”
Piper nods in agreement, and they seek untainted air.
Ed still can’t find the personnel files, and it’s starting to be a problem. Maybe she has lost her mind. It wouldn’t be the first time insanity bothered someone in her position of leadership. Unease has settled in her gut guilting her, saying, You should be out there. You should be with them. You should have found that body. You should keep them safe, as it’s obvious they can’t do that on their own.
She ignore the inner nagging, instead attempting to engage herself in things here, now, but it keeps getting louder, and louder. Thank god the intercom goes off when it does, otherwise she may have had to do something considerablyunadvisable.
She takes the stairs two at a time to the archives. The commonly used section is part of the oldest layer of the compound, it’s dark wood a world away from the later Seventies' futurism.
Ernest doesn’t leave the library when he doesn’t have to. There is always some ancient scroll that needs translating, or classified document that must be coaxed out a secure network. His domain is cavernous, and dark besides the fixtures and open curtains concentrated around his desk.
“What have you got for me?” She asks.
“Not much, which in itself is remarkable,” he says. “Ollie scanned in a bunch of notes, but one set’s exceptional. They’re burned. Scorched through, but not like someone set a match to them. It’s as though each page was individually roasted just enough to blacken, but not enough to disintegrate.
“That makes me think it’s not paper, but animal hide of some sort. I can’t say for sure, because, um, they’re in another country, but Ollie agrees, though he opinionisn ’t worth much. They’re about thirty percent readable with only digital enhancements. I’d really like to get my hands on these, but it’s not something you can drop in the post. Iwouldn’t really trust a courier service either.”
Edith enjoys listening to his stream of revelations and analysis. Too often he is quiet, consumed by dull archival processes, storing away evidence that will likely never be needed again, and this is obviously a welcome change. “I’ll see what I can do,” She says.
“Point the second, there are three languages used. A fair amount of what I can make out seems to be Mayan. Really bad Mayan, written by someone whoisn ’t near fluent. It’s been annotated, presumably at a later date, in what looks to be Latin, but could be Spanish or Italian. I’d like to run some tests to see if these notes belong to it’s last owner, or predate the current mystery. The big story is that there’s a third script, and it’s one that I don’t know.”
Edith doesn’t know what to say to that. Ernest tends to know everything, or at least find out before he volunteers to fill her in. Admitting a lack of knowledge is a total surprise.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. I cross referenced with everything even Cleo’s alien texts. I do have theories. It could just be really illegible from the burning, but that’s just too simple. Aliens we haven’t met. Not a comforting thought, but at least someone would be ecstatic. It could be a code language, nonsense to anyone thathasn ’t learned it. That would be my pick, especially if it’s a more recent creation. That fits along with the screwed up Mayan, and the margin notes. It is not customary to write on age old pages. However, we must consider the opposite, that it’s older then history. Something lost to time. Possibly, S.A.F.E. has actually has dealt with something along those lines in the seventies. However, this is life, not Lovecraft, so I’d say no.”
Edith considers his words. “I’ll try to call in a favor to get the papers over to you for dating, but there’s a good chance this current caper will be wrapped before that could happen.”
“Whatever. If they can get the job done without all the facts done, good for them. I just think it’s something we should figured out. Plus, I’m curious.”
“That’s why you’re here,” she says.
“Yeah,” he smiles.
Edith, the occasional champion of non sequiturs, asks, “Have you ever considered getting a secretary? I do. All of the time. I dream of it.”
1 comment:
Keep on writin'!
I love that you are doing this.
Tuesdays...... something to look forward to!
Love,
Mom
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