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Post by Atlas on Dec 16, 2010 14:31:35 GMT -8
"So, I take it you enjoyed the movie as well." Atlas responded. "I originally read the book, then saw the movie. I enjoyed both. In fact, whenever I went back to the book, I always heard Gregory Peck's voice whenever I read Atticus Finch's dialogue."
One of the things that seemed weird to him was York's constant habit of turning his and murmuring stuff off to the side. He couldn't make out what he was saying at all, though he could have sworn he heard a Z-name somewhere. Zed? Zack? Zelda? It was confusing.
"I understand, York. Sensitive situation and all. But if I find out anything useful, I'll send it your way. Or you could seek me out. Either way, my one goal as a lawyer is to see justice." he said as he reached into his pocket. He gave a business card to York, containing his address, e-mail, and phone number. "So whether you need a lawyer, need some info or just want to stop by for coffee and a pastry, I'm all ears." he added.
Unfortunately for Atlas, his metaphor concerning the Shadows flew completely over York's head. "Screw it. We've both seen and fought those things. No sense being subtle."
"Huh?" he replied, dumbfounded by York's words. "Erm, actually, what I meant by that is that I know how you got those injuries." he said.
"You fought Shadows on the way over. Tamika told me all about it. It's the same reason I'm here as well. I'm trying to find out the truth about those things, so our paths may cross..."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 16, 2010 15:18:10 GMT -8
Emily had looked into several hospital rooms only to find them empty or with a sleeping patient. She wasn't having any luck tracking that rogue agent down. He wouldn't have left the hospital would he?
She was debated whether or not to have a nurse in the reception area page him over the intercom when heard a familiar voice drifting down the hall.
A-HA! found him!
Emily scurried towards Atlas' room but overshot the door. Man were the floors in this hospital slippery! She gained her bearing and prayed neither of the occupants saw you go flying by! With her hands on her hips she marched straight up to York and was ready to lay down the law. "Agent YORK! There you are!" She sighed. "I've been looking all over for you! It's a good thing George went home right after you left us. If he caught you talking to a patient here he would have seriously blown his top!"
She then peeked around York and gave Atlas a wave and smile. "Hey Atlas sorry about totally ditching you earlier. During my trip to the bathroom I got distracted by this guys arrival." She jerked her thumb towards York. "From there things got a little hectic over in the lobby! ...I see you've met Agent York here." She laughed "I hope he didn't bother you!"
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Post by Francis York Morgan on Dec 19, 2010 20:46:59 GMT -8
"Oh, hello, Emily. Do you always make such a racket when you enter a room? Must be due to a a career of knocking down people's doors for a living... That was a joke, by the way. I know the Greenvale police probably don't get that kind of action around here."
Privately, York was glad for the interruption. He took Atlas' business card and gave the lawyer a shrewd sideways glance; he'd barely set one foot in town, and already here was the second person he'd run into who'd claimed to be able to see Shadows. Curious. Very curious. Could Tamika and Atlas both have ties to the RSPs? Tamika was obviously not from around here and the lawyer had said he'd only moved here a year ago... Perhaps they were chasing the red seeds just as he was. A dangerous game they were playing, if they were working independently.
<Well, as long as they don't interefere with anything, it might be handy to have more than two eyes open for suspicious activity. Though I'm still not sure what Henning could be here for.>
York nodded at Atlas, said, "I doubt I'll be the one in need of a lawyer when all's said and done, but coffee and pastry does sound like an excellent idea. Speaking of pastry..." He sniffed the air, frowning, and raised a finger to the ceiling.
"...Zach. That smell. Light, not too moist, not too crumbly. Red velvet? No... But the frosting is similar. Quality ingredients. Wait, don't tell me... I've almost cracked the code on this one... Yes! Bulls-eye!"
He snapped his fingers. It wasn't as if the unspoken question of where the smell was coming from was difficult to determine- that red box on the lawyer's bed was of the sort traditonally used by bakeries. The thin cardboard was warped by recent water damage, meaning the lawyer had been out and about in the rain with it, yet the aroma of fresh cream cheese icing was somehow strong enough to cut through the medicinal sterility of their surroundings.
There was also another smell, beneath all the others, subtle but pervasive. York was not about to comment out loud about it, but Zach had sensed it too, and it meant that the lawyer was telling the truth about his encounter with the Shadows. The purple smell. Definitely something to ask him about later... But first...
"Atlas, if you don't mind me asking, where did you get that carrot cake?"
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 19, 2010 22:11:07 GMT -8
Henning had to smile at their sudden fumbling of the conversation. He forced himself to relax, found it wasn't that difficult to pull off, said, "It's okay, it's my fault. It's been a while since I had to interpret someone's intentions... I haven't really been in a serious relationship for a while. And when I say 'relationship', I mean that in the most general sense of the term. As in 'any connection between two or more human beings'. I just didn't see the point, I suppose... Not until recently. Very recently."
He could hear voices out in the hallway, more toned down than they were before, and decided it would be safe to assume that nothing else was going to happen tonight. He'd deal with York and the police later. For now, there was only the tide-like sounds of the outside world drifting into their private bubble, and Charlotte's calm, but slightly uneven breathing, rasping slightly from abused ribs. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pressed her back down onto the bed.
"I know you don't feel like sleeping, but please try and get some rest... Your body is crying out for it, whatever your brain might be saying. I may be rusty when it comes to social interaction, but you, dear Charlotte, sound like like a bicycle in need of an oil change."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 19, 2010 23:23:37 GMT -8
Charlotte smiled. She was amused by his rambling explanation of his useage of the word 'relationship'. It was sort of adorable. And it was nice to know that he was in new territory as much as she was.
“It's not. Your fault, I mean. And trust me... you’re not the only one. Travelling... doesn’t exactly lend itself to making connections. Nor did I find myself particularly inclined to try, really,” she admitted.
She let him gently press her back down to the bed (her ribs silently thanking him). She knew he was right; she was feeling shaky and weak. The room wobbled a little, as if to agree that he was right indeed. Granted, part of it was undoubtedly a reaction to the day’s events, but needing rest very much played a part as well. She grinned at his analogy.
“Okay, okay... I’ll try and rest,” she conceded. Exhaustion causing her to move without thinking, Charlotte slid closer to David and again rested her head on his chest. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed him in, as she tried to relax enough to drift towards sleep. You can’t stay away forever, Charlie. No matter how much you might like to try.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 20, 2010 10:22:58 GMT -8
Just as Atlas was about to get what York knew about the Shadows, Emily had entered the room. York had wasted no time in using this opportunity to avoid answering Atlas's question. Although Atlas was happy to see Emily, he had to admit that her timing was not the best. "Another interruption. Lovely. First Kaysen, now York. What luck I am having today." he thought.
"It's alright, Emily. I heard the whole commotion out in the hall. There's nothing wrong with an officer doing her duty." Atlas replied. "Still, it's good to have you back." he smiled warmly at the girl. Despite the interruption, he didn't hold it against her. He was also glad that Pornstache McPimpslap was not with her as well. "Ohh no, York didn't bother me at all. He's actually quite an interesting fellow, and has a good taste in movies."
At the same time, York seemed to be thinking about something. It was a bit hard to read the man. By the box he was carrying, combined with the aroma coming from it, he correctly guessed that the box Atlas was holding contained his carrot cake.
"So, nothing gets past the FBI Agent, ehh. Well, there's a bakery in town called Sugar Rush. Excellent pastries of all kinds, so I recommend stopping in there at least once." he replied. "Plus, you never know, they might end up saving your life at least once."
This York guy was a character alright. Definitely worth it to find out a bit more about this guy.
"What sorts of cases have you worked on in the past, Agent York?"
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Post by Francis York Morgan on Dec 20, 2010 18:10:35 GMT -8
"Sugar Rush... That sounds wonderful," York murmured. "Name almost seems more fitting for some kind of upscale New York patisserie, but I'll reserve that comment for when the owner is around to explain themselves. I'll be sure to check it out- Hmm?"
York put two fingers to his temple, feeling the presence in his head like a little kid tugging insistently on his mother's shirt. "What is it, Zach? I'm in the middle of getting valuable insider information about the town here...."
<What did he mean, it might save our life? First the nightlife and tango comment, now this. I can't tell if this is his way of joking around or what.>
"That's one way you can tell he didn't grow up around here, Zach," York whispered. "Country folk, like our friend the Sheriff, tend to be very straightforward in their manner of speech. None of the verbal dogfighting we get where we're from. People here say exactly what they mean to say, and not much else... A refreshing approach, even if it makes them come off a little simple-minded."
<On the other hand, it makes keeping secrets a lot easier,> the voice replied. <When there's no room for interpretation, even a little white lie can seem as impenetrable as the Great Wall of China.>
York turned to the blond Deputy and said, grinning widely, "Don't worry, Emily. I don't think you're simple, or a liar. Maybe a little impatient, though... I hope I'm not testing you, but Atlas here just asked me about my previous cases, and it might be a while until you can drive me to the hotel. Believe it or not, people don't often show an interest; or when they do, they seem to regret asking afterward. Not out of boredom, but I think some of these stories require a particular constitution."
He stepped back, assessing her from a distance as if he was a tailor about to fit her for a wedding dress. "So how is your gag reflex, Emily? Keeping in mind that if you feel the need to vomit, we are in a hospital, so it's not going to seem out of place. Now that's what I call convenience, Zach."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 20, 2010 21:08:50 GMT -8
Emily narrowed her eyes. Did York just call her "simple-minded?" because she happened to live in Greenvale longer then them? She frowned, but any retort she had died on her lips as soon as the agent amended that he didn't think she was a part of that group. Yes, that was it. The charming smile he flashed her had nothing to do with it.
She did balk however when he asked for additional time to tell share case tales. It was already past one in the morning and she was pretty tired from all the excitement this evening. She was going to tell the agent he'll have to play storyteller another day when she caught Atlas' hopeful expression peeking over York's shoulder .
She smiled, there was no way she could say "no" now. Staying up a bit longer was the least she could do for her friend, especially after the horrid the night he's had with after getting shot and dealing with George's temper like a true champ. Besides, he wasn't the only one who was curious! Despite herself she was excited to hear the type of cases an FBI Agent like York usually investigates.
Emily imagined his work must be so glamorous compared to her daily grind here in Greenvale. Well maybe "glamorous" wasn't the right word but it definitely had to be a lot more exciting.
With a wry smile and a passing pat on York's shoulder Emily got comfortable on a seat next to the bed.
"Agent York, I'm an officer of the law and by no means some sort of delicate flower. I think I can handle whatever you have to say..." She paused moment in thought and the gave a the agent a wink, "All I ask is that you try not to talk all night, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow!"
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 20, 2010 22:44:50 GMT -8
For all her insistence that her gesture had meant nothing except that she didn't want him sleeping in a chair, Henning was glad for Charlotte's closeness. Her comment about the loneliness of travel had touched him, too, but now that her eyes were closed, he didn't want to bring her out of it with more conversation...
He also wondered whether it wasn't her mother's death that had brought on Charlotte's wanderlust, driving her from city to city only to end up here in Greenvale, a dying town with problems beyond her own. Perhaps she'd stay, for that reason... She seemed more than willing to dig deeper into the source of whatever it was that had attacked her, the sort of dangerous curiosity he didn't want to foster in others, but always let loose within himself.
Were they enabling each other? He didn't want to think about that... And he didn't want to think about the camera, either. Just as nothing existed beyond this room, nothing existed beyond this moment, except for the sound of their breathing and the comforting weight of Charlotte's head on his chest. He put his arm around her shoulders, shifting very slightly so as not to disturb her, and lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the quiet darkness.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 20, 2010 23:01:39 GMT -8
The feeling of warmth and safety lying next to David, was, Charlotte mused drowsily, quite possibly better than any pain killer. She made a sleepy sound of contentment and snuggled closer, her arm curling around his waist again... And Charlotte finally drifted off to sleep, exhaustion conquering any desire to stay awake she had. At first, it was a fairly peaceful sleep. Some nebulous time later, however, it began to change... and not for the better. She tossed restlessly onto her back as images began to build in her mind... Charlotte stands on a sidewalk before a two story house, painted a sky blue. She knows this house; her mother lives here. Lived. She knows this is a dream, but there is no way to stop her dream self from walking slowly up the walkway towards the front door, no matter how hard she tries.
Don’t go in there she tries to tell her dream self, but her dream self continues the slow, inexorable walk towards heartbreak and sadness. And all Charlotte can do is watch as she knocks on the front door... and it creaks open a bit.
“Mom?” her dream self calls, pushing open the front door. “You forgot to lock the door.”
Please don’t... she whimpers, as her dream self walks into the foyer and down the hall. She knows where her dream self is headed. Knows how this is going to end. First... she checks the living room. When there’s no sign of her mother there... she checks the kitchen. No sign of her mother there, either, though there are vegetables on the cutting board. And then... her dream self makes the final walk towards her mother’s study. Don't...
Charlotte’s dream self opens the door to the study, and gasps in horror.
“Mom?”
Only... it isn’t right. That’s not the way it was... Instead of her mother being draped over her desk, blood smeared across the oaken surface, her mother is stretched out on the desk, her intestines strewn out over the top of it. She is partly skinned, and it is pinned to the surface of the desk with rusty nails. Half of her face has suffered the same treatment...
And both of her eyes are gone.
There’s a sound behind her. And even though the real Charlotte is too horrified to scream at her dream self to NOT TURN AROUND, don’tturnarounddon’tturnaround is running through her head in a constant stream.
Dream!Charlotte turns around... And a huge, thick handful of red seeds (the same red seeds from the desk, the ones David accidentally triggered her memory of) is crammed down her throat. Gagging and choking, she staggers back...Charlotte’s sleeping body arched off the hospital bed, fighting desperately for the oxygen it believed it was lacking. Gasping and choking, seemingly unable to draw any air into her lungs... a pale rasping thing that was supposed to be a scream was all she could manage.
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Post by Francis York Morgan on Dec 21, 2010 2:13:20 GMT -8
York remained on his feet, not so much standing as surveying his humble audience of two. The lawyer looked eager enough, but Emily still seemed a little too oblivious. Probably the worst thing she'd seen on the job was a kid stealing a bag of chips from the corner store... Oh well, no going back now. He rattled the near-empty stabilizer box, thinking for a moment before finally coming to a decision.
"Well, normally there isn't such a build-up to these things, but since you asked... Perhaps you heard of that string of West Virginia murders, back in '99. The papers called the unknown killer the 'Eye Spy', because every corpse they came across was missing a few key features: The eyes, of course. And while it's perfectly possible for someone to go on living without them, all eight victims had had their throats slit as well, which ruled that out. We ended up ditching the obvious motive, that of gang-style execution, because the victims didn't fit. No enemies, no connections to organized crime whatsoever. We had, let's see, a bodybuilder who ran a gym out of Wheeler... An Olympic-trained athlete... A decorated war vet from Grafton... A prominent local politician... Two women and one man whose only common factor was that they were all members of Mensa... And a Catholic priest. All found with gaping sockets where their eyes should have been."
York paused for effect, his own green eyes wide and bright with the keen effort of recollection. "Zach and I knew of course that the throat slitting was just an afterthought to prevent them from revealing the killer's identity. 'The eyes have it!' we told them, and of course, that was the key. So we checked medical records. The victims included seven heterochromes and one albino, all very successful in their chosen fields, the latter chosen for the prized red eyes the killer needed for his collection. A collector of rare eyes... and rare talents. Athletes, brainiacs, a statesman, a military man and a religious leader... And they'd all been to the same ophthalmologist within the last five years prior to the killings.
"In the end, it turned out to be the ophthalmologist's eighteen-year old son who had performed the murders, obsessed with the notion that if he devoured someone's eyes, their abilities would be transferred into himself; physical strength, mental strength, political power, spiritual wisdom, and of course, uniqueness... All symbolized by the uncommon medical conditions and vocations of the eight murdered individuals, which must have seemed like the closest he could get to true power without straying too far from his own backyard. He may have been insane, but he was also a chronic underachiever. I wrote that assessment as part of my initial report, but it was never included in the official Bureau profile for some reason."
"We caught the ocular occultist in his apartment in Wheeling, where the first victim, the bodybuilder, had been found. The Eye Spy had quite a bachelor's pad going for himself in there- Beanbag chairs, widescreen television, and on the coffee table, having been taken off the ice which was probably his means of preserving the organs for so long, a glass candy dish filled with the missing eighteen eyes of the victims... He must have been just about to dig in, wanting to complete the power transfer all in one go.
"And the Eye Spy himself was sitting right across the table from my gun, which I was aiming between his eyes in case he tried to pull anything, but he just looked at me and remarked, 'FBI agent, huh? I should have gotten myself some of that... I'll bet yours taste like a green apple Jelly Belly.' Then he reached towards the candy dish, picked out one of the eyeballs, and popped it into his mouth! Like a grape, just like this-"
York demonstrated with another stabilizer, knocking the box over in the process and spilling the rest of the pills out over the table. He didn't seem to notice.
"He did it so fast, there was barely any time to react. Then, making sure I was still watching, he bit down. BLISH. That was the exact word that jumped into my head to describe that sound. You could hear it from across the room, almost like something from a Warner Bros. cartoon. It looked like there was dirty water dripping down his chin, too, but later I found out that was actually the vitreous, sort of the gelatinous substance in the eye that... Well, I won't bore you with technicalities. But it made more sense afterward, the Spy's comment as he was being arrested that 'we had no sense of humor'."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 21, 2010 13:59:00 GMT -8
Emily was regretted her decision to hear out York's Eye Spy tale. It was obvious York dealt with more unusual cases than she previously thought. She was fine until York described in full detail how the killer ate the eyeball.
She grimaced and was thankful she wasn't eating anything at the moment. Her stomach was churning and she was sure thanks to the visual of the "vitreous" of the eye dripping down the crazy guys chin her her appetite would be gone for quite a bit.
A quick glance over to Atlas made her feel like such a wuss though. He didn't seem fazed one bit! If anything he looked disappointed the story was over. Gah...Maaybe she was more of a delicate flower than she thought...well when compared to these yahoos.
Bleh...I don't think I'll be eating those grapes I bought the other day. Those are going straight to the birds!
"Wow, that's quite an er-interesting case Agent York." Emily started to bite her lip but stopped herself and forced a small smile.
I am not grossed out. I am not grossed out. I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.I am not grossed out.
"Sounds like you are no stranger to the bizarre! I feel safer knowing we have professionals like yourself to track down these types of criminals."
In the back of her mind, Emily hoped that Anna's murder wasn't the result of some occultist wackjob. But when her strung up corpse flashed through her mind again a queasy feeling came over her. It definitely wasn't your run of the mill murder. She was just glad there was no someone on the team with more hands on experience with abnormal crimes.
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 21, 2010 21:02:53 GMT -8
Henning had been on the precipice of dozing off when he felt Charlotte's head lurch against his chest, snapping him back to awareness. The sounds she was making were obviously fueled by fear of something not immediately visible within the dark room; he grappled with her for a moment as she fought to escape whatever invisible demons she was up against, things he could not see or feel or protect her from.
"Charlotte! Charlotte, it's Henning!" He felt distanced from her, as if she were not with him on the bed, but on the other end of a phone line, leaving him helpless to do anything but whisper harshly into her ear in the hopes that she would wake up. "It's okay, you're just having a nightmare..."
Another one, he wanted to add, but this time, she was having it without him. He clutched her in his arms and stroked her back, willing her to breathe, please, breathe...
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 21, 2010 21:44:59 GMT -8
Charlotte knew she was still asleep, still dreaming... KNEW it... but she could not wake. No matter how hard she tried. She continued fighting for air, and being denied. She felt her lungs burning at the lack, and fought harder. Someone was talking to her... she could hear him...
David...
Her eyes flew open, and she cried out; a sharp, piercing sound in the quiet of the hospital room. She sucked in a deep, rasping breath of air as she sagged bonelessly against him. She was gasping and shaking violently, and clung to him in a desperate attempt to try and stop it. He must have grabbed her during her nightmare (as she hadn't exactly been this in his arms when she'd fallen asleep), and she could not be more glad for it. She felt cold, in a way that wasn't entirely physical. And more exhausted than before she'd fallen asleep.
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Post by Francis York Morgan on Dec 22, 2010 0:23:22 GMT -8
Emily's expression seemed to be undergoing an astonishing number of emotions in a very short period of time. Amazing what the human face was capable of. York leaned against the table, green pills dropping to the floor around his feet, and said thoughtfully, "That's a funny way of putting it, Emily. I've never really distinguished between bizarre crime and normal crime before. The Eye Spy was a murderer in the first degree, plain and simple; it wouldn't have made any difference if he'd simply stabbed his victims with a kitchen knife. The outcome would have been the same either way..."
He paused. "...Although, there were a few things about that particular case that made me wonder. For example, I'd just seen Lucio Fulci's Zombi 2 and thought that the wooden splinter scene might be one of the worst things that could happen to an eye. But after that assignment, I figured having mine eaten by a scrawny, jobless teenager might be an even worse fate. Though I am still a little curious whether they'd actually taste like jellybeans..."
York didn't wear a watch; Zach was accurate enough at keeping time that he usually didn't need one. At the moment, he didn't even need Zach to tell him it was getting late. Reluctantly, York came off the table, physical fatigue helping to dull the pain still echoing through his left arm.
"Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, Atlas, I should probably get going. I have your card, and you have... my promise to call you up sometime. If it's in the fates for us to meet, you'll hear from me soon enough. And I have a strong feeling that might be the case."
He turned to Emily, made a finicky little gesture somewhere between a shrug and a wave. "So. Shall we leave? That big day you mentioned is waiting just around the corner, after all."
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