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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 17, 2010 22:43:54 GMT -8
Time: Day 3, Mid-Afternoon
Weather: Cloudy, but rainless
Warnings: None... yet.
Characters: Charlotte Jacobs, Mister Stewart
Charlotte limped wearily towards the bench where she first met Mister Stewart and his aide, with the assistance of her father’s old cane sword. It helped take some of the stress off her thoroughly sore body. She hoped that the “mysterious capitalist” would agree to meet her... otherwise she’d just be sitting in the park for no particular reason. But that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
She couldn’t bring herself to actually sit ON the bench. Instead she paced ever-so-slowly back and forth in front of it, occasionally stopping to gaze out over the lookout. She did, however, set the notebook she had tucked under her arm upon the seat.
Now... I wait.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 17, 2010 22:56:32 GMT -8
It took a little time before there was any sign of another person coming to the park - but just a few minutes later than the suggested time, a small, old car pulled up. It was vintage, and...there was no mistaking, really, who it could have belonged to. Sure enough, after just a moment, the door swung open and a wheelchair ramp swung out, allowing Mister Stewart to make his way from the car.
Alone?
The faint squeaking of wheels signified his arrival as he pulled up towards Charlotte, pulling himself along with sure, strong motions. He had thought she sounded troubled in her message for him...and after cross-referencing her stay at the hospital, he surmised that she deserved a discussion. Besides - she was a respectful person, and that gained quite a bit in his eyes.
Inclining his head briefly in greeting, he pulled up beside the bench, looking up at her calmly.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 17, 2010 23:14:10 GMT -8
Charlotte breathed a faint sigh of relief as she heard the slightly familiar sound of squeaking wheels. She turned to see Mister Stewart wheeling his way toward her. She offered him a friendly smile, but it was more than a little tired, and more than a little lop-sided. There was no way of completely hiding the marks from all that had occurred the day before... but only the gauze wrapping her hands, and the bruises and cuts on her face actually showed. Which was something, she supposed.
He was alone, which made her glad to have brought the notepad and pen.
She limped back towards the bench, finally taking a seat on the end closest to his wheelchair. She didn’t want to take even the slightest chance of someone overhearing them. Not that there was currently anyone else nearby... but she was understandably cautious. Hopefully this conversation would yield some answers that she could pass on to David.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
Hopefully he won’t think I’m COMPLETELY bug fuck crazy. She took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
“Um... this is probably going to sound like a weird question... A really weird question... Was Greenvale cursed, by any chance? Maybe built on ancient indian burial grounds? Something... else?”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 17, 2010 23:58:35 GMT -8
Well, that was rather straight to the point, wasn't it? Still, he didn't seem to be surprised...in fact, he was intrigued by the fact that she would ask him about this sort of thing. He, of course, suspected he knew where this was coming from...but for now, he would bide his time. Wait for the right moment to ask for specifics. Timing. The right timing. The man thought about her question for a long moment before taking the pen and paper, beginning to write in scrawling, careful hand. 'It is not a weird question. It is a perfectly reasonable one, in point of fact. Like any small town, we have our share of...history. Why do you ask? Handing the paper towards her, he watched her for a reaction. |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 18, 2010 0:28:13 GMT -8
What the fuck do I tell him? Do I tell him everything... or just pieces?
Charlotte frowned thoughtfully down at the words written down on the notepad in careful handwriting. This was important. So important. She had to answer carefully...
In for a penny, in for a pound... She returned her gaze to the older man, biting her lip. Sometimes chances needed to be taken. Maybe he’d think she was crazy... maybe he wouldn’t. She had asked him here... a certain amount of disclosure was required. Unbeknownst to her, an expression of nervousness and fear flickered across her face.
“There have been... odd occurrences.” That’s an understatement. “Very... odd occurrences. I was at the old lumber mill, taking photos. Abandoned buildings fascinate me... and I thought it would be an interesting place to shoot. I... was more right than I could have known.” Unconsciously she picked at the gauze wrapping her left hand. “I thought I was alone in the lumber mill. But... I wasn’t. Not exactly.” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 18, 2010 0:47:09 GMT -8
Mister Stewart could see that she was apprehensive. By her tone and by her words, he was becoming sure of what she was talking about...sure that she had, in fact, seen Them. But still, he wanted to be sure. He wanted for her to tell him of her own volition. He would lead her into it, and she would talk if she really wanted answers. Again the pen started scribbling against the paper, 'Don't be afraid. You can tell me, I will not pass it on. The lumber mill is a somewhat sordid place, anyhow. You weren't alone? Did you see someone else there?' |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 18, 2010 1:04:23 GMT -8
Charlotte read what he'd written on the notepad, and smiled another tired, thankful smile. I think he does know something. I just hope he'll tell me.
“Yes... Several. Practically a crowd there at the end. The first... I never got a clear look at him. Just glimpses. He... stalked me through the halls. Kept smelling cigarettes, and he kept leaving smoking butts around. As well as... other things. At the end... there were these... figures. Shadows with Glasgow smiles. The Smoking Man... ripped the head off one. They bled purple. One... shoved an arm down my throat.”
She half-shrugged, trying to relax the tension that had built up in her shoulders again at the retelling.
“I kind of ran for my life. I... tried to document things at the beginning. But at a certain point I just wanted to get out.”
Charlotte paused as a thought occurred to her.
"Um... I noticed, a couple days ago, when we first met... that Michael was very... concerned about the weather. Did... Does it have something to do with the rain?"
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 18, 2010 2:31:24 GMT -8
It was with a calm air about him that the older man listened to her tale...his mask obscuring his expression. In truth, there was something surprising in what she had said - but he kept his outward calm as best he could, folding his hands over his lap so that she would not be concerned with him passing the information through his little console. His mind reeled as he heard her descriptions...not only was she able to see the Shadows, but she was another person to have seen...something else. He tried to process the information during her pause, looking contemplative. Cigarettes. A laughing man who tore a Shadow apart, smoking all the while...just like Polly. His stomach churned. He didn't like this...not at all. Her question shook him from his reverie, her attentiveness almost catching him off guard. It was quite a simple question...with a not-as-simple answer. His hand started to scrawl on the notepad once more...this time, penning a bit more than the last two instances. Opening up, as she was, by degrees. 'You ask good questions, Charlotte. It does not surprise me you are a photographer with that eye. You are correct to ask about Michael's concern for the rain...and you are right about its relevance. He dislikes the rain. Much as I do. Much as most of the town does. You have noticed, I imagine, how much of the town closes during a rain? Those who have lived here for long enough know that the rain brings little but ill will to Greenvale. It even brings some of us discomfort, pain...like Michael. Most only experience a sense of unease...a sense of foreboding.
And then, there are those like you. Those who can see the Shadows...those like you, or like I. You are not alone, Charlotte. They thrive on rainy days, they teem in the darkness late at night. They cling to places like the lumbermill - places where darker things have occurred. In the rain, the effect is much worse...I am sorry to hear of what happened to you.
I am also sorry to pick at fresh wounds, but there are points I must be clear on. The first point - were you successful in documenting anything, as you said?
The second...this Smoking Man you mention. Do you recall any other detail? Did he speak to you? Or...did he attack you directly at any time?' |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 18, 2010 3:02:46 GMT -8
Charlotte pressed a bandaged hand to the notebook as relief, sharp and fierce, poured through her. Proof she wasn’t crazy. There were others that had seen the Shadows... Mister Stewart had seen them. She wasn’t alone in this. And the fact that he thought she asked good questions... made her feel oddly proud. She wasn’t sure why.
Once she had finished reading, she turned her attention back to him.
“It’s all right,” she told him. “I... don’t know. I haven’t developed the photos yet. I’m doing that later today, hopefully. But... there is this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her poor beleaguered camera, still covered in grime and ash. “This is all I have until I get the photos developed.”
Charlotte bit her lip again.
“As for the Smoking Man... Yes, he spoke to me. Mostly, he just laughed. But later... after he tore the head off one of the Shadows... he told me ‘There are other places you should be’. He... didn’t attack me physically. Psychologically... is another question.”
Her nightmare flickered through her mind and she shivered. With only a second's pause she continued.
“During my exploration of the lumbermill, I found a tin of smoked salmon in a locker. He... laid out a rather gruesome scene on a desk for me... and I heard him chuckle from somewhere behind the lockers. I spun around, flung the tin in the direction of his laugh and ran. Later, last night on the way to the hospital, actually... Somehow the tin of salmon ended up in David’s car and lodged under the brake pedal. The Smoking Man... tried to run us off the road. I removed the tin of salmon... and discovered that it was dented and bloody. I... hit him. I’m reasonably certain I also pissed him off. He didn’t appear like he was going to leave us alone... So I sort of climbed out the driver’s side window and threw the tin as hard as I could at his car.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 18, 2010 20:14:28 GMT -8
Again, Mister Stewart was silent, nodding along at first with what she had to say...then stilling as she came to describe things in more detail. He was both intrigued and worried by the description of this "Smoking Man" that she was given him. And what was all this about smoked salmon? He had seen many a strange thing in his time, but...that one was new. He reached up to scratch his head, thinking before he started to write. He wrote slowly - as if weighing what he should or could say. 'Well. You should know - this is not the first I have heard of this Smoking Man...but he is a recent happening, it seems. Interesting that he did not attack you?
But Smoked Salmon? That you hit him with? Quite resourceful, if I may say so.
Did you get a good look at this car? |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 18, 2010 21:15:00 GMT -8
When Charlotte read that this wasn’t the first he’d heard of the Smoking Man, her head snapped up. Someone else had seen him?? Were they okay?
“Who else saw him? Are they okay? What happened?” She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, no matter how reassuring it was to not be the only person in Greenvale to have seen him, to have been tormented by him. She half shrugged in response to his written comment about the smoked salmon.
“I was absolutely terrified, and it was on hand. His car... Well, the side panels were mostly rusted. And it now has a sizable crack in the passenger side window. Other than that I didn’t get much of a good look. I’m sorry.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 18, 2010 22:12:47 GMT -8
There was a moment of hesitation. Should he tell her who it was? She was staying at the Hotel, after all...perhaps she should know. He mulled it over as she explained how little she had seen...but what little she had explained was more than enough. A cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he didn't like this...not at ALL. 'No, it's all right. You have told me more than enough. I am thankful for your answers, and I do apologize for dredging up unpleasant memories.
As for who else was targeted by your assailant...I feel you deserve an answer, though I give it in return for a small request. It was Polly - late last night, he came to her and gave her quite a fright. My request is only this - make certain that she is all right. This whole thing is disconcerting, and I am...concerned...that it may have brought up some rather...unpleasant memories for her. Memories from a time some time ago.
That camera you are holding...it worries me. The fact that he left something so definite behind...definite enough that anyone could see it, like that ash upon the camera...it tells me that the Smoking Man may not be a Shadow. So far, it seems he has only been seen in the rain...perhaps further caution exercised in the rain would be wise, both in regards to the Shadows and to him. I shall keep an ear to the ground...I have a few matters to investigate over this.
Now that I have said my piece...what, precisely, are you looking for answers to, Charlotte? There is no Indian Burial Ground here...but something far worse was buried here. Truth. This dispensed with, he held out his hand for the camera, wishing to examine it more closely. |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 18, 2010 23:42:48 GMT -8
Oh God. Polly. Charlotte’s stomach twisted. Had it been her fault? Had her return to the hotel led the Smoking Man straight to her door? She had been the first person to see Charlotte after the incident at the lumbermill. Please no...
“I can absolutely do that.” She would check on Polly as soon as she returned to the hotel. The fact that he was so... concerned about the camera being left behind worried her. Moreso than she already had been, at any rate. “I think caution would probably be a good idea, regardless... If my photos turn up anything more I’ll let you know.”
She stared at the words on the page thoughtfully. What exactly was she looking for? How much of what David told her could she share with Mister Stewart; it wasn’t her story to tell. And she wouldn’t break his confidence like that. She suddenly wish fervently that he was here; he might have had a better idea of what questions to ask.
“I’m looking for how all the pieces fit together. There are several incidents that appear to be connected. I want to know how, and why. But firstly... questions. The truth was buried here... Is that why the rain has the effect it does? Whatever was hidden and buried... caused it?” Her brow furrowed as she started thinking. “It must have been something that could have lingered in some fashion... since I assume that whatever it was wasn’t a recent occurrence...”
Questions, Charlie. Ask more questions.
“What... exactly ARE the Shadows? Is there a reason for some being sensitive to seeing them and not others?”
Charlotte set the camera in his hand, scrubbing her bandaged hand on her leg in an effort to get rid of the grime and ash it had left behind.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Dec 19, 2010 0:52:48 GMT -8
A bit of tension eased from his shoulders with her assurance - it was good to know that someone would check in on the older woman. He felt bad that she had been dragged back into all of this...he had sincerely hoped that the other survivors of the Massacre could live in peace. Sigourney was already long gone in that respect. Polly had done nothing wrong - he wanted her to live the rest of her days in comfort. It seemed that wouldn't be so...and that saddened him. What would this mean for the town, in the end? Would there truly be no peace at all? For anyone? If things progressed as they were...that may well be. And it troubled him deeply. he could only warn and hope that people listened. He took the camera, turning it over in his hands and inspecting it for a moment - setting it in his lap for a second, he started to write. 'You are on the right track - something evil lingers in the very soil of this town. When it rains, the darkness thickens, worsens...it feeds their anger, Charlotte. It feeds everyone's anger.
As for the Shadows - they are what the name suggests. Feelings, presences from long ago that don't want to be forgotten. But some forget anyhow...they become blind to the truth. It takes time, but people will see it again. As I have. As you have. Slowly, it seems, in the wake of this murder...people are.' Once he was done writing, he went back to inspecting the camera - looking for something in particular? |
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 19, 2010 2:32:10 GMT -8
Something was bothering her, something drifting just out of reach... Charlotte couldn’t quite get a hold of it just yet, no matter how she tried. It was vexing... but it would come to her eventually. Hopefully sooner, rather than later. She had a feeling it might be important.
It feeds their anger, Charlotte. It feeds everyone's anger. She found herself thinking back over everyone’s actions the day prior. The altercation at breakfast... I wonder if the rain exacerbated things. Her head was throbbing, partially from the injury and partially, she thought, from the weight of the answers she was receiving.
“How do you do it?” she asked him softly. “The knowing... and knowing that not very many people will listen.” She was suddenly incredibly thankful, not only for Mister Stewart talking to her about this, but for David, somehow finding it in himself to listen to her... and to believe her. The next time she saw him she would have to make sure that he knew.
Charlotte watched him study her camera, wondering what exactly it was he was looking for, if he was looking for anything in particular in the first place.
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