|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 16, 2011 2:46:00 GMT -8
Time: Day 4, Late Afternoon Weather: CLOUDY. Very cloudy. Betcha there’ll be a rainstorm in a day... Warnings: Smoke and violence. Plus a realisation. Characters: Charlotte Jacobs, Smoking Man, a possible latecomer (you know who you are. XD) [CLOSED] Charlotte was driving back to the hotel, fully intending to relax and start rereading Dune (she could read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland she’d gotten out from the library... but she wasn’t quite ready to start with the researching) when she caught sight of the Clock Tower through her window. Something Mister Stewart had said in his email came back to her. I learnt that years ago, that night at the Clock Tower... [/blockquote] Did the Clock Tower have something to do with whatever horrific event it was that he had mentioned? What the hell was it that had happened? Before she knew it she was parking her Mustang and standing outside it gazing up at the Clock Tower. A part of her warned that it might not be the best of ideas to go in alone (after all, look what happened LAST time), but it wasn’t raining... There was only one person she could call, anyway, and she didn’t want to involve David in anything that could cause him harm. Especially when he might not be able to SEE it. So, for better or worse, she was on her own. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Charlotte stepped inside the Clock Tower. It was, just as she had suspected... well, hoped; empty. It was also a little bit on the eerie side. And something about the place made her skin crawl. Rubbing a hand over her arm, she moved further inside. The door closed behind her.
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 0:12:47 GMT -8
The first room of the clock tower, upon first glance, was as one might expect...just an empty, dusty old building, nothing but the occasional wooden crate or steel barrel strewn about. It was dim, but light poured in from cracks and grates here and there, lighting the area enough to see by.
Sitting on the first step of the staircase was what looked like a deck of playing cards, neatly stacked and sitting face-down in the dust. They were old, grimy...crusted with something gray and gritty.
About three minutes after she had entered, there was a soft click at the door behind her, sounding ominously in the silence.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 0:20:17 GMT -8
Charlotte knelt down to get a closer look at the deck of playing cards. Her hand drifted towards them, not quite touching the surface. They were coated in the same substance that had been on her camera after the incident at the lumbermill. She closed her eyes and took a very deep breath.
Then the soft click came from behind her, and she rose to her feet, turning slowly back the way she came.
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 0:54:47 GMT -8
The source of the sound was easy to spot...just as easy to spot as it was chilling. A large padlock and chain had been attached to the door she had entered. Ash and grime covered the doorknob, the lock, and the chain in equal measure - but the scariest fact was also the most obvious.
It was locked from the inside.
She wasn't alone.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 1:04:54 GMT -8
Fuck. It felt like ice was coiling around her spine.
Charlotte’s hand drifted towards her cell without her even thinking about it, but she stopped before actually touching it. There was really no sense in trying to get a hold of anyone. If she even could. The padlock and chain would keep them out. If it was real, and not part of whatever it was that made the Shadows and the Smoking Man very real to some.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are...” she called quietly.
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 1:27:35 GMT -8
It seemed at first that her calls would do nothing - only echo in the quiet...but then, after a moment or two, a dark curl of smoke drifted down from up the steps, accompanied by that soft, cold laugh that she had by now learned to know.
"Looking for trouble again, are we?" There was no mistaking that cold rasp. "And so soon, too...."
A closer look would reveal that the Smoking Man was sitting up the flight of steps, his filthy leather dress shoes visible propped against the top step. The cloud of smoke that accompanied him billowed downward, swirling about his ankles as if it were his pet.
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 1:46:08 GMT -8
Charlotte stayed where she was. She was not liking it, however; stuck between a padlocked door and a psychopath sitting on the stairs. She didn't have a way out. Not yet. And somehow she didn't think it would be all that easy...
“Apparently I don’t have to look for trouble at all. It seems to find me.” She sighed. “You’re like an extremely annoying, chain-smoking, psychotic bad penny.”
Huffing a soft laugh, she leaned against the railing of the stairs. “Maybe you’re looking for me. You certainly seem to show up a lot.”
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 1:57:25 GMT -8
"Psychotic?" Ashes tumbled down from just out of sight where he was shaking them from the end of his cigarette. "I'm not the one wandering into abandoned places for a lark."
With this, he stood up on that top step, shifting - he was going to walk up further, it seemed. The spent butt of the cigarette was flicked downward to rest a few steps above Charlotte, still glowing at the end where it had been left to smoulder.
"Just...what is it you are looking for here, Charlotte?"
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 2:06:03 GMT -8
“Actually... you sort of ARE. Otherwise I’d be here by myself, wouldn’t I.”
Charlotte hadn’t realised it, but she had a death grip on the railing. There was no other evidence than her white knuckles as to just how on edge she was. She was somehow managing to hold the façade of being at ease.
“A decent view of Greenvale,” she lied, “What with the being a photographer and all...”
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 2:36:28 GMT -8
He laughed at this outright, turning on his heels to walk up the steps and just out of sight. His footfalls were slow, deliberate, the floorboards creaking and moaning under his weight. "Ah," he chuckled, "Of course you are. But seeing as how that was how you had gotten into this mess in the first place...it seems you haven't learned your lesson yet."
The whole time he spoke, there was something strange about the railing beneath her hand...and by the time he had finished, the surface had grown hot to the touch. The smoke that had been coming from upstairs was suddenly met in the middle...joined by smoke that was starting to pour from underneath the locked door.
"You've followed the rabbit into a place that isn't yours to poke around...and you've gone and gotten yourself stuck. Do you know what happens when you get stuck after following the rabbit, Charlotte? Do you know what His answer to that is?"
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 2:54:37 GMT -8
Charlotte jerked her hand off of the railing as it began to burn. Oh fuck. She was being driven, forced to follow him up the stairs. A rock and a hard place. Only the rock was the psychotic chain smoker, and the hard space was a fucking building on FIRE.
‘We must burn the house down...’ She remembered that well enough, even without having started re-reading the book yet. Fear coiled itself in her stomach. She should run... Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to run. But the only direction for her to run was up. I am fucked... Hating that she was left with no other choice, she started up the stairs.
“‘We must burn the house down’,” she replied, pitching her voice so it would carry up to him. “Is that your answer for everything? Fire? Someone needs to go talk to a therapist about his tendencies toward pyromania.”
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 3:22:59 GMT -8
The next level up the steps was much the same as the first - dusty, decrepit, empty...and now filling with smoke. The steady footfalls continued up the next flight of steps...halting only for a moment as she made her remark about the therapist. He stopped, but he wasn't laughing. She had reminded him of something - something that - well, it didn't matter, not to him. It wasn't HIS problem...it had nothing to do with the task at hand. His voice was cold and harsh when he spoke again, the sound shifting as he began climbing again.
"No, actually. The answer isn't always fire." he hissed. With a loud clunk, one of the steel barrels was kicked down the steps, rolling at high-speed towards Charlotte. "Sometimes...a more...direct approach is required - if you were bored, all you had to do was say so. You've made that clear enough now. I'll be sure to up the ante, just for you."
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 3:55:07 GMT -8
Charlotte realised just how badly she’d fucked up mere seconds before the steel barrel came speeding down the stairs toward her. Reacting instinctively, she grabbed the railing and pressed to a handstand (an action which her ribs did not exactly appreciate). Just in time too, as the steel barrel crashed through the space where she’d been standing.
“A direct approach?” She called, voice slightly strained from the speaking upside down. Once she was certain the barrel had passed, she dropped back down onto her feet and continued upward. “A barrel kicked down the stairs isn’t all that direct, I hate to say.”
Her pace had quickened, and while she was still not running, she was definitely moving faster than she had been. “Really, that’s not necessary. You have a penchant for fire, that’s all. Does it have to do with the smoking, do you think? Maybe you should quit. They make gum that’s supposed to help.”
She laughed. It didn’t hold all that much humour, but it was a laugh none-the-less.
“Oh, trust me, there’s no boredom. Like I said, I was just pointing something out.”
|
|
|
Post by The Smoking Man on Jan 17, 2011 15:24:54 GMT -8
"Rather late to recoil now, don't you think?" His pace quickened in lock-step with hers - he was always just far enough ahead not to be seen, but just close enough to be heard clearly, smoke trailing behind him. Her comments about his quitting smoking didn't offend - they only made him laugh harshly in return.
"Fickle, fickle. This is what you wanted, wasn't it? You wanted to find me. You're looking for something."
When she came up to the next landing, she would find that the grating that made up parts of the floor was getting rattier and more torn as she went up...and the smoke was starting to make it difficult to see. A burning crate came crashing through one of the grates that made up the ceiling of this room and the floor of the next level, splintering on impact and sending shrapnel every which way.
"You're always in the wrong place at the wrong time, aren't you? Isn't there somewhere else you should be?"
|
|
|
Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 15:41:42 GMT -8
“Actually, I didn’t want to find you at all. Nowhere in my train of thought did ‘you know, I think I want to find a psychotic chain smoker with too much time on his hands’ appear." Charlotte replied, "You had precisely nothing to do with what I was looking for. Unless you think you have a future as a model. I hate to inform you, I mainly photograph buildings and landscapes, so you’re out of luck.” It was getting hard to see, and that just added another level of unease.
She stumbled back as the burning crate hit the floor and shattered on impact, twisting her body away from the shrapnel. Coughing a little, she continued moving forward.
“You keep saying that. And yet, even if there was... you padlocked the bloody door. So it looks like you’re stuck with me.” And I'm stuck in here with you...
|
|