DarkMatter D20: Drunk Southern Girls with Guns ... UPDATED - 8/18/05!
- Thread starter jonrog1
- Start date
“You’re all looking well,” Director Richardson greeted them.
“Thank you, sir. And I’ll tell you, we’re very eager to get back out in the field,” Johanna answered. She certainly looked stable enough, Richardson thought to himself. Jo was perched eagerly on the edge of the office couch, her light leather jacket covering what he knew were twin nine-mils. She seemed all the world like an eager grad student, except for the shock of white in her dark shoulder-length hair. Maybe the reports had been exaggerated. According to the paperwork Johanna was loaded with enough anti-psychotics to drop a rhino on peyote.
Denis and Stephen were in the chairs directly opposite Richardson; neat in jackets and ties, like proper agents for a federal bureau, never mind an “academic” organization like the Hoffman. Andy was slumped as always in the leather chair in the corner. He had this habit now of watching conversations “through” his eyepatch. Ross stood next to the door and a little to the left. The new man, Samuel looked to Richardson for guidance; it was plain Ross had his cut-down Ithica shotgun tucked under his arm. Richardson shook his head. It wasn’t worth the effort.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Richardson. “And I’m glad to have my primary team –“
DING. Richardson stopped as Jo fished a little pill timer out of her pocket. Never losing her smile, Jo produced a pill jar, popped two. Then she took another jar from her inside pocket and popped two more. Then she fished another pill dispenser from her jeans, popped seven, all different colors. She put the pills away, returned to her patient waiting pose.
“The pink ones,” Stephen reminded gently.
“Whoops.” Jo grinned, embarrassed. “Don’t want Mommy to have the bad dreams while driving in the passing lane again, do we?” She took two more pills.
After an awkward pause, Samuel tossed three photos out onto the desk. Denis and Stephen picked up the files to study. The remaining three agents simply waited. “Tom Mullins, Darren Vincent, Horatio Martinez. All 15-year-olds in Eugene, Oregon. Last Friday, two things happened in Eugene. First, there were a spate of UFO sightings. Second – these three boys disappeared.”
“Together or individually?” Denis was already taking notes. UFO’s were his specialty.
“They were together. Apparently, at the Vincent home, the three of them were in the basement playing something called …” Samuel checked his notes, “… Dungeons & Dragons.”
“The Devils’ game,” snorted Andy. They looked to him. “That’s what my mom always called it.”
“The mother, Trisha Vincent, had left the house at 6:00 pm to pick up the seven year old daughter Gertie from ballet. The middle son in the Vincent family, Elliot, was upstairs reading. Bit of a bookworm, Elliot.” Samuel handed the police logs to Denis. “When Trish Vincent got home at 8:00 pm, the boys were no longer in the basement. She thought nothing of it at first. The boys’ bikes were gone, she assumed they were out mucking around. When the kids were still gone the next day, she called the cops.”
“Lot more records here than we usually snoop up,” Ross said.
“We’re lucky,” Richardson answered. “The kids have been gone a week. The Sheriff called the FBI, and the FBI agent on the scene is big on unexplained phenomena. He called in the Hoffman Institute on a government consult. For once you get to go in totally above board.”
“This goes well,” Samuel added, “it could mean a whole new chapter in Hoffman’s ability to operate outside the veil.”
“We’ll try not to shoot any federal agents,” Andy said, standing.
Samuel chuckled, then stopped short when Richardson simply answered, “I appreciate that.”
********************************
The Agents were taking their seats on the little shuttle jet to Portland. Some passengers behind them were still hovering around the extended jetway. The guys slid into their seats, Jo took hers –
-- screams and hands clenched and oxygen masks and banging and tears and screaming screamingscreamingscreaming –
“AHHH!” Jo lurched up into the aisle.
Every passenger stared at her. Moving very slowly, Andy leaned over to Stephen. “You’re sure she took –“
“—the pink pills,” Stephen nodded. “We’re always careful with the pink pills.”
Jo leaned down to Ross’ ear and whispered: “This plane is going to crash.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay? We need to get off this plane, we need to RIGHT NOW –“
“Whoa, whoa, no problem,” Andy assured her. They all stood up. “Just take the next flight.”
So ten minutes later the Agents stood at the windows and watched the plane take off. They collectively held their breath as the plane lifted higher, and higher …
… and disappeared. They all turned to look at Jo.
“Hey, it’s an hour flight, okay?” Her hands shaking a little, she sat nearby. The guys exchanged looks, then sat around her, silently comforting. The next Portland flight would depart soon enough.
*****************************
As soon as the Agents arrived, Jo stormed to the gate terminal. “What happened to the last flight?”
The gate attendant didn’t even bother to look up. “Landed right on schedule, ma’am.”
Not meeting the others’ eyes, Jo walked away. “I saw it. I don’t know how I saw it, but I saw it crash.”
“But it didn’t crash,” Andy called out after her. She flipped him the finger and stalked toward the luggage claim.
“Hey, “ Ross interrupted. “No pointing out my girlfriend’s tenuous hold on reality. That’s not cool.”
“Sorry man.” Andy and Ross tapped fists and followed the rest.
Two full-size dark sedan rentals (“Hey, now we’re the Men in Black!” “Shut up.”) and a chain-smoking two hour drive later, the Agents pulled into the center of Eugene. They found the Sheriff’s office in the middle of the town retail center. There were the tell-tale signs of an FBI presence – a rented Taurus. The Agents nuzzled their dark cars into parking spots in front of the office..
Ross was the first one out. “I need a department store.” Stephen looked him questioningly. “Couldn’t check my weapons, like you did. Be right back.”
As Ross crossed for the nearby Circle K, the Sheriff exited the police station. He was a good-looking young man, lean and dark. “Howdy, folks. You’d be the Hoffman Institute fellas?” He shook hands all ‘round. “Sheriff Wilson, at your service. Man, we sure are glad you could make it. The FBI agents are inside.”
“This is a pleasant change,” Stephen muttered. “I could get used to people actually being glad to see us.”
The FBI agents stepped out from the Sheriff’s office. One was tall man, with a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. His FBI suit hung well on him, if a bit rumpled. The other was a petite red-head. She gazed at them dubiously over a pair of gold wire-rims.
“Pleased to meet you.” They flashed badges as the man continued introductions. “I’m Special Agent Frank Malloy, and this is Special Agent Diane Sullivan ...”
“Thank you, sir. And I’ll tell you, we’re very eager to get back out in the field,” Johanna answered. She certainly looked stable enough, Richardson thought to himself. Jo was perched eagerly on the edge of the office couch, her light leather jacket covering what he knew were twin nine-mils. She seemed all the world like an eager grad student, except for the shock of white in her dark shoulder-length hair. Maybe the reports had been exaggerated. According to the paperwork Johanna was loaded with enough anti-psychotics to drop a rhino on peyote.
Denis and Stephen were in the chairs directly opposite Richardson; neat in jackets and ties, like proper agents for a federal bureau, never mind an “academic” organization like the Hoffman. Andy was slumped as always in the leather chair in the corner. He had this habit now of watching conversations “through” his eyepatch. Ross stood next to the door and a little to the left. The new man, Samuel looked to Richardson for guidance; it was plain Ross had his cut-down Ithica shotgun tucked under his arm. Richardson shook his head. It wasn’t worth the effort.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” said Richardson. “And I’m glad to have my primary team –“
DING. Richardson stopped as Jo fished a little pill timer out of her pocket. Never losing her smile, Jo produced a pill jar, popped two. Then she took another jar from her inside pocket and popped two more. Then she fished another pill dispenser from her jeans, popped seven, all different colors. She put the pills away, returned to her patient waiting pose.
“The pink ones,” Stephen reminded gently.
“Whoops.” Jo grinned, embarrassed. “Don’t want Mommy to have the bad dreams while driving in the passing lane again, do we?” She took two more pills.
After an awkward pause, Samuel tossed three photos out onto the desk. Denis and Stephen picked up the files to study. The remaining three agents simply waited. “Tom Mullins, Darren Vincent, Horatio Martinez. All 15-year-olds in Eugene, Oregon. Last Friday, two things happened in Eugene. First, there were a spate of UFO sightings. Second – these three boys disappeared.”
“Together or individually?” Denis was already taking notes. UFO’s were his specialty.
“They were together. Apparently, at the Vincent home, the three of them were in the basement playing something called …” Samuel checked his notes, “… Dungeons & Dragons.”
“The Devils’ game,” snorted Andy. They looked to him. “That’s what my mom always called it.”
“The mother, Trisha Vincent, had left the house at 6:00 pm to pick up the seven year old daughter Gertie from ballet. The middle son in the Vincent family, Elliot, was upstairs reading. Bit of a bookworm, Elliot.” Samuel handed the police logs to Denis. “When Trish Vincent got home at 8:00 pm, the boys were no longer in the basement. She thought nothing of it at first. The boys’ bikes were gone, she assumed they were out mucking around. When the kids were still gone the next day, she called the cops.”
“Lot more records here than we usually snoop up,” Ross said.
“We’re lucky,” Richardson answered. “The kids have been gone a week. The Sheriff called the FBI, and the FBI agent on the scene is big on unexplained phenomena. He called in the Hoffman Institute on a government consult. For once you get to go in totally above board.”
“This goes well,” Samuel added, “it could mean a whole new chapter in Hoffman’s ability to operate outside the veil.”
“We’ll try not to shoot any federal agents,” Andy said, standing.
Samuel chuckled, then stopped short when Richardson simply answered, “I appreciate that.”
********************************
The Agents were taking their seats on the little shuttle jet to Portland. Some passengers behind them were still hovering around the extended jetway. The guys slid into their seats, Jo took hers –
-- screams and hands clenched and oxygen masks and banging and tears and screaming screamingscreamingscreaming –
“AHHH!” Jo lurched up into the aisle.
Every passenger stared at her. Moving very slowly, Andy leaned over to Stephen. “You’re sure she took –“
“—the pink pills,” Stephen nodded. “We’re always careful with the pink pills.”
Jo leaned down to Ross’ ear and whispered: “This plane is going to crash.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay? We need to get off this plane, we need to RIGHT NOW –“
“Whoa, whoa, no problem,” Andy assured her. They all stood up. “Just take the next flight.”
So ten minutes later the Agents stood at the windows and watched the plane take off. They collectively held their breath as the plane lifted higher, and higher …
… and disappeared. They all turned to look at Jo.
“Hey, it’s an hour flight, okay?” Her hands shaking a little, she sat nearby. The guys exchanged looks, then sat around her, silently comforting. The next Portland flight would depart soon enough.
*****************************
As soon as the Agents arrived, Jo stormed to the gate terminal. “What happened to the last flight?”
The gate attendant didn’t even bother to look up. “Landed right on schedule, ma’am.”
Not meeting the others’ eyes, Jo walked away. “I saw it. I don’t know how I saw it, but I saw it crash.”
“But it didn’t crash,” Andy called out after her. She flipped him the finger and stalked toward the luggage claim.
“Hey, “ Ross interrupted. “No pointing out my girlfriend’s tenuous hold on reality. That’s not cool.”
“Sorry man.” Andy and Ross tapped fists and followed the rest.
Two full-size dark sedan rentals (“Hey, now we’re the Men in Black!” “Shut up.”) and a chain-smoking two hour drive later, the Agents pulled into the center of Eugene. They found the Sheriff’s office in the middle of the town retail center. There were the tell-tale signs of an FBI presence – a rented Taurus. The Agents nuzzled their dark cars into parking spots in front of the office..
Ross was the first one out. “I need a department store.” Stephen looked him questioningly. “Couldn’t check my weapons, like you did. Be right back.”
As Ross crossed for the nearby Circle K, the Sheriff exited the police station. He was a good-looking young man, lean and dark. “Howdy, folks. You’d be the Hoffman Institute fellas?” He shook hands all ‘round. “Sheriff Wilson, at your service. Man, we sure are glad you could make it. The FBI agents are inside.”
“This is a pleasant change,” Stephen muttered. “I could get used to people actually being glad to see us.”
The FBI agents stepped out from the Sheriff’s office. One was tall man, with a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. His FBI suit hung well on him, if a bit rumpled. The other was a petite red-head. She gazed at them dubiously over a pair of gold wire-rims.
“Pleased to meet you.” They flashed badges as the man continued introductions. “I’m Special Agent Frank Malloy, and this is Special Agent Diane Sullivan ...”
Breakstone
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The truth is out there, jonrog...
dreadnought
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Not to mention an absolute metaphor for gift!
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