Broccli_Head
Explorer
Good to see you back, L.
Nice new mystery, too.
Nice new mystery, too.
First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour (Updated 01-03-2008)
Lamprolign
First Post
Thanks for the welcome back! It's good to finally have time to write again!
Lamprolign
First Post
032
The smell of baking bread permeated the atmosphere, overpowering the pungent blend of fumes that ordinarily held sway in the city's air. Winter was reluctantly giving way to spring, turning snow into grimy mush. Tiny rivulets wound out of miniature mountain ranges left in the snowplow's wake. Through this decay of winter a scrawny teenage boy made his way. He walked with no particular hurry. Even had he not known his destination the aroma was an unerring guide.
Through the wide doors of the former church a steady stream of haggard and scruffy people passed. Sol had reached its zenith and the shelter was serving a noon repast to those without the means to feed themselves. The boy slipped into the line and entered with the rest. Inside, the line of people threaded across the vast main hall to a long counter across which a group of volunteers handed out bowls filled with rich stew and thick slabs of fresh bread.
"I haven't seen you here before, young fella," the grizzled old man behind a steaming kettle said. "What's your name?"
"Joshua," the boy answered, grinning.
"Welcome to the Haven, Joshua." The old man gave the boy a gummy smile while handing him a bowl stew. "There's always plenty food here, and no trouble, the Sister keeps us fed and safe."
Joshua took the stew. "Thanks," he said as he turned toward the tables. It was safe, Pops.
****
Gabe pushed away from his desk and rubbed his eyes. He had no sleep the night before, going straight from the Haven to the latest crime scene. Yawning mightily, he leaned back and stretched before returning to the reams of reports and forms that documented every case. In these four homicides, none of the information contained in the myriad pages brought him any closer to an explainable cause of death, let alone a suspect. And why haven't I had any visions? That question bothered him more than he liked to admit.
"Maybe your visions are tied to places, not people or things," Mary offered. "You said yourself that the bodies seemed to have been dumped. I think your visions pick up on the latent emotional energy left in a place after something happens. If the killer is disposing of the bodies with the same emotion you feel when tossing a candy wrapper, then there'd be nothing left for you to sense."
Gabe shrugged. "Could be."
"What could be, boss?"
"Dammit Chris! Make a little noise when you're walking up behind me!"
"And deprive you of the only cardio workout you get? Far be it!" Chris beamed with satisfaction. "So, what could be?"
"Could be that you're going to get clobbered if you don't stop with the sneaking up on people!"
"Well, if you're in a mood I guess I'll wait 'till later to pass on what I heard from downtown." Chris's grin now would put a canary-sated cat to shame.
"All right, junior. Give."
"Well," Chris paused dramatically, "it seems that our favorite flatfoot found himself a witness. Seems a bum was sleeping in that alley when the body was dumped."
"Now that's interesting." Gabe knew beyond a doubt that he wouldn't get any information out of Brewer, but maybe one of the other detectives on the case...
"Brewer's new partner is supposed to be by to get the latest scene workup," Chris said. "I haven't seen her yet but rumor is she's..."
"Hello!" Gabe said. "Can I help you?"
"Good morning. I'm Lori Gies. I'm here for the report on the Barnes homicide."
Chris sat slightly open-mouthed staring at the woman in their doorway. In spite of his fortunate interruption of Chris's sentence, Gabe need not imagine how it would have finished. Detective Gies was a striking woman. Dark brown, almost black, eyes peered from a finely chiseled face framed by chin-length auburn hair. Her badge was clipped to the belt of her jeans along with a standard issue Berretta 9mm pistol.
She stepped into the office and extended her hand. "Gabriel Ansgar, I presume?"
"Doctor Livingston, actually," Gabe said, standing to shake the proffered hand, "and this is my associate, Sir Stanley." He motioned with his left hand toward Chris.
"Brewer said you were a wiseass," her voice manifested the slightest hint of a Brooklyn accent.
"I'm sure you've heard much more than that."
"Nothing much really, although I do get the distinct impression that you two aren't drinking buddies."
"You could say that." He sat back down. "Coffee?"
"No thanks." She eyed the stained pot dubiously. "It looks more like gear oil from here anyway."
"Your loss." Gabe turned his attention back to his computer. "The report is almost complete, it'll just be a couple minutes."
"That's fine, I'll wait," Lori sat down in the room's only spare seat. It creaked and tilted dangerously. "You guys might want to post a warning on this thing." She carefully balanced herself to avoid being capsized.
"We haven't lost a visitor yet." Gabe pecked away at his keyboard. "I heard you found a witness." He looked at her over his monitor.
"I think that may be an exaggeration." She skewed her mouth to one side. "We found a homeless man sleeping behind a dumpster further down that alley after daylight."
"Did he see anything?"
"Oh he saw plenty," she said, "but I think most of it came out of his bottle of Strawberry Hill."
"Lemme guess, aliens dumped the body?" He had stopped typing and leaned forward so that most of his face was now above the monitor.
"Almost." She shook her head slightly. "The old guy says that a white haired woman passed his spot sometime after midnight. He kept babbling about red eyes."
"Huh. Weird."
"I figure it's all pretty useless, but we are keeping an eye out for someone with bleached hair."
"Yeah, sounds like he was pretty deep in the bottle, or something stronger." Gabe caught the sheets of paper that were sliding out of the printer beside his desk. He dropped them into a manila folder and handed them to Lori. "Not much to go on, about as useful as your witness." At least for a rational explanation.
****
Heavy clouds preceding a cold front had brought an early dusk. Cold rain, driven by a howling southwest wind, pelted Poe's battered overcoat. There would be sleet and finally snow as the temperature dropped during the night. From her vantage atop the abandoned apartment building she watched the storm clouds. Their boiling undersides were illuminated by the city lights and frequent flashes of lightning. Lost in her thoughts, she sat oblivious to the squall. She looked down the length of 29th street below her. I know you're here...
© 2004 Austin Hale
The smell of baking bread permeated the atmosphere, overpowering the pungent blend of fumes that ordinarily held sway in the city's air. Winter was reluctantly giving way to spring, turning snow into grimy mush. Tiny rivulets wound out of miniature mountain ranges left in the snowplow's wake. Through this decay of winter a scrawny teenage boy made his way. He walked with no particular hurry. Even had he not known his destination the aroma was an unerring guide.
Through the wide doors of the former church a steady stream of haggard and scruffy people passed. Sol had reached its zenith and the shelter was serving a noon repast to those without the means to feed themselves. The boy slipped into the line and entered with the rest. Inside, the line of people threaded across the vast main hall to a long counter across which a group of volunteers handed out bowls filled with rich stew and thick slabs of fresh bread.
"I haven't seen you here before, young fella," the grizzled old man behind a steaming kettle said. "What's your name?"
"Joshua," the boy answered, grinning.
"Welcome to the Haven, Joshua." The old man gave the boy a gummy smile while handing him a bowl stew. "There's always plenty food here, and no trouble, the Sister keeps us fed and safe."
Joshua took the stew. "Thanks," he said as he turned toward the tables. It was safe, Pops.
****
Gabe pushed away from his desk and rubbed his eyes. He had no sleep the night before, going straight from the Haven to the latest crime scene. Yawning mightily, he leaned back and stretched before returning to the reams of reports and forms that documented every case. In these four homicides, none of the information contained in the myriad pages brought him any closer to an explainable cause of death, let alone a suspect. And why haven't I had any visions? That question bothered him more than he liked to admit.
"Maybe your visions are tied to places, not people or things," Mary offered. "You said yourself that the bodies seemed to have been dumped. I think your visions pick up on the latent emotional energy left in a place after something happens. If the killer is disposing of the bodies with the same emotion you feel when tossing a candy wrapper, then there'd be nothing left for you to sense."
Gabe shrugged. "Could be."
"What could be, boss?"
"Dammit Chris! Make a little noise when you're walking up behind me!"
"And deprive you of the only cardio workout you get? Far be it!" Chris beamed with satisfaction. "So, what could be?"
"Could be that you're going to get clobbered if you don't stop with the sneaking up on people!"
"Well, if you're in a mood I guess I'll wait 'till later to pass on what I heard from downtown." Chris's grin now would put a canary-sated cat to shame.
"All right, junior. Give."
"Well," Chris paused dramatically, "it seems that our favorite flatfoot found himself a witness. Seems a bum was sleeping in that alley when the body was dumped."
"Now that's interesting." Gabe knew beyond a doubt that he wouldn't get any information out of Brewer, but maybe one of the other detectives on the case...
"Brewer's new partner is supposed to be by to get the latest scene workup," Chris said. "I haven't seen her yet but rumor is she's..."
"Hello!" Gabe said. "Can I help you?"
"Good morning. I'm Lori Gies. I'm here for the report on the Barnes homicide."
Chris sat slightly open-mouthed staring at the woman in their doorway. In spite of his fortunate interruption of Chris's sentence, Gabe need not imagine how it would have finished. Detective Gies was a striking woman. Dark brown, almost black, eyes peered from a finely chiseled face framed by chin-length auburn hair. Her badge was clipped to the belt of her jeans along with a standard issue Berretta 9mm pistol.
She stepped into the office and extended her hand. "Gabriel Ansgar, I presume?"
"Doctor Livingston, actually," Gabe said, standing to shake the proffered hand, "and this is my associate, Sir Stanley." He motioned with his left hand toward Chris.
"Brewer said you were a wiseass," her voice manifested the slightest hint of a Brooklyn accent.
"I'm sure you've heard much more than that."
"Nothing much really, although I do get the distinct impression that you two aren't drinking buddies."
"You could say that." He sat back down. "Coffee?"
"No thanks." She eyed the stained pot dubiously. "It looks more like gear oil from here anyway."
"Your loss." Gabe turned his attention back to his computer. "The report is almost complete, it'll just be a couple minutes."
"That's fine, I'll wait," Lori sat down in the room's only spare seat. It creaked and tilted dangerously. "You guys might want to post a warning on this thing." She carefully balanced herself to avoid being capsized.
"We haven't lost a visitor yet." Gabe pecked away at his keyboard. "I heard you found a witness." He looked at her over his monitor.
"I think that may be an exaggeration." She skewed her mouth to one side. "We found a homeless man sleeping behind a dumpster further down that alley after daylight."
"Did he see anything?"
"Oh he saw plenty," she said, "but I think most of it came out of his bottle of Strawberry Hill."
"Lemme guess, aliens dumped the body?" He had stopped typing and leaned forward so that most of his face was now above the monitor.
"Almost." She shook her head slightly. "The old guy says that a white haired woman passed his spot sometime after midnight. He kept babbling about red eyes."
"Huh. Weird."
"I figure it's all pretty useless, but we are keeping an eye out for someone with bleached hair."
"Yeah, sounds like he was pretty deep in the bottle, or something stronger." Gabe caught the sheets of paper that were sliding out of the printer beside his desk. He dropped them into a manila folder and handed them to Lori. "Not much to go on, about as useful as your witness." At least for a rational explanation.
****
Heavy clouds preceding a cold front had brought an early dusk. Cold rain, driven by a howling southwest wind, pelted Poe's battered overcoat. There would be sleet and finally snow as the temperature dropped during the night. From her vantage atop the abandoned apartment building she watched the storm clouds. Their boiling undersides were illuminated by the city lights and frequent flashes of lightning. Lost in her thoughts, she sat oblivious to the squall. She looked down the length of 29th street below her. I know you're here...
© 2004 Austin Hale
Lamprolign
First Post
033
A glazing of fresh ice coated the city, every exposed edge trimmed in a skirt of prismatic spears. Poe strode through the crystalline world left by the storm.
She approached one of the many rail yards south of the Chicago Ship Canal. Derelict warehouses and factories created a skyline of crumbling chimneys and broken walls. The alleys choked on a banquet of debris. Broken pallets and rusting steel drums piled in drifts alongside buildings and behind decaying chain-link fences.
At irregular intervals, a functioning streetlight pierced the night's cloak. Poe avoided the small pools of light as she trod the obstacle course. Many people thought to hide from the darkness beneath the lamps. They seemed not to realize that standing in the light they could not see into the darkness. But what lurked in the dark could see them.
Poe stopped in front of a five-story brick building that stretched for nearly a block in length and width, its many iron-framed windows like so many gaping mouths filled with teeth of shattered glass. She continued along the building, turning down the alley at its side.
A dozen paces away from the street she stopped and studied the rough brick walls to either side, the patchwork asphalt beneath her feet. This was the place, so long ago...
Angry shouts echoing from the far end of the alley broke her reverie. She leapt to a narrow window ledge on the wall above her and looked toward the noise. A gray-haired man half limped, half ran down the alley toward her.
"You're outta places to run, pops!"
Tim Sweeney heard the voice behind him, far closer than it had been moments ago. He gasped for each breath as he staggered down the alley. Blood completely obscured the sight in one eye, the other slipped in and out of focus. Dark red highlighted rips in his overcoat and shirt beneath. Two young men bearing lock-blade knives pursued.
"Stop runnin', pops, and we'll make it quick." Like hell we will, older. You've already pissed me off. Darin Hunter and his accomplice had tailed the old man from the old Ferguson Hotel, waiting for a sufficiently deserted area. He wiped the sticky red on his hand across a shirt already soiled by blood spattered when the old man resisted their acquisition of his wallet.
Tim staggered further into the pitch black of the alley. If only I were twenty again...I'd take those punks! But that ability was long past. They'd knocked the snub-nose .38 from his hand almost before he'd pulled it from his coat pocket. What a fool I was to think I could still handle a gun.
The shadow close around him became viscous, almost tangible as he wobbled into a darker length of the alley. He could no longer see the street under his feet or the sky above. Something stirred the darkness beside him. His already straining heart almost gave up when he looked into a pair of glowing red eyes.
"Rest easy old one. You're safe now." A woman’s quiet voice drifted from beneath those eyes. The eyes then vanished, leaving only darkness.
God have mercy, the old man thought, certain that the angel of death had come for him.
Darin saw the old man disappear into shadows, then saw shadow billow toward him like a cloud. The leading edge surged past him, extinguishing all sight.
"What the!?" He yelled. "Hey! Where the are you, Billy?"
"I'm right here, man! I can't see a thing!" Panic edged the reply.
Billy Cannon glanced around frantically in the smothering gloom, searching for anything. He gasped when he saw narrowed red eyes glaring down at him.
"! ! Help me! There's someth...." the words ended in a short-lived scream.
"Billy! Where are you, man? What happened?" Darin's throat constricted with fear. He ran, straight into a rough brick-faced wall. "," he muttered, rolling onto his hands and knees in an effort to regain his feet. Someone, something grabbed his collar and hoisted him upright.
"You punks like kicking old dogs that can't bite, don't you?" A woman's voice, soft as steel drawn from the scabbard, whispered in his ear.
Poe smiled when the wretch tried to pull away from her. Damn! I love it when they fight.
****
Inside The Mill, harsh mechanical music reverberated through the fabric of the building itself. Poe stood in front of track-doors large enough to admit two city garbage trucks side-by-side. She felt alive with power after her evening's repast. She had watched the old man stumble away. His would-be murderers would not be found for some time.
The suggestion of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. In spite of The Sister's admonitions, nothing replaced live food, and it was so satisfying when it justly deserved its fate.
A woman has to eat. The thought brought her back to her last conversation with Gabe, and the descriptions of the bodies. Her smile vanished and older memories awoke.
She easily slid open the thick doors and scanned the cavernous interior. Mismatched tables formed a rough border to the open central floor. The ceiling vaulted four stories above, with balconies encircling the perimeter at each level. Old chains looped over and through pulleys hung from great steel tracks traversing the vault, remnants of the building's original use. The air inside was hazy and barely warmer than the chill outside. The people milling about were clad in myriad combinations of black, gray, white and red.
Sliding the door closed, she moved across the former factory floor toward a cluster of tables in the far corner.
"Poe," said a deep, resonating voice from beside her. "It has been some time since you crossed our threshold."
"She has returned, Kifaru." Poe stopped and slowly turned to face the source of the voice.
He crossed massive arms across his barrel chest. Thin, pale scars formed intricate patterns, straight lines that swirled into concentric circles with rows of pale dots between the lines. These sleeved his arms and continued onto his torso, disappearing beneath a charcoal tank-top shirt. He wore fatigues with black/gray-shaded camouflage patterns, tucked crisply into high black boots. Not a strand of hair marred the perfect ebony dome of his head. Ochre eyes peered from above broad cheekbones and a blocky, clean-shaven jaw. Poe stood as a child beside him.
"Interesting," he said and gestured toward the back tables.
© Austin Hale, 2004
A glazing of fresh ice coated the city, every exposed edge trimmed in a skirt of prismatic spears. Poe strode through the crystalline world left by the storm.
She approached one of the many rail yards south of the Chicago Ship Canal. Derelict warehouses and factories created a skyline of crumbling chimneys and broken walls. The alleys choked on a banquet of debris. Broken pallets and rusting steel drums piled in drifts alongside buildings and behind decaying chain-link fences.
At irregular intervals, a functioning streetlight pierced the night's cloak. Poe avoided the small pools of light as she trod the obstacle course. Many people thought to hide from the darkness beneath the lamps. They seemed not to realize that standing in the light they could not see into the darkness. But what lurked in the dark could see them.
Poe stopped in front of a five-story brick building that stretched for nearly a block in length and width, its many iron-framed windows like so many gaping mouths filled with teeth of shattered glass. She continued along the building, turning down the alley at its side.
A dozen paces away from the street she stopped and studied the rough brick walls to either side, the patchwork asphalt beneath her feet. This was the place, so long ago...
Angry shouts echoing from the far end of the alley broke her reverie. She leapt to a narrow window ledge on the wall above her and looked toward the noise. A gray-haired man half limped, half ran down the alley toward her.
"You're outta places to run, pops!"
Tim Sweeney heard the voice behind him, far closer than it had been moments ago. He gasped for each breath as he staggered down the alley. Blood completely obscured the sight in one eye, the other slipped in and out of focus. Dark red highlighted rips in his overcoat and shirt beneath. Two young men bearing lock-blade knives pursued.
"Stop runnin', pops, and we'll make it quick." Like hell we will, old
er. You've already pissed me off. Darin Hunter and his accomplice had tailed the old man from the old Ferguson Hotel, waiting for a sufficiently deserted area. He wiped the sticky red on his hand across a shirt already soiled by blood spattered when the old man resisted their acquisition of his wallet. Tim staggered further into the pitch black of the alley. If only I were twenty again...I'd take those punks! But that ability was long past. They'd knocked the snub-nose .38 from his hand almost before he'd pulled it from his coat pocket. What a fool I was to think I could still handle a gun.
The shadow close around him became viscous, almost tangible as he wobbled into a darker length of the alley. He could no longer see the street under his feet or the sky above. Something stirred the darkness beside him. His already straining heart almost gave up when he looked into a pair of glowing red eyes.
"Rest easy old one. You're safe now." A woman’s quiet voice drifted from beneath those eyes. The eyes then vanished, leaving only darkness.
God have mercy, the old man thought, certain that the angel of death had come for him.
Darin saw the old man disappear into shadows, then saw shadow billow toward him like a cloud. The leading edge surged past him, extinguishing all sight.
"What the
!?" He yelled. "Hey! Where the are you, Billy?""I'm right here, man! I can't see a thing!" Panic edged the reply.
Billy Cannon glanced around frantically in the smothering gloom, searching for anything. He gasped when he saw narrowed red eyes glaring down at him.
"
! ! Help me! There's someth...." the words ended in a short-lived scream."Billy! Where are you, man? What happened?" Darin's throat constricted with fear. He ran, straight into a rough brick-faced wall. "
," he muttered, rolling onto his hands and knees in an effort to regain his feet. Someone, something grabbed his collar and hoisted him upright."You punks like kicking old dogs that can't bite, don't you?" A woman's voice, soft as steel drawn from the scabbard, whispered in his ear.
Poe smiled when the wretch tried to pull away from her. Damn! I love it when they fight.
****
Inside The Mill, harsh mechanical music reverberated through the fabric of the building itself. Poe stood in front of track-doors large enough to admit two city garbage trucks side-by-side. She felt alive with power after her evening's repast. She had watched the old man stumble away. His would-be murderers would not be found for some time.
The suggestion of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. In spite of The Sister's admonitions, nothing replaced live food, and it was so satisfying when it justly deserved its fate.
A woman has to eat. The thought brought her back to her last conversation with Gabe, and the descriptions of the bodies. Her smile vanished and older memories awoke.
She easily slid open the thick doors and scanned the cavernous interior. Mismatched tables formed a rough border to the open central floor. The ceiling vaulted four stories above, with balconies encircling the perimeter at each level. Old chains looped over and through pulleys hung from great steel tracks traversing the vault, remnants of the building's original use. The air inside was hazy and barely warmer than the chill outside. The people milling about were clad in myriad combinations of black, gray, white and red.
Sliding the door closed, she moved across the former factory floor toward a cluster of tables in the far corner.
"Poe," said a deep, resonating voice from beside her. "It has been some time since you crossed our threshold."
"She has returned, Kifaru." Poe stopped and slowly turned to face the source of the voice.
He crossed massive arms across his barrel chest. Thin, pale scars formed intricate patterns, straight lines that swirled into concentric circles with rows of pale dots between the lines. These sleeved his arms and continued onto his torso, disappearing beneath a charcoal tank-top shirt. He wore fatigues with black/gray-shaded camouflage patterns, tucked crisply into high black boots. Not a strand of hair marred the perfect ebony dome of his head. Ochre eyes peered from above broad cheekbones and a blocky, clean-shaven jaw. Poe stood as a child beside him.
"Interesting," he said and gestured toward the back tables.
© Austin Hale, 2004
Lamprolign
First Post
Thanks Axe. I've been delayed in getting more installments up dealing with Charley and now hunkering down for Frances. The Last three weeks have been pretty crazy. I expect that we'll be without power for a week or two after this storm passes and if there's not too much cleanup in my yard I'm hoping to prop me feet up under a shade tree (providing there are any left standing) and pen a couple installments.
Lamprolign
First Post
Still alive! In spite of all mother nature's attempts, and best of all I still have a house with a roof! That's more than I can say for most of my neighbors. Remember, generators are our friends, but make sure they're grounded and don't play with them in the rain. I'm working on the next installment between storm cleanup part III and playing major catch-up at the lab, (65 hours so far this week with one day left to go). More FS is coming, unfortunately it will continue to be sporadic for a while longer. Thanks for looking in on the thread folks!
Last edited:
Rikandur Azebol
First Post
Why reading this ? Because I like it !
Mother nature can be dangerous ... Frequently she floods my basement on the spring, despite my best efforst to stop this rampage.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Keep the good writing, and make a peace treaty with mother nature.
Mother nature can be dangerous ... Frequently she floods my basement on the spring, despite my best efforst to stop this rampage.
Keep the good writing, and make a peace treaty with mother nature.
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