ACT I

Her room was darker than normal. Or so it seemed to her. The temperature dropped. She knew he was there. Again. She no longer bothered to scream. No one would hear or come. Just him. Again.

“Hello Little One.”

******

Lynn was pissed off. She was driving too fast and she knew it. She slowed to 5 over. The Washington State Trooper was kind when he saw her probationary FBI badge and gave her a warning. They “never do that”, he said. Whatever!!

She supposed this is what her academy adviser meant when he said she was easily thrown into a rage. She stopped the car. “OK, Kwan, breath. Slowly”, she tried several techniques to calm her nerves. She had an assignment. Yes, it was a BS assignment but an assignment nonetheless. Jack made it clear that she needed a clean investigation before they would reevaluate her judgment and temperament scores. She had scored top female of her graduating class at Quantico and top five overall. That meant only 4 men scored higher in Procedure, Law, Firearms Proficiency, and Physical Fitness. It was her Psych evaluations that prevented her from a choice assignment and possible admission to the Behavioral Science Division. Lynn wanted to be a Profiler. Only 3 other women had done that successfully before. She would be the next. But today she had to drive to, what was it called? She checked her Nav computer, “Poulsbo.” She was to investigate the mysterious die off of an entire batch of hatchery salmon. This was the second complete die off, while still in pens, of fish dying for no apparent reason.

Her temper started to rise again. “FISH?!!”

The ferry ride from Seattle to Bainbridge Island was surprisingly relaxing. She needed it. Even the coffee was decent. Coffee Shops on ferries tend to be nasty, but not here. The reputation in Seattle seemed to be true. There was even WI-FI on the boat. Crazy. Lynn was finally calm. She could focus on the task before her. Dead fish were serious here. The economy in Poulsbo was based on fishing. If the Salmon population was too small, the boats would have to remain in harbor. That was bad.

The drive to Poulsbo was pleasant.  The town was very quaint.  She had never seen a place so dedicated to its ethnicity.  It was like being in Scandinavia in the springtime.  The shops that lined the main street all had overflowing flowerboxes that exploded in colors and fragrance.  Wall murals depicted the town’s Norse heritage and fishing lifestyle.

She found her hotel with relative ease.  It wasn’t hard to miss.  The sign read “The Fishing Trawler” and was covered in colorful nets and sea buoys.  The shrieking Sea Gull didn’t hurt.  The room was surprisingly clean.  The whole facility was a non-smoking establishment.  Washington State had been smoke free for several years.

She found a busy Fish and Chips restaurant within walking distance and marveled at how good the halibut was.  It was a far cry from Florida or Virginia. The people seemed warm and friendly too.  Commercial fishing, it seemed, was in trouble.  The region and this town especially, had been hit hard recently.  It would be a shame to see a nice place like this come to an economic end.

The nightmare didn’t come as any great surprise, but the timing was lousy.  Lynn needed a good night’s sleep; she wasn’t going to get it.  The motel mattress wasn’t uncomfortable but it was not comfortable either.  As was her routine when the dream came, she hauled out her in-line skates and strapped them on.  It didn’t matter that it was three a.m. and dark out.  She had to burn this off.  TSA agents at the airport thought she was crazy to pack in-line skates, but they were as important to Lynn as a stiff shot of Scotch was to a battle hardened soldier.  Without them she might shoot herself.

******

Scorpius was hungry.  His host had been neglectful.  He needed to feed and he needed to soon.  Only one thing could subdue his appetite, young flesh.  The last three girls had been delightful but he needed more. The sooner the better.  Maybe it was time he ‘motivated’ his host.

His last host didn’t need any motivation.  Their match was perfect.  Scorpius didn’t blame his host for getting captured.  The Keeper caught them because Scorpius could not control his appetite and got greedy.  His host acted admirably and complied.  He will miss that host.

His current host requires more delicacy and even a little motivation.  At least his hesitancy prevents Scorpius from getting carried away.  The Keeper remains in the dark; for now.

******

Tribal Sheriff Ransom Johns clicked off his radio with a tinge of fury. “Dammit!”  His deputies were really getting to him.  It seems no one knew how to handle a belligerent drunk anymore.  Now he had to head back to the Headquarters and straighten things out again.  “We’ll be lucky to avoid a lawsuit.” He turned onto a rather long dirt road and grabbed his radio. “Johns; returning to base.”

He was nervous.  He never liked it when the feds came snooping around, but this time he had no choice.  The problem was more than he could handle alone.  The fish hatchery meant jobs.  Dead fish meant no jobs; simple.  After the second die-off of all the hatchery fish he made the call.  Seattle FBI Agent Gerald Hinch made him pay for that call.  But Ransom swallowed his pride.  The tribe came first and that was his job.  Take care of the tribe.

When he arrived he hung his head momentarily.  The mess in the holding pen was horrible. “Has anyone called Janice?” All in earshot shook their heads.  He gave Deputy Williams a look that said, “get on that phone, NOW!”  The deputy complied quickly.  Janice would be equally annoyed when she saw this mess.  Blood and vomit are a bad mix and the cement floor tended to stain easily.  The sheriff liked a clean station.

The Sheriff went to his office and slammed the door.

******

Gerald hung up the phone and chuckled; he was about to have a visitor.  They sent a rookie and that made him laugh.  He remembered his first assignment.  He had felt that he could solve any case.  Bring it.  He wasn’t afraid of anything.  Then he promptly got shot.  He never even saw the shooter.  In his haste, he forgot the first rule; wait for backup.  He woke up three days later in a hospital bed with a partially collapsed lung and a bruised ego.  He blamed the other agents for being too relaxed with him on his first case.  He swore never to coddle a rookie during his career and today would be no different.  This rook was going to feel the heat.

You can tell a lot about an agent from their case reports.  Lynn had spent several hours poring over Gerald’s.  In Graduate School, Lynn had been an exceptionally gifted student when it came to profiling an individual from their writings.  Her ability to spot distinctive character traits by selective word choice and the use of “I” or “ME” was legendary at the Academy.  Agent Hinch was no different.  She knew she was in for his special brand of narcissism and was well prepared for him.

She was led to his office.  She noted that he did not personally meet her at the door.  She had three strikes against her already and they hadn’t even met.  She was a rookie, a woman, and an Asian.

He was seated and apparently on the phone when she walked in.  He made her wait while he finished his chat.  It wasn’t an important call.  He was establishing dominance.  He hung up.  “Please,” he motioned to a chair. “Sit down.  Make yourself comfortable.”  She parried, “that’s OK, I would rather stand.”  She now stood over him and he didn’t like it.  Score one for Lynn.

He suddenly jumped up from his seat.  He grabbed his coat, badge, and firearm.  “Let’s go for a ride.”

*******

Lynn wasn’t entirely sure where Gerald was taking them.  She never was a good passenger and today was no different.  Gerald was a daredevil driver.  He pushed his Lexus pretty hard in what appeared to be a rural area.  The “Entering Suquamish Tribal Reservation” sign went by in a blur.  She white knuckled the door arm rest but made sure he never noticed.  Lynn had called Tribal Sheriff Johns ahead of time so he could meet them at the hatchery.  She was surprised when Gerald pulled into the Tribal Casino parking lot instead.

“Um, ok.  Why?” She gestured toward the Casino.

“Why, what?” Gerald asked as if he didn’t know.

“Shouldn’t we be going to the Hatchery?”  She kept her voice in check.

“What’s the rush?  I want to show you something first.  Loosen up.” He was enjoying this. 

He looked at her shoes. “Are those standard issue?  How the heck do you run in those?”

Lynn couldn’t believe her ears.  He was judging her clothes?  What was wrong with her clothes?  She followed the Bureau guidelines to a tee.

“Not a fan of skirts?”

“What?  No.  Never.”  What was his issue?

Gerald seemed to know his way around the Casino property pretty well.  Lynn was still unsure as to the reason for this visit.  Sheriff Johns was waiting for them at the hatchery.

“Agent Kwan.”  She didn’t like the way he said Agent. “This is the future of the Indian tribes in the Puget Sound.  It is a renewable resource with unlimited potential.  Fishing is a dying industry. ”

“Your point, Agent?”  Lynn stopped walking.

“The point is that the Salmon are a non-issue.  This is a pointless investigation.  It isn’t going to matter how or why those fish died, in the long run.”  Gerald stopped too.  He looked at her directly, perhaps for the first time.  “Don’t waste too much of the Bureau’s time on this.  Find a reasonable explanation and leave it at that.  That is my advice.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, but I didn’t ask for advice.  Can we go to the Hatchery now, please?” Lynn didn’t wait for an answer.  She turned on her heel and headed for what she hoped was the exit.

Lynn flew out into the Porte-cochere only to realize Gerald wasn’t following.

“Prick,” she muttered to no one in particular.  She hailed a cab.

The driver knew where the Hatchery was, fortunately.  Because she certainly didn’t.  And she was mad.  Mostly at herself.  Then her phone rang.

“WHAT!”  It wasn’t Gerald.

Her sister was barely understandable.  She was sobbing.

“Hil? What?  I can’t hear you honey.  Are you crying?  What’s wrong?” Lynn felt her heart beating hard now.

“It’s Mom.  She wants to leave the hospice and come home.  She told me not to tell you.  But I couldn’t do that.  She’s going to kill me.  Where are you?” Hilary was sobbing but making sense.

“In Washington State.  What do you mean she wants to leave?  I don’t understand what you want me to do about it.”  Lynn was pretty sure the taxi driver saw her roll her eyes.

*****

Salmon are fascinating creatures.  Many people don’t realize that Salmon are born as fresh water fish, change into saltwater fish, and then change back into fresh water fish before dying in the same place they were born.  At least that was the way things worked normally.  So many Salmon never made it back to their birthplace with dams, pollution, overfishing, dried up rivers and streams, and disease preventing it.  Human intervention and innovation teamed up with science to find ways to supplement the Salmon population.  In the Pacific Northwest, a home to Salmon fishing for generations, the American Indian has struggled to regain control of the dying fish that has meant so much to their spiritual center and culture.  The native fisheries were paramount to regaining that control.

When the manager of the Suquamish Tribal Hatchery found all his fish dead for a second time without explanation, he called for help.  Tribal Sheriff Ransom Johns made another call and the feds sent a rookie.

The Sheriff was bigger than she had expected.  He was also a little testy.

“Did you get lost Agent Kwan?”

“I’m sorry about the time Sheriff.  I was delayed.”

“Not traffic?” he wasn’t buying her explanation.

“No.  Not traffic.  Are you familiar with SAC Hinch?” She ventured a guess.

“Oh.  Yes.  Very familiar. Say no more.” He finally cracked a smile.

He offered his hand then.

“Sheriff Johns, Suquamish Tribal police.”

She took his hand shake.

“Probationary Agent Kwan, Federal Bureau of Investigations. Nice to meet you.  I hear you have a fish problem.”

******

William.  He liked to be called William.  But no one called him that.  It was “Billy this” and “Billy that.”  He hated the name Billy.  Billy was a little boy’s name.  But he couldn’t tell anyone about his preference.  Something always prevented him from saying anything.  So he remained silent.  In fact he never spoke at all, about anything.  Sure, there was plenty to talk about, but he just never did.  His parents used to be overly concerned about it.  In fact his mother used to cry all the time.  His father, a Pastor at a local Presbyterian church, produced a lot of prayers about William’s silence.  He wanted to protest about all the unwanted attention, but instead, chose to remain silent.  Maybe, someday, he would tell them all that he preferred to be called William.

*****

The Tribal Fish Hatchery was larger than she expected.  She really didn’t know what to expect.  There were high fences all around the long pools, or pens, as the Sheriff referred to them as.

“The fences are not to keep people out.  They keep the predators out; mainly the crows and gulls.  They are pretty smart and could easily pick out the fish from these pens.  The netting over the top needs repair almost daily.  The damn birds make holes so they can get in and feast.”

She walked the perimeter.  There were several sets of pens.

“Why so many pens?”

“There are different pens for different species.  Within each pen there are several long pools.  Each is used for different life cycles.”

He pointed at one.

“This one has juvenile Sockeye.  As they grow to older stages, they are moved into the other pools.  They keep moving until they are mature enough to be released into the stream.”

He pointed at the nearby stream.  She could see gates that held back water from the final pools where the mature fish could be released into the wild.

“What are those buildings for?” She pointed.

“That building is the nursery.  Eggs are fertilized, incubated, and hatched there before the young ones are dumped into the first pen.  The other buildings are for administration and maintenance.  The power houses are behind there.”

They walked towards the power houses.

“This is where the saboteur came in.”  He knelt down and pointed at a part of the fence line that had been severed.

“The fence was cut?” She asked.

“That is how we know it wasn’t a predator.  You don’t see too many cougars carrying wire cutters.”

*****

It had to be the baby sitter was walking around.  That had to be the source of the footsteps.

Yes. The babysitter.

Mom and Dad would be home soon and she could fall asleep knowing she was safe.  Still, that was little comfort for her right that minute.  She had been startled awake by a loud thud and now her heart was racing.  The rumors at school flooded her mind.

It HAD to be the babysitter.  Please let it be her.

The steps were coming toward her room now.  They were heavy.  She wanted to scream. The doorknob made a slight rattle and then a click as it opened. She closed her eyes and started counting.

One

Two

The door shut.

Three

Four

Someone was in the room with her

Five

Six

She heard breathing.

Seven

Eight

Then he spoke.

“Hello Theresa.”

Nine

She screamed.  No one would come.

Ten.

******

The sirens woke her.  Lynn knew wherever it was the patrol cars were headed was close.  She turned on her portable Police Scanner.  She knew it was none of her business but she never could help herself.  Then she heard the code that made her skin crawl.  It was a rape and assault of a minor.  Female.

She didn’t bother fixing her hair.  She threw her clothes on and grabbed her badge off the night stand.  The clock read 3:52 AM.

She bolted out of her motel room and followed the sirens and lights.  They were only a couple blocks away, so she ran to the scene.  She didn’t give any thought to jurisdiction or what the local police might say or do.  This felt personal.

She arrived on the scene and noticed several neighbors and lookie-loos hanging around near the freshly posted police tape.  Her badge felt hot on her hip.  She grabbed it and went looking for the nearest patrol officer.

“Who’s in charge?” She hollered at a fresh faced night patrolman.

“Who’s asking?” Came a deep voice from behind her.

Lynn whirled around.  She saw a rather handsome plain clothes detective walking briskly toward her.  “I’ll ask again, who’s asking!?”

“Special Agent Kwan.  Here on assignment.  Can I lend a hand?” She already knew the answer.

“We have it under control, Agent.  Why don’t you go back to bed.”  He dismissed her.

“Wait.  I can be of assistance.  I specialized in sex crimes.” She blurted.

The detective practically rushed her. “Keep your voice down Agent!”  He was firm.  “These people don’t need the details of this crime flung around like that.  You, of all people, can understand the need for sensitivity in these kinds of cases.  Go back to your hotel.  NOW!”

******

“Go back to bed Billy.”  William heard his Dad from the shower.

He had wondered who was up this early.  His Dad frequently came home late.  He had many shut- ins to visit and sick parishioners in the hospital from time to time.  This time it startled William.  He had never been up this early.

“It is too early in the morning for little boys to be up. Now scoot.”  The din of the shower made it hard to hear.  William thought it was too early for anyone to be awake.  Was his father getting up or was he just getting in?

****** 

Lynn refused to move.  It was nearly dawn and light was beginning to creep up the street.  She was cold but she would not show it.  She had been waiting for her chance.  If that detective jerk would answer just one simple question for her when he came out of the house, she just might be able to make her mark on the investigation.  There was one fact she wanted to know.  It would provide a key to how to proceed with the case.

As if on cue, Detective Nelson slowly emerged with his crime scene technicians.  He saw her and paused.

“Why are you still here, Agent?”  His gaze was tired.  She might actually get what she wanted.

“Just one question and I’ll go. ”

“Ok, shoot.”  He leaned on the mailbox post.

“Did he leave anything biological?”

There was a pause.

“No.  So what?”  He looked at his watch.

“He’s a local.”  She said it with certainty. 

 “What makes you think so, Agent . . .?”  He probed.  He was curious.

“Kwan; Agent Kwan.  A careless stranger wouldn’t care if he left a sample in the victim.  A careful criminal, one who probably knows the victim somehow, would NOT leave anything so damning.  Doncha think?”

He looked down for a moment.  Then right at Lynn.  “Fine.  Ok.  Sure.   I might, might, not have come to that conclusion right away.”  Another pause.  Just a little bit longer.  He didn’t want to do it.  “What do you want?”

She was in.

****** 

He was surprised at how little motivation had been required this time.  His host performed admirably.  She was as sweet as he had hoped.  Yet he still felt unfulfilled.  He had not felt this way before. This was new. This surprised him. He needed more.  But it wasn’t his host’s fault.  Not this time.

Her flesh was soft and young.  He could feel the blood in her veins rushing at his touch and it excited him.  He wanted to taste it; her hot blood. 

This new demand would not be easy for his host to proffer. This time it might require proper motivation.  But he must remain vigilant.  The Keeper was always vigilant.  He must not let his appetite ruin his arrangement again.  It was never easy finding a good host.

His will be done.

*****

 “Do you know Theresa Carlton?” Lynn asked Ransom.

“I know her family, I have seen her around.  Cute kid.”  He squinted a little, trying to remember.

“It’s so sad.”  She was having trouble.

“Hey, they’ll get him.”  He tried to be encouraging.  It wasn’t working.  Maybe it was time she knew about the others.

They arrived at the Ceremony Grounds next to the Hatchery.  He’d wait until they were finished.  He needed her undivided attention now.

The Longhouse was packed with people.  Many sitting, many standing around the edges of the smoky room.  In the center, near a small fire, the master of ceremonies cleared his throat.

“Great turnout! It feels good to see this longhouse full. It lifts our spirits. It lifts our voices.”

This was, according to Ransom, the First Salmon Ceremony; to welcome back the returning salmon and to ensure a good run.  Times had been tough during the last 12 years as traditional salmon runs dried up or became impassable.  Overfishing had decimated the wild runs and diseased farm fish were contaminating the species.  That is why the Native hatcheries were so important.

The MC continued.

“This ceremony was revived in 1979,” he said. “Before, we were forbidden to practice our ceremonies. Then the elders got together and remembered. They asked their grandparents. We may not do it the way it was done 200 years ago, but we do it the best way we can.

At the salmon ceremony, we come together for two reasons. To bless the fishermen, and to welcome back Haik ciaub yubev (”big important king salmon” in the Lushootseed language). He comes to scout for the other salmon. We go down to greet him and treat him with respect, because he’s going to provide for us all through the year. He will return to the salmon people and report to them how well we treated him, how well he was received. We’ll take his remains, and we return him to the water and send him on his way.”

As the ceremony continued, the MC urged all the fishermen – including several women and the three uniformed sailors – to come forward.

“We bless the fishermen and remember those lost at sea. The waters are good to us, but they are dangerous,” he said.

The blessing had just ended when a youngster ran into the longhouse to announce the approach of a canoe.

The crowd filed out of the longhouse and down to the shore, where a black carved canoe with a high prow was nearing the beach. One of the rowers raised a king salmon and everyone applauded. The fish was placed on a pallet of sword ferns and cedar branches, and two men carried it up the gravel road to the longhouse. It would become the ceremony’s symbolic first returning salmon.

“Our visitor has arrived to honor us,” said the MC. “Thank you for helping us celebrate the first returning salmon, our scout, our reporter.”

As the ceremony ended, the singers and drummers, followed by the visitors, walked behind the remains of the ceremonial salmon as they were carried back to the beach. The salmon remains were placed in a canoe, taken far out into Tulalip Bay and then returned to the water.

Ransom and Lynn walked back to the tents that had been set up near the large parking lot.  There, several large Salmon had been prepared to feed all of the visitors.  The Rookie Agent had never eaten such wonderful fish.  There was nothing special about it.  It was cooked traditionally over coals of burning alder chips.  No seasonings required.  The whole tent was quiet as everyone devoured the feast.  Then a lot of talking and laughing.  Lynn thought the peace in the tent was palpable and for the first time in days, she felt comfortable.

(Some of the passages were taken from a report from this years First Salmon Ceremony held in Tulalip Bay, Washington. -Seattle Times.)

******

It began as it usually did.

Her room was darker than normal. Or so it seemed to her. The temperature dropped. She knew he was there. Again. She no longer bothered to scream. No one would hear or come. Just him. Again.

But this time it was different.  Instead of her Uncle glaring at her, hungrily,  in the dark, there stood a Salmon; a full fish, on its tail, staring blankly at Lynn.

She woke with a scream.  She had never screamed before.  “What the F*** wuzzat?”

The cold water from the bathroom sink was refreshing.  She kept the cold, wet washcloth over her head as she laced up her in-line skates.  “This is going to be a long one”, she muttered to herself.  She didn’t bother bringing her phone.  She didn’t want to be bothered.  Not that anyone would call her at 2:15AM.

The air was cool and humid but not frigid.  It was just what she needed.  After what she thought was about 5 miles of hard, laborious, skating, she stopped and turned around, ready to head back. She looked ahead, towards where she thought she had just come from.  It was still dark except for the rare street light every 100 yards or so.  “Where the hell am I?”

When the old Indian stepped out from nearby trees, Lynn nearly had a heart attack.  He made a lot of commotion with his push cart.  She thought maybe he was homeless until she saw that his cart was full of dead leaves and branches.  Was he working at the break of dawn?  He must have been hard of hearing because HE nearly had a heart attack when he turned and noticed her rolling up to him.

“I’m sorry.” She half yelled, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well now. You MUST be lost.” He, quite calmly said.  “I don’t think Angels visit me at this time of the morning.”  His eyes glistened at her.

Lynn actually blushed.  “Yes, actually, thank you, I am lost.  I got turned around.  How do I get back to town?”

He looked a little confused. “Town?  Why, you may be surprised to know this,” he leaned in towards her, “you ARE in town.”  Then he giggled a little.

“Huh?” She looked incredulous.

“You are one street back from the main street, ma’am.  Come with me.” He giggled and walked away.

She rolled after him as he led her to a dirt path.  Sure enough, just on the other side of the dense stand of trees lining the road, was the back side of several buildings and homes that she surmised lined main street.  The old man called out to someone.  From a cute cape cod style building, a short, middle aged woman opened the back door.

“Jerry, keep your voice down.  People sleep around here.”

Then she noticed Lynn.  “Oh, hello.  I didn’t know Jerry had a guest.”

“Oh, no. Sorry, he doesn’t.  He is just helping me find my way back to town.  I got turned around back there.”

The woman noticed Lynn’s skates.  A quick flash of confusion played over her for a brief moment and then, just as quickly, went away.

“Well, you must be cold, dressed like that.  Would you like to step in and have some coffee?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s no intrusion.  Believe me.”

From inside the house, Lynn could now hear and see that there were several people inside.  This was no house.  It was a hall of some sort.  Jerry smiled at her, patted his hands on his dirty pants, and walked into the hall.  Several voices could be heard in unison; “JER!”

“It’s a homeless shelter dear.  It’s safe.”  The woman smiled.   Lynn didn’t want to appear rude, so she untied her skates, took them off, and walked into the back door of the hall.

******

William always enjoyed eating breakfast at the shelter.  Because everyone assumed he wasn’t listening to anyone or that he wouldn’t repeat anything he heard, the homeless men would talk about anything and everything.  William knew a LOT about the goings on witnessed by these men.  Nothing criminal really, just interesting.  Where to find the best recyclables, free food or clothes, that sort of thing.  This morning started out like most mornings, the men stumbled in, his Mom made the rounds talking with anyone new to the shelter, the cooks making their usual oatmeal.  He liked the oatmeal, especially with maple syrup.  He looked around the table for the syrup and couldn’t find it, so he got up and went to look at other tables.  At that very moment a young woman walked in with his mother.  It was odd because the woman was dressed in sweats and stocking feet and she was carrying a pair of in-line skates.  Was she homeless too?  He would have to investigate.  She was certainly pretty AND she had the maple syrup.

*******

Lynn didn’t mind suddenly finding herself in a homeless shelter eating pancakes.  Her FBI training kicked in when she realized that no one there knew who she was or what she was doing there.  She could move freely amongst the men in the shelter and no one would suspect her of being anything other than a young woman alone on vacation or business.  And besides, she was hungry.

“So, how is it you ended up needing this shelter?  If you don’t mind my asking.” She asked a relatively young man seated near her.

“Logging dried up.  This is my home.  Don’t wanna go nowhere else.”

“Why did logging dry up?  Don’t tell me it had to do with some protected species or something?” She played coy.

“Fish.  Salmon.  Go ask a fisherman how that worked out for him.”  He was clearly NOT in a chatty mood.

“Pff.  As if it was our fault.” Another man chimed in. “You destroyed the breeding grounds by over logging!”

“Right,” said another, “Overfishing had NOTHING to do with it I suppose?”

“There will be none of that here,  boys!” Came a surprisingly sweet but firm voice of Mrs. Little, the shelter matriarch.  She looked at Lynn.  “One of the main rules here.  No fighting, especially over jobs.  We are all in the same boat here.  Sorry, bad analogy.” She blushed at her slight.

Then she spoke to a little boy sitting across from Lynn. “Billy it is not polite to stare.” Then to Lynn,   “I hope my son doesn’t bother you.  He can’t talk, but he can get underfoot sometimes.”

“It’s no problem Mrs. Little.  He isn’t hurting anything.  Besides, I think I have something he wants.”  She smiled at Billy and slid a syrup dispenser over to him.  He smiled and blushed.

****** 

The Keeper was near.  He could feel it.  The Keeper always found him; eventually.  But who would it be this time?  The Keeper was always in disguise.  It was a game they played.  Each disguised and in plain sight.

His host would have to be careful not to be too revealing.  Scorpius needed young flesh and couldn’t remain in the shadows for long.  The Keeper knew it. 

The game was afoot.

******

William finished his oatmeal.  Lynn had already finished hers and had been wandering around talking with the men of the shelter.  He wondered why she wanted to know about stuff.  Things like fishing, logging, and strangers in town that seemed odd.  What those three things had in common, he simply didn’t know.  She even asked about the Jr. High.  That made no sense at all.  No matter though.  She was nice.  She was pretty and she talked to him too.  And somehow, she even knew to call him William.  Was this love?

******

Lynn should have known.  When she got back to her hotel room, her phone was ablaze with missed calls and voicemails.

“Gerry! Dammit!”

She placed the call.  Supervisor Hinch came on in a bluster. “Just where the HELL have you been?!”

“Excuse me?”

He wouldn’t hear it. “No, excuse ME Agent Kwan.  As your acting supervisor I expect you to be available 24/7, is that understood?”

Lynn made a valiant but fruitless effort. “Now you wait just a damn minute. . .”

“There was a break in at the Hatchery last night.  Where you AWARE of that?  Of course you weren’t, you were busy butting in on a local jurisdiction that had nothing to do with your case.”

How did he know about that?

“Get out there and do your God Damn job before I ship your inept ASS back to Quantico!” He hung up before she could reply.

“CRAP!”  Another break in?  He didn’t say anything about any dead fish.  Was it just a break in?  “Odd timing.” She thought.  She placed another call.  Sherriff Johns wasn’t answering. 

When Lynn arrived at the hatchery, Ransom Johns met her in the parking lot.

“The current batch is fine.  Nothing seems to have happened this time.  The perp was scared away by the dogs.”  The sheriff looked down on the ground as he spoke.  “I could have used you last night.”

“I’m sorry.  I was away from my phone.  I made a mistake and for that I apologize.  You reported this to Supervisor Hinch didn’t you?”

He looked right at her. “I didn’t have any choice Agent Kwan.  We need the FBI’s help and it seems we aren’t getting it.  We never do.”

“I’m here now.” She looked back at him, softly and with real conviction. “Let’s get this guy.  Okay?”

He shuffled some dirt with the toe of his boot. “He gave you hell didn’t he?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.  Yeah.  He did.” She put a hand on his arm. “It’s ok, you had no choice.  It’s my fault.”

He smiled a little then.  “There are some tracks near the point of entry I want to show you.”

He turned and started towards the main gates.  Lynn gave a little sigh and followed.

 “I always thought that farmed fish were bad for the environment.” Lynn wondered aloud.  Ransom responded.

“These fish are starters, so to speak.  They are born and raised here as if it were their natural habitat.  Then released to their own defenses in the wild.  They must fend for themselves once they leave here.  Atlantic farmed fish grow in open water pens and don’t grow as hearty.  They also take food from the natural habitats so wild fish can’t really compete.”

“So, what would over logging have to do with fish habitat?”

He looked at her quizzically and grinned. “You’ve been doing some homework eh Agent?  Watershed.  It is all about the watershed.  When the rains come in the mountains and foothills, the water drains naturally into streams that lead to rivers and out to lakes and/or the open waters of Puget Sound and the Pacific.  It’s those streams and rivers that are the breeding grounds for the Salmon.  If an area near those breeding grounds is over logged, the waters could wash out the streams because the root systems are gone.  They could also dam up do to mud that normally would be kept in check as top soil.”

“Which in turn makes these hatcheries necessary.” The light bulb in Lynn’s head came on.

“You got it.”

“So if there are no salmon coming from the hatcheries, the salmon could be in real trouble.”  She was putting it all together now.

“Right, and therefore the fishing industry dries up.” The sheriff finished the thought.

“So, someone has a motive in killing off these fish.  Who that is is a real pickle.”

“It appears to have been tampered with.  I don’t suppose we could check it for prints?” Lynn examined the padlock carefully, without touching it. The sheriff was already on the radio.

“The crime unit will be here in 5.  They should be able to get prints, even if for exclusions.”

“Good.  Maybe the perp screwed up this time.  It seems they were rushed.”  Lynn followed a set of partial footprints.  “Do any of these prints seem odd to you?”

Ransom didn’t even look.  He had an answer.  “The size?  Yeah.  I noticed that too.  Someone has small feet.”

“A teenager or. . . “ Lynn began.

In unison.  “A woman.”

******

The hunger was different this time.  Demanding.  And it came sooner than before.  It scared him and worried him too. 

“Why so soon?” 

The answer came back in a hot flash of rage.  Scorpius wasn’t to be questioned, only obeyed.

“His Will Be Done!”

He would have to move up the deadline and that felt like rushing.  He couldn’t afford to be sloppy.  He would have to make excuses and rearrange a busy schedule.  It might make others suspicious.  He would have to be very careful. 

The Keeper was nearby as well and that made him very uneasy.

***** 

“You are suggesting that it is a woman who is behind the Fish Hatchery die offs?”  Gerald was incredulous.

“That’s what the evidence seems to suggest.” Ransom beat Lynn to it.  Her responses recently had been tart.

“You are aware of the statistics against that sort of thing are you not?” Gerald was looking right at Lynn.

“You are a piece of work you know that Gerry?” Lynn was done with him.  “Call my supervisor at Quantico; I really don’t care at this point.”  Ransom tried to settle her down.

“No, I won’t calm down.  He thinks I am stupid or something.” She turned to Gerald.  “I am VERY aware of stats and figures.  These sorts of crimes are not traditionally committed by women.  This tells me something about the motive of the crime.  What does it tell you Ger?”  She didn’t wait for his answer. “It means it probably has nothing to do with FISH Gerry!  These crimes are probably a diversion to make us look somewhere OTHER than someplace or at someone else.” She turned on her heel and walked out of his office.  She didn’t bother to correct her grammar.  If SAC Gerald Hinch was confused, she didn’t care.

“Where does she think she is going?” Gerald asked Ransom calmly.  Sheriff Johns looked at Gerald and said, quite seriously. “To catch a fish killer.”

******

Of course her phone rang the moment she stepped outside the FBI Field office.  Her sister Hilary sounded upset.  She always sounded upset so this was nothing new to Lynn.

“What now, Hil?”

“What do you mean they are kicking her out, what did she do?”

Her mother had been a resident at a Hospice facility in Florida.  She had terminal pancreatic cancer and was certain she would die within days or even hours to hear her tell it.  She had also been a HUGE pain in Lynn’s backside most of her adult life.  Becoming an FBI Agent seems to have missed her mother’s stubborn radar. 

“BIT?!  Who did she bite?” Lynn was now furious.  Her mother was a master manipulator and this was no doubt a ploy to get her to come home and personally take care of her as she dies in the agony of disappointment over her daughter’s choices.

Lynn nearly threw her phone into a nearby decorative fountain in a rage.  Her mother wanted her to feel this way.  She was winning.

“Over my dead body Hilary.  She stays put, even if it drains the rest of the retirement account.”

She hung up fighting back tears she always SWORE she would never shed over her Mother’s ploys to the contrary.

“DAMN that woman!”

END ACT I

******

ACT II

The promise of the formal gown lingered.  The decision came quickly.

“Yes!” Becky exclaimed. “Yes, I can be there tomorrow at 5.  Make sure he has his homework ready for me to check.”

Becky took the tutoring job out of necessity rather than obligation or duty.  She wanted a dress for next month’s homecoming dance at the junior high.  She happened to be good at Algebra and that made her a valuable tutor to those not as intelligent as she.  It came easily for her, so it was easy money as far as she was concerned.  The best part was that she no longer had to be a baby sitter to earn any cash.

“Don’t worry.  He will be ready if he knows what’s good for him.” Her math deficient student’s mother made herself clear.  He was in earshot and he frowned but secretly, he was filled with glee.  Caleb hated math.  But he really liked his pretty tutor.

*****

She had just gotten back to her room when both her scanner and cell phone blared; another possible rape victim.  The Detective gave her 5 minutes to get to the scene.  The victim was talking and time was of the essence.  Lynn grabbed her side arm and made sure her badge was visible. 

Jessica Thompson sat at the end of her bed.  She wasn’t crying or showing any signs of trauma.  She stared off into nothingness directly in front of her.  She held a corner of what looked like a baby blanket firmly in her left hand.

Lynn looked around the room.  There was no sign of struggle but there was what appeared to be a half full glass of wine on the bed stand and another glass fallen on the floor near the door, its contents spilled on the carpet.

Lynn looked at the 14 year old.

“Where is he Jessica?”

She looked up with a sad expression and clenched her pillow now, her heavy makeup still in perfect condition.

“What?  How should I know?”

Lynn wasn’t buying it.

“You had a fight and he left, right?  After you had sex?”

The Detective touched Lynn’s arm and gave her a secretive but stern glare.

“A fight?  Why do you say that?  HE RAPED ME!”  She started crying.

Mrs. Thompson sat next to her daughter and put an arm around her.  She looked angrily at Lynn.

“Just what are you implying Ms. Kwan?  My daughter is an innocent young girl, taken advantage of by an older, more experienced boy.  HE is the one you should be talking to.”

The detective spoke up now.

“You are right Mrs. Thompson.  We should be talking to him.  But we still don’t know who he is or where we should be looking.  We need Jessica’s cooperation so we can get this guy.”

Lynn picked up the wine glass from the floor.  She held it out for Mrs. Thompson to see.

“What do you suppose went on here?  There is another one on the bed side table.”

Mrs. Thompson looked confused and then indignant. 

“He OBVIOUSLY tried to get her drunk first.  What do you THINK happened?”

Lynn kneeled down and took Jessica’s hands in hers.

“Look at me Jessica.  You thought he loved you right?  You thought you knew what you were doing, but then it got too intense.”

Lynn held one of Jessica’s arms and flipped it over revealing some slight bruising on her wrists.

“He got angry with you, didn’t he?  He called you a tease and held you down.”

Jessica pulled her hands free and sobbed.

“NO.  NO.  He. . he. .tried to get me drunk. . .and then. . .and then. . .”

“And then you said YES Jessica.  You invited him here.  You poured two glasses of wine and made yourself up all pretty.  You wanted him to like you.  LOVE you.”

“NOW JUST A DAMN MINUTE!” Mrs. Thompson was heated.

“Agent Kwan, a WORD!  OUTSIDE!”  The detective walked her out of the room.

Agent Kwan whirled on him once they got out of earshot.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?  What are YOU doing Agent?  This girl is a victim.”

“No she isn’t.  Well, maybe technically, but. .”

“Technically?  That is not our call to make Lynn!  We aren’t the morality police or parents!”

Lynn stepped closer to the Detective.

“No.  I won’t be a party to codling these stupid girls.  No, she didn’t deserve to be raped.  But that word is too harsh in this case.  In my opinion.”

“No one is asking for your opinion, just, I can’t believe I am saying this, the facts.”

“The FACT is this stupid teenager is a victim of peer pressure.  AND a victim of a smooth come-on by a boy who knows better.  She will be mocked, ridiculed, and teased relentlessly for being a slut now.  It was AVOIDABLE!”

She was having a hard time keeping herself under control now.  Rage was welling up inside of her; deep inside.

“Is this what they teach at the FBI Academy now?  Well, we follow procedure here Agent Kwan.  If you are incapable of helping me capture a rape suspect then I suggest you go back to your hotel.”

Through welling up tears, Lynn merely shut her mouth, refused to cry, turned on her heel and headed for the nearest bar.

***** 

Ransom’s search came to an abrupt end. The Detective informed Ransom that she had left in such a foul mood and so quickly, he worried what she might do.  He was right to worry.  Ransom had a feeling she could be a nasty drunk. Fortunately there were not too many bars in Poulsbo so his search was fairly limited.

“WHAT NOW?!” She hollered at the Sherriff.   “Does that JERK want my head on a platter?  Well. . He can just get in line, buddy.  I only have the one.”

Ransom gave the bartender a look that meant “I’ll handle it.”

Drunken belligerents were a recent specialty for Ransom but he never relished that fact.  Most were harmless.  This one was a spitfire with current FBI Academy training.  There was no telling what might happen.  But, he was surprised by her reaction.

“She’s dying and it’s NOT my fault.” Was all she could muster.  Of course he had no idea what she was on about.  It didn’t sound like anything to do with Fish or Jessica Thompson.

“Ok.  Let’s take a walk.” He tried.

She took his outstretched hand and without warning she collapsed in a sobbing heap into his arms.

After fumbling with keys and lights, Ransom managed to get Lynn into her Hotel room.  She made a B-Line for the bathroom where she heaved a good portion of what ailed her.  Embarrassed and still drunk enough to have trouble walking or even standing, Lynn managed to take a glass of water from Ransom. 

“Thanks.  I’m Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Ransom lied.

“No.  No, it’s not all right.  I have been a sloppy nincompoop and not very much value to you.  Or anyone.”

“Just get some rest and we can talk about it over a hearty breakfast.”

He noticed a pair of in-line skates by the front door.

“Did you actually pack these or are they rented?”

“I packed them.”

“Wow.  You are dedicated.” He was actually a little impressed but also confused.

“No.  Not dedicated, more like deranged.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have nightmares. Sometimes they are bad enough I have to skate.” She looked at the empty glass of water.

“Why not just run?  It would save baggage space.”

“It doesn’t work for me.  I HAVE to skate.  It’s an old habit.” Tears streaked her cheeks.

She didn’t want to, but Ransom deserved an explanation.  Lynn poured her soul out. 

“I was in the 6^th Grade.  A boy, Paul, asked me to go with him to the skating rink.  I was overjoyed at the prospect.  I was also young and naive.  He was an 8^th grader that I had a HUGE crush on.  I prepared myself all week and didn’t tell my parents that it was a date.  They would have forbidden it.  Not only because I was so young but because he wasn’t Korean.  Of course that wasn’t going to stop me.”

Ransom sat on the floor.

“My Dad dropped me off and left.  My sister was there too, so it wasn’t like I was unsupervised or anything.  Paul was there.  I thought he was waiting for me.  Instead he took one look at me, all dressed to the nines, and he laughed.  His friends laughed with him.”

Lynn paused to clear her throat and suppress a sob.

“They LAUGHED at me.  Assholes!  So I put on a pair of skates and just skated and skated and skated.  The DJ changed the floor to “Couples Only” but that didn’t stop me from continuing to skate as though it was still “All Skate.”  One look at my face and no one tried to stop me.  My sister tried once, but one look from me was enough.  She stopped trying and called my Dad to come and get me.  I wouldn’t stop. Imagine that; a tiny, Korean, 6th Grade, girl, pissed as hell and skating herself bloody.”

“I am imagining.” Ransom said thoughtfully.  He let her continue.

“Dad came and had to physically stop me and take me off the rink.  I screamed a fit and then buried my face into his shoulder and cried my eyes out.  But THAT isn’t why I continue to skate now.  It would be silly to have nightmares about a stupid boy.  My terrible evening was only just beginning.”

She didn’t finish telling Ransom her story.  She fell asleep mid-sentence.  The sheriff tucked her into bed and quietly left. 

But that didn’t stop the story from continuing in her subconscious.  She relived the events of that night anyway as she has done for the last 16 years.

She felt the room turn cold.  She had cried herself to sleep and a noise had woken her.  It was the door knob to her room that rattled.  She could see the dark outline of someone standing in her bedroom doorway.  It was a man; her mother’s brother.  He had been staying with them for a few days while he and his wife were working a few things out.  She didn’t know what and didn’t care.  She had her own problems.  But what was he doing standing in her doorway? 

She pretended to be asleep.

He slowly walked in.  “Hello, little one.”  He always called her that.  It bothered her every single time he did.

She rolled over and looked at him.  He was smiling.

“I hear you had a bad day.  Need a shoulder to cry on?”

“No.  I am fine.  Please let me sleep.” She spoke firmly but quietly.

He touched her shoulder. “I am here for you little one.”

She stared to panic but made no noise.  It wouldn’t be proper for her to accuse a man in her family of anything indecent.  No one would believe her.  She had no choice but to keep still and quiet.

He didn’t stop with just her shoulder.  All Lynn could do was cry silent tears.

She woke suddenly in a heavy sweat and nausea washed over her.  She stumbled to the bathroom and her stomach vacated all that was left of her binge.  For the first time in years she was too tired and weak to skate.

***** 

Detective Nelson found Lynn at a local Coffee Shop, Don’s Delightfuls, at 10AM. 

“You look awful.”

Lynn didn’t look up from her pastry.  She was embarrassed and still angry with him.

“Gee thanks.”

“May I join you?” He sat down anyway.

“Please.  Rough night.  Sorry.” She took another sip of coffee.  “Damn fine cuppa Joe.”  She managed a fake smile.

“Look, I don’t know what set you off and I don’t care.  I understand what you were trying to do.  I agree with you, but we aren’t at liberty to ask those kinds of questions to victims.”

Lynn threw her hand up.

“I know, but, seriously, when are we going to wake up?  Someone has to tell these kids that these things aren’t games.  They have consequences.  People get hurt and sometimes they never heal.”

“I said I agree but, well, our hands are tied most of the time.”  He paused.  “Are you ok?”

“Hmm?  Oh, yeah.  I am fine.  Just stupid.  How is Jessica, did they get the guy?”

“Not yet.  She clammed up and her Mother wants a lawyer.”

“What?!  Hey, now that is NOT my fault.”

“I didn’t say it was, jeez.”  He sat back, sort of bewildered.

“Change of subject.  I have some news about the Theresa Carlton case.”

Now she was really paying attention.

“You were right about the lack of evidence from the crime scene.  It seems our boy doesn’t want to be found out.  There wasn’t even a hair or trace DNA on her.”

Lynn knew this was a big breach of jurisdiction on the Detective’s part.

“Yeah, not a big surprise.  Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you seem to have a great deal of ability according to your Supervisor and I am not too proud to accept any insights”

Lynn spit her coffee.

“WHAT!?  Gerry said that?”

“Gerry Hinch?  No, Supervisor Dean at Quantico.”

*****

Lynn recomposed herself.

“When did you talk to Jack? Moreover, why? You checking up on me?”

Det. Nelson sipped his coffee. “Of course I was.  You didn’t give me a lot of choice.  I am glad I did.  But let me preface that with this.”

He paused for effect and looked right at her.

“I don’t like people interfering with my investigations.  That being said, I don’t believe you meant to.  You are impetuous; it’s in your nature.”

“Thanks DOCTOR Nelson.  I wasn’t aware I needed a shrink.”

“SEE?  That, right there.  What was that for?  I am being perfectly cool with you and all I am getting is back talk. I don’t need to be talking to you at all.  So, I guess I’ll just be moving along.”  He made a poor attempt at leaving slower than he needed to.

Lynn got the drift.

“Hang on Detective.  I am impetuous.  It works for me.”

“Does it really?  How long have you been an Agent?  A month?  How do you know what works for you?  Because I gotta tell you, I kinda have doubts.”

Lynn took a deep breath.

“I am fighting an urge Detective.  Because I know I have a hot temper and I think what you are suggesting is supposed to be constructive.”

She paused for a quick sip of coffee.  Detective Nelson watched her carefully.

“I don’t do ‘constructive’ very well.  But today, I’ll give you a break.  So let’s drop the therapy and get on with the crime solving.”

She smiled sweetly, “Shall we?”

Nelson clapped his hands in mock applause. 

“Very good Agent.  Very good.  I think I might like you after all.”

*****

William found himself wandering.  He enjoyed his wanderings.  He never went far but he usually had a very specific route.  He would start at the Church since that is where the family worked and he was homeschooled there. Then he would head towards the old town waterfront district.  He loved the smell of the nets as they dried on the wharf.  The pungent odor sent his imagination running away. 

He would pretend he was on old, salty, captain seeking adventure on the high seas.  Invariably there would be some dastardly pirate gang looking to steal his hard fought plunder.  Captain William Little, corsair of the North Pacific.

After a long pause on the wharf, he would head to the bakery.  Mrs. Thompson would pay him with some pastry for a well swept front walkway.

This time, on his way to the bakery, he spotted “the skating lady” at Don’s Delightfuls.  She was sitting with a man in a suit.  They were in deep conversation about something.

His curiosity got the best of him and he tried to walk by them ever so nonchalantly.   It didn’t work.

“Well, hello William.” The lady said.  “It is William, right?”

He stood there awkwardly for a moment and then nodded.  The man in the suit had a badge on his belt.  Now he was really curious.  But, since he was caught, he wouldn’t be able to hang around unnoticed.  He wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversation.

Unless. . .

“Hey, William.” The lady began. “Do you spend a lot of time walking around out here by yourself?”

He nodded and started to edge away from them.  He made sure his eyes were slightly darting towards the bakery.  He wanted to look as though he was expected somewhere.  He could have just told them what he was doing but, he decided against it.

“Do you have somewhere to be or something?”

Detective Nelson suggested “maybe it’s me.  I make children nervous.”

William shook his head at that and waved good bye with a smile.  Then he walked into the bakery next door.  From here he would be able to listen without them knowing.

Once safely in the confines of the bakery lobby, William set his ears on “hyper focus.”  He continued to sweep the floor, as he does regularly and listened.

The man in the suit was talking about something that happened just a couple nights before.

“Theresa Carlson will be fine but she has a long road ahead.  A home invasion and rape is not something one just ‘gets over.’”

“I don’t think she will ever ‘get over’ it, Detective.  The scar will remain her whole life.” Lynn was staring into nothingness.

Then just as quickly she snapped out of it and asked “has she said anything about the intruder?”

“Only that he had peppermint breath and he wore a mask to cover his eyes.”

“Only his eyes?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, that sounds like an MO if you ask me.  Why not a full mask and garlic breath?”

Detective Nelson looked concerned. “Yeah, that was my concern as well.  It seems planned and, even worse, rehearsed.”

Lynn jumped in “he has done it before Detective.  It wasn’t rehearsed, it was practiced and refined!  Just how many other cases do you have in this town?  Is there a serial rapist running loose?”

“Agent Please!!  Keep your voice down.” Nelson lowered his own voice and continued.  “This is the 4^th case in the last year.  All home invasions.  All the same perp it seems.”

“Why didn’t anyone mention this before?” Lynn was red faced.

“Believe me, I wanted to.  I shouldn’t have even told you.  But it is getting out of hand and I hoped. . .”

Lynn cut him off. “GETTING out of hand?  Detective, I’d say it is WELL out of hand!  You should have asked for assistance after the second incident!!”

“I tried but was told that it was an internal matter.  But I have had it now and AM asking for help.”

“An internal matter?  Who told you that?” Lynn was furious but kept her voice down.  She sensed something.

Detective Nelson paused, looked around carefully, and then answered gravely. 

“The Mayor.”

***** 

William never heard the last words from Detective Nelson.  He tried to listen to the conversation but got distracted.

“Nice work Billy.  You deserve a treat.  Your choice.”  Mrs. Thompson showed him to the back where all the fresh pastry was cooling on racks.  He chose a still warm Apple Fritter.  The Thompson’s make their fritters with apples grown from a local farm so they taste really good.

“Caleb, you aren’t supposed to be here.  I thought you left an hour ago?”  Mrs. Thompson looked at the clock as she spotted Caleb, who had been playing with her son Jack.

“I forgot.” Caleb tried to look innocent.  “Billy, walk to my house with me, ok?”

William didn’t care for Caleb too much, but he had Lego’s.  William loved Lego’s.

He nodded at the suggestion and both boys headed out through the back door of the Bakery.

*****

After grasping the significance of what Detective Nelson said, the pair moved to more private quarters.

“Tell me about the others.” Lynn said grimly.

“You already are familiar with Theresa.  There were three others.  Each one three months apart.  All the same M.O.” 

“So you have known this all this time.  That you have a serial rapist in your midst.”

“Yes.”

“And you are fully aware that serial rapists can and usually do escalate?”

“Yes.”

“And what exactly was the plan?” Lynn folded her arms and tried to look menacing.

Detective Nelson rubbed his face.

“We hoped he’d move on.”

Lynn suppressed a laugh.

“Well, then it’s a good thing I came when I did.  Isn’t it?”

“Don’t be smug Agent.  I wasn’t going to let this continue.”

“You weren’t letting anything.  This guy has been playing you all for fools.  You practically laid down a red carpet for him.  You LET him rape three more girls after the first one.  Did you think ol Gerry was going to be of any help?”

“The FBI would have been available. . .” Detective Nelson began.

She cut him off. “Supervisor Gerald Hinch is an idiot and incompetent and a narcissist.  He wouldn’t have given you the time of day.  He would have taken over your entire precinct and ruined you AND the mayor just to get a medal of his own!”

“OK!  I know that . . . now.  I’m eating my hat here, Lynn.  I’m talking to you aren’t I?”

“Well, that is a start.  Isn’t it?  Let’s get this asshole before he hurts anyone else.”

****** 

After a quick stop at the Taco Bell, Becky rushed over to the Morison’s. 

“Caleb had better not pull anything.  I swear he will get his homework done before he goes out to play.” She said to herself.

Mrs. Morison was just heading out to the car when she saw Becky coming up the drive.

“Oh, goodness Becky.  I was beginning to worry.  I have to go.”

“Sorry Mrs. Morison.  I stopped for a snack.  Is Caleb home from school yet or do I have time to prepare for battle?” She laughed.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will listen to you.  You tell me everything when we get back.  We shouldn’t be too late.  But you know how these School Board meetings go.”

Becky looked a little confused.

Mrs. Morison corrected herself.  “Oops.  I suppose you wouldn’t.  Well, someday. . .”

She drove off.

Becky suddenly realized that she was now babysitting.

“Dammit.”

*****

His hunger had never been more pronounced nor had it occurred so quickly after a recent hunt. 

He had seen her many times before.  She had made her mark on him and he was prepared to give her his full force and then provide her with relief. 

Relief came in the form of release. 

It had been a decade since he had provided his prey with release. 

The Keeper would definitely raise the game after this.  His host may meet an end and Scorpius would have to move on, but for her, it would be worth it.

“Oh yes, worth every moment.”

*****

Becky almost panicked.  Caleb was nowhere to be found when she went it to the house.  She looked for him everywhere.

“This isn’t FUNNY!” She yelled.

Her relief was palpable when Caleb and a little friend came through the back kitchen door.

“Just where have you been!?”

“What?  At the bakery.  Why do you care?” Caleb used a mocking tone mostly to show off in front of William.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorrryyy.” He seemed to mean it.

“I asked you a question Caleb.  Who’s your friend?”

“It’s just Billy.” Caleb sort of pointed in Williams’s general direction and walked out of the kitchen.

Becky looked at William.  He wasn’t staring, exactly, but he was certainly taking her in.

“Aren’t you the preacher’s kid?” She asked. “From the Presbyterian Church? I think I have seen you there.”

William nodded.

“You don’t talk do you? I think I heard that about you.  That’s ok.  Talking is over rated anyway.” She smiled.

William smiled too.

“Caleb has homework to do.  So, I am afraid you will have to run along.  Do you need me to call your folks?”

William shook his head and smiled as if to say he was fine on his own.

“Ok, as long as you’re sure.”

William headed out the way he came in.

“It was nice meeting you Billy.”  She closed the door after him.

*****

In the waning minutes of what was a beautiful day, darkness began its slow creep.  It filled the crevices and holes.  Gardens once bathed in light fell victim to shadow and fear.  Blooms recoiled.  Birds stifled their songs abruptly.  Fishermen’s nets were left unattended, their knots left for morning unraveling. 

Scorpius’ host began to sweat.  That was bad.  It was imperative that he remain calm and focused.  His master was hungry and it was his duty to feed and protect his master. 

“Leave no trace.” 

He had explicit orders from the very beginning.  He would have to shower and scrub and shave. 

“Leave no eyelash, no fingernail, no follicle, nothing.” 

The orders were clear and beautiful. 

“Take the girl and then release her for she requires relief.”

“His will be done.”

*****

“BILLY!!” Greta was worried. “BILLY WHERE ARE YOU?!”

She walked back into the house to find her husband getting ready to go somewhere.

“Now where are you going?  I can’t find Billy.”

“He’ll turn up, he always does.” The Reverend spoke softly.

“Do you have to go?”

“Honey, you know it is my duty as Pastor to visit the sick.  It’s just to the Hospice.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Yes, but you were just there.”  Greta was clearly vexed now.

“This is the life of a Pastor. You know that.” He was getting antsy to leave.  His wife noticed.

“But what’s the hurry? Can’t you wait until Billy is back in?  I’m worried about him.” She was standing in her husband’s way now.

“Greta darling, these patients are dying and need attendance by a man of the cloth.  I can’t keep up with that boy.  If he is misbehaving, we will take care of that in the morning.”  With that he brushed past her and got in the car.

As he drove away, his wife wept.

***** 

Detective Nelson walked Lynn back to her hotel.

“There is one other thing Agent Kwan.”

“Isn’t there always?”

He stopped.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.  Get used to this sort of thing Agent.  It is part and parcel to the business.  Secrets and information are our business.”

“You mean lies?”

Eric didn’t like that comment.

“Secrets don’t always mean lies Miss Kwan.  Some things must remain out of the public for good reason.  I think you know that.  Even inter-agency secrets.”

“Ok.  Yes.  That’s true.  We can’t always blab everything we know.  Call it “Aces in the sleeves” if you will.  Ok.  Play your ace detective.  I’m all ears.”

The detective motioned for them to go into Lynn’s room.  Once they were inside, the Detective opened his briefcase and withdrew a plastic bag.  It had an evidence seal on it.  Inside was what looked like a business card.  He handed her the bag.

“Evidence from. . ?”

“The rapist leaves one of these at each crime scene.”

Lynn was shocked.

“You said there was no evidence?”

“I said there was no biological evidence.”

Lynn looked closely at the card in the evidence bag. It was the size of a business card.  But this card didn’t advertise any business.  On it was a symbol, an astrological sign. 

“Scorpio?” Lynn’s look was quizzical.

Detective Nelson explained. “Yes, but this refers to it in a way no one expected.”

“Why?  What does it mean?”

“He leaves one of these at each scene.  A calling card if you will.  Refers to himself as Scorpius, a God.”

“How the hell do you know that?  It doesn’t say it on the card.”

“He told us.”

“WHAT?”

“Back in the early 90’s in Medford, Oregon, there was a series of home invasion rapes of young girls.  The only evidence left at each scene was a card with the astrological sign of Scorpio.”

“At what point did this rapist tell you he was a God?  I am missing something.”

“When we caught him.”

“Then you know who he is?  He’s here now?  How did he get out of jail?  I assume he was put away?”

“We have no idea who he is.  The Medford rapist died in prison a year ago.”

Lynn could not hide her shock.

“So, what you are telling me is that we have a copycat?”

“What I am telling you agent is that we have a serial rapist who uses the same MO and leaves the same signature as the Medford rapist who died a year ago.”

“Sooo. . .a copycat.” She repeated.

“It could look that way, except for the fact that the signature, this calling card, was never made public.”

The detective let that tidbit set in.

“Ok, there was a leak in the Medford police department.  The info got out.”  Lynn said with certainty.

“That was the thought at the time except that the chain of evidence was never broken. No one could have known about it outside the department and they all passed polygraph tests AND our current rapist could not have seen a copy of that business card.  Ever.”

Lynn suppressed a laugh.

“Oooooooh.  An X File.  Scary.”

“We really don’t know what to make of it.  It is disturbing never- the- less.” The Detective was no longer looking at Lynn.

“Disturbing? That’s your analysis?  What part disturbs you more?  The fact that someone knows about this little signature tidbit or that no one knows about this and yet, here it is, in the bag?  Impossible.  There is nothing comforting about this detective.  Either you have a copycat rapist or a ghost.  Neither is good.”

“It gets better.” The detective stood up and paced a little.

“Oh I can’t wait.”

“The Medford rapist escalated.  His fourth and final victim was murdered.”

 “Crap.  So if all of this is to be believed, and I have no reason to doubt it, then our copycat plans to kill the next victim.”

“Wait a minute.”  A reality hit Lynn square in the gut.

“Why did you show me this?  I am not officially on this case.  Did you just break the chain of evidence?”

The Detective looked grave.

“I am out of options Agent.  I want these rapes to stop and I am willing to do just about anything at this point.  Even if I lose my job, if it prevents a single rape, it will be worth it.”

“But what happens to me is just collateral damage then I take it?”

“What would you have done in my place?”

“I guarantee I would have done EXACTLY the same thing.”  Lynn gave him a reassuring smile.

“I wouldn’t be so sure Lynn.  This could get messy before we are done.  You will be on the same hook I am if this goes south.”  Eric dried his hands on his pants.

“You did say that you spoke to my supervisor at Quantico right?”

“I did.”

“I don’t think this is an accident then.; our working on this together.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when I told you that sex crimes were my specialty?”

“Yes.”

“It’s deeper than that.  I specialize in sex abuse of minors.  I understand the victim-ology of these crimes.  It has made me wonder why I was sent here to investigate fish.  It seemed like a waste of time. But, now I wonder. . .”

After a few moments something occurred to Lynn.

“If we fail we are both screwed. You know that right?”

“We can’t fail.  We have to stop this guy.”

“What if we can’t make it stick because we broke a few rules?”

“That’s a bridge we cross when we get to it.  Agreed?”

Lynn smiled.

“Agreed.  But let’s try and limit the damage eh?”

The Detective smiled. 

“Can’t promise anything.”

Lynn suddenly blurted, “CRAP.  Sheriff Johns is expecting me right now.”

“I’ll drive you.  Where are we going?”

“To the hatchery.  The tribal hatchery.”

“Ok. You call ahead and I’ll bring the car around.”

Lynn fumbled for her phone.  There were two new messages waiting.

END ACT 2

***** 

ACT 3

Lynn hung up the phone.  It was a tough call because what she really wanted to do was throw it.  The first message was Ransom.  He was at the hatchery.  Apparently he found another piece of evidence and she was to meet him there right away.  The second message was her sister Hilary. 

“No she isn’t on her death bed Hil. No matter what she tells you.  It’s too soon.  Beside she won’t die until it suits her.  And it won’t suit her unless it inflicts the most pain on me.”

She spent the next 10 minutes talking her sister off the cliff’s edge.  She actually felt bad for Hilary.  Their mother was a handful and now, home in bed, dying of stage 4 colon cancer, she was even worse.  Lynn did feel guilty, very guilty, that she wasn’t there to lend a hand.  Not because she wanted to be there for her mother, not at all, but because Hil was trapped.

“I’ll make it up to you Hil.  I promise.”

Of course her older sister had heard that a million times before and wasn’t buying it.  But she finally let Lynn get back to work.

When she got to the hatchery Lynn had trouble finding the tribal sheriff.  His patrol car was there. It was empty and parked in a dark spot rather than under a light post. The pens seemed fine.  They were full of fish.  Each pen held a different stage of life for the salmon, the largest of which were only a few months old.  She wondered why someone would choose to poison captive salmon rather than some other distraction.  If this was indeed a distraction.  She was pretty convinced that it was. Either that or the deaths of the salmon were simply a separate and unrelated crime.

“Not likely.” She said to no one.

“WHAT!?” Ransom appeared out of nowhere.

“OH SHHhhh. . . ! You scared the hell out of me.  Where were you?” Lynn’s heart nearly stopped.

“Whoa. Sorry Agent.  Didn’t mean to spook you.” Ransom approached from behind a nearby power shed.

Lynn watched him carefully.  At this point in any investigation, and since she spoke to Detective Nelson, anyone could be the rapist/God wannabe.

“You said something about evidence?” Lynn sounded completely calm.

“I did?”

“Yes.  You sounded urgent.”

“Oh right.  Yeah. Sorry.  I thought I found something but it was just an old tennis shoe.  Wrong size for the prints we found.”

“And you forgot to tell me not to come?”

“Oh I wanted you to come anyway.  That’s why I didn’t call back.”

“Okkaaaaay.”

“Don’t worry; it’s important you see something.” Laughed Ransom.

“What? What should I see?” Lynn casually let her hand go to her sidearm.

“It’s over there.”  He nodded to an area behind her.

“Ok.  You lead the way Sheriff.”

*****

He positioned himself where he could see her but no one could see him.  The crickets played an orchestral movement to accompany the light breeze.  He sniffed the air.  He could smell her. 

Dusk had created a colorful, warm, light that surrounded her.  He could feel her as though the light was created by him and he enveloped her.

“Be patent.  Take your time with this one.” He reminded himself.

“She will be only one time. Flesh is fragile.  Let her linger.”

Scorpius allowed the moment to extend.  He would wait for dusk to turn to night when he would allow himself to envelop her with his entire being.  For now the light worked its magic.

He watched her and loved the moment in its entirety. He had forgotten about his host completely.

***** 

Becky considered the possibilities.  Macaroni and Cheese or delivery pizza?  She hadn’t anticipated being there that long.  Caleb needed dinner.  In fact, so did she.  She’d make Mrs. Morison pay for it. 

“I am NOT a babysitter.” She protested to no one.

Then she heard voices.  There should not be any voices.  She and Caleb were the only ones in house.  She wandered towards the sounds.  It took her to Caleb’s room.  She opened the door and was surprised by what she saw.

“Billy!  What are you still doing here?  I thought you went home hours ago?”

William just looked at her.

“Can he stay for dinner? Pllleeeeze!” Caleb was hopeful.

“If it is ok with Billy’s parents, sure.”

The boys jumped up and down with glee.

Becky had William write down his phone number.  She called his house but there was no answer, so she left a message.

“Ok boys, what’s it gonna be?  Mac n Cheese or Pizza?”

“PIZZA!!”

*****

Lynn followed Ransom back towards the fish pens as he had directed.  She kept her hand on her trusty Sig 40 caliber pistol.  She didn’t like this feeling.  Trusting fellow law enforcement officers is part of the job but instinct was telling her that something wasn’t right.

“I found a fresh set of shoe prints over here.” Ransom pointed to an area near an empty pen.

Then he paused.  His hand also went for his side arm.

“What are you doing Sheriff?” Lynn asked with unabashed fear in her voice.

“Shhhh.” Ransom was on alert.  His head was cocked to one side as he listened and scanned the area.

Lynn wasn’t sure what to believe now.  So she took his lead and drew her weapon as well.  Then she also heard something.

“What the hell is going on?” She whispered loudly.

“Our fish killer is here.  She is near.”

Lynn blinked to clear her eyes and focused on a dark area near the pens.  She was still uncertain about Ransom so she kept her awareness on him as well.  She thought she could see movement.

“Let’s split up and flush her out.” She suggested but didn’t wait for a response.

“Wait. . .” Ransom tried to stop her.

Lynn moved very quietly behind a power box while Ransom headed around the opposite direction.

“Great.  Now I have potentially two targets out there.  Didn’t exactly think that one through.” She thought, annoyed with herself.

She couldn’t see the Sheriff now.  She was surprisingly calm considering the situation.

“Focus Kwan.”

She thought she could hear light footfall directly ahead of her.  She stayed low and crept closer to the sound.

She had to stay out of the overhead lights and had to be careful not to look at them or she would lose her night vision.

Another small crackle of loose gravel came from directly in front of her.  Whoever it was wasn’t very skilled.  Lynn raised her Sig.

“The games over lady!  Step out into the light with your hands up!  NOW!”

Ransom came out from a shadow closer than Lynn had expected him to be.

“HANDS!  HANDS!  LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!!”  He demanded.

Slowly, meekly, a small woman in a dark hoodie stepped into an area of light.  Her hands were empty and raised above her head.

“D d d don’t shoot!”  She cried.

Lynn moved quickly.  She reached for a single wrist and holstered her sidearm in one swift move.

Ransom backed her up.

As soon as the woman was cuffed Lynn pulled the hood from the woman’s head.

There, in the light of a single halogen lamp, stood Greta Little.  Tears streamed down her face.

“Mrs. Little?”  Lynn was shocked.

*****

William had no intention of going home after pizza.  Caleb’s tree house had been a refuge in the past and tonight was no exception.  Besides, Caleb had a great collection of Spider Man comics stashed up in the tree.

Becky was pretty fried that she was still at the house.  She thought she would never have to babysit again.  Mrs. Morison would hear about this.  She decided that she would no longer be Caleb’s tutor.  What was taking Caleb’s parents so long anyway?  At least they had HDTV.

She microwaved some popcorn and settled in to watch Glee and wait for the Morison’s to get home.  Her folks weren’t happy about it either but understood the situation.

“Yeah, Mom, SUPER annoying. I have a life too.” Becky expressed herself.

“I would expect a big tip for sure. . .CLICK!”  The line dropped suddenly.

“MOM!  Hello?”  She hung up the phone and tried to redial.  There was no dial tone.

“Weird.”  She shrugged and returned to Glee.

*****

The waiting time had ended.  It was time to feed.  She was no longer distracted by the young boys and Scorpious knew that her time was now.  He still needed to be careful as he had lost track of The Keeper.  At any given time The Keeper, in whatever disguise he or she took, could interrupt his event and ruin everything. 

An hour after severing the phone line he carefully worked the lock on the back door.  He had chosen this location to enter because the girl was careless and had not yet illuminated a porch light.  She was careful enough to lock the door however. 

“That’s all right.  The delay only makes it sweeter.” He thought.

The satisfying sound of the unlocked latch excited him.  But he was cautious not to be over zealous and give away his position. She had fallen asleep on the couch and the boy had fallen asleep an hour before.  His timing, as usual, was impeccable. 

He would not leave any imprints or drop any debris.  He was too practiced now to be careless.  This should please his master.

*****

High in a tree, a single nearly undetectable sound awoke William.  He rubbed his eyes and returned his focus onto the house below.  There was movement at Caleb’s bedroom window.  He climbed down to get a better look.

Caleb was waving at William, so he walked up to the window.

Caleb opened the window and William noticed that he was really scared of something.

“Someone else is in the house!” Caleb whispered.

William reached up to help Caleb climb out the window but Caleb shook his head.  He was too scared to leave.  So, William climbed in.

***** 

Lynn’s mind was a jumble.  She didn’t suspect Greta Little as the saboteur of the Salmon Hatchery.   Really, she hadn’t suspected anyone.  She was mostly surprised that this small, unassuming, woman, sitting in the back of the patrol car felt the need to commit this series of crimes.  It didn’t make sense. What was her reason?

Lynn looked at Mrs. Little.  She seemed calm but wary.  What would she say when the questions started?

“Mrs. Little, I am a little surprised to find you here.  Can you explain to us what you thought you were doing?  What you thought to accomplish by poisoning fish?”

Mrs. Little said nothing.  She just looked at the FBI Agent, expressionless. 

Lynn began to wonder if her theories about these crimes were correct.  Was this a distraction from something else?  If so, did she expect Greta to confess?

“Why tonight?  The last attempts came further apart.  Why the urgency?”

The last question seemed to hit.  A small line of perspiration formed on Mrs. Little’s upper lip.

Ransom pulled Lynn from the car.

“What are you doing Agent Kwan?  She isn’t under Miranda yet.  Don’t blow this case!”

“Sheriff Johns we have a bigger problem than dead fish.  I sympathize, I do.  But this woman is not a fish killer.  At least she isn’t killing fish because hates fish or the industry.  She is killing fish as a distraction.”

“That’s a theory Agent.  We have nothing concrete to act on here.”

“SHE’S PROTECTING SOMEONE RANSOM!”  She whispered rather loudly.

“Who?  Who is she protecting?”

“A rapist and perhaps a killer.  We need her to tell us who.  If my instincts are correct, someone out there is under the delusion that he’s a God and is intent on killing a young girl.  TONIGHT!”

***** 

William had climbed into Caleb’s bedroom in the past so he didn’t think anything of it.  Something about Caleb was worrisome. He was pale and shaking. This wasn’t normal and it made him nervous. He didn’t want to get into trouble but he was curious.

He expected talking.  But the house was silent.  Even the television was off.  At least he couldn’t hear it.  The clock next to Caleb’s bed said 8:25PM.  What was Caleb so worried about?

*****

Ransom looked worried.  He had been unconcerned about any secondary reasons for the fish poisonings, he had been single minded about that.  He was unapologetic about that.  His job was to protect the tribe and their interests.  Now, suddenly, it occurred to him that Lynn was probably right.  Someone was in real danger tonight and they needed to find out who Mrs. Little was protecting.

“Agent Kwan asked you a question ma’am.  There is no need for you to get into any more trouble than you already are.  Who are you protecting?”

Greta Little continued to look stoically at the space in front of her face.

“Well, Agent Kwan, I guess we start with members of her family, right?  We have enough room in the car.”

Lynn got the idea right away.

“Yeah.  We sure do.  Let’s start with William; her son.  He doesn’t talk, but I bet we can make him.”

Greta’s expression didn’t change.

“Then I suppose we find her husband and really put it to him too.” Ransom sneered.

The perspiration on Mrs. Little’s upper lip seemed to suddenly dry and she blinked.  Then, without warning, she buried her head into Lynn’s shoulder and sobbed.

This surprised Lynn.  Not Greta’s actions but that it was her husband that she seemed to be protecting.

“Put out an APB on Mr. Little, now.”  Lynn held Greta’s head.

She immediately called Detective Nelson.  She had a hunch.

“Detective Nelson. . .”

“Hey, it’s Lynn.  We just caught Greta Little at the Hatchery.  It seems she has been a naughty girl.  It also seems she has been doing it to protect someone else.”

“And you know who that might be?”

“Her husband, Reverend Little.  Quick question Detective, did our dead killer have any visitors in prison while in Oregon?”

“He spent his time in solitary, not GP.  Too dangerous I think.  I’ll check the file and get back to you.  What are you thinking?”

“The good Reverend may have been giving spiritual guidance to prisoners down there.  He may have been privy to some special information, if you catch my drift.”

“I catch it, Agent.  It would explain a lot.”

He hung up.

After a couple quick calls to SAC Hinch, Ransom and Lynn raced back to town hoping to prevent a tragedy.  They needed to find and apprehend Robert Little.  How this unassuming preacher committed a series of home invasion/rapes without getting caught was mystifying. 

It made Greta’s actions seem almost logical.  A preacher’s wife protecting her family by creating a huge distraction whenever her husband was out brutalizing young girls made a certain amount of sense to Lynn. But it could only have been a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.  Detective Nelson had already begun to dig, in spite of a Mayoral mandate to leave it alone.

The Detective was already at the Little house when they arrived.

“You were right.  The Little’s have only been in Poulsbo for 10 years AFTER spending 10 years in Salem, Oregon, serving the State Penitentiary.”

“The good Reverend, it seems, made a friend in prison.  Damn.  We need to secure the house.”  Lynn made for the front door.

“There is no one here.  I have already secured the house.”

“WHAT?!” Greta screamed from the back of the patrol car.

“Where’s Billy?  Where’s my Son?!”

Lynn asked, “You’re sure you checked everywhere?”

“Unless he’s hiding, yeah.”

Ransom had a suggestion. “You guys keep looking for any clues here.  I’ll talk with Mrs. Little.”

After mutual agreement to the plan, Lynn and Eric pulled their sidearms and made their way back into the house.

“BILLY!?” Eric called.

“I think he prefers William.  WILLIAM!?” Lynn tried.

“How do you know that?  He doesn’t talk does he?”

“I don’t know.  I could just tell.  He reacted differently when I used a more grown up name with him.  It’s an old trick I learned years ago as a babysitter.”

“Hey, there is a message waiting on the answering machine.” The Detective pressed the “listen” button.

*****

Greta Little looked confused. 

“Caleb?” 

“That’s what the message said.  That William would be eating dinner at Caleb’s house.” Lynn tried to be patient.

“Billy spends some time at a little boy’s house across town sometimes.  I didn’t know his name was Caleb.”

Lynn was getting more perturbed by the minute.

“You don’t know your son’s friends?”

Greta continued to act unmoved.

“Billy does whatever he likes and doesn’t bother anyone.  He can’t talk.  He’s special.”

“He prefers the name William; did you know that about him?”  Lynn was getting her blood up now.

Detective Nelson intervened.  

“Agent Kwan, we can deal with parenthood issues later.  I have a feeling Mrs. Little had bigger fish to fry.  No pun intended.”

“Oh, so she gets a pass because her husband is a rapist?”

The detective pulled her aside.

“Mrs. Little is in enough trouble.  She will probably lose everything; her husband, her home, her son, everything.  Now, let’s focus on limiting the damage.”

“Fair enough.  Mrs. Little?  Where does Caleb live?  We don’t have any time to waste.”

*****

The house was eerily quiet.  The porch lights were now on at the Morison house.  If there was a killer inside, you sure wouldn’t know anything was wrong from the outside. The APB got the attention of the rest of the Morison family and it took several officers to keep them from rushing to their house headlong into possible danger.

The threat assessment was very unclear.  Lynn was certain that the Pastor was the serial rapist that had been committing all the recent home invasion/rapes.  What she didn’t know was if he was armed.

“Detective Nelson?  The dead convict in Medford Oregon; did he carry weapons or use any weapons during his crimes?”

The two of them had been slowly marking a perimeter around the house to keep neighbors from encroaching on the potential crime scene.

“Yes.  He carried a Bowie Knife; a very sharp Bowie Knife.”

“Then we go in hot, Detective.  We have no way of knowing the state of the girl inside.  She could be dead for all we know.”

Detective Nelson frowned.

“Let’s hope for the best then.  And if it means anything, you’re a good Agent.”

Lynn was flummoxed.

“Uh. . .oh. . well, thanks. . .er, Thank You Detective.  I got your back too.” She stammered.

They approached the door.

Detective Nelson unscrewed the porch light.

The other officers on the scene waited for the signal to light the place up. 

“Shock and Awe, Agent Kwan.  Shock and Awe.”

“On Three. . .one. . .two. . .”

******

The room was perfect.  Dimly lit and quiet, he had set everything according to the demands of his master.  The girl was subdued by zip ties at her ankles and wrists, stretched out on the bed in the master bedroom.

She had been surprisingly quiet.  Threats to the young boy, still blissfully unaware in his bed, seemed to concern her enough to be cooperative. 

He felt her acceptance the first time he gave himself to her.  But now she seemed reluctant to accept him again.  No matter, he would release her soon.  Her suffering would end with her liberation.  She would be grateful in the afterlife. 

But until that crux, he would enjoy her again and possibly again.

His will be done.

*****

Caleb was terrified.  William wasn’t sure why and didn’t ask.  Caleb claimed to have heard a man’s voice but so far, William had not heard anything.  He headed for the bedroom door to go out to the hallway.

“NO!” Caleb whispered loudly.

Then Caleb covered his head with his pillow.  William could hear him crying.

William continued to make his way back out to the hallway.  Something was going on that didn’t make sense.

He paused at the door and peeked out into the hallway.  He saw nothing.  But then he heard a small sound.  A muffled whimper came from Caleb’s parent’s room.  He wondered why anyone would be in there.  The Morison’s were not home yet.

His curiosity overwhelmed him.  He had to look.  But he would have to be quiet.  He didn’t want to get into trouble.  The last time he opened a door that he shouldn’t have opened, he spent a week in his room.

Carefully, quietly, he turned the knob.  As it unlatched a strange smell passed his nose.  It nearly made him retch.  As the door cracked open further he began to make out shapes.  Then he saw her.  Tied to the bed from all four limbs, she was gagged and blindfolded.  She was also very naked. 

Tears began to well up in his eyes, it blurred his vision.  Then another shape appeared.  A large shape loomed over Becky.  The man who towered over her held something in his hand, it glinted light reflecting from the dim table lamp.  He squinted to make out what it was.

The man held whatever it was over his head and began to chant.

“HIS WILL BE DONE – HIS WILL BE DONE!”

William suddenly recognized the voice.  How could it be?  No!  It couldn’t be.  His head was spinning now.  He shook his head. He couldn’t allow this.  He must do something.  He must SAY something to end this horrible vision.  He felt a small tremor in his throat.  He formed the word.  But nothing came out.  He tried desperately to conjure up the word and the tremor grew into a pain.

The knife flashed. He took a deep breath ignoring the stench from the room.  The boy who had never spoken reached out.

“DADDY STOP!!”

*****

Upon reaching the critical juncture in his mission, the host raised the holy object high above her.  He praised the name of Scorpius and breathed in the lingering remains of the joy he had received. 

And given.

At the final moment he heard something odd and awkward.  The croaking of a toad or a similar creature made itself present in this sanctuary of death.

He paused.

“What?”

“DADDY STOP!” The croaking said.

In an inexplicable flash of recognition, Robert Little, a man he no longer recognized as himself, returned to consciousness and saw his son, reaching for him, crying out in a voice so beautiful. 

The Keeper had revealed himself.

***** 

William watched as his father turned to look at him.  He almost didn’t recognize him.  He looked like someone or something else for a moment.  Then he saw his eyes change.  They each reflected each other in that moment of mutual recognition. 

Robert Little had returned.  He looked at the large knife in his hand and immediately threw it down.  He also noticed his own nakedness but did little to cover himself.  A greater realization took over.  He saw the girl tied to the bed, gagged and blindfolded.  She too was naked.  He covered her with a blanket and sobbed.

“FOOL!!  OBEY!!”

Robert grabbed his head in apparent pain.  William reached out.

“No, son.  Leave me.”

“YOU WILL OBEY YOUR MASTER.  RELEASE HER!!”
“Aaargh” he grabbed his head again and sank to his knees.  “NO!  I won’t. . .!”

William again tried to go to his father.

“Son, no, please.  I don’t want you to get hurt.  Leave.  NOW!”

“THE KEEPER MUST DIE!!  KILL HIM!!  OBEY!!”

“NOOOOOO!”

William froze with fear.  Robert Little was at war in his mind.

“I WON’T DO IT!” He screamed at no one.

“YOU WILL OBEY!!  YOU MUST OBEY YOUR MASTER!!  YOU ARE WEAK AND FOOLISH.  ONLY I, SCORPIUS, COMMAND YOU NOW.  MY WILL BE DONE!”

“No!  I won’t.  This MUST end now.”  Mr. Little’s voice was much calmer.

“The lord is my shepherd I shall not want. . .”

William knew this verse.  This was a sad verse but one that brought peace to the afflicted and sick.  Was his father sick?

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. . .” The Reverend reached for the knife glimmering on the floor.

“He leads me beside calmer waters, he restores my SOUL!” He held the knife in front of him.

With a sorrowful look at his son he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then he plunged the knife into his throat.

***** 

Lynn was the first to enter the room.  She was aghast at what she saw there.

“HANDS!. .HANDS!. . .HANDS!  Lemme see your. . .!!  She holstered her Sig.

Mr. Little was lying in a pool of blood on the floor directly in front of William.  Lynn immediately checked for a pulse and found none.

“DAMMIT!” She looked around and saw the girl on the bed.  Detective Nelson had arrived.

“She’s alive! WE NEED A MEDIC IN HERE . . . NOW!” Lynn barked.

“William.?” She held him by his shoulders and looked at him.  He was expressionless. 

“daddy. . .stop. . .?” He cried, then collapsed into Lynn’s arms.

******

The debrief wasn’t pleasant but it was mercifully quick.  For that Lynn was grateful.  SAC Hinch closed the hatchery case and then proceeded to berate her about inter-jurisdictional policies and blah blah blah.  He also gave her an envelope.

“Don’t worry.  I didn’t open it, Agent Kwan.” Hinch attempted a little humor.

It came from Quantico; from Director Dean.  She would read it later, when she was alone.  Just in case it was bad news, she didn’t want to be around anyone, especially Gerry.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes, thank you.  Have a pleasant day.” He wasn’t even looking at her.

Lynn tried to shake the essence of SAC Gerald Hinch off.  It might take a few showers and maybe a tropical vacation to complete that cleansing.  Her flight wasn’t scheduled for several more hours so before heading to the ferry terminal, she met up with Detective Nelson for some coffee and an update.

“What about William?”

“He has been placed with an Aunt and Uncle in Seattle for now.  Greta Little may never get him back and I don’t know how I feel about that.” He frowned.

“And the girl?”

“Becky? She has not said a word since we found her.  She’s still in the hospital.”

“Damn.  This sucks.”  She decided she didn’t want her coffee.

“Don’t know how to feel either?” he asked.

“It isn’t our job to feel, is it?” She asked sincerely.

“HA, like we can just turn off the “human switch?” He scoffed.

“The Reverend did.  The Medford Rapist did.  I think William did.”  Lynn’s voice wavered a little.

 “There are going to be some tough questions coming.  Our little town and Police department are going to feel this for a long time.  As well we should.  There is going to be in investigation.  Heads will probably roll.”

“Including yours?”

“At this point I am not sure that it matters.  Aren’t I equally to blame?  I looked the other way.” He sipped his coffee.

“It should never have happened.” He looked away.

“It’s not your fault Detective.” She tried to look him in the eyes.

“I hear that, and I try to tell myself that, but I am not so sure if I believe it.  Those girls were victimized and we did nothing to prevent it.  At least not entirely.” He tried to smile for her.

“You did what you thought was right at the time.  You didn’t ignore it.  When the opportunity came, you took it.”  She took his hand.  “And I was happy to help.”

He didn’t pull away immediately.  He took a sip of his coffee and sighed.

“We thank you for your help Agent Kwan. I am not sure we could have done this by ourselves”

“I had help.” She smiled. “I hope I didn’t drive you too crazy.  I have recently been ‘diagnosed’ as difficult.”  They shared a laugh.

****** 

On the ferry back to Seattle, she opened and read the letter.

“I was delighted to hear that with your help the Poulsbo Police Department ended the terrible crimes of Reverend Robert Parker Little.  A dangerous rapist and potential killer is no longer a threat to society. I only wish we could have prosecuted this menace and brought some closure and justice to the people of Poulsbo. I am proud that the FBI was able to lend a professional hand in this case. I am especially proud of the work that you provided, Special Agent Kwan.  Your dedication to enforcing the law and your fierce tenacity to follow through with what you started is a direct result of your training and natural ability.  You are an example to be followed.”

It continued on a separate sheet.

“That is what your official file says.  What it doesn’t say is this; I wanted you on this case.  You were sent to investigate an act of sabotage at the behest of the Suquamish Indian Tribe.  Sheriff Ransom Johns has sent a formal thanks to the FBI in your behest.  Detective Nelson had sent me an urgent request through back channels to assist him “unofficially” with his case in Poulsbo.  The political situation there had left him without options.

I knew you would be inclined to participate but I could not ask you directly as this was meant to be a quiet case.  It was also an opportunity for me to put a final seal on your education.  You needed this as much as Detective Nelson did.  I still think you have issues with authority but you have proven that with focus and determination you can overcome this deficiency.   I had hoped for as much.  I took a risk with you and you made it happen.  I thank you for that.

As of this letter, your probationary status is lifted and you are promoted to full status.  Your new badge and credentials are waiting for you at your assigned location.  Please contact SAC Beethoven in Missoula, Montana by no later than 30 days from now.

On a personal note, I hope that the events on the last week remain with you in your career with the FBI. Never forget the horrors that man inflicts on man.  We need reminders from time to time so we NEVER lose our singular focus that justice, in whatever form it takes, must always win.  It is our job, our mission, to bring those who commit such heinous acts to justice.  Never forget that.

Sincerely,

Jack Dean, Director. FBI Academy, Quantico, VA.”

Lynn watched the rain on the window as the ferry listed slightly from left to right.  She placed the letter back into the envelope. 

“MONTANA?!”

*****

Epilogue

After sorting through the mountains of old documents and knick knacks, William’s Aunt set the large box next to the street to be picked up by Waste Management.  It had been a long two months and William was finally settling in to life in Ballard, a Seattle Neighborhood.  His new guardians were nice.  The park across the street was peaceful and William even considered going to public school.

The day was a little warm and William decided to go over to the park to play in the wading pool.  He stopped by the large box on the edge of the driveway.  It was full of a lot of his father’s things; nothing worth keeping.  His curiosity got the best of him and he took a peek inside.  There, on top of the pile, was a letter from the Oregon Department of Corrections.  It said something about a particular inmate having recently died.  That didn’t interest him at all, but paper-clipped to the form letter was a small card.  The image of the scorpion captured his imagination.  He looked around to be sure no one was looking. 

“Scorpius. . .”

Then he quickly removed the small laminated card and shoved it into his pocket.

The wading pool looked cool and inviting.

END

-MRC

The old Pirate walked surprisingly steadily up the stairs to the awaiting noose.  He held an air of calm like a warm blanket.  Resigned to his fate many years before, Olivier LeVasseur, The Buzzard, had reached the end with his head held high.  He even wore a slight smile, if you were looking closely.  His hands hung loosely at his sides but one was curled in a fist.  He had something in his right hand.   Nothing dangerous, obviously.  The guards would not have allowed that.  His eyes scanned the crowd before him.  He was looking for someone.  The magistrate read aloud the death warrant.  The Buzzard didn’t bother to listen.  It was of no matter.  “Where was he?” he wondered.  His trusty friend, a mouse he called Christopher, was nowhere to be found.

Completely resigned to his fate now, the old Pirate gazed one last time at the crowd below him.  He definitely wasn’t there.  His heart broke.  The locket in his hand burned hot now. 

Suddenly he cleared his throat and called out to the crowd. “Find my treasure, ye who may understand it!”  And he tossed the locket into the crowd. 

The guards were surprised at the outburst and could do nothing to stop The Buzzard from completing his task.  The locket sparkled momentarily in the hot sun before it landed in the unsuspecting hand of a young male mouse.  Christopher gasped and then, realizing that the crowd was looking at him now, disappeared into the narrow streets of town.

Behind him, he could hear the gallows floor drop open.

Squiggles and numbers. 

How very strange.

Christopher, The young mouse who caught The Buzzards locket had not stopped until he reached his home.  By the light of a single candle, he carefully inspected his treasure.  It wasn’t very pretty but the chain was in good shape.  There seemed to be a thin crack along side of the bobble.  “A locket?” He determined correctly.  He pried it open and out fell a small piece of paper.  It said nothing at all.  Well, even if it did, he wouldn’t be able to read it.  But even he, once the proud sidekick of a mighty pirate, could recognize numbers and letters.  The paper had numbers but the letters weren’t letters at all.  They were squiggles and dots and lines. 

“Now what was it the dead pirate said about a treasure?”

-MRC

Part 1

Even the darkness of the night couldn’t disguise the dust.  What had been a lake of mud and dung only a week ago was now a fly infested dust bowl.  But most folks in town called it Main Street.  He walked straight down the middle of the road carefully avoiding a pair of dogs fighting over a carcass.  He didn’t recognize what manner of creature the dead thing had been previously and he didn’t care.  He was thirsty and more than a little annoyed.

The music from the saloon had ceased about an hour ago and the barkeep was attempting to close up when the stranger, dressed in black, walked in.  He was so startled by the appearance of the stranger that he almost didn’t catch the silver dollar so casually tossed by the newcomer. 

“Whisky!?”  The stranger sort of asked, mostly demanded.

The barkeep briefly considered telling the stranger to go to hell but one look at the shiny Bowie knife changed his mind.  That and the whisky was only a dime a shot, and the silver dollar was a down payment on a bottle.  The money was good, even if the whisky wasn’t.

Of the two remaining drunks, only one had the misfortune of approaching the man with the large knife.  The other stumbled out the front door and promptly passed out on the dusty street.

“Nice knife.”

The stranger made no reply.

“I SAID . . . nice knife!”  He made two steps toward the stranger.

The speed in which the small throwing knife moved could never be calculated.  But the impact on anyone who saw it was said to be legendary.  Trouble was, no one saw it.  The hat, collected by the deadly steel blade as it flew over the head of the remaining drunk, found a new home on the wall right between the chalk board menu and a wanted poster.  The hatless belligerent passed out for the night between two barstools.

“Sorry about that.” The stranger apologized.

“Not a problem.  You handled Jed better than I could have.  Next one is on me.”  The barkeep detected a slight smile under the heavy black hat.

“Just passin through or are ya stayin?”

“Staying, but not for long.  I hope.  I need a room.”

“What’s the occasion?  Business or pleasure?”

“Neither.  It’s my birthday.”

The barkeep ducked under the bar for a moment.

“In that case . . . might as well use the good stuff.” He set a fresh bottle of whisky on the counter and opened it.

“Happy Birthday Mr. . . . .?”

The man made no sound. 

“Mr?”

The man snapped out of a trance.

“Hmm?  Oh, uh, you know what?  I am so old now I don’t even remember my own name.”  He smiled.  Then he took off his hat.  A cascade of black hair fell around his shoulders.  The bartender laughed.

“Old?  HAHAHA.  That’s a good one.  You ain’t a day over 30.”

The stranger’s face changed.  His eyes held the barkeep and he froze.  Something about the man gave him the impression that he really was looking at a very old person.

“Truly sir, I kid you not.  Today is more a memorial for a life long forgotten than a celebration.”  He paused and his eyes seemed to change color.  They were as black as marble.  “Can I bother you with a story?  I promise it will be a good one.”

The barkeep was suddenly frightened but a curiosity quickly overshadowed his fear.  He had heard many a stranger spin fanciful yarns and he could tell that this stranger was about to tell a story that no one would believe, no doubt.  He wasn’t about to miss it.

“I am all ears, sir.  Just how old are you, if I might be so rude to ask?”

The stranger gave the room a passing glance as though someone uninvited might hear.

“Today is my 278^th Birthday.”

*****

The mist was heavy that morning.  A cold snap had settled into the marshes well into spring.  The remaining ice made it difficult for the paddlers to advance quietly, and quiet was important.  They were on edge.  The English settlers had become quiet, inactive.  The elders wondered why.  A party was sent to investigate.  Each paddler was alert, their senses heightened.  The lead boat stopped paddling suddenly.  A hand rose.  All canoes stopped, each man looking, listening, smelling; nothing.  Not even smoke from fires.  What evil had befallen the whites?

The heavy, cold, mist could hide a war party.  Was that what happened?  Did the weak members of the small colony succumb to a raid or worse, sickness?  That was something everyone feared.  Sickness could not be fought, a war party could.  But the whites had guns and knew how to use them.  Could they have been overcome even with such power?

Silently the canoes beached.  Clubs replaced paddles.  Footfall regarded no sounds.  No shadows in the mist unveiled the slight walls of the compound.  If a war party were here, they would have engaged by now.  Now the men were more afraid.  It must be sickness.  But it didn’t smell like sickness.  Yes, there was the smell of death hanging in the frigid air, but that smell had always surrounded the white strangers, like a blanket.

Minoa had never seen such people.  He hadn’t considered them as people anyway.  They were strange.  They built homes that could not easily be moved and wore garments of heavy materials he had never seen.  The fences didn’t prevent anything from getting in.  They were white like Gods.  But could they be Gods and yet be so vulnerable and stupid?  They didn’t know how to grow crops for food and spent too much time hunting for meat that was scarce rather than set nets for plentiful fish.  No, they could not be Gods.  He concluded that they must be demons.  They must have been sent here as some sort of punishment.  They angered the Gods somehow and therefore were forced to suffer.  Minoa made a mental note to increase his offerings to the Gods.

*****

Robert knew his wife would not last the night.  If he was lucky his newborn son would die as well.  No child should have to endure the hardships of which they found themselves.  This just wasn’t the plan.  The colony wasn’t prepared for the conditions and when the resupply ship didn’t come as planned they knew they were doomed.  Even God had abandoned them.

Now, in the early morning hours, the cold seeped into his bones and he began to hope that they might all be spared more suffering.  That death would bring comfort was now his only wish.  His failure was total.  Now he wanted to die because living with the shame of such failure was more than he could bear.  It had occurred to him that taking a wife before leaving for the New World was selfish, and indeed it was, but Emily wouldn’t hear it.  She would not only marry him, she would take the arduous trip gladly.  The adventure excited her.  She would be a torch bearer for the women who would follow her there, to Roanoke.  They were both thrilled when she learned that she was expecting.  Theirs would be the second born of the European families, the first being Virginia Dare.  That milestone had already been breached. 

Robert considered a final solution.  The lives of the innocent should not pay the price for his ambition.  If he could only muster the courage needed or the strength.  They ran out of food weeks ago.  The little they had managed to scavenge went to the weakest, Roberts’s young son included.   He wasn’t sure if it was a miracle or a curse that no one had yet perished.

“I’ll sleep on it.  Maybe a great shroud will befall us in our slumber.  Maybe the Lord has not forsaken us and will call us home.  Yes, I will sleep on it.”

Then, just as he closed his eyes, a twig snapped.  Something was inside the walls of the compound.

*****

The gate had no locking mechanism or even a rope tied to keep it shut.  It was as if no one cared to keep it secure.  Minoa and the other men had no trouble walking into the poorly defended encampment.  They were shocked by what they found.

The whole area was littered with debris and carcasses of dead animals; mostly small birds and rodents.  But there were no bodies.  Maybe they buried their dead or perhaps they kept their dead indoors, or worse, they ate each other.  The flies weren’t too bad because of the cold but where busy nevertheless.  It seems a garden had been planted but hastily and too late in the season to produce.  These people were definitely not Gods.  There were no fish bones anywhere.  The river and marsh had much to provide and yet these people did not or could not take advantage of something so simple.

Most troubling was the lack of smoke.  The small huts should have been sufficient to provide adequate shelter, especially with central fire pits for warmth.  Minoa feared the worst, that these people had succumbed to a deadly sickness and that they too would become sick and die.  But then something surprising happened.  A small cry came from one of the huts.  It sounded like the cry of a child.

*****

The infant had refused to fall asleep.  He had been unnaturally curious about things from the very first day of life.  Even now with everyone asleep he was wide awake, listening for any sound, sniffing for any scent, looking for any light.  He was hungry but he was used to being hungry.  Any amount of crying didn’t seem to help.  He stopped trying.  But then he heard a new sound, at least one that he had not heard in a while.  Someone was stirring outside.  He wondered who it was.  He let out a sound, just to get the attention of whoever it was.  Just a little sound at first.  No response came.  So he tried again, this time a little louder.  Again, no response.  So, he mustered up some strength and really wailed.

Minoa heard the cry and hastily made his way to the area of the camp where he thought the sound came from.  It was a plea from an innocent and Minoa could not refuse the call.  His children had all succumbed to disease and he did not wish to see another young life lost if he could help it; even if it was white.

He opened the door to a small hut; the smell nearly knocked him backwards.  The crying was coming from a small bundle in a corner.  A woman was lying in a heap on the opposite side of the room.  Then he heard a grunting.  A man in the middle of the room stirred under a blanket.  Minoa unsheathed his knife and prepared for a possible battle.  But the battle didn’t come.  The man and woman both were seemingly incapable of movement.

It was now clear to Minoa that these people weren’t sick, they were starving.  He was relieved for only a moment.  Now he and his kinsmen had decisions to make.  What were they going to do with these people?

*****

Robert knew they were not alone but he was too weak to do anything about it.  He hoped that maybe this was the end he had dared to wish for.  He immediately regretted that wish. 

“I am a coward.”  He mumbled.

Then a strong hand rolled him over and he was staring at the face of a stranger.  Was this the face of death?  The face was painted and the sounds that came from this being were unintelligible.  Maybe this was a demon sent to prepare Robert for the afterlife; an afterlife he believed deserved to be an eternity in Hell. 

But then he felt himself lifted, carried, by surprisingly gentle hands of the stranger.  He made a plea for mercy.

“Mm. .my. . .my. . boy. . .”  Then he passed out.

*****

“These are the words my father told me 5 years after the day of my birth.” He took a swig of his whiskey. 

The bartender refilled the empty glass.  “Interesting history lesson, stranger.”

“A lesson is not my intent.  I am merely allowing myself a bit of aggrandizement.  That and I am sure you do not believe me anyway.”

The bartender said nothing.  He sat back in his chair and waited for more of the story.

“No worries my friend.  It matters not to me.  But I do appreciate your ear.  Shall I continue?”

The old man motioned for him to do so.

*****

After a week of care, the English Settlers began to emerge from the huts in the Indian village.  Each bleary eyed but no longer consumed by hunger.  Robert decided to call a meeting.

“We have been abandoned by England, I’m afraid.  Left to our destinies and this dreary land.  But it seems divine providence has seen us through.  These fine savages have shown a greater Christian charity than they even know exists.  As much as we fear each other, today my son, my wife, my colleagues, all live because these strangers saw fit to provide.  We owe them many thanks.”

He received many nods in agreement.

“Now we have a decision to make.  It seems we have been invited to join our rescuers and abandon our useless hovels and perhaps England herself.  We can expect no provisioning nor can we expect our feeble skills to raise us to victory over this land we know nothing about.  These fine natives have a need as well.  Their numbers are dwindling due to sickness.  We seem immune, thank merciful God.  We can all find strength in greater numbers.  We can learn from each other and prosper together.”

Again, nods in agreement from everyone.  This surprised Robert.  He expected some debate or talk of mutiny over the Crown.  His merry band of colonists, it seems, had endured enough hardship to place their trust in England now.

*****

The smell was immediate and overpowering.  He began to drool uncontrollably.  His vision was poor but his hearing and sense of smell compensated.  From his vantage point, high in the tree, he could detect the hunting party from a great distance.  He anticipated the feeding.  He signaled the others and slowly lowered himself towards the base of his tree.  How easy this would be.  His fangs began to pulsate and fill with venom. 

Not too much. 

Don’t be hasty. 

This must be savored. 

He might have to fight his brothers.  They were always too greedy.  Too much venom.  The frail human skin dissolves too easily.  It must remain strong enough to contain the nectar.  Control was necessary.  They didn’t understand the need for control only the need to feed.  But he understood.  He knew the value of pacing oneself.  A body could last for days if just the right amount of venom was used.  One could feed for a week. 

They did not care.  Their hunger overwhelmed their feeble minds.

He could have kept this secret.  He could have left the others to fend for themselves but that was not their way.  He could be banished for such a crime.  But he didn’t have to give them too much notice.  That allowed him to be selective.  If he chose wisely and didn’t use too much venom, he could satisfy his cravings for a few days.  That appealed to him.

As soon as he saw his target his hunger overwhelmed his reason.  It always seemed to happen.  No matter how many times he tried to prevent premature death and complete dissolving of his prey, his eagerness to feed provided only immediate fulfillment.  The hunt would have to be extended to several days.  That was a discouraging thought.  The men would fight back and one of his kin would undoubtedly lose and eye or a limb or a life.

 But no matter. 

The men would not survive.  His brothers would continue. 

The hunting party appeared in the clearing.

His jaws began to throb.

*****

“And that is how it was for several years.”  The stranger tossed back another shot.  “We never saw what was killing our people.  But we did find gruesome remains after every hunting party came home with fewer and fewer of us.”

The barkeep tossed one back too. “Let’s just suppose I believe you, which is dubious, what or who was killing the tribe?”

The stranger turned to face the old man.  Their eyes locked.

“What was killing us became my mission.  But not right away.”

*****

As the young man grew, he found that he became more and more isolated.  After his parents died, a lonely tribal woman adopted him.  She became a mother to him both physically and spiritually.  They adored each other and were fiercely protective of their small but tight bond.

 So many of the original Roanoke Colonists had died, either from disease, tribal warfare, or by whatever creature was that was killing them slowly, year by year.  Now the remaining people of the tribe were living in terror.

Fear became the norm and that meant little to no patience or toleration amongst the remaining tribe members.  Tempers were short, prejudices became pronounced, and arguments sometimes turned violent. 

When a group of young hunters returned from a rare successful hunt, the young settler watched their glee with a hint of jealousy.

Their leader, carrying a freshly killed buck, sneered at the young white colonist.

“Look, the white girl wants me.  For I am the most desirable hunter in the tribe.”

The others laughed and praised his hubris.   The young hunter- in- waiting was so angry his vision blurred.  He owned no weapons.  He had no skill with a blade or bow.  He picked up a rock and reared back to hurl it at an unsuspecting head.  Just as he was ready to release the small missile, his adopted mother grabbed his arm.

“This is NOT the way of a warrior! We cannot afford to fight amongst ourselves.  Yes, they are stupid and full of themselves, but that is because they are frightened.”

“Frightened?  By what?  Didn’t you hear them?”  His hot tears streamed down his face.

“Yes, I heard them.  They fear what we all fear.  The unknown.  The force in the woods.  Each other.  You.  Me.  The creator has abandoned them.  They fear death.  They act out with cowardice.  YOU will not!  You are my SON!”

*****

Near the edge of a great desert in Western Australia, a monk from a nearby monastery is watching a small event near a set of trees.

CAPTION: KALGOORLIE, AUSTRALIA.

CAPTION: SUBJECT RECON.

Suddenly a snake, having watched the small insect for some time, strikes and swallows its meal.

The PADRE chuckles to himself.

JONAS: THE CIRCLE OF LIFE. HEH.

He gets up, wipes sand off his robe and slowly walks back to the monastery. He is nearly half way to the monastery when KITTY PRYDE dressed in a Nun’s Habit, steps out from inside a rather large tree near the happy snake. 

KITTY: (TELEPATHICALLY) BIG BOY HAS RETURNED TO THE HAMBURGER SHOP. REPEAT. BIG BOY HAS RETURNED TO THE HAMBURGER SHOP. OVER. 

PAGE TWO

From KITTY’s head, a voice from a fair distance away, answers.

EMMA: (TELE) THAT’S QUITE A CRUEL STREAK YOU’VE DEVELOPED, SWEETIE.

Near the tree. Annoyed at the slight, KITTY Replies.

KITTY: (TELE) WANT TO SEE THE EXTENT OF IT, HONEY BRITCHES? 

EMMA: (TELE) BRING IT SWEETHEART. 

Overlooking the area near the trees towards the town of Kalgoorlie.

SCOTT: (TELE, THROUGH EMMA) I HAVE NEARLY HAD IT WITH YOU BOTH!

NOW, FOCUS! 

KITTY adjusts her habit, harrumphs and scurries off towards the convent. From another part of the park area, where KITTY just left, a furry animal, a dingo, scampers towards the monastery. The wild dog seems focused and hurried as it speeds towards an open gate of the monastery. Several robed monks are finishing up some yard work on the grounds. They pay no mind to the scavenger.

PAGE THREE

The dog searches the halls of the monastery for his “robe.” He roams freely and is without fear of the other “robes.” He stops in the doorway of the busy kitchen. One of the “robes” stops and addresses him.

MONK: YOU LOOKING FOR YOUR BUDDY, JAX? HE ISN’T IN HERE, AND YOU

KNOW YOU AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE ANYWHERE NEAR THE KITCHEN, MATE.

NOW SCOOT. 

The “robe” uses a broom to lightly sweep JAX away. JAX scampers to avoid the broom and continues his search. He is hungry and his “robe” carries his favorite treats. But it is too early in the day for his “robe” to be in the dark room. He wanders in that direction anyway. Just in case. Sure enough, JAX finds his “robe” JONAS in the dark room, kneeling in front of a dresser. He is whispering something to himself and his eyes are closed. 

PAGE FOUR

JONAS repeats a prayer that he repeats often. While he tries to focus only on the words and the meaning of the words, he can not help but recount the sins of his past.

JONAS: STEER THE SHIP OF MY LIFE, GOOD LORD, TO YOUR QUIET HARBOUR, WHERE I CAN BE SAFE FROM THE STORMS OF SIN AND CONFLICT. 

He remembers a mighty battle in a desert.

JONAS: SHOW ME THE COURSE I SHOULD TAKE. RENEW IN ME THE GIFT OF DISCERNMENT, SO THAT I CAN ALWAYS SEE THE RIGHT DIRECTION IN WHICH I SHOULD GO.

The battle was not going well for JONAS or his fellow soldiers.

They pleaded with JONAS to do something before they were all killed.

JONAS: AND GIVE ME THE STRENGTH AND THE COURAGE TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT COURSE, EVEN WHEN THE SEA IS ROUGH AND THE WAVES ARE HIGH, KNOWING THAT THROUGH ENDURING HARDSHIP AND DANGER IN YOUR NAME WE SHALL FIND COMFORT AND PEACE.

JONAS apparently did do something in the end. He remembers a final image of himself standing in a pile of dead soldiers, enemy soldiers, raising his face and voice to the sky in anguish. In his room at the Monastery, he quietly weeps for those he killed.

JONAS: AMEN.

PAGE FIVE

From high, looking down on a great expanse of nothingness, a small figure is making its way across the desert floor. He leaves only elongated footprints, like drag marks. He is clearly injured. He heads for nearby shelter. It is a series of low lying rocks in an outcropping. In one corner is a small entrance to a cave. 

CAPTION: 20 YEARS AGO. 

CAPTION: GREAT VICTORIA DESERT-WESTERN AUSTRALIA.

PAGE SIX

As the injured boy enters the cave, he realizes that the cave has an occupant already. A small fire burns near the center of a clearing. Illuminated all around, like a cathedral, many drawings and written passages line the walls like a prehistoric Sistine Chapel. But there is no Michelangelo commissioned to work this masterpiece. Instead, a small man wearing little and covered in Tattoos works diligently on a part of the wall. 

MAN: THIS IS A PRIVATE PLACE, YOUNG MAN, I THINK YOU ARE LOST? 

The boy, barely able to stand, stutters.

BOY: I AM HIDING, KIND SIR. I DIDN’T KNOW SOMEONE LIVED HERE. 

Then he collapses. He is wounded and bleeding from his side.

The man drops his paint and brush and hurries to the boy. 

PAGE SEVEN

Near the cave entrance there is a commotion. Several Australian Soldiers have arrived on horseback and are investigating the entrance. The captain of the Desert Patrol calls out.

CAPTAIN: I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE, BOY. CONSIDER THIS YOUR TOMB! 

The soldiers prepare a small package of TNT to explode and seal the cave. The old man waves a finger and at once all the soldiers are gone. In their place is a series of large stones. Nothing more. No trace of the Desert Patrol exists. With tears in his eyes, the man turns his attention to the injured boy.

PAGE EIGHT

An odd glow envelopes the whole cave as the tattooed man places a hand on the boy’s chest. The man closes his eyes and at once the boy is healed. He opens his eyes and with a speed and energy he didn’t know he had, jumps to his feet. He appraises his body.

Except for a large hand print on his chest, he is without flaw.

The tattooed man is silently sobbing.

BOY: DON’T CRY OLD MAN. YOU HAVE GIVEN ME A GREAT GIFT. I FEEL,

I FEEL, STRONG. SO, STRONG.

MAN: I DO NOT WEEP FOR YOU. BE ON YOUR WAY AND NEVER FORGET THIS DAY.

BOY: YOU CAN BET I WON’T KIND SIR. I SHALL USE THIS GIFT TO ITS FULLEST. 

With that, he flees the cave with a speed he never previously had.

PAGE NINE

CAPTION: TWO WEEKS AGO.

CAPTION: MISSION ASSIGNMENT. 

KITTY can hardly believe what she just heard.

KITTY: A NUN. SERIOUSLY? 

EMMA FROST has not changed the look on her face. This is not negotiable. SCOTT chimes in. 

SCOTT: YOU DON’T HAVE TO BECOME CATHOLIC OR ANYTHING KITTY. IT IS JUST AN ASSIGNMENT.

KITTY straightens her face.

KITTY: NOTHING COOLER WAS AVAILABLE? OK. FINE. I CAN HANDLE THAT. I APPRECIATE YOUR CONFIDENCE. I’LL TAKE IT.

PAUSE.

KITTY: WHERE ARE WE GOING?

PAGE TEN

CAPTION: SUBJECT BRIEFING. 

The images coming from CEREBRA are hazy at best. Why such a powerful piece of equipment can’t make things more clear is something that KITTY will never get over. But what she sees is intriguing enough. It seems the subject of her assignment is located in a very hot and dry place. Africa? Australia? Egypt? The Midwest? Deep in the fog of Cerebra’s imagery is a tell tale sign of the place this new mutant lives and works. Aborigines dancing around a fire during a dark night. Is this mutant an indigenous person? Then a fleeting image of a robed, bald man looking forlornly at a large crucifix in what appears to be a church of some kind. The subject is a monk?

EMMA: THIS MUCH WE KNOW. OUR MYSTERY MUTANT IS A MONK, HIDING OUT IN THE OUTBACK OF WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 

SCOTT: HIDING FROM WHAT?

HANK: OR FROM WHO?

EMMA continues

EMMA: THIS IS YOUR OBJECTIVE MS. PRYDE. 

EMMA: WE NEED A CLEAR UNDERSTANDING OF HIS NEEDS AND CIRCUMSTANCES. EVEN CEREBRA CAN NOT GET A CLEAR READ ON THIS MUTANT.

EMMA: I ONLY KNOW A LITTLE ABOUT HIS MOTIVATION AND, THIS IS IMPORTANT, HIS ABILITIES ARE RATHER CURIOUS. 

KITTY: PRETTY CRYPTIC CHOICE OF WORDS MS. FROST.

PAGE ELEVEN

A continuation of the same briefing. THE X MEN are confused by

EMMA’s description of their latest subject. How can one of the most powerful telepaths on the planet NOT know more about a mutant with the help of CEREBRA? KITTY’s nervousness is palpable to everyone. 

KITTY: I’M NOT FEELING OVERLY CONFIDENT ABOUT THIS ONE. HOW CAN WE NOT KNOW MORE ABOUT THIS GUY?

HANK McCoy chimes in. 

HANK: THIS MUTANT IS OLDER THAN MOST AT THIS STAGE OF OUR DISCOVERY PROCESS.

HANK: HE MAY HAVE BEEN OFF PLANET OR IN DEEP HIBERNATION DURING HIS GENETIC CHANGE. HE MAY BE A “REPOWERED” MUTANT. WE JUST DON’T KNOW.

HANK: INTELLIGENCE GATHERING IS THE MAIN GOAL OF YOUR MISSION. NOT, NOT, APPREHENSION. IS THAT CLEAR?

KITTY: CRYSTAL.

(INSET)

As the supersonic jet rises from its subterranean lair, a small object ejects from the right “missing” arm of the Venus de Milo statue in the nearby garden, colliding with the hull of the BLACKBIRD and attaches itself there undetected. A clearly visible shadow of a figure near the statue makes a hasty retreat. Is Venus smiling?

PAGE TWELVE

CAPTION: NOW.

The bonfire sends burning ash and smoke high into the twilight sky. The men chant and stomp their feet turning up even more dust. The whole spectacle has an ethereal air to it as the fire makes the smoky/dusty air glow orange red. Their ebony skin, painted with white streaks and shapes of the Dreamtime along with the noise of chanting and musical instruments stirs the emotions of the spectators. A religious fervor blooms in the desert night. The tribal elder holds aloft his spear and prepares to make a song in high praise.

(INSET)

The gun barrel blasts echo off the rocks and trees. It is hard to know how many guns there are in the confusion. 

(INSET)

Many of the Aborigines scatter, many lay wounded and dying. 

PAGE THIRTEEN

The stranger dressed in black and masked, sets his sights on the first gunman he sees and buries his foot in the man’s back. The man screams in agony and falls. Several other gunmen meet a similar fate but who is causing their grief is not clear. The stranger moves too quickly and stealthily. 

(INSET)

Rifles, in various stages of disrepair, bent, and useless lay on the desert floor. The stranger hovers over a body of a dying native. He whispers softly. 

(INSET)

JONAS, the stranger revealed, gives last rights to the dying man. Tears fill his eyes. 

PAGE FOURTEEN

As the young Aboriginal man dies in JONAS’ arms, a shot rings out and catches JONAS square in the side of the head. He topples over and lays flat on his back. Two men appear out of the dark. 

JOE: NICE SHOT, MATE.

They approach the dead men. The second man nudges the Aborigine with his foot and then approaches JONAS to do the same. As his foot touches JONAS the padre grabs the man’s foot and tosses him like a small stone about 50 yards away into a set of nearby trees. He is impaled by a branch and dies instantly. The second man screams and starts to run. JONAS moves so fast his movements are not perceptible by the human eye. He stops directly in the killer’s path and stares menacingly with energy burning out of his eyes, filled with rage. The man runs right into JONAS and falls to his knees crying for mercy. JONAS is about to strike the man but something makes him stop. In a blink JONAS is gone.

The man is left, with his own soiled shorts, to wonder why he was spared. 

PAGE FIFTEEN

EMMA FROST is having a fitful sleep. She is dreaming. It is a nightmare. These are rare for her lately. What she sees are images from another time, another place. An ancient place. Warriors collide on a battlefield. She does not know where.

Many sudden twists and turns confuse her as the time line is erratic. She can not control the dream. Someone is watching the battle. A shadowy figure from a high place watches and smiles.

Dread fills EMMA FROST and she fears death, not her own, but the death of others by her hand. Only the hands are not hers, they belong to someone else. She awakens in a sweat. (The man on the hill, watching the battle, is not revealed but parts of him are. He resembles APOCALYPSE) 

PAGE SIXTEEN

The wounded Aborigine’s lay flat and are being attended to by tribesmen and women. Several Sisters from the Kalgoorlie Convent have arrived to help with the wounded and dying. KITTY is one of them. She is a skilled emergency medical technician and needs very little assistance. Without any warning, the headman quietly asks the Sisters to leave. He gives no reason.

HEADMAN: JUST LEAVE US NOW. THANK YOU. 

The Sisters, having learned never to argue with headmen, pack up and leave. KITTY wanted to protest but was not allowed to speak.

KITTY: (TELE) EMMA ARE YOU GETTING THIS? 

KITTY: (TELE) EMMA? ARE YOU THERE OR ARE YOU IGNORING ME? 

PAGE SEVENTEEN

Now that the Sisters of Mercy are out of the area. The headman makes a sound with a small instrument. Everyone circles him and sits near a dying fire. They are eager for what he says next. He introduces the tribal priest. The priest steps out of a small hut and approaches the group. 

PREIST: WE MUST NOW ENTER INTO DREAMTIME.

PREIST: EVIL HAS ENTERED OUR LIVES AND WE MUST HURRY. 

PREIST: ONLY DREAMTIME WILL MAKE US WELL AND HEAL OUR WOUNDS. FOR THERE ARE NO WOUNDS IN DREAMTIME.

He hands them all a small satchel from which each member of the tribe removes a small root and immediately chews it and swallows. Within moments they all enter into a deep trance-like state. Their eyes roll up into their heads and they writhe on the dusty ground. The priest smiles and walks back towards the village.

(INSET)

A hand reaches out from inside a large rock. Then KITTY PRYDE’S head peeks out. She finds a small piece of the root ingested by the tribe. She takes it and disappears back into the rock.

PAGE EIGHTEEN

CAPTION: SUBSTANCE ANALYSIS. 

The computer didn’t take long to determine the exact chemical make up of the root collected by Agent Pryde. Opium. 

KITTY: SERIOUSLY? THEY ARE ALL HIGH?

KITTY: OPIUM ISN’T A ROOT, LAST I HEARD. 

KITTY shows concern. HANK explains from thousands of miles away.

HANK: THIS PRIEST SEEMS TO BE PASSING OFF A MANUFACTURED DRUG THAT LOOKS LIKE A NATURALLY OCCURRING ROOT. WHY? 

EMMA: HAS ANYONE INVESTIGATED THIS PRIEST? SEEMS LIKE AN ODD THING?

KITTY: I’M ON IT.

And she disembarks the jet, in full Nun disguise.

PAGE NINETEEN

Top Half: a great expanse of outback desert. A morning sun brings a warm glow and long shadows to the landscape. CHAIRMAN BUTLER appraises the view out his office window. The building resides on the outskirts of The Great Victoria Desert. A land prosperous with untapped veins of Gold. Open pit mining has been an ongoing industry in the Goldfields region of Western Australia for nearly 100 years. Each new vein of Gold comes with a new set of problems with the native populations. Butler is nearing his final solution to his most recent problem. One masked vigilante shouldn’t be able to cause this much trouble for very long.

Bottom Half: Butler returns to his desk and addresses a small group of men seated throughout the large, ornately decorated room. 

BUTLER: TODAY IS THE DAY GENTLEMEN. 

BUTLER: OUR MAN IS FINISHING HIS TASK AS WE SPEAK. WE SHOULD BE ABLE TO CLEAN EM OUT WITH VERY LITTLE RESISTANCE BY MID AFTERNOON. 

(INSET)

The company agent that failed to kill JONAS the previous night is neck deep in sand. His head is covered with deadly fire ants.

His screams are muted by the desert. 

BUTLER: LAST NIGHTS FAILURE HAS BEEN ADDRESSED APPROPRIATELY. THERE WILL BE NO MORE DELAYS, I ASSURE YOU. 

PAGE TWENTY

Near the Aborigine’s village, JONAS awakens perched high on a rock outcrop overlooking the inhabitants. The village priest is making something in a cooking pot. He makes many chants and flails his arms around the fire. The villagers seem eager but stay at arms length of the priest while he makes magic. Even the dogs hide in shadows of stones. 

PAGE TWENTY ONE

KITTY, in full secret agent mode, sneaks by the Sisters of Mercy near the front of the convent. Passing through one wall after another until she reaches the main yard. She heads for the aborigine’s village closer to the edge of the Desert. She is no longer wearing her habit, but instead wears her X Men uniform.

It is a little warm for it but she doesn’t complain. The habit is much too heavy for spy work. The Great Victoria Desert is inhospitable to most and KITTY is certainly not going to complain. 

She nears the edge of the encampment and sees a group of Aborigines circling what appears to be the village priest. There are very few places to hide, so KITTY has to move from boulder to outcropping to tree with great care. The priest is busy making incantations and making lots of arm movements. JONAS sees KITTY from his perch but is focused on the priest and lets her be. 

PAGE TWENTY TWO

As the priest raises his arms to the sky, he lets out a primal scream.

PREIST: ADRIANNNNNNNNNNNEEE! 

Then, just hysterical laughter. In an instant, the priest is gone. In his place is another man, dressed in full body armor and lofting a sword. Then, in an instant a small girl licking a lollipop and wearing tap shoes replaces the Knight. Who? KITTY, still hidden, blinks. 

KITTY: ADRIANNE? OH, CRAP!! 

The little girl starts to shadow box and dance around. The

Aborigines, confused and upset by this strange behavior begin to murmur and look at each other. This was clearly unexpected.

JONAS, from his perch on the outcrop, floats to the ground and readies himself to face the creature by the fire. The aborigines scatter. Suddenly, the dancing girl stops dancing and hollering and stands stark still, facing JONAS. She changes in a way JONAS has never seen before. The girl is no longer there. In a blink she morphs into something, or someone, else. 

PAGE TWENTY THREE

The girl no longer appears as she once was. Now, to KITTY’S horror, the priest/knight/girl is no longer the being she was watching. In its place now stands a nearly naked, red haired, blue skinned, yellow eyed woman. Her attention is entirely on the masked man, JONAS.

MYSTIQUE: ME-YOW. 

MYSTIQUE: WANNA DANCE? 

He stands ready to fight, his eyes ablaze with energy. KITTY, on the other hand, can hardly believe her eyes. How on earth did MYSTIQUE find them and more importantly, WHY??

CAPTION: TO BE CONTINUED. . . .

-MRC

Chapter 1

The mirages of the Southeast New Mexican Desert fade at dusk.  Long shadows paint the barren landscape and provide contrast on a normally stark, drab, world.  That’s when the riders come out. 

Frankie, a lone rider, points his black soft tail east, away from the rapidly sinking sun.  The dust that has yet to settle from previous riders shrouds Frankie in an eerie glow from his high set head lamp.  Ahead lays his destination. 

Otis, New Mexico is a dump, a boil on the skin if you will, with nothing going for it since the ’20’s.  But every Friday night Otis is a mecca.  Riders from all parts flock to a neon shangri la; Lilly’s of the Desert.

The parking lot is a wash of dust and exhaust.  Frankie is in his element.  He loves a good biker bar.  Especially a strip club biker bar.  He would kill two birds with one stone at this sort of place.

Frankie rides his chopper through the dust slowly, deliberately.  His leathers covered in pounds of road dust.  Strapped to his right leg, his bowie knife is the only clean looking item on him.  He is smiling.

He pulls up to the front of the club.  He finds an occupied parking stall and muscles into it shoving the previous occupant out of the way.  Others who arrived earlier are not too pleased with his choice.  Frankie has only just arrived and already he is about to get his first taste of blood to go with the dirt. 

He lives for this.

Frankie calmly drops his kickstand and, with his back turned to several would be assailants, removes his dusty jacket.   This reveals his muscular back, wearing only a semi-white wife beater, scars can be clearly seen around the arm holes and collar.  He takes off his glasses and squints at oncoming headlights. 

One of the annoyed men, carrying a long chain, swings it high around his head and then in a swift stroke, right at Frankie’s exposed face.  In a flash of speed no one suspected he had, Frankie throws an arm up intercepting the chain links.  They wrap a few times around his forearm.  Frankie sneers at the owner of the chain.

The man looks surprised and then shouts “you sunnova. . .”

In the very next instant, Frankie pulls the chain that is firmly anchored to his forearm, pulling the man towards him very fast.  Frankie slams his forehead into the man’s face.  The assailant drops instantly, his face a bloody mess.  But Frankie now holds the man up with the remaining chain.  He swings the man into a collection of bikes nearby.  They all tumble into a pile.

Frankie looks at the remaining mob.  “Anybody else?  I’ll be in the bar.”

Frankie, nonplussed, puts his jacket and sunglasses back on, spits in the dirt, and opens the club door.  Several angry riders follow a short distance behind.

“Tough guys, heh, pff.”

Lilly’s is pretty busy tonight.  She has all her girls up and dancing for eager clientele.  The lights and music are pounding and mesmerizing.  The money is flowing as fast as the drinks.

Frankie stands still a moment to take in the view.  He knows there is an angry mob behind him, but he doesn’t care.  He owns them tonight.  He owns everyone.

The Minotaur held reign over the people of Crete for decades.

Frankie is rushed from behind.  Many patrons and a few employees seek cover.

Even with all their might, the man-bull would not go down.

A pitched battle, if a bit lopsided in numbers, takes place in the middle of the club.  Chairs fly, tables overturn, men fall with their faces bloody.

A kick to a head.

A punch to a nose.

A chair smashed over a head and back.

Seven men are down and bloody.  Frankie stands alone in the center of ground zero, his fists bared.  He is nearly unscratched, breathing hard.

The Minotaur was a plague to the people of Crete.

No one in the room makes a move to stop Frankie.  But one woman, from the back of the club, makes a single step towards the center.

It seems that the women of Crete had no trouble appeasing the God.

Slowly, deliberately, a pair of stiletto heeled shoes carefully navigates the strewn about chairs and bodies of broken men and bottles.  She stops inches from the victor.  Frankie turns and looks. 

He is frozen by what he sees.

It seems there was one who could tame the beast.

Frankie, stone still, watches as Lilly herself takes up the challenge of bringing peace to her club.  Without violence or malice, Lilly dances for the instigator of destruction.  The whole bar is frozen in amazement while Lilly works the lights.  Her scarlet mane ablaze, she writhes to the music; her enticements on full display. 

His attention at full alert to Lilly’s dance, Frankie forgets his previous motives.  He is oblivious to everyone and everything around him except for the beauty in front of him.  This would be a night to remember.  Lilly is here and she has Frankie in her sights.

(The following is a conversation between Faust and Mephistopheles.)

Faust: Who’s that there?

Lilly steps down from the stage.

Mephistopheles: Take a good look.. . .Lilith.

She walks right up to Frankie, who still looks dumbfounded.

Faust:  Lilith?  Who is that?

She whispers into Frankie’s ear.  He smiles sheepishly.

Mephistopheles: Adams’s first wife.  Beware of her.  Her beauty’s one boast is her dangerous hair.  When Lilith winds it tight around young men she doesn’t soon let go of them again.

Lilly, holding Frankie’s hand leads him towards the back of the club and opens a door.  As they disappear into a dark room, the rest of the club awakens as if from a dream and continue their revelry.

Chapter 2

Eric Olsen hears his receiver squawking while he is in the shower.  It is that loud. But he still can’t make out what Vee is so emphatic about.  He grabs a towel and nearly slips on the floor hurrying out to the living room.  He is concerned and a little put out.  The timing of this communication isn’t unusual but still, it is annoying.

“What? Vee?  I was in the shower.  Who did you lose?”

Eric isn’t speaking to a person in the room or even to a microphone or speakerphone.  Not really.  He is speaking to a snow globe.  And the snow globe talks back.

“Oh, this is a travesty sir.” The voice, named Vee, is nearly sobbing. “Horrendous, on a global scale!  Why, the ramifications are, are, staggering!”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Calm down and stop being so dramatic.”  He picks up the snow globe.  It contains a Christmas scene.  Santa is loading his sleigh with a giant bag of toys.  “Ok, Vee?  Who did you lose?”

“Goodness, I don’t want to admit it by even uttering her name. . .”

“VEE!”

Vee sputters “Adams first wife!  His first!  The HORROR.”

Eric now understands the urgency in Vee’s voice.

“LILITH?!  Gods help us.”

Chapter 3

The dark theatre is fairly empty at midnight; especially empty during a “Geek Fest.”  The Lord of the Rings films still play here even though they are ten years old.  Eric approaches the screen at an opportune moment.  He waits until he sees just the right place to enter.  ‘The Prancing Pony’ appears only for an instant, but it is long enough for Eric to pass between worlds.

A heavily bearded man sits at a small wooden table.  He smiles at Eric through his pipe smoke.

“Mr. Olsen!  Why, how long has it been my good friend?” The old wizard appears very happy to see Eric.  Then, a slight shadow passes over him.  He realizes that Eric wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a dire problem.

“Too long, Mr. Grey, far too long.  I am terribly sorry about that.  Even now I can’t make much small talk with you.  We have a big problem.”  The look in Eric’s eye is frightening.

Chapter 4

The morning light, similar to dusk, paints the New Mexico desert in pinks and purples.  The difference is the bloom.  At dusk the flowers hide from the darkness, almost in fear.  Dawn brings hope and the delicate petals stretch and yawn, reaching for nourishing light; but not this morning. 

The circling birds are the first sign that something has gone terribly wrong.  But they don’t land.  Something is preventing them from scavenging, cleaning the desert floor of unwanted or discarded waste.  It is as though they choose not to.  Only the flies are fearless.  The body lies east of the main road that runs away from Otis.  Nothing identifies the body as to its origin or even hints its humanity.  It remains unclaimed and details of its demise shrouded in mystery, waiting to be discovered and, hopefully, liberated.

Butch hates his job.  The only thing he is grateful for is his truck.  He isn’t one of those “guys” who only loves his rig.  He just doesn’t have many things to be thankful for.  So, a good 4×4 means a lot to Butch.

He can see the circling birds ahead of him.  He knows what it means.  He is puzzled about their behavior.

“Why don’t they land?” 

He has no choice but to investigate any sighting of the desert scavengers.   These are federal lands, and as a Federal Wildlife Agent, he has to be sure it isn’t a large animal or even worse, a human.  The Mexican border isn’t too far away, and that means dead bodies can and do make it this far.

He switches the differential into 4×4 high and pulls off the highway.

The body is larger than, say, a coyote but not as large as a horse.  It could very well be human.  Most likely an illegal crossing the border and getting lost and disoriented in the hot sun. He isn’t entirely sure what species the badly charred body is.  The burn patterns make no sense at all.  Only bits and parts are burned to char.  The sun doesn’t generally cause this kind of burning.  This seems intentional. There are no scorch marks on the ground or even drag marks.  Did this happen here or somewhere else?  If it happened elsewhere, how did it get here?  Curious-er and curious-er.

Chapter 5

Mr. Grey peers over his glasses and gives Eric a look that makes him shudder a little.

“You MUST find her.  You ARE The Expeller. It is your DUTY!” He pauses. “I’m sorry, you don’t need the reminder.  I fear the worst and when I fear ANYTHING, I act irrationally.  Forgive me.”

Eric doesn’t flinch.  Mr. Grey likes that about Eric. “Nothing to forgive, my friend.  The situation is dire.”

He pauses.

“I have more bad news, I am afraid.  No one can tell me just how long Lilith has been, erm, unaccounted for.”

“Then there is no time to lose.  There is no telling how much damage has been done; how many lives have been affected.”

Butch and two technicians work diligently to load the body into the back of his truck.  He makes certain that the body bag is sealed.  He is very particular about dead things in his truck.  He knows it is just another part of the job and that it is important, but there is nothing worse than fluids and gasses and bits and parts from dead people and animals to leave your rig uninhabitable for months.

Odd thing about this body though, it doesn’t smell, it doesn’t leak, and nothing falls off.  He would have to get it back to the Medical Examiners office to get a better understanding of just what happened to this unfortunate being.

There are no identifying marks on the body but the ME can tell that it is definitely human.  All the bones are in tact.  He would have to look at the pelvic bones to determine its sex and possible age.  Race is going to be a whole other problem.  The skull is very fragmented and barely kept in place by the char that is left of the skin. Exposure to the sun does not bash a skull to smithereens. This is most likely a homicide; an aggravated murder to be more precise.

He made to turn the body over to complete the external exam. Something hard and slightly shiny slips out from under the body.

“Well, well.  What have we got here.”

Carefully, the M.E. picks up the heavy object.  It is very clear as to its identity.

“A single-edged hunting knife, about 38 cm/15 in. long and curved near the point, with a short hilt and a guard for the hand.” He describes the item.  “A bit blackened, I will have to test for any blood.  A bowie knife I think.  Someone was proud of this one.”

Chapter 6

It is time to dig through his bag of tricks.  He needs a lead.  Mr. Grey can only provide historical background on Lilith and that is important.  But what Eric really needs is a lead.  Where should he look? 

“She is rather violent.” Mr. Grey peers over his glasses.  “Have there been any indications of violent acts on a person?”

Eric tries to sound un-patronizing. “I live in America.  Where isn’t there a violent act on a person?”

“Hmmm.  Yes, I see the predicament.  What about an unusual violent act?  Is that asking too much?” The old wizard also tries not to sound patronizing.

“Yes, that is one venue.  It would narrow the field some.” Eric gives that some real thought.

 “Your world isn’t entirely lawless is it?” He replies knowingly.

“I see your point. I will check with a few contacts in law enforcement.  See if there are any unusually cases of violence.  This could be a wild goose chase I’m afraid.  People can be rather creative these days when dispensing harm.”  He gathers his belongings and wishes his old friend good day.

Vee squawks rather emphatically as Eric opens his front door.

 “Erriiiiiccc!! Where are you?  I have urgent news.”

Sighing, “I am right here Vee, relax.  Take a deep breath.”

“New Mexico. Mr. Olsen.  I think you may want to speak with an Agent of the Law there.  It seems a body has been recovered under mysterious circumstances.”

“New Mexico? Does anyone really think Lilith would be in New Mexico?  Have you ever been to New Mexico, Vee?  There is nothing there.”

“Mr. Olsen, you know I have never been anywhere other than under the employ of the Grand Expeller.  Many of your lifetimes have come and gone during that time and none of my employers have ever taken me anywhere.”

“Sorry, Vee. I don’t think many humans would appreciate a disembodied voice with a diva complex.”

“DIVA?! Oh, that tears it.  I should switch off and make you handle the Scarlet Terror alone.”

“That wouldn’t be a far cry from what I do already.” Eric nearly bursts into laughter.  Then he checks the web for flights to Albuquerque.

Chapter 7

On the flight to New Mexico, Eric reads about the woman known as Adam’s First Wife; Lilith.  He first checks the web.

                Lilith (Hebrew: לילית‎ Līlīt; Kurdish: Arabic: Līlīṯ) appears as a night demon in Jewish folklore and as a screech owl in Isaiah 34:14 in the King James version of the Bible. In later folklore, “Lilith” is the name for Adam’s first wife. Her story was greatly developed, during the middle-ages, in the tradition of Aggadic midrashim, the Zohar and Jewish mysticism.

She is believed to have originated as a female Mesopotamian storm demon associated with wind and was thought to be a bearer of disease, illness, and death. The figure of Lilith first appeared in a class of wind and storm demons or spirits as Lilitu, in Sumer, circa 4000 BC. The phonetic name “Lilith” is traditionally thought to have originated in Ancient Israel somewhere around 700 BC, despite post-dating even to the time of Moses.

Eric knows the real story of Lilith that the Wikipedia entry does not and can not explain.  No one would believe it.  Although, the Jews are pretty close.  They usually are.  Eric makes a mental reminder.

“Investigate ancient Jewish mythological sources and their origins.”

Lilith was created as an equal to Adam not as a servant to him.  He wasn’t entirely thrilled about that and he complained.  He had God’s ear at the time and since God was still experimenting with his new invention, he listened and made a few adjustments.  Lilith wasn’t AT ALL pleased about the slight she perceived against her role, so she voluntarily walked out of the Garden to make a name and role of her own.

She has been VERY successful.

God’s intervention with Noah and the Great Storm was his last intervention, as promised.  So, when Lilith began her campaign against men, God’s hands were tied.

Since Eve was a complete disaster for Adam, and we all know what happened in the Garden once she got there, men were an easy target for Lilith and her helpers.  Ask any Caesar of Rome.  They will tell you just how “effective” Lilith was in bringing down the Empire.  But, that campaign left her bored and somewhat lonely.  So, for a while, she retired to the realm of the Gods on Olympus.  Zeus didn’t mind, of course. 

The other Gods asked no questions as to why Lilith was residing with them on Olympus.  If Zeus was cool with it, so where they.  What did concern them was that she would come and go as she pleased and no one but Zeus had that privilege.  So, what was the deal?  Where was she going?  Why would Zeus allow her that?

One could speculate that Lilith provided for Zeus in a way that pleased him more than he would ever reveal.  The twinkle in his eye told the story.  Jealousy and conniving followed.  Lilith, to her credit, was more than prepared for the backlash by the Goddesses of Olympus.  This was not her first rodeo.

It was Hera who hatched a plan to dispatch the seductress.  The Goddess of Marriage and first wife of Zeus had influence over the demons of Hades.  The plan was to create a demon of such great masculine beauty that Lilith would be overcome with desire.  At a moment of sensual weakness, the demon would dispatch Lilith and throw her out of Olympus.

At least that was the plan.

Eric remembers his very first mission.  He sniggers to himself while he imagines a few well place truancy notices.  (A notice, found by a mythical being, immediately whisks them back to their myth origin.) 

The Olympians had been tricked out of their place on high by the Nordic Gods.  Odin and company had just been defeated in a recent Ragnarök and needed a place to rebuild Valhalla.  When the Olympians realized they had been duped, Eric was called in to expel the Nordics back to whence they came.  It turns out that was perfect because by sending the Nordics back, Valhalla was restored as if the Ragnarök had never happened.  The Olympians got their palace back as well.  The look on Loki’s face when he glanced at the Truancy notice, carefully placed by Eric, was priceless.  They still talk about it on Mount Olympus.

Then Lilith arrived on Olympus and all hell broke loose.

The smile on Eric’s face fades to a frown.

Chapter 8

Butch, having only recently fallen asleep, awakens suddenly.  His heart beats very rapidly and he is confused.  He is certain something made a noise.  Not a normal noise.  His eyes are not attuned to the darkness of his room and that makes no sense.  His eyes have been shut for a few hours and he should be able to see by now.

“Poor baby.  Lost in your own mind.”

The disembodied voice paralyzes him with fear.  Then a delightful scent.  His eyes begin to work again.  The room is no longer dark but rather moody with a soft glow of moonlight.

Then she steps out from a shadow.

Glorious. 

Her hair is the source of the light.  Butch has never felt this sort of lust.  He must be dreaming.

“Go with it big guy.” He thinks to himself.

The magnificent beauty, scarlet hair flowing around her voluptuous features, practically floats toward him. Her face is radiant and inviting.

“Let me be yours.” A voice practically sings.  Her lips only parting but not speaking.

Butch leans back.  Waiting.  Hungry.

Then. . .FIRE!

Lilith, the night demon, made it her singular mission to eradicate the Sons of Adam from the face of the earth.  For nearly four millennia she has been very successful in her efforts.

Arriving in the dreams of adolescent boys she spills their seed; using every womanly asset in her arsenal.

In the lands of myth and legend she flaunts her powers publicly. Gods and goddesses from the beginning of myth have faced her wrath and lost.  She was a member of “The First Footprints Club” in the Garden of Eden.  Imbued with unfathomable will and powers, God has left her alone.  Her fate tied with the most holy.  God’s only guilt.

Today, she finds no pleasure in her mission.  Sure, at times it can be fun, but every victory feels hollow now.  It is all too easy.  All the worthy adversaries are gone.

Chapter 9

Eric has to check in with Vee in case of any erroneous or new reports.

“The body that was recovered in the desert seems to have been a missing biker from Santa Fe.  He had recently caused quite a stir at a rural establishment near Roswell.”

“A rural establishment?” Eric is baffled.  Vee is being purposefully vague.

“Yes, a rural establishment.  Did I stutter?”

“Vee, what’s your issue?”

“Issue? Why, whatever are you on about?”

He breathes a heavy sigh. “Is this about your current, um, condition?”

“I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about. Now, about this missing biker. It seem. . .”

Eric cuts Vee off.  “Vee.  I promise.  I will get you a new home as soon as I get back.  But for now you are going to have to live with Santa and his sleigh.”

“That’s nice.  But as I was saying. . .”  Vee pretends not to be elated. 

“What do you mean by a rural establishment, Vee?”

“It’s a strip club, sir.  Nasty place.”

“So, how does one go to a strip club, cause a riot, and end up dead in the desert?”

“That seems to be the question, sir.  I dare say I hate to admit that I think I know the answer.”

Eric agrees.  “Yes, it seem Lilith has been slumming.”

Arriving in Albuquerque, Eric heads right for one particular place.  He uses Indian Guides for various information gathering.   The Navajo Reservation is huge but far away from the airport so that isn’t where Eric is going.  He has another way of getting information from his Indian Guides.

Coyote was there when God/The Creator made man and woman.  He knows Lilith, Adam, Eve; everyone who was at that party.  Eric knows him as well.  If Lilith has been on the prowl in New Mexico, Coyote would know it.

The Rio Grande Zoo isn’t open when Eric arrives.  But that’s ok.  Coyote finds Eric in a quiet park near the entrance to the zoo. 

“Problems Mr. Olsen?”

“You could say that.  He pauses. “Lilith.”

“Oh my.  You don’t say.” Coyote is being coy.  He is always coy.

“My friend, I know your ear is always to the ground.  I fear the worst in her.  She could cause all kinds of trouble for all of us.”

Coyote simply watches a nearby road runner.

Eric changes tack.  “You have a good thing here.  Many of you.  Lilith is jeopardizing that. The free meals could end.”

An appeal to appetite usually works on Coyote.

“Ah, the magic words.  You know much too much my friend.  About weaknesses.” Coyote smiles.  “Otis.  You will find her in Otis.”

With that, he turns quickly and fluidly towards the unsuspecting Road Runner.

Chapter 10

It’s a long drive from Albuquerque to Otis.

“I should have flown to Roswell.” Thinks Eric.

That gives him an idea.  It had been years since his last trip to Roswell.

“Vee? Any chance that old Hank is still around?” Eric speaks into a child’s play phone.

After a delay, Vee comes back. “Old Hank? Does he know you call him that?”

“Yes, Vee, he does. Not everyone is sensitive about names and such.”

Another delay.  Eric is aware he’d have to deal with Vee this way, but he has the time and isn’t about to beg.

“Why, yes. Indeed. “Old” Hank is still in Roswell.  Why?”

“Thanks Vee.  That’s all.” He hangs up the plastic receiver.

Old Hank is truly old; very old in fact.  Eric and Hank made their acquaintance just a couple years back at the turn of the millennium.  It seemed that Hank wanted to mess with the Roswell locals by “resurrecting” himself and scaring the pee out of anyone and everyone he could.

Eric didn’t have to expel Hank as it turned out.  While Hank was frightening a small gang of bored kids, he inadvertently prevented a murder.  Eric let him off the hook for a “good deed.”

After another hour and a half on the road, Eric spots the unassuming signpost.

“Prosecutors will be shot.” Said the small sign.

Eric turns onto the invisible road and vanishes from public view.  Alien technology has its perks.

Back under the lights of her club, Lilly scans the room.  For what, she isn’t sure.  She senses something; someone.  But who?  She doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary on first glance.  Then, in the middle of the room, she sees him.

The assassin’s arrows slice their way though the club without slowing as they pass through a couple unsuspecting patrons.  Three men drop instantly and one stripper finds her leg firmly attached to the stage wall.  Several more arrows and darts fly. 

Every mirror in the club shatters.

Lilly ignores the screams and the remaining two arrows.  They fly by her as she simply ducks away. She scans the room again; trying to locate her would be assassin.

He is on her in a flash. 

“I’ve been looking for you!”

In nearly the same instance, Lilly’s hair flies into the eyes of her assailant, temporarily blinding him.

“Well, it seems you have found me, Narcissus.  Took you long enough.” Lilly breaks free of his grasp.

They face each other.

“You are going to die today, Lilith.  We are finished with you!” Narcissus growls.

“Aww.  Is Daddy whoring you out again?” Lilly smirks.

“Your blood is to be spilled this day.  I will NOT be denied this time!”

She purrs “Be careful what you wish for, backstabber!”

“Old” Hank blinks his enormous, bulbous, alien eyes. “Lilith?  Really?  I thought she was a myth.”

Eric laughs. “This coming from you, the all time myth of the last century? That’s rich.”

Hank laughs but his voice is not audible by human ears.

“Sorry.  I just love messing with you.  Any idea where she is?” Hank asks.

Eric stops laughing. “I was hoping you would know.”

Hank stops laughing. “Me?  How would I?”

“She was last reported being near Roswell.”

“Who told you that?”

“Coyote.  Was he wrong?”

“That depends.”

Eric looks right into Hanks eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It depends on what he thinks he saw or heard. That’s all.  What did he say exactly?”

Eric is incredulous. “Are you holding out on me?  Did she get to you?”

Hank makes another inaudible noise.  At least that is how it looks to Eric.

“Not at all my friend.  I just don’t want to see those girls get hurt.”

“Who? What?” Eric is totally confused now.  “What girls?  What are you talking about?”

“Ok, I have had my suspicions about this one place.  A biker bar slash strip club.”

“Why?  Dead bodies strewn about the place or what?”

“No, nothing like that.  Just this really odd aura surrounds the place.  Like it has some sort of shield.”

“So you have been there?”

“Oh yeah.  I go all the time.  The ladies are HOT HOT HOT!”

Eric gulps. “You, um, like human women?”

“Oh they aren’t human.  At least not when I go there.  Somehow or other the place shows you the kind of woman you WANT to see.  That way everybody is a happy customer I suppose.”

As the remaining patrons clear out in a hurry, Lilly and Narcissus remain focused entirely on killing each other.  But not everyone in the club leaves.  All of Lily’s dancers transform into their natural selves.  Lilith’s Demon Hoard transcends on the unsuspecting narcissus.

At that very same moment a loud rumbling from outside the club shakes the very foundation of the old building.  Lights from several two wheeled vehicles invade the windows of the club and distract the female demon hoard.

Narcissus stands triumphantly with an evil, toothy smile. 

“You are not the only one with minions at the ready, whore!!”

All at once several leather clad, half man, half animal, warriors crash through the windows and doors of Lilly’s now defunct nightclub.

“You are as good as ever Narc. “ Lilly purrs. “I truly wish we had met a millennium ago.  You might have made a fun plaything.”

Chapter 11

Eric and Old Hank can see smoke up ahead.  Clearly there is trouble in Otis.

“You may not be the only one looking for Lilith, I think.” Hank said the obvious.

Eric is clearly worried. “I hope there were no civilians involved.”

“Civilians are chattel buddy.  Why sweat em?”

“Because it is my duty.  Myths are not supposed to interfere with this world and it is my job to keep the peace.”

“Just you?” Hank has had this conversation with Eric many times.  Why Eric takes the entire burden is beyond him.

“Why doesn’t anyone assign you a helper?  Or two?

Eric guffaws. “They gave me Vee.”

“Hah Ha ha.  That’s rich.”

“Be careful.  Vee can hear us.  Besides, I got you to help me” Eric smiles sheepishly. “Honestly, I don’t know what to expect.  This could be nasty.”

Hank isn’t worried. “Oh I hope so.  I’m bored.”

They got closer to the scene.

“I don’t think you will be bored for long my friend.”

They pull into the dusty parking lot in the midst of chaos.  Narcissus’s demon hoard against Lilith’s minion menagerie.   Neither Eric nor Old Hank can determine which side is winning. 

“I’ll hunt down Lilith, you take care of Narc.” Eric takes command.

“Why do I have to fight the demons?”

“Because Lilith’s girls would distract you and then KILL you!  That’s why.”

“Hmm.  You’re probably right.” Sighs Hank.  “Would have been a good way to go though.”

Hank musters up all his best alien ugliness and plunges into the fray.

Eric reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of parchment.  His incantation is short and sweet.

“Apérripse me ti̱n epifýlaxi̱!!” [(Greek)Dismissed with Prejudice]

The parchment magically grows to its full size and Eric’s entire guise changes from 21^stcentury civilian to ancient, Greek, warrior, God.  Now stands the Expeller of Olympus. 

The rising shrieks are deafening to anyone within a mile of the battlefield.  Eric and Hank both falter for mere moments as their ears fail and their heads pound in agony.  One by one Narcissus’ demons and Lilith’s minion warriors disappear in bright flashes of light as they are expelled from this world and returned to the Mythik realms from whence they came. 

After the initial expulsions, all that remains standing are two trees, a single burnt motorcycle, Old Hank, Eric, and two pissed off Gods.

“Ok folks, here’s what we’re gonna do.” Eric begins.

“I’m not going to expel either of you.”

The other three turn and look at Eric agog.

“Um, Eric? Probably not the best idea.” Old Hank whispered.

“Nope.  Seriously.  We are going to sit here and watch the two of you kill each other.” Eric takes a seat on a rock outcropping and crosses his arms.  Then simply stares at the combatants.

Hank does the same.

“Oh this is going to be good.” Hank laughs.  He laughs loudly.

Lilith and Narcissus eye each other with disdain. 

“We don’t have all day.” Says Eric. “Chop chop.”

“What’s the catch?” Narcissus asks.

“No catch, I am tired of you guys and would like to go home.  So, if you would. . .”

Lilith suddenly reverts to her more human, alluring form.  She eyes Eric.

“Uh oh.” Old Frank shields his giant eyes.

She approaches Eric with all her swagger and feminine assets on display. Narcissus sees his chance.  As he is about to fling a bolt directly into Lilith’s heart, Eric, without missing a beat holds aloft the parchment.  Narcissus can’t help himself and accidentally looks directly at the paper and vanishes instantly.

“Why Eric, I didn’t know you cared.” Lilith purrs.

“Ah ah ah.” Eric threatens to flash the scroll. Lilith stops dead in her tracks.  She knows he can expel her directly back to Olympus where the Gods await to exact long overdue punishment.

Lilith stops short. “Ok little man, what do you want?”

“You know I could just send you back right now.  You deserve to face the music.  But you are an “Eternal” and I doubt you would learn your lesson.”

Lilith shows impatience on her face for a moment.  Then, just as suddenly, she reverts to her more human form of Lilly.

“Ok.  So, we are here.  What do you want?”

“Just answer a question for me.  Why this?  Why the killings?  These people are little and meaningless to you.  So. . .?”

“You answered your own question.  I am an Eternal.  Have you ever wondered what that means exactly?”

Eric shakes his head.

“No one but an Eternal understands what it means to BE eternal.  It’s boring.  No end in sight.  We have to find ways to spend the time.”

“So you decided to war on the male human?”

“Meh.  It’s a living.” She smiles a nasty, toothy, smile.

Eric isn’t worried.  He owns the upper hand and she knows it.

“Listen, what you have been doing has disrupted a lot of lives unnecessarily just to prevent you from being bored.  I think that is a waste of talent.  You are an Eternal.  Sending you back would only be a temporary fix for me.  So we, you and I, need to come up with a better solution.  Yes?”

“Talent?  You consider me to be talented? “ 

She fights to contain her rage. 

“Men of earth are a waste of space as far as I am concerned.  All they do is war on each other and degrade their women.  I am a purge for this blight called man.  Present company accepted, of course”

“There is no use arguing the merits of men and women with you.  I know that. But I can’t let you continue in this way.  Either find a more mutually beneficial mission or I send you back and we continue this dance forever.”

“Forever is a long time for humans.  You are part human, I am an eternal.  How could you possibly continue this fight with me?”

“My father is a very powerful man, Lilith.  He will assign another to replace me when that day comes.  This could get old for you.”

“Oh, so it is me you are thinking of, not your precious breed.” She snarled.

“I couldn’t care less about you Lilly. It’s your choice.  I’m just being nice.”

“Yes, I suppose you are just being nice.  Not that I am scared of the Olympians by any means.  They are weak and too fond of ambition.”

Old Hank isn’t impressed. “Pff. Stall tactic.”

“Easy Hank.” Eric knows the situation is still volatile.

“Fine, you want me to play nice with the kiddies.” Lilith seems resigned to her fate now.

“Ok, so what’s your plan?”

“I will focus my attention where it can be of better use.  If you have a problem with that, find me.  If you can.”

With that, Lilith evaporated.

“Well, THAT could mean anything.” Says Old Hank.

“Jeez.  Yeah.  That’s what worries me, old friend.  Wanna get a drink?”

“Ooh. At Mr. Grey’s?  Absolutely.”

Epilogue

The mirages of the Afghan hills fade at dusk.  Long shadows paint the barren landscape and provide contrast on a normally stark, drab, world.  That’s when the riders come out. 

Fahib, a lone rider, points his run-down Honda Trail east, away from the rapidly sinking sun.  The dust that has yet to settle from previous riders shrouds Fahib in an eerie glow from his high set head lamp.  Ahead lays his destination. 

Kandahar, Afghanistan is a dump, a boil on the skin if you will, with nothing going for it.  But every Saturday night Kandahar is a mecca. 

The parking lot is a wash of dust and exhaust.  Fahib is in his element.  He loves a good biker bar.  He would kill two birds with one stone at this sort of place.  Long nights of discussion as well as a good smoke would complete his day.

As he pulls into the parking slip, a woman, in full Berka, as prescribed by the local Taliban, stares at him.  The impertinence of the woman is almost more than he can bear.  He storms over to her with a switch in hand, raised above his head, ready to strike.  She does not budge but stands ready for the blows.

I the blink of an eye the switch vanishes from his hand.  He turns around to see who would be so bold only to find a Goddess, dressed in sheer gauze and a blinding light standing defiantly before him.

“And what did you plan to do with that switch Mr. Arab man?”

-END

 TEXT-  IN THE LATE 1930′S AMERICAN’S WERE FEELING CAUTIOUSLY OPTIMISTIC. THE WORLD HAD BEEN GRIPPED BY A DEVASTATING ECONOMIC DEPRESSION AND WAR WAS LOOMING ON THE DARK HORIZON. HITLER’S WAR MACHINE WAS MOBILIZING IN EUROPE AND AMERICAN’S WERE NERVOUS. BUT THERE WAS REASON FOR OPTIMISM. PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT HAD BEEN REELECTED AND THE ECONOMY WAS IMPROVING, HOWEVER TENUOUS.

 TEXT- HOLLYWOOD PROVIDED A WELCOME DISTRACTION FROM GLOBAL FEARS. BUT THE BIGGEST DISTRACTION COULD BE FOUND IN THE AMERICAN LIVING ROOM; RADIO

TEXT- THE RISE OF THE RADIO STAR, ADVERTISING, NEWS REPORTS, SPORTS AND WEATHER FORECASTS ALL DEFINED THE POPULAR CULTURE OF THE DAY. IMAGINATION AND “THEATER OF THE MIND” REVOLVED AROUND THE ALLURE OF THE RADIO SHOW

 TEXT- MOST ACCEPTED RADIO AS A USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING DEVICE PROVIDING INFORMATION AND ENTERTAINMENT. BUT SOMETIMES IMAGINATION MIXED WITH IRRATIONALITY AND FEAR CREATED A DANGEROUS ELIXIR.

 [This is a title page with the introduction to the story.]

PAGE TWO

 A particularly stormy October night in the Pacific Northwest. The rain is falling in buckets on a nearly black street. The road is deserted except for one car, in the distant horizon. Even it’s headlights barely break the dark and wet.

CAPTION -OCTOBER 30, 1938

CAPTION- SOMEWHERE ON THE NORTH CASCADES HIGHWAY, WASHINGTON STATE

In 1938 the North Cascades Highways was actually called the North Cascades Highway. But it was not listed as State Route 20, rather is was Highway 16. If any signage is used be sure to make it 16. 

CAPTION- 6:15 PM

A closer look at the car shows that it is a 1936 Oldsmobile L-36 Touring Sedan. The tires kick up a large spray of fresh storm water into the air battering the sides of the vehicle.

Inside, barely visible by dashboard light are two occupants. A man and a woman in their mid 50′s. Both look terrified. 

A single crucifix on a rosary swings wildly from the rear view mirror.

NADINE- BE CAREFUL BEN.

 BEN- NOW ISN’T THE TIME, NADINE.

Ben’s knuckles are pure white on the steering wheel and he fights for vision of the road in front of him. 

PAGE THREE

Just ahead of the speeding Olds is a small Gas Station. 

BEN- THEY HAVE POWER.

NADINE- HOW?

BEN- HOW SHOULD I KNOW, NADINE. JESUS!

NADINE- REALLY BEN, YOUR LANGUAGE. AT A TIME LIKE THIS. . .

The car pulls in to the little service station. A man, dressed in overalls hurries out. 

This station is fictional but could have been this way. A small building with small signage indicating the name of the owner and what sort of gas is pumped is somewhat visible under the single street lamp in the dirt parking lot. No other buildings are around it. It is an isolated place just outside the town of Sedro Wooley, which still has power. There are two pumps to dispense fuel.

ATTENDANT- NASTY NIGHT. FOLKS NEED A FILL UP?

Ben does his best to smile.

BEN- YES. AND HURRY.

ATTENDANT- YESSIR. DON’T BLAME YA. HAVEN’T SEEN A STORM THE LIKES O THIS IN A LONG TIME.

ATTENDANT- IT REMINDS ME OF THE STORM OF ’27. .

Ben, with impatience on his face, looks squarely at the old man.

BEN- DAMMIT! JUST FILL IT!

NADINE- PLEASE.

NADINE- (UNDER HER BREATH) BEN, HE DOESN’T KNOW.

Ben looks at the dash. The radio isn’t on. He attempts to turn it on.

BEN- DAMN! STILL NOT WORKING. 

Nadine looks at her husband.

NADINE- DO YOU THINK HE’LL BE THERE?

BEN- TONIGHT? HE’LL BE A BUSY MAN I AM SURE.

PAGE FOUR 

The attendant finishes filling the tank. Ben sees this and starts the car.

ATTENDANT- THAT’LL BE $2.20. WANT ME TO CHECK THE OIL?

BEN- ARE YOU CRAZY? I AM NOT PAYING ANYTHING.

The car begins to speed off. 

BEN-(NEARLY SCREAMING) WHY SHOULD I? WE’RE ALL GOING TO TO DIE TONIGHT ANYWAY!

NADINE- (SOBBING) JUST GO!! 

The car speeds away from the bewildered old man and into the blackness of Highway 16. 

ATTENDANT- WHAT THE HELL. . .? 

TEXT- CONCRETE MARTIANS: BASED ON REAL EVENTS

PAGE FIVE

CAPTION- CONCRETE, WASHINGTON 

CAPTION- THREE HOURS EARLIER 

The sheriff has his hat off and scratches his head. The bewilderment on his face tells the story. The long sledgehammer in his hand drips contents of the recently shattered moonshine stills. The remains of which smoke, steam, and run their contents across the clearing in the pine woods. 

There are several photographs of moonshine stills in wooded areas available. The brothers still set up is pretty small.

TEXT- I CAN’T BELIEVE I AM STILL DOING THIS.

TEDDY- HOW IS IT THAT YOU BOYS WERE SIMPLY UNAWARES?

TEXT- UNAWARE, MY FOOT.

TEDDY – PROHIBITION ENDED FIVE YEARS AGO.

The two “boys,” Harold and George have their “I dunno” faces on. Their aloofness informs the old sheriff of their intentions. Play dumb at all costs. 

HAROLD -IT WERE FOR PERSONAL USE, TEDDY. WE AIN’T SELLIN NUTHIN OR NUTHIN.

GEORGE- RIGHT. THAT’S RIGHT. YEAH. 

Teddy, having known these two, and having had previously warned the brothers about their little operation, isn’t playing games. 

TEDDY- SEE. FELLAS. I GOT NO CHOICE THIS TIME. I GOTTA TAKE YOU IN.

TEXT- AND THEN CLEAN OUT MY RIG. PEEW.

TEDDY- I WISH IT WEREN’T SO, BUT I WARNED YOU BOTH, MANY TIMES.

TEXT-MORE TIMES THAN I CARE TO COUNT. 

George breaks into tears as the sheriff place him in cuffs. 

[I need reference for the sheriff's uniform as well as his tools and car. Most likely he is a deputy rather than the actual sheriff.]

GEORGE- DANGIT, HARRY! YOU SAID WE’D BE OK.

TEXT- CRYING? SERIOUSLY? 

Harold doesn’t try to run. He has no where to run to. He lets the sheriff load him into the car unmolested. 

HAROLD- SHUT UP, GEORGE. 

PAGE SIX

The three men in the police car head for town on a narrow wooded road.

TEDDY- WHY WERE YOU OUT HERE TODAY ANYWAY?

The brothers just look blankly at each other 

HAROLD- WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? DON’T YOU KNOW? 

The sheriff looks at the men in the rear view mirror, Harold continues.

HAROLD- BIG STORM’S A BREWIN. COULD CAUSE SOME FLOODIN WAY I HEAR IT.

TEDDY- FLOODING? NOT LIKELY. 

TEXT- WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THIS STUFF? KNEE ISN’T ACTING UP. 

As the car exits the forest road and turns onto the main highway, from a high vantage point it is clear what Harold was talking about.

Hanging over the small town of Concrete, Washington, a large black curtain of clouds was making its slow march towards the mountains. Just in time for sunset. 

[There are many photo references available for the town and the surrounding mountains.]

PAGE SEVEN 

Sheriff Ted and his cargo stop in front of a small, rundown house. 

TEDDY- OUTTA THE CAR FELLAS.

The brothers look at each other, dumbfounded.

HAROLD- YOU AIN’T TAKIN US TO JAIL?

Teddy just stares out the windshield. The darkness looms ever closer.

TEDDY- I WON’T TELL IF YOU WON’T. 

Without a second thought the brothers clamor out of the car and run to their house. A woman, probably their aging mother, stands at the front door holding a rolling pin. 

TEXT- GOOD RIDDANCE. 

TEXT- MARTHA’S PUNISHMENT WILL BE MORE THAN ENOUGH. 

The sheriff speeds off towards town. 

TEDDY- HAHAHA!

There seems to be small crowd in front of the general store. Teddy aims his police car towards it.

[The town of Concrete has changed little since 1927. So all current reference is still pretty up to date. The main street is especially accurate as it is still the same.]

PAGE EIGHT

As the black clouds continue their steady death march over the town, Main Street, Concrete, such as it is, is a bustle of activity. Teddy and his police car attempt to drive up in front of the general store.

CAPTION- 3:45 PM

He parks on the street and starts to get out of the car. 

TEXT- THE HELL. . .? 

A citizen nearly runs into Ted.

JOE- OOPS.

TEDDY- JOE, WHAT’S GOING ON HERE? 

JOE- BIG STORM HAS EVERYONE RILED UP. 

Joe is determined to get into the store. The sheriff follows tightly on his heels. 

TEDDY- SERIOUSLY? THIS A RUN ON SUPPLIES?

JOE- YUP. DONCHA WANT TO BE PREPARED?

TEDDY- UH, SURE. 

Joe disappears into the store. Several other folks clamor out, bags stuffed with supplies. Canned goods, breads, and other assorted items.

TEXT-PREPARED FOR WHAT? IT’S NOT LIKE WE NEVER HAVE RAIN. 

PAGE NINE 

Ted works his way into the General Store. It’s crowded but manageable. He makes his way to the counter where he sees Dotty, the owner, furiously filling orders.

She sees the sheriff. Her concern plays out over her face. 

TEDDY- BUSY? 

DOTTY- THEY SAY IT COULD FLOOD. 

TEDDY- WHO IS “THEY?” 

DOTTY- YOU KNOW. THE RADIO PEOPLE. 

TEDDY- OHHH. RIGHT. RADIO PEOPLE. 

TEXT- HOW SILLY OF ME. JEEZ. 

Dotty misses his teasing and continues working her customers. Teddy figures he might as well pick up a few things for the week. He heads back to the cold boxes for some milk. 

Dotty’s husband Hal is in the back stocking the cold boxes. 

HAL- HOWDY SHERIFF! READY TO BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES? 

TEDDY- HONESTLY HAL, IT JUST LOOKS LIKE A TYPICAL FALL RAIN. YOU ALL ARE TOO EASILY INFLUENCED.

Hal stops loading the bottles of milk and looks serious. 

HAL- DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT TEDDY. I HEARD IT. .

TEDDY- (IN UNISON WITH HAL) ON THE RADIO. 

TEDDY- RIGHT. GOT IT. 

TEXT- EVERYBODY HAS RADIO ON THE BRAIN.

PAGE TEN 

The streets of Concrete are nearly quiet now as dusk and heavy clouds have nearly enveloped the town. The rain begins.

CAPTION- 4:20PM

A young woman passes through the front office of the police station and walks right into the living area. She seems rather determined about something. 

JESSICA- DADDY?! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE. I CAN SMELL THE BURNED SPAGHETTI. 

Sam, a deputy sits at a desk and looks up surprised. 

SAM- JESS? WHAT ARE YOU. . ?

Jessica looks confused and a little concerned. 

JESSICA- WHERE IS MY FATHER, SAM?

SAM- I THINK HE IS NEXT DOOR. AT THE FIRE STATION WHY? WHAT’S THE MATTER SWEETHEART?

She gives him a cold look. One hand on her hip, the other scolding.

JESSICA- DON’T YOU “SWEETHEART” ME, MISTER! I’M STILL MAD AT YOU!

She flashes a coy little smile and looks away as Sam approaches her.

SAM- OKAY. OKAY. I’LL ASK HIM TONIGHT.

JESSICA- YOU BETTER. I WON’T WAIT FOREVER!

She kisses the deputy.

At the same instant Sheriff Ted “Teddy” Wilson enters the station and immediately notices the happy couple.

TEDDY- AHEM!!

The couple separates immediately and both, red faced, look everywhere but at the aging sheriff.

JESSICA- DADDY! OH, YOU SURPRISED ME. SAM AND I WERE JUST, UM

Sam musters up courage and steps up to Teddy.

SAM- (GULP) TEDDY, I LOVE HER AND WANT TO MARRY HER.

Jessica gives a look of nervous anticipation at both men. Teddy never changes his stern look.

TEDDY- SAM!! (PAUSE) IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME!!

TEDDY- NOW WHERE IS THAT SPAGHETTI?

PAGE ELEVEN

Jessica and Sam watch in disbelief as Teddy continues on into the kitchen area. A smoldering pot is on the stove.

SAM- WELL. THAT WENT, UM, BETTER THAN EXPECTED.

As if nothing happened, Jessica changes tack.

JESSICA- NOW, DON’T BE LATE.

Sam senses a trap.

SAM- LATE? FOR. . .?

Jessica gives him that look. Hands on the hips, again.

JESSICA- CHARLIE MCCARTHY, SILLY.

SAM- OHHHH. RIGHT. CHARLIE KARKEY.

Exasperated, she bellows.

JESSICA- MCCARTHY!! MCCARTHY!! YOU KNOW? ON THE RADIO??

SAM- OH. RIGHT. CHARLIE. GOT IT.

[After several beats]

SAM- WHEN IS THAT AGAIN?

She is not buying his innocence.

JESSICA- IN ABOUT A HALF HOUR. GET WITH IT MISTER.

She blows him a kiss and walks deliberately out of the station.

PAGE TWELVE

Sam and Teddy sit at their desks in awkward silence. Teddy plays with his food.

Sam whistles quietly and twiddles his thumbs. He checks his watch.

Teddy takes a bite of food and with his mouth full, breaks the silence.

TEDDY- YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GO. HELL HATH NO FURY AND ALL THAT.

SAM-AHEM. UH, YEAH. SURE. WOULDN’T WANT TO KEEP A LADY WAITING.

TEDDY- JUST BE SURE TO BE BACK AS SOON AS THE SHOW IS OVER.

Sam quickly gathers his jacket and leaves his boss and future father in law at his desk alone.

TEXT- SILLY KIDS.

TEXT- DAMN THIS SPAGHETTI IS AWFUL.

A flash of lightning followed by a loud thunder clap divides the page in half.

SOUND EFFECT- RUMBLE

The rain falls hard over the now dark town. The streets are empty as everyone is now home.

PAGE THIRTEEN AND FOURTEEN

Two page spread. Four different scenes with people intently listening to the radio show floating around a single radio. Fit the text of the radio program in one piece or break it up to help the reader flow through the scenes. This is meant to show how everyone is listening to the same show.

CAPTION- 5:00 PM

From out of the radio set comes the grand introduction to the most popular radio show in the country.

TEXT- THE MAKERS OF CHASE AND SANBORN COFFEE, THE BLEND OF THE WORLDS BEST COFFEES, WHICH IS NOW VERY REASONABLE IN PRICE, PRESENT THE FAMOUS HOLLYWOOD ACTRESS MADELEINE CARROLL, WHO WAS SO WONDERFUL IN ALFRED HITCHCOCK’S THE 39 STEPS, THE TENOR NELSON EDDY, EDGAR BERGEN AND CHARLIE MCCARTHY, AND DON AMECHE. THIS IS THE CHASE AND SANBORN HOUR.

The Wilson home, with Sam, sit in a well appointed living room with the radio set in a prominent part of the room. Everyone is excited and smiling, except Sam who is yawning. Jessica sits next to him with her head on his shoulder, smiling.

Harold, George and Martha sit in a clutter filled kitchen. Martha, the head of the household, sits very attentively with a dreamy far away look. Harold is sitting next to her at the table eating a bowl of soup, while George sits on the floor whittling a stick of wood absent minded.

Ben and Nadine sit in their easy chairs with a smaller radio in between them. Hal smokes a pipe and Dotty knits contentedly.

Dotty and Hal continue to work at the Grocery Store, but the radio on a counter near them plays loudly so the whole store can hear. There are only three shoppers in the store.

PAGE FIFTEEN

In stark contrast to the rest of the town, Sheriff Teddy sits alone in the police station with his newspaper crossword puzzle. There is no radio at the station.

CAPTION- 5:12 PM

TEDDY- (WHISTLES)

The phone rings. Teddy answers it.

TEDDY- SHERIFFS OFFICE.

TEDDY- YEEESS, MRS. BAXTER. I AM SURE FLUFFY WILL COME OUT FROM UNDER THE HOUSE ONCE THE STORM PASSES.

TEDDY- OK MRS. BAXTER. YOU LET ME KNOW. HAVE A NICE NIGHT.

A flash of lightening followed by a loud thunder clap separates the page in half.

The Wilson living room reacts to the sudden thunder.

MRS WILSON- GOODNESS

SAM- IT’S GETTING CLOSER. I HOPE THE POWER HOLDS OUT.

JESSICA- STOP SCARING EVERYONE SAM.

Mrs Wilson perks up. She takes the tuner knob and starts the turn it.

MRS WILSON- I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THE MUSICAL NUMBER.

JESSICA- CHANGE THE CHANNEL AND SEE IF THE WEATHER IS GETTING WORSE.

SAM- CAN’T WE JUST LOOK OUTSIDE AND SEE?

PAGE SIXTEEN

Several other panels show different radios, all being changed to another station. This was considered normal in those days.

Ben and Nadine are doing the same thing.

NADINE- WE’LL SWITCH BACK IN TIME TO HEAR CHARLIE.

Ben relights his pipe.

As each radio has been tuned to another station. Everyone pauses to hear.

TEXT- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE IS THE LATEST BULLETIN FROM THE INTERCONTINENTAL RADIO NEWS. TORONTO CANADA

TEXT- PROFESSOR MORSE OF MCMILLAN UNIVERSITY REPORTS OBSERVING A TOTAL OF THREE EXPLOSIONS ON THE PLANET MARS.

TEXT- BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7:45 AND 9:20, EASTERN STANDARD TIME.

TEXT- THIS CONFIRMS EARLIER REPORTS RECEIVED FROM AMERICAN OBSERVATORIES.

Sam smiles.

SAM- IT SEEMS MARS IS HAVING WORSE WEATHER THAN WE ARE.

Jessica ribs him.

JESSICA- OH POO. SOUNDS EXCITING.

George stops whittling suddenly.

GEORGE- MARS? WOULDN’T IT BE FUNNY IF THERE WERE FOLKS ON MARS WATCHIN US WHILE WE WAS WATCHIN THEM?

HAROLD- SHUT UP. IDIOT.

Only Dotty and Hal leave their radio alone at the grocery store. Some light music fills the air.

HAL- WANT ME TO CHECK FOR WEATHER DOT?

DOTTY- DUM DEE DEE DUM DUM. NO HAL. LEAVE IT.

DOTTY- I COULD LISTEN TO THIS ALL NIGHT.

PAGE SEVENTEEN AND EIGHTEEN

A map of the United States or satellite view of the US at night. Large metropolitan centers all lit up. Much dimmer in 1938 than it is today of course.

CAPTION- 5:25 PM

CAPTION- LIVING ROOMS ALL ACROSS AMERICA TUNE INTO A RADIO PROGRAM OF SOME SORT.

CAPTION- THIS NIGHT WAS NO EXCEPTION.

CAPTION- IN FACT, THIS NIGHT WOULD BE REMEMBERED FOR DECADES TO COME.

Little text boxes over the map show script from various programs people are listening to.

TEXT- LAAA LA LA LA. . .

TEXT- . . .CARL PHILLIPS OUT IN GROVER’S MILL NEW JERSEY. . .

TEXT- . . .STORMS OVERNIGHT CONTINUING INTO TOMORROW. . .

TEXT- . . .FLASH IN THE SKY WAS VISIBLE WITHIN A RADIUS OF SEVERAL HUNDRED. . .

TEXT- . . .A KINDA GREENISH STREAK AND THEN ZINGO! SOMETHIN SMACKED THE GROUND. . .

TEXT- . . .SPECIAL THANKS TO OUR MUSICAL GUESTS. . .

PAGE NINETEEN

Sheriff Ted gets another phone call.

MRS WILSON- ARE YOU LISTENING TO THIS?

TEDDY- WHA? BARB? LISTENING TO WHAT?

MRS WILSON- THE RADIO!! OH RIGHT. YOU DON’T LISTEN TO THE RADIO.

TEDDY- WHY? WHAT’S GOING ON? MORE RAIN COMING?

MRS WILSON- MORE WHAT? RAIN? WHO CARES ABOUT RAIN?

TEDDY- (SIGH) GIVE ME A MINUTE TO DIG ONE UP. WHAT AM I LISTENING FOR?

MRS WILSON- SOMETHING’S HAPPENING IN NEW JERSEY.

Teddy sets the receiver down and digs around the station for a radio.

TEXT- NEW JERSEY? THAT’S A LONG WAY FROM WASHINGTON STATE.

He finds one, sets it on a table and turns it on.

SOUND EFFECT- BZZZZZZ. . ..FZZZZ. . .CKK. . .HSH. . .RAIN. . .THUNDER

TEXT- . . .HEAR IT? IT’S A CURIOUS HUMMING SOUND THAT SEEMS TO COME FROM INSIDE THE OBJECT.

TEXT- I’LL MOVE THE MICROPHONE CLOSER.

Teddy picks the receiver back up.

TEDDY- NOW, WHAT AM I LISTENING FOR.

MRS WILSON- THAT CARL PHILLIPS IS WITNESSING SOMETHING THAT FELL TO EARTH IN NEW JERSEY.

TEDDY- WHO’S CARL PHILLIPS?

PAGE TWENTY

Mrs Wilson is in her kitchen talking on the phone to her husband.

MRS WILSON- HE’S A REPORTER ON THE SCENE IN NEW JERSEY.

TEDDY- OK BUT. . .

MRS WILSON- SHHH. LISTEN.

Mrs. Wilson stretches her phone line as far as she can so she can hear what’s happening on the radio in the living room. The others, Sam and Jessica are now in rapt attention.

The radio emits the sounds from the scene in Grover’s mill New Jersey.

TEXT- LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS THE MOST TERRIFYING THING I HAVE EVER WITNESSED.

TEXT- WAIT A MINUTE!

TEXT- SOMEONE’S CRAWLING OUT OF THE HOLLOW TOP. SOMEONE OR. . SOMETHING.

TEXT- I CAN SEE PEERING OUT OF THAT BLACK HOLE TWO LUMINOUS DISKS. . .ARE THEY EYES?

TEXT- IT MIGHT BE A FACE. IT MIGHT BE. . .

MRS WILSON- (SHRIEKING) WE’RE BEING INVADED BY MARTIANS!!

[End issue one.]

TEXT- TO BE CONTINUED. . .