30
Apr
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.”
-MRC
29
Apr
The old man squinted at the small object in his hand.
“Yes, yesssss.” His eyes twinkled with greed.
“This is the one. I am certain.”
She returned the locket to her satchel and paid the man a shilling.
“Thank you for your time. Have a dram on me.”
Smiling, she walked back out onto the tiny side street. The islands were cool that time of year. Her visit, brief as it was, was fruitful. Her mother’s gift had confused her. She had claimed for years something about a Pirate treasure. But a small locket did NOT equate to a treasure.
But, inside the locket was the real intrigue. A puzzle. All she would need was a key to decipher it. She needed to make a couple more stops in the islands. However, travel in the Seychelles in 1830 wasn’t easy for a woman.
She would need a disguise.
-MRC
28
Apr
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)
-MRC
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!
-MRC
26
Apr
After a careful, albeit hasty examination of the body, I concluded that it indeed was a human corpse; male and in his mid thirties. Probably homeless, by the condition of his clothing. The crowd had dispersed due to boredom and probably the horrendous fumes coming from the body. I didn’t blame them. Cora would INSIST that I bathe before she would as much as look at me.
“Dammit.” I needed to focus and all I could think about was my sweet Cora.
I was nearly done with my external exam of this unfortunate soul when something caught my eye. The wound to his neck was gaping and awful, but what had made such a fragmented cut? How could someone cause all of the facial tissues to recede in such a way? This could not have been the work of an instrument as I had presumed. The wharf was home to many fishing and logging businesses. All of which had sharp and pointy instruments of commerce to their disposal. But this was not the work of such implements. Who, or what, could have caused this?
-MRC
23
Apr
Lynn recomposed herself.
“When did you talk to Dean? 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.”
-MRC
22
Apr
The program went to commercial.
Agnes seemed to stop shaking.
“She doesn’t have the poem. SHE DOESN’T HAVE THE POEM!!” She was squeezing her son’s hand.
“Mother, please, my hand?”
“Do you know what this means?” She was beaming. “DO YOU!?”
“What? I don’t understand.” He looked confused.
“This woman, who claims to have Olivier’s Alphabet doesn’t have the cryptogram poem to compare her key with.” She looked at Tom.
“So? Who is Olivier?”
“Christ Tom! Pay attention!!” She went to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Inside was a small lock box. She opened it with a small key and withdrew an envelope.
“Here Tom.” She thrust the envelope to him.
“Now be careful with it. It is quite old.”
Inside the envelope was a small yellowed piece of thin paper. On it was a series of lines with scribbles and dots.
“What is it?”
“THAT, is the poem.”
-MRC
21
Apr
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
A 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.
-MRC
20
Apr
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.
-MRC
20
Apr
Before heading out to Eugene, I had to see Cora. My “addiction” to her was growing steadily. I could hear all the usual noises coming from the waterfront. Only this time I could hear a little more urgency in some of the raised voices. Instinct told me there was something wrong.
It was the smell that alerted me to the reason for all the voices. Something was dead. Covering my nose with a handkerchief, I pushed my way through a small gathering near a rather dark pier.
“Make way! Police! Dammit!”
My eyes could only be lying to me. It was definitely a body stinking up the southern end of The Boneyard. But the nature of the humanity that lay before me was definitely in question. Was this even a human being?
-MRC