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Realistic or Modern The Bureau of Esoteric Affairs
sspky
ooof my bones
The truckstop diner was an absolute pit. It was the sort of place that felt like it was trapped in a perpetual state of 3 AM. No matter the time of day, the tinted windows cast everything outside in a tired gray light, and the over-bright fluorescents washed away all the colour form everything inside. The wait staff looked as worn out as the patrons, and the decor seemed somehow more rundown.
Anthony Andrews nursed a black coffee and watched another semi pull into the wide, flat asphalt parking lot outside. The clock on the wall said 10 PM, and his back was aching from a day on the road.
They’d pulled in for gas at 9:30, then decided to stop for a late dinner. There was a hotel room registered in their name in Burlington, but that was still an hour out and, if the app on his phone was correct, there was nothing to eat near there but fast food. And Anthony, having entered that stage in his life where heartburn became a very real nuisance, refused to eat another deep-fried nightmare out of a paper bag.
Despite its status an absolute pit, at least this truckstop served a 24-hour breakfast platter, and eggs, toast, and bacon had never done Tony any wrong.
Tony was the sort of man who looked 40 and felt 80. The truth was somewhere in the middle, but he’d be damned if he confessed his birth year to anyone below him on the payroll. He was tall, however, with broad shoulders and a thin, hawkish face. His dark eyes held a permanent expression of exasperation, and while he had been spared the genetic curse of a receding hairline, much of his still-thick hair was now washed with gray.
The suit and tie he wrote beneath his heavy overcoat gave him the look of either a businessman or a federal agent. This was, perhaps, not the most incognito presentation, but Tony had always clung to a certain level of professionalism, even when he was 10 hours on the road, in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, with some greenhorn who was probably, if he was very unlucky, going to be devoured by the first metaphysical abomination they stumbled across.
But hey -- he had eggs coming any minute now and the coffee was decent, so Tony was more than capable of keeping his bitching to himself.
Anthony Andrews nursed a black coffee and watched another semi pull into the wide, flat asphalt parking lot outside. The clock on the wall said 10 PM, and his back was aching from a day on the road.
They’d pulled in for gas at 9:30, then decided to stop for a late dinner. There was a hotel room registered in their name in Burlington, but that was still an hour out and, if the app on his phone was correct, there was nothing to eat near there but fast food. And Anthony, having entered that stage in his life where heartburn became a very real nuisance, refused to eat another deep-fried nightmare out of a paper bag.
Despite its status an absolute pit, at least this truckstop served a 24-hour breakfast platter, and eggs, toast, and bacon had never done Tony any wrong.
Tony was the sort of man who looked 40 and felt 80. The truth was somewhere in the middle, but he’d be damned if he confessed his birth year to anyone below him on the payroll. He was tall, however, with broad shoulders and a thin, hawkish face. His dark eyes held a permanent expression of exasperation, and while he had been spared the genetic curse of a receding hairline, much of his still-thick hair was now washed with gray.
The suit and tie he wrote beneath his heavy overcoat gave him the look of either a businessman or a federal agent. This was, perhaps, not the most incognito presentation, but Tony had always clung to a certain level of professionalism, even when he was 10 hours on the road, in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, with some greenhorn who was probably, if he was very unlucky, going to be devoured by the first metaphysical abomination they stumbled across.
But hey -- he had eggs coming any minute now and the coffee was decent, so Tony was more than capable of keeping his bitching to himself.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
So this was it. Working in the field, traveling for a mission.
Myles had expected the hours to be long, but he hadn't thought that it would be so...
Mundane.
They were in a roadside diner that looked like it came straight out of a Google image search for "run-down roadside diner." The handful of other customers were all sitting on their own, scattered around tables or seated up at the bar, facing an old TV. Truckers, mostly.
He and Andrews stuck out, probably, but they would have regardless of what they were wearing. Neither of them was overweight, for one thing, and Myles wasn't in need of a shave. Andrews looked the textbook version of a CIA agent, which made Myles, what? His assistant? He'd opted for a sweater and slacks instead of a full suit, which succeeded in making him feel underdressed around Andrews and overdressed in this diner. At least he didn't look like he was about to show up on somebody's doorstep to make them disappear. He looked like he was about to write a dissertation.
Myles Lewis was fresh out of the academy, with top marks and glowing recommendation letters and no idea what was supposed to happen next. He had dark, clear skin and close-cropped natural hair, and he smiled easily. He had one such smile for their waitress, when she arrived with Andrews' breakfast platter and Myles' burger.
"Thanks," he said as she slid the plate in front of him. The burger actually looked pretty good. A place like this probably couldn't stay in business if they couldn't even make a burger, he figured.
"So..." Myles drummed his fingers on the table, itching to discuss their mission but aware that they probably shouldn't openly discuss it in public. "We'll arrive tomorrow, yeah? You think we should examine the site first, or talk to people?"
Myles had expected the hours to be long, but he hadn't thought that it would be so...
Mundane.
They were in a roadside diner that looked like it came straight out of a Google image search for "run-down roadside diner." The handful of other customers were all sitting on their own, scattered around tables or seated up at the bar, facing an old TV. Truckers, mostly.
He and Andrews stuck out, probably, but they would have regardless of what they were wearing. Neither of them was overweight, for one thing, and Myles wasn't in need of a shave. Andrews looked the textbook version of a CIA agent, which made Myles, what? His assistant? He'd opted for a sweater and slacks instead of a full suit, which succeeded in making him feel underdressed around Andrews and overdressed in this diner. At least he didn't look like he was about to show up on somebody's doorstep to make them disappear. He looked like he was about to write a dissertation.
Myles Lewis was fresh out of the academy, with top marks and glowing recommendation letters and no idea what was supposed to happen next. He had dark, clear skin and close-cropped natural hair, and he smiled easily. He had one such smile for their waitress, when she arrived with Andrews' breakfast platter and Myles' burger.
"Thanks," he said as she slid the plate in front of him. The burger actually looked pretty good. A place like this probably couldn't stay in business if they couldn't even make a burger, he figured.
"So..." Myles drummed his fingers on the table, itching to discuss their mission but aware that they probably shouldn't openly discuss it in public. "We'll arrive tomorrow, yeah? You think we should examine the site first, or talk to people?"
sspky
ooof my bones
‘I think you should simmer down and let me eat my damn eggs’ was what Tony wanted to say. Instead, he grunted, took a mouthful of yolk-smeared wholegrain toast, and made a vague gesture back at his new partner.
“We have an allegedly haunted house on some rural lot. Apparent murder scene in the basement -- judging by the amount of blood left behind. Unknown vic., inconclusive DNA but definitely female. Owners of the house haven’t been on the lot in years, teenagers who found the crime scene are all spooked.”
Tony paused his recital of the case to scrape up another mouthful of bacon and egg. He washed it down with a gulp of luke-warm coffee and continued.
“Local PD think we’re with the FBI, here on some crime statistical research analysis op., and are willing to cooperate.”
Throughout his monologue, he kept his already gravel-toned voice low. There was no one sitting in their immediate area, and he knew no one in a joint like this was likely to care about anyone’s business but their own, but he played it carefully all the same.
“So, you tell me graduate: what’s our first step?”
“We have an allegedly haunted house on some rural lot. Apparent murder scene in the basement -- judging by the amount of blood left behind. Unknown vic., inconclusive DNA but definitely female. Owners of the house haven’t been on the lot in years, teenagers who found the crime scene are all spooked.”
Tony paused his recital of the case to scrape up another mouthful of bacon and egg. He washed it down with a gulp of luke-warm coffee and continued.
“Local PD think we’re with the FBI, here on some crime statistical research analysis op., and are willing to cooperate.”
Throughout his monologue, he kept his already gravel-toned voice low. There was no one sitting in their immediate area, and he knew no one in a joint like this was likely to care about anyone’s business but their own, but he played it carefully all the same.
“So, you tell me graduate: what’s our first step?”
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles took a few bites of his -- actually pretty good -- burger while Andrews outlined the basics of the case. They'd gone over this in more detail back in Andrews' office, but it helped to talk them out again. Especially without the case file in front of them; Myles' training said to examine the details again, but it was surprisingly helpful to hear it from someone else. And it wasn't like they could spread crime scene photos out on the diner table. Andrews dropped the extraneous details, too. Very helpful.
He couldn't decide if graduate was a dig at him. Subtler than rookie, at least. He dipped a french fry in some ketchup, a faint smile on his lips. "Examine the scene," he said, quickly and easily. It was the only possible answer.
Didn't hurt to talk it out, though. "If there was a body, we could maybe start with that. But even then, it's better to see the scene first. Get an idea of what we're dealing with. But there's not a body, so that's out. We can question the owners and the teenagers later; local PD will have already done that, anyway. Once we know what questions we want to ask, beyond 'did you seen anything that night?' we can talk to the witnesses."
Andrews already knew all of that, obviously. But Myles wanted to prove to Andrews that he knew what he was doing. That he could be trusted. Not that he expected the man's trust right off the bat. Myles didn't know much about him, but his sort of distant, haggard expression implied that he'd been around the block a few times. He'd probably had partners die before. Was that why Myles had been assigned to him? Had his previous partner died?
Or maybe they'd gotten a promotion, and all the murders Myles had studied had gone to his head. He shook his head a little and took a few more bites of his burger.
"What do you think it was?" Myles asked, after a few minutes. "Haunted house is a pretty thin excuse. My guess is the kids broke in, someone got hurt, and they're trying to cover it up."
He couldn't decide if graduate was a dig at him. Subtler than rookie, at least. He dipped a french fry in some ketchup, a faint smile on his lips. "Examine the scene," he said, quickly and easily. It was the only possible answer.
Didn't hurt to talk it out, though. "If there was a body, we could maybe start with that. But even then, it's better to see the scene first. Get an idea of what we're dealing with. But there's not a body, so that's out. We can question the owners and the teenagers later; local PD will have already done that, anyway. Once we know what questions we want to ask, beyond 'did you seen anything that night?' we can talk to the witnesses."
Andrews already knew all of that, obviously. But Myles wanted to prove to Andrews that he knew what he was doing. That he could be trusted. Not that he expected the man's trust right off the bat. Myles didn't know much about him, but his sort of distant, haggard expression implied that he'd been around the block a few times. He'd probably had partners die before. Was that why Myles had been assigned to him? Had his previous partner died?
Or maybe they'd gotten a promotion, and all the murders Myles had studied had gone to his head. He shook his head a little and took a few more bites of his burger.
"What do you think it was?" Myles asked, after a few minutes. "Haunted house is a pretty thin excuse. My guess is the kids broke in, someone got hurt, and they're trying to cover it up."
sspky
ooof my bones
“If that were the case,” Tony observed dryly, “Then we wouldn’t be out here in rural Oklahoma, eating truckstop eggs and sleeping in a cheap motel.”
Sighing, Agent Andrews placed his fork and knife down on either side of his plate and considered the younger man a moment. Finally, in a lowered voice, he said, “The men upstairs wouldn’t have sent us out here if they didn’t think there was something to this.”
He didn’t know how the top brass always seemed to know when something genuinely weird was going on, but very rarely did they ever send any of their agents out to a false alarm. There hadn’t been many clues in the dossier, but the two had been sent with all of the customary equipment required for ghoul-hunting.
The trunk of their car was loaded with nearly as much artillery as it was with sort of scientific equipment that, while he certainly knew how to use, Agent Andrews had no idea how any of it actually worked.
As for the rest of Agent Lewis’ observations, Tony had to admit that man had been pretty much spot on. After a sip of his coffee, he said in agreement, “We’ll drive through to the hotel tonight, get a few hours of rest, and head out to the house first thing in the AM. We wont chat up the locals until we have a decent idea of what we’re looking at.”
Sighing, Agent Andrews placed his fork and knife down on either side of his plate and considered the younger man a moment. Finally, in a lowered voice, he said, “The men upstairs wouldn’t have sent us out here if they didn’t think there was something to this.”
He didn’t know how the top brass always seemed to know when something genuinely weird was going on, but very rarely did they ever send any of their agents out to a false alarm. There hadn’t been many clues in the dossier, but the two had been sent with all of the customary equipment required for ghoul-hunting.
The trunk of their car was loaded with nearly as much artillery as it was with sort of scientific equipment that, while he certainly knew how to use, Agent Andrews had no idea how any of it actually worked.
As for the rest of Agent Lewis’ observations, Tony had to admit that man had been pretty much spot on. After a sip of his coffee, he said in agreement, “We’ll drive through to the hotel tonight, get a few hours of rest, and head out to the house first thing in the AM. We wont chat up the locals until we have a decent idea of what we’re looking at.”
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles raised his eyebrows a little, but he couldn't deny that Andrews had a point. As far as he understood it, the folks from their department were only called in for the truly strange shit. If this was just a break-in gone wrong, they wouldn't have needed Andrews and Myles. Or the trunkload of bizarre instruments that Myles had carried down from the lab.
In theory, Myles was aware that their work could get... strange. Government jobs didn't usually require a strong background in folklore and mythology. During his training, he'd learned how to fire silver bullets and explosive rounds for so-called unusual targets. He'd heard whispers about the department that had recruited him. And if you asked him... well, he believed in that kind of thing. A little bit.
But it was still something else to look at a dossier and think, I wonder what's haunting this place. What is this really? The rational part of Myles' brain didn't want to accept it.
So he shrugged and dipped another fry in his ketchup. "You'd know better than I would."
Andrews hadn't answered his question, about what he thought it was, but Myles let it drop.
Their waitress swung by to refill Andrews' coffee, leaning across the table to pour hot coffee in his cup with impressive accuracy. "Everything alright?" she asked. Myles wasn't sure if she wanted to know how good it was, or if she was just checking to make sure they hadn't found any hair in their food.
"Yeah," he said. Instead of turning to leave, the woman propped her hip on the edge of the table, looking at them.
"You boys just passing through?" she asked. Her tone was friendly enough. Just making conversation.
"Mhmm," Myles said. "Traveling for work."
It was at this point that he realized that the woman had sort of angled herself so that she was facing away from him, towards Andrews. More interested in what the other man had to say, then.
"Oh really?" she looked Andrews over, observing his suit, and smiled at him. "What kind of work you in, honey?"
In theory, Myles was aware that their work could get... strange. Government jobs didn't usually require a strong background in folklore and mythology. During his training, he'd learned how to fire silver bullets and explosive rounds for so-called unusual targets. He'd heard whispers about the department that had recruited him. And if you asked him... well, he believed in that kind of thing. A little bit.
But it was still something else to look at a dossier and think, I wonder what's haunting this place. What is this really? The rational part of Myles' brain didn't want to accept it.
So he shrugged and dipped another fry in his ketchup. "You'd know better than I would."
Andrews hadn't answered his question, about what he thought it was, but Myles let it drop.
Their waitress swung by to refill Andrews' coffee, leaning across the table to pour hot coffee in his cup with impressive accuracy. "Everything alright?" she asked. Myles wasn't sure if she wanted to know how good it was, or if she was just checking to make sure they hadn't found any hair in their food.
"Yeah," he said. Instead of turning to leave, the woman propped her hip on the edge of the table, looking at them.
"You boys just passing through?" she asked. Her tone was friendly enough. Just making conversation.
"Mhmm," Myles said. "Traveling for work."
It was at this point that he realized that the woman had sort of angled herself so that she was facing away from him, towards Andrews. More interested in what the other man had to say, then.
"Oh really?" she looked Andrews over, observing his suit, and smiled at him. "What kind of work you in, honey?"
sspky
ooof my bones
If Tony had missed a question, it was likely because he hadn’t the faintest idea how to properly answer it. Yet. But he’d find out soon enough.
They didn’t necessarily need to *solve* every case they were assigned. The chasm of the supernatural was vast and more or less unknowable. Often enough Agents were simply expected to catalogue their findings and ensure any threats were either neutralized or properly reported to a better equipt extraction team.
He wondered if his new partner was the overly curious, always searching for the final truth of a thing, sort of man, or if he’d ben content just letting a mystery drop.
When the waitress didn’t immediately depart, Tony inwardly groaned. He was capable of being perfectly polite when the situation called for it, but after 12 hours on the road, the last thing he wanted to do what chat up some Oklahoma hick.
A part of him wondered when he got to be so damn jaded. Another part of him immediately recalled exactly when he’d become so damn jaded, and promptly told that first part of him to shut the hell up.
“We’re insurance adjusters, ma’am,” he answered dryly, “Just coming back from overseeing a property transfer over in Creek County,”
He rose his brows in an expression that implied he’d absolutely love to just talk her ear off about spreadsheets and equations and tax law and any other cripplingly boring subjects. He sincerely hoped the idea would be enough to dissuade the woman from asking any further questions.
(( I feel mildly bad about writing that considering two of my best friends are in tax law and insurance. >> ))
They didn’t necessarily need to *solve* every case they were assigned. The chasm of the supernatural was vast and more or less unknowable. Often enough Agents were simply expected to catalogue their findings and ensure any threats were either neutralized or properly reported to a better equipt extraction team.
He wondered if his new partner was the overly curious, always searching for the final truth of a thing, sort of man, or if he’d ben content just letting a mystery drop.
When the waitress didn’t immediately depart, Tony inwardly groaned. He was capable of being perfectly polite when the situation called for it, but after 12 hours on the road, the last thing he wanted to do what chat up some Oklahoma hick.
A part of him wondered when he got to be so damn jaded. Another part of him immediately recalled exactly when he’d become so damn jaded, and promptly told that first part of him to shut the hell up.
“We’re insurance adjusters, ma’am,” he answered dryly, “Just coming back from overseeing a property transfer over in Creek County,”
He rose his brows in an expression that implied he’d absolutely love to just talk her ear off about spreadsheets and equations and tax law and any other cripplingly boring subjects. He sincerely hoped the idea would be enough to dissuade the woman from asking any further questions.
(( I feel mildly bad about writing that considering two of my best friends are in tax law and insurance. >> ))
Trompe lOeil
let's go
The woman's smile faltered at that, though she did her best to hide it. Some of that Midwest politeness, Myles figured. She wasn't a bad-looking woman, all things considered. He was pretty sure her updo had never been popular in his lifetime, but who knows. It might come back around.
"O-oh," she said, feigning interest. "Property transfer. Well, that sounds... You boys let me know if you need anything else, alright?" She shot Andrews one last hopeful smile, and Myles had to hide his own smile behind his burger. He wondered how many interested locals the older man had had to bore into leaving him alone. Plenty, if the deft way he'd done that was anything to go by.
"You sure you don't want her number?" Myles said, once she was out of earshot. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of young love."
Myles finished off his burger and wiped his hands on a thin paper napkin. "'Bout ready to get out of here?" he asked. "I can drive the last stretch, if you want." He hadn't had any coffee, but then, he was young. He felt a bit stiff from sitting in the car for twelve hours, but he'd be fine in the morning. Better if he could fit a run in, probably. Stretch his legs.
He had to admit, he was eager to get back on the road. To get this leg of the trip over with, so they could get to the case. His first time in the field. Unless training exercises and shadowing other agents counted. Myles was pretty sure that they didn't, if the faint nerves thrumming through him were anything to go by. It was good that he hadn't had any of that coffee, he thought.
((hahaha What are friends for if not for gently mocking? If they encounter any theatre people or tech bros my friends are in for it. ))
"O-oh," she said, feigning interest. "Property transfer. Well, that sounds... You boys let me know if you need anything else, alright?" She shot Andrews one last hopeful smile, and Myles had to hide his own smile behind his burger. He wondered how many interested locals the older man had had to bore into leaving him alone. Plenty, if the deft way he'd done that was anything to go by.
"You sure you don't want her number?" Myles said, once she was out of earshot. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of young love."
Myles finished off his burger and wiped his hands on a thin paper napkin. "'Bout ready to get out of here?" he asked. "I can drive the last stretch, if you want." He hadn't had any coffee, but then, he was young. He felt a bit stiff from sitting in the car for twelve hours, but he'd be fine in the morning. Better if he could fit a run in, probably. Stretch his legs.
He had to admit, he was eager to get back on the road. To get this leg of the trip over with, so they could get to the case. His first time in the field. Unless training exercises and shadowing other agents counted. Myles was pretty sure that they didn't, if the faint nerves thrumming through him were anything to go by. It was good that he hadn't had any of that coffee, he thought.
((hahaha What are friends for if not for gently mocking? If they encounter any theatre people or tech bros my friends are in for it. ))
sspky
ooof my bones
Tony smiled politely as the woman turned to leave, and said, “Just the cheque, please.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that the woman might have been flirting with him until his partner had said something about it. He had just figured she was being nosy, although in hindsight her behaviour did seem a little obvious.
As he soaked up the last of egg with a crust of toast, Tony said, “Not my type, kid.”
After washing the last mouthful down with what remained of his coffee, he said, “Fine, you drive. You damage the car, I’ll feed you to a damn Chupacabras.”
Rising, Tony rolled his shoulders, each joint popping loudly, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He didn’t mind paying, as long as he could write off whatever he spent. As for the car; as much as Tony begrudged having to admit it, so far the kid seemed competent. He might as well give him a chance behind the wheels. It was a company car, sure, but he was the senior officer, and any damage done to Angergy property would reflect directly onto him.
It hadn’t occurred to him that the woman might have been flirting with him until his partner had said something about it. He had just figured she was being nosy, although in hindsight her behaviour did seem a little obvious.
As he soaked up the last of egg with a crust of toast, Tony said, “Not my type, kid.”
After washing the last mouthful down with what remained of his coffee, he said, “Fine, you drive. You damage the car, I’ll feed you to a damn Chupacabras.”
Rising, Tony rolled his shoulders, each joint popping loudly, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He didn’t mind paying, as long as he could write off whatever he spent. As for the car; as much as Tony begrudged having to admit it, so far the kid seemed competent. He might as well give him a chance behind the wheels. It was a company car, sure, but he was the senior officer, and any damage done to Angergy property would reflect directly onto him.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles bit back another smile. Fair enough. Andrews' response had been pretty flippant, but Myles did briefly wonder what the other agent's type was. Did he have a family? Myles hadn't asked. And he wasn't about to now; he didn't want to pry. But still, he was curious. There was a reason he was a... paranormal investigator? Could he even say that? Whatever he was, he liked digging to the bottom of things. Solving mysteries.
So he was happy to stand when Andrews did, pulling on a vaguely bomber-looking jacket. He had an Angergy branded windbreaker in his bag, but that was staying in the car until they arrived at the scene, obviously.
"Chupacabras aren't real," he said blithely, even though he'd dissected one once. Couldn't say that in public, though, could he?
Seriously though, what did Andrews think was going to happen? There was no way Myles was going to damage the car doing something as simple as driving to a motel. He might not have investigated any haunted houses, but Myles had driven cross-country a few times for school. An hour through Oklahoma was nothing.
"You boys have a good night now," their waitress said on their way out the door.
"Thanks," Myles said, and then he was hit by the crisp night air. It smelled faintly of dirt and decaying leaves, piled up beneath the large oaks that bordered the parking lot. Myles climbed into the driver's seat, adjusting it a bit -- Andrews was taller than him -- and pulling up the address on his phone.
"You ready to go, or is there some kind of checklist you want me to do first?" Myles grinned instead of waiting for an answer, and pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.
Highway was barely the right term; it was a glorified two-lane road, cutting across the Oklahoma countryside. This far from civilization, there were no lights on the road. But there were no other cars, either. Myles flicked the brights on and settled in for an uneventful drive.
Maybe half an hour in, a feeling of unease set in. Myles didn't know what it was -- a chill, a feeling, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he checked the rearview mirror. He ignored it for a minute or so, but the feeling only got stronger, a tingling in his spine. "Anything feel... weird to you?" he asked Andrews.
So he was happy to stand when Andrews did, pulling on a vaguely bomber-looking jacket. He had an Angergy branded windbreaker in his bag, but that was staying in the car until they arrived at the scene, obviously.
"Chupacabras aren't real," he said blithely, even though he'd dissected one once. Couldn't say that in public, though, could he?
Seriously though, what did Andrews think was going to happen? There was no way Myles was going to damage the car doing something as simple as driving to a motel. He might not have investigated any haunted houses, but Myles had driven cross-country a few times for school. An hour through Oklahoma was nothing.
"You boys have a good night now," their waitress said on their way out the door.
"Thanks," Myles said, and then he was hit by the crisp night air. It smelled faintly of dirt and decaying leaves, piled up beneath the large oaks that bordered the parking lot. Myles climbed into the driver's seat, adjusting it a bit -- Andrews was taller than him -- and pulling up the address on his phone.
"You ready to go, or is there some kind of checklist you want me to do first?" Myles grinned instead of waiting for an answer, and pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.
Highway was barely the right term; it was a glorified two-lane road, cutting across the Oklahoma countryside. This far from civilization, there were no lights on the road. But there were no other cars, either. Myles flicked the brights on and settled in for an uneventful drive.
Maybe half an hour in, a feeling of unease set in. Myles didn't know what it was -- a chill, a feeling, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he checked the rearview mirror. He ignored it for a minute or so, but the feeling only got stronger, a tingling in his spine. "Anything feel... weird to you?" he asked Andrews.
sspky
ooof my bones
The kid was a smart-ass, sure, but Tony wasn’t about to hold that against him. When he’d been a fresh-faced field agent, Tony had been all sorts of cocky as well. Time and experience had a way of tempering that quality.
Settling into the passenger seat, Tony spent much of the first thirty minutes watching the star-lit fields of rough pasture-land blur passed the window. By every indication, this case promised to be fairly straight forward. He felt as prepared as he probably could be, considering how life had a great way of throwing unexpected curveballs his way.
Speaking of curveballs; it seemed his partner was getting a little antsy.
“Weird?” he repeated, staring at the younger man's dashboard illuminated face, “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific there, Lewis.”
Sure, Agent Andrews was still feeling uncomfortably stiff from the day in the car, and the monotony of the dark countryside was fraying away at his patience pretty spectacularly, but he couldn’t say he felt any specific sense of unease or illness.
Settling into the passenger seat, Tony spent much of the first thirty minutes watching the star-lit fields of rough pasture-land blur passed the window. By every indication, this case promised to be fairly straight forward. He felt as prepared as he probably could be, considering how life had a great way of throwing unexpected curveballs his way.
Speaking of curveballs; it seemed his partner was getting a little antsy.
“Weird?” he repeated, staring at the younger man's dashboard illuminated face, “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific there, Lewis.”
Sure, Agent Andrews was still feeling uncomfortably stiff from the day in the car, and the monotony of the dark countryside was fraying away at his patience pretty spectacularly, but he couldn’t say he felt any specific sense of unease or illness.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Yeah, sure, fine, Myles should probably be more specific. Weird must be second-nature to Andrews, it must have meant a million things. "It's, uh, a chill," Myles said, checking the rear-view mirror again, too distracted to be totally coherent. He knew that he should be as detailed as he could, though, so as he drove he tried to articulate it. "You know that feeling- shit, uh." Was there really nothing behind him? He could feel- eyes --
Myles swallowed and tried to focus. Tried not to fidget. "Sorry. When it's late at night, and you're turning the lights off in the house one by one? Feels like that."
That was the best way he could describe it. Even though he knew there was nothing there, Myles' eyes were dragged back to the rear-view mirror, just in case. But no, there was nothing, just an empty stretch of highway, bordered on both sides by fields. He looked back and-
A figure, stark in the headlights, the glowing reflection of two eyes, staring, standing-
"Fuck!"
Myles swerved, hit the brake, felt his neck strain and his body jolt as the wheels ran off the road and onto the soft dirt of the shoulder. A field. They slowed and stopped, Myles' heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and ragged, adrenaline spiking.
"What -- I saw..." Myles looked behind them, out the window, but with no lights and no headlights pointed that way, there was nothing to see. What had he seen? A deer? A woman? Whatever it was, they hadn't hit it, so that was something. Hadn't hit a tree, either. Thank God. Andrews would have killed him.
"Sorry," he said, trying to will his heart to calm down. "Sorry. Did you see that?" Tell me you saw that, he wanted to say.
Myles swallowed and tried to focus. Tried not to fidget. "Sorry. When it's late at night, and you're turning the lights off in the house one by one? Feels like that."
That was the best way he could describe it. Even though he knew there was nothing there, Myles' eyes were dragged back to the rear-view mirror, just in case. But no, there was nothing, just an empty stretch of highway, bordered on both sides by fields. He looked back and-
A figure, stark in the headlights, the glowing reflection of two eyes, staring, standing-
"Fuck!"
Myles swerved, hit the brake, felt his neck strain and his body jolt as the wheels ran off the road and onto the soft dirt of the shoulder. A field. They slowed and stopped, Myles' heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and ragged, adrenaline spiking.
"What -- I saw..." Myles looked behind them, out the window, but with no lights and no headlights pointed that way, there was nothing to see. What had he seen? A deer? A woman? Whatever it was, they hadn't hit it, so that was something. Hadn't hit a tree, either. Thank God. Andrews would have killed him.
"Sorry," he said, trying to will his heart to calm down. "Sorry. Did you see that?" Tell me you saw that, he wanted to say.
sspky
ooof my bones
Lights off in a house? Somehow, Agent Lewis was managing to make even less sense. Andrews had been just about to tell his partner to pull to the shoulder when the lurching of the car threw him heavily against the passenger side door.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Andrews shouted, his heart racing and his right shoulder tingling from its impact against the window, “What the actual fuck?”
He forced himself to shut up. After counting his breaths in a silent, slow sequence of one-two one-two one-two he finally exhaled and said, in a deliberately slow and steady tone, “I need you to calm down, Agent Lewis, and tell me what just happened.”
Unfortunately, Andrews hadn’t noticed anything out the front window, on account of his attention have been firmly on the man behind the wheel. The younger man seemed spooked, and were he a civilian, Andrews would be me more inclined to write the thing off to distracted driving, but Agent Lewis was a fresh graduate of the Academy. Sure, it was possible that the younger man was just over-excited to finally have the proverbial training wheels off, but Andrews still had enough faith in the Bureau to trust that he hadn’t been sent a complete rabbit.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Andrews shouted, his heart racing and his right shoulder tingling from its impact against the window, “What the actual fuck?”
He forced himself to shut up. After counting his breaths in a silent, slow sequence of one-two one-two one-two he finally exhaled and said, in a deliberately slow and steady tone, “I need you to calm down, Agent Lewis, and tell me what just happened.”
Unfortunately, Andrews hadn’t noticed anything out the front window, on account of his attention have been firmly on the man behind the wheel. The younger man seemed spooked, and were he a civilian, Andrews would be me more inclined to write the thing off to distracted driving, but Agent Lewis was a fresh graduate of the Academy. Sure, it was possible that the younger man was just over-excited to finally have the proverbial training wheels off, but Andrews still had enough faith in the Bureau to trust that he hadn’t been sent a complete rabbit.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles nodded, ears ringing, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. Right. Calm down, tell Andrews what happened. He could do that.
"Saw..." he shut his eyes briefly, pulled himself together, and opened them again. "I saw something in the road. Standing in the middle of the road. It looked like a woman. Or a deer. Somehow both at the same time. It had these eyes... like a yellow color, reflecting the light. I swerved to avoid it." And he hadn't felt anything, no impact, nothing under the wheels, so he must have. Unless it had never been there to begin with.
It was possible that he'd imagined it. That he'd gotten spooked, driving at night, and he'd invented something to be afraid of. But that seemed unlikely. He'd never done anything like that before. And that feeling of dread he'd gotten, that hadn't happened gradually. It had been all at once, unmistakable. In the academy they'd been taught not to ignore feelings like that. To pay attention to them, to catalogue them, instead of writing them off. It's probably nothing, people said, shortly before dying. A willingness to look for the sort of things that most people willfully ignored -- the things that went bump in the night, the scratching on the window that's probably just a tree branch -- was one of a graduate's greatest assets.
"I'm really sorry about that," he said, sighing. Myles rubbed his eyelids, feeling some of the adrenaline leach out of him. When he next glanced over at Andrews, he attempted a shaky smile. "Good job driving the car for the first time, huh?" Ran it off the road in barely thirty minutes.
He glanced over his shoulder out at the road, but of course he couldn't see anything. "So, what now?" he asked. "Should we check it out, or get out of here?" The former could be dangerous. But so could the latter, if they ignored something that was still out there. There was a chance that whatever it was was gone now, or that something was manipulating Myles alone. He'd leave it up to Andrews: both because he was experienced, and because Myles was still, admittedly, sort of freaked out.
"Saw..." he shut his eyes briefly, pulled himself together, and opened them again. "I saw something in the road. Standing in the middle of the road. It looked like a woman. Or a deer. Somehow both at the same time. It had these eyes... like a yellow color, reflecting the light. I swerved to avoid it." And he hadn't felt anything, no impact, nothing under the wheels, so he must have. Unless it had never been there to begin with.
It was possible that he'd imagined it. That he'd gotten spooked, driving at night, and he'd invented something to be afraid of. But that seemed unlikely. He'd never done anything like that before. And that feeling of dread he'd gotten, that hadn't happened gradually. It had been all at once, unmistakable. In the academy they'd been taught not to ignore feelings like that. To pay attention to them, to catalogue them, instead of writing them off. It's probably nothing, people said, shortly before dying. A willingness to look for the sort of things that most people willfully ignored -- the things that went bump in the night, the scratching on the window that's probably just a tree branch -- was one of a graduate's greatest assets.
"I'm really sorry about that," he said, sighing. Myles rubbed his eyelids, feeling some of the adrenaline leach out of him. When he next glanced over at Andrews, he attempted a shaky smile. "Good job driving the car for the first time, huh?" Ran it off the road in barely thirty minutes.
He glanced over his shoulder out at the road, but of course he couldn't see anything. "So, what now?" he asked. "Should we check it out, or get out of here?" The former could be dangerous. But so could the latter, if they ignored something that was still out there. There was a chance that whatever it was was gone now, or that something was manipulating Myles alone. He'd leave it up to Andrews: both because he was experienced, and because Myles was still, admittedly, sort of freaked out.
sspky
ooof my bones
Agent Andrews listened to his partner’s account, his face stony and unreadable. ‘Skinwalker’ was the first thing that came to mind. They weren’t uncommon in North America, although they were very rarely seen this far south.
Part of him wanted to tell the man to switch him places so he could drive, but he knew better than to leave the car when there was a potential unknown entity in the darkness beyond. Instead, he took out his phone, thumbed passed the lock screen, and brought up a recorder app.
A light on the mobile blinked red.
“We’re not going to get out of the vehicle, Agent Lewis.” he said evenly, “We’re going to drive the rest of the way to civilization, and then I’m going to interview you properly. After that, I’ll phone this in.”
It might have all been in Agent Lewis’ head, but in case he really did see something, Andrews certainly hoped the entity wasn’t dangerous. This was a quiet road, sure, but they were hardly in the middle of nowhere. From where he sat he could count the distant lights of at least four farmsteads or acreages.
And now, it was time for him to pull rank. He gestured to the back seat with his thumb and said, “Get climbing. I’m driving. And once you’re back there, grab a notebook and write down every detail you can think of. Keep your eyes open, and if the feeling returns, notify me immediately.”
He didn’t care if the kid climbed into the passenger seat afterwards -- the backseat was fairly cluttered, after all -- just so long as he personally didn’t have to scramble over anything more challenging than the center console.
Part of him wanted to tell the man to switch him places so he could drive, but he knew better than to leave the car when there was a potential unknown entity in the darkness beyond. Instead, he took out his phone, thumbed passed the lock screen, and brought up a recorder app.
A light on the mobile blinked red.
“We’re not going to get out of the vehicle, Agent Lewis.” he said evenly, “We’re going to drive the rest of the way to civilization, and then I’m going to interview you properly. After that, I’ll phone this in.”
It might have all been in Agent Lewis’ head, but in case he really did see something, Andrews certainly hoped the entity wasn’t dangerous. This was a quiet road, sure, but they were hardly in the middle of nowhere. From where he sat he could count the distant lights of at least four farmsteads or acreages.
And now, it was time for him to pull rank. He gestured to the back seat with his thumb and said, “Get climbing. I’m driving. And once you’re back there, grab a notebook and write down every detail you can think of. Keep your eyes open, and if the feeling returns, notify me immediately.”
He didn’t care if the kid climbed into the passenger seat afterwards -- the backseat was fairly cluttered, after all -- just so long as he personally didn’t have to scramble over anything more challenging than the center console.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
It might be embarrassing, but Myles was relieved to hear that they wouldn't be investigating. He was curious, sure. And if something was out here, where people lived, he wanted to deal with it. But late at night, in the dark, with that woman- deer- thing out there... well, staying in the car sounded better, that was all. If the higher-ups wanted them to check it out once Andrews sent in his report, they'd deal with it then. Once Myles was a little better prepared.
"Yeah, alright." Myles unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into the backseat without too much trouble. It was awkward sliding between the driver's and passenger's seat -- Andrews might be taller than him, but he wasn't a small person -- and he had to twist to avoid squashing some kind of cloth case. The camera, he guessed, with an assortment of lenses designed to pick up things that the human eye couldn't see. But eventually he'd carved out a space to sit, and fished out a notebook and pen from his backpack. "Careful," he said absently, as he rearranged the items around him. "It's harder than it looks." Apparently. Myles leaned heavily against the door, notebook propped open on his thigh, and began to write.
He was a bit more coherent now. Myles still thought that his description of the feeling had been right. It had felt like walking through a house late at night, turning off the lights in each room one by one. The room behind you plunging into sudden darkness as you flick off the light. Where anything could be behind you. Anything at all. And the darkness only grows as you go, yawning wide behind you, until the only safety is the bright, warm light of your room, shining like a beacon down the hall, and you run for it, heart pounding, and slam the door behind you, safe.
Yeah. Like that.
Instead Myles wrote that at approximately 11:45, I experienced a sudden feeling of unease, which rapidly grew stronger. He described how the car had felt cold, the hairs on his arms and neck standing up, the feeling that he needed to look for something. Clinical, factual, with as much detail as he could muster. He described the woman, although unfortunately he didn't have a clear image of her. All he remembered was the strangeness of it, the dissonance of seeing person and animal in the same space, somehow the same entity. And the eyes, yellow and bright, reflected in the headlights. He gave it his best shot, though, and even attempted a sketch of it for good measure.
When all of that was done, Myles closed the notebook and tucked it back into his backpack. Now that he wasn't working, it felt a bit weird sitting in the backseat. Like he was a kid being driven to basketball practice, or like he was in a taxi. So he told Andrews that he was climbing up to the front, and slid into the passenger's seat as gracefully as he could. When he was seated, Myles folded his arm against the window and leaned his head on it, watching the dark farmland pass them. Now that the adrenaline had ebbed away, he was left feeling drained. Ready to fall into a crappy motel bed, honestly.
"Yeah, alright." Myles unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed into the backseat without too much trouble. It was awkward sliding between the driver's and passenger's seat -- Andrews might be taller than him, but he wasn't a small person -- and he had to twist to avoid squashing some kind of cloth case. The camera, he guessed, with an assortment of lenses designed to pick up things that the human eye couldn't see. But eventually he'd carved out a space to sit, and fished out a notebook and pen from his backpack. "Careful," he said absently, as he rearranged the items around him. "It's harder than it looks." Apparently. Myles leaned heavily against the door, notebook propped open on his thigh, and began to write.
He was a bit more coherent now. Myles still thought that his description of the feeling had been right. It had felt like walking through a house late at night, turning off the lights in each room one by one. The room behind you plunging into sudden darkness as you flick off the light. Where anything could be behind you. Anything at all. And the darkness only grows as you go, yawning wide behind you, until the only safety is the bright, warm light of your room, shining like a beacon down the hall, and you run for it, heart pounding, and slam the door behind you, safe.
Yeah. Like that.
Instead Myles wrote that at approximately 11:45, I experienced a sudden feeling of unease, which rapidly grew stronger. He described how the car had felt cold, the hairs on his arms and neck standing up, the feeling that he needed to look for something. Clinical, factual, with as much detail as he could muster. He described the woman, although unfortunately he didn't have a clear image of her. All he remembered was the strangeness of it, the dissonance of seeing person and animal in the same space, somehow the same entity. And the eyes, yellow and bright, reflected in the headlights. He gave it his best shot, though, and even attempted a sketch of it for good measure.
When all of that was done, Myles closed the notebook and tucked it back into his backpack. Now that he wasn't working, it felt a bit weird sitting in the backseat. Like he was a kid being driven to basketball practice, or like he was in a taxi. So he told Andrews that he was climbing up to the front, and slid into the passenger's seat as gracefully as he could. When he was seated, Myles folded his arm against the window and leaned his head on it, watching the dark farmland pass them. Now that the adrenaline had ebbed away, he was left feeling drained. Ready to fall into a crappy motel bed, honestly.
sspky
ooof my bones
Climbing into the driver's seat, Andrews only managed to bang his head once against the roof, a firm reminder that he wasn’t half as nimble as he used to be. Sure, he kept himself fit; watched his carbs, limited his salt, abstained from alcohol as much as reasonable, and ran as often as he could in the predawn light; but age was inevitable, and he felt its slow creep more and more each day.
Once settled, Andrews adjusted his seat, the wheel, the mirror, grumbled something about everything being out of place, and pulled off the shoulder. He jammed the radio button on the console screen, cutting off Holly Williams mid-chorus, and drove the rest of the way in silence. He’d be lying if he said that Agent Lewis’ experience hadn’t unsettled him a little.
He kept a careful eye on the rearview mirror, both on his partner and on the dark stretch of night behind them. Andrews knew better than to let himself get riled up. If he started to worry about whether he was feeling unusually spooked, he knew his brain would start moulding shapes out of shadows.
Nope. He’d keep a cool, rational head about the entire affair. Jumping at shadows was for amateurs and he absolutely refused to acknowledge the way the hair on his neck rose as the headlights of the black Ford caught the glint of a trio of deer standing alert in a passing field.
“Jesus, Lewis.” he said, shaken from his focus when the man started to crawl into the front seat, “You bet your ass I’m failing you on the driving assessment.”
There wasn’t any venom in his tone, despite his frustration. Instead, he gripped the wheel tighter, just in case the man accidentally jostled him.
The lights outside were more frequent now, and it was clear they were crossing once more into the glow of civilization.
He wondered if his partner was still feeling uneasy. Instead of asking, he said: “Keep an eye out for the Clearview Best Western. Should be on your side.”
Once settled, Andrews adjusted his seat, the wheel, the mirror, grumbled something about everything being out of place, and pulled off the shoulder. He jammed the radio button on the console screen, cutting off Holly Williams mid-chorus, and drove the rest of the way in silence. He’d be lying if he said that Agent Lewis’ experience hadn’t unsettled him a little.
He kept a careful eye on the rearview mirror, both on his partner and on the dark stretch of night behind them. Andrews knew better than to let himself get riled up. If he started to worry about whether he was feeling unusually spooked, he knew his brain would start moulding shapes out of shadows.
Nope. He’d keep a cool, rational head about the entire affair. Jumping at shadows was for amateurs and he absolutely refused to acknowledge the way the hair on his neck rose as the headlights of the black Ford caught the glint of a trio of deer standing alert in a passing field.
“Jesus, Lewis.” he said, shaken from his focus when the man started to crawl into the front seat, “You bet your ass I’m failing you on the driving assessment.”
There wasn’t any venom in his tone, despite his frustration. Instead, he gripped the wheel tighter, just in case the man accidentally jostled him.
The lights outside were more frequent now, and it was clear they were crossing once more into the glow of civilization.
He wondered if his partner was still feeling uneasy. Instead of asking, he said: “Keep an eye out for the Clearview Best Western. Should be on your side.”
Trompe lOeil
let's go
The jab startled a chuckle out of him. It wasn't unwelcome, honestly. He didn't feel any real anger in Andrews' tone, and he deserved it, anyway. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I'm gonna have to make it up in other areas." Myles had always been pretty good at interviewing witnesses. Personable, empathetic. He was an excellent shot, too, although he doubted that that would come up on this mission. At least he hoped it wouldn't.
What he wasn't good at, apparently, was not running them off the road in the middle of the night. Keeping cool when things started to go wrong. He'd thought that he was -- he'd graduated somehow, right? -- but it turned out that there was a big difference between a training assignment and the real thing. Myles wondered how many more mistakes he'd be allowed to make before Andrews gave up on him completely. The man seemed pretty prickly; Myles couldn't tell yet if that was out of dislike for him, or if that was just how he was.
Anyway, he didn't bump Andrews on the way to the passenger seat, and soon enough he was folded up against the window. Good enough. As time passed they began to pass more lights, painting the inside of the car with a brief yellow glow. All the color was washed out by the dark, painted over by the light. Dark, light, dark, light, until finally it was just light, streetlights, shop lights, the glow of a small town.
"Sure," he said, rousing a little. Enough to pay attention to the signs they passed. It was hard to get a feel for the town in the dark. Hard to tell Clearview, Oklahoma from any other small American town. It looked a little run-down, from what Myles could see. Not bad, just a little worse for wear. They passed a closed-down movie theater, an empty lot, a For Sale sign on a restaurant building.
"There." Up on the right. "Right after the light." It could definitely be worse, Myles decided as they pulled into the parking lot. It was two floors, relatively new, brightly lit up. Not the sort of roadside motel you had to seriously worry about.
Myles got out of the car, grabbed his backpack from the back seat, and pulled his duffel bag from the jumble of equipment in the trunk. "Anything else you need?" He figured Andrews would just interview him with his cell phone, but it didn't hurt to ask.
When they made their way to the front desk to check in, Myles hung back and let Andrews take the lead. He wasn't sure- were they using their real names? When the guy asked for a card for a room deposit, what card did they use? He'd just stay out of the way and carry the bags. Seemed fair enough.
Their room was on the first floor, not far down the hall. There were two beds and a window that looked out onto the parking lot. Lovely. "Got a preference?" Myles dropped his backpack on the bed closer to the door, but if Andrews shooed him away, that was fine. He just didn't want to wake him up if he left for an early run.
Myles sat down on the edge of the bed, more tired than he'd expected to be. "You want to do that interview?" Yes, right? Or Myles could pass out now, and they could do it in the morning. To be honest, the latter sounded pretty good.
What he wasn't good at, apparently, was not running them off the road in the middle of the night. Keeping cool when things started to go wrong. He'd thought that he was -- he'd graduated somehow, right? -- but it turned out that there was a big difference between a training assignment and the real thing. Myles wondered how many more mistakes he'd be allowed to make before Andrews gave up on him completely. The man seemed pretty prickly; Myles couldn't tell yet if that was out of dislike for him, or if that was just how he was.
Anyway, he didn't bump Andrews on the way to the passenger seat, and soon enough he was folded up against the window. Good enough. As time passed they began to pass more lights, painting the inside of the car with a brief yellow glow. All the color was washed out by the dark, painted over by the light. Dark, light, dark, light, until finally it was just light, streetlights, shop lights, the glow of a small town.
"Sure," he said, rousing a little. Enough to pay attention to the signs they passed. It was hard to get a feel for the town in the dark. Hard to tell Clearview, Oklahoma from any other small American town. It looked a little run-down, from what Myles could see. Not bad, just a little worse for wear. They passed a closed-down movie theater, an empty lot, a For Sale sign on a restaurant building.
"There." Up on the right. "Right after the light." It could definitely be worse, Myles decided as they pulled into the parking lot. It was two floors, relatively new, brightly lit up. Not the sort of roadside motel you had to seriously worry about.
Myles got out of the car, grabbed his backpack from the back seat, and pulled his duffel bag from the jumble of equipment in the trunk. "Anything else you need?" He figured Andrews would just interview him with his cell phone, but it didn't hurt to ask.
When they made their way to the front desk to check in, Myles hung back and let Andrews take the lead. He wasn't sure- were they using their real names? When the guy asked for a card for a room deposit, what card did they use? He'd just stay out of the way and carry the bags. Seemed fair enough.
Their room was on the first floor, not far down the hall. There were two beds and a window that looked out onto the parking lot. Lovely. "Got a preference?" Myles dropped his backpack on the bed closer to the door, but if Andrews shooed him away, that was fine. He just didn't want to wake him up if he left for an early run.
Myles sat down on the edge of the bed, more tired than he'd expected to be. "You want to do that interview?" Yes, right? Or Myles could pass out now, and they could do it in the morning. To be honest, the latter sounded pretty good.
sspky
ooof my bones
As soon as they got to the room, Andrews dumped his bags down on the remaining bed, apparently not terribly bothered one way or the other. He pulled out his laptop, notebook, and a leather folio filled with case information and placed them down on the small, round dining table by the door.
“Yeah. I want to get this all down while it’s fresh. Hand me your notebook,” he said, gesturing for his partner to join him. He could tell Lewis was tired, so he’d try to keep this as quick as possible, but he still meant to get the job done right.
Standing over the table, Andrews pulled a large map out of the folio and spread it out on the table. Using a black marker, he circled the location of the house, and then followed the highway down until he found the approximate location of Agent Lewis’ incident.
There were a good twenty miles between the two locations, but Agent Andrews knew that didn’t mean much. Some anomalies were location-bound, and some seemed to roam relatively freely over large geographic areas.
“Yeah. I want to get this all down while it’s fresh. Hand me your notebook,” he said, gesturing for his partner to join him. He could tell Lewis was tired, so he’d try to keep this as quick as possible, but he still meant to get the job done right.
Standing over the table, Andrews pulled a large map out of the folio and spread it out on the table. Using a black marker, he circled the location of the house, and then followed the highway down until he found the approximate location of Agent Lewis’ incident.
There were a good twenty miles between the two locations, but Agent Andrews knew that didn’t mean much. Some anomalies were location-bound, and some seemed to roam relatively freely over large geographic areas.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Yeah, alright. Myles couldn't deny that that made sense. Better to get this done while it was still fresh. When Andrews gestured for Myles to join him he did, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, determined to get this out of the way. He wasn't that tired.
Myles passed Andrews his notebook. In the bright light of the hotel room, he realized that the sketch he'd drawn was a bit... heavy-handed. There were a lot of dark pen lines scratched around the silhouette of the woman-deer-thing, making the image seem darker, hazy. It was a surprisingly sinister effect. Myles didn't think he was much of an artist, but this drawing seemed to capture the essence of the thing pretty well.
He frowned a little when he saw the map, leaning in to examine it. "You think they're related?" he asked, curious. For some reason he'd assumed that the thing he'd seen was a one-off. Unrelated to the case they were working. But it didn't hurt to consider it, he supposed. The possibility intrigued him. Was that creature connected to the house somehow?
When Andrews had had a chance to read through his account, Myles asked, "Anything else you want to know?"
Myles passed Andrews his notebook. In the bright light of the hotel room, he realized that the sketch he'd drawn was a bit... heavy-handed. There were a lot of dark pen lines scratched around the silhouette of the woman-deer-thing, making the image seem darker, hazy. It was a surprisingly sinister effect. Myles didn't think he was much of an artist, but this drawing seemed to capture the essence of the thing pretty well.
He frowned a little when he saw the map, leaning in to examine it. "You think they're related?" he asked, curious. For some reason he'd assumed that the thing he'd seen was a one-off. Unrelated to the case they were working. But it didn't hurt to consider it, he supposed. The possibility intrigued him. Was that creature connected to the house somehow?
When Andrews had had a chance to read through his account, Myles asked, "Anything else you want to know?"
sspky
ooof my bones
“I’m considering the possibility.” Agent Andrews replied, “Anomalies are rare enough that it’s worth taking note when two happen in close proximity.”
At this point in time, it was far too early to speculate. And honestly, Andrews wasn’t certain which possibility was preferable. He supposed it would be better, in the end, if the two cases were related. After all, that meant there was one less potential creepy-crawly to look out for. On the other hand, he was really, really hoping this case would be a simple, self-contained haunted house. In and out, over and done with, goodbye Oklahoma.
After finishing his second read-through of Agent Lewis’s account, Andrews began the formal interview. It would take about 30 minutes for him to question every single point the man had written down --
“Unease? Did you feel nervous? Nauseous?”
“Cold? Was it is a physical cold, or something deeper? Did you notice any condensation? Could you see your breath?”
“What did you smell? Taste? Hear?”
-- all the while, the red record light blinked steadily on his phone, which sat face-up on the table directly between them.
Finally, he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, his shoulders stiff and his neck aching. Tapping his finger on the drawing, he made a hum that might have been approving, and said, “No, I think that’s it. Pack it in.”
At this point in time, it was far too early to speculate. And honestly, Andrews wasn’t certain which possibility was preferable. He supposed it would be better, in the end, if the two cases were related. After all, that meant there was one less potential creepy-crawly to look out for. On the other hand, he was really, really hoping this case would be a simple, self-contained haunted house. In and out, over and done with, goodbye Oklahoma.
After finishing his second read-through of Agent Lewis’s account, Andrews began the formal interview. It would take about 30 minutes for him to question every single point the man had written down --
“Unease? Did you feel nervous? Nauseous?”
“Cold? Was it is a physical cold, or something deeper? Did you notice any condensation? Could you see your breath?”
“What did you smell? Taste? Hear?”
-- all the while, the red record light blinked steadily on his phone, which sat face-up on the table directly between them.
Finally, he leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, his shoulders stiff and his neck aching. Tapping his finger on the drawing, he made a hum that might have been approving, and said, “No, I think that’s it. Pack it in.”
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles buckled down and focused on answering each of Andrews' questions in as much detail as possible. He described the sensations he felt again, the skin crawling feeling, the feeling that something was behind them. He left nothing out. Not that he had been before, but it was easier to add details when they were just talking, focused on this completely. He talked until he was sick of the sound of his own voice, until the clock on the nightstand read 1 AM, until Andrews had asked him three questions for every sentence he'd written down. Finally the other man leaned back, signalling the end of the interview, and Myles sighed. Finally. It had needed doing, but it was nice to have it over with.
He didn't need any more encouragement than that; Myles stood to pull sweatpants, a shirt, and his toothbrush out of his overnight bag. As he fished around, he said, "I can't decide what would be worse -- two separate entities, or if it's the same thing. Can't say I'd love to encounter whatever I saw on the road again, though."
He went into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. When he came out, Myles stayed up the additional thirty seconds needed to plug in his phone to charge, and realize it was way too late to respond to the text his mom had sent him earlier that evening. He'd do it in the morning. If he ended up waking up early, he'd go for a run. If not, that was fine.
"Night," he said, before rolling over and falling asleep.
He did not end up waking up early.
He didn't need any more encouragement than that; Myles stood to pull sweatpants, a shirt, and his toothbrush out of his overnight bag. As he fished around, he said, "I can't decide what would be worse -- two separate entities, or if it's the same thing. Can't say I'd love to encounter whatever I saw on the road again, though."
He went into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. When he came out, Myles stayed up the additional thirty seconds needed to plug in his phone to charge, and realize it was way too late to respond to the text his mom had sent him earlier that evening. He'd do it in the morning. If he ended up waking up early, he'd go for a run. If not, that was fine.
"Night," he said, before rolling over and falling asleep.
He did not end up waking up early.
sspky
ooof my bones
As Myles prepared for bed, Tony remained up for a while longer, organizing his notes and collecting his thoughts. Finally, he rose, changed into his sleepwear, set his alarm for 7 AM -- later than his preferred start time, but by now it was well past 1:30 AM -- and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
His sleep was restless and plagued with the same dark dreams he’d been experiencing since the Redridge Incident 28 months earlier.
Despite the late night before, and the uneasy rest, Agent Andrews seemed remarkably perky come morning. He was mostly awake by the time the alarm went off, rose quickly, showed quickly, dressed quickly, and was ready to hit the road no later than 7:30 AM.
Although they’d declined room service on arrival, Agent Tony made a point of leaving absolutely nothing in the room that might hint at their true purpose here in Clearview. He’d neatly stowed his documents back into their folio, which he tucked in his go-bag. The map he folded carefully and tucked under his arm.
His sleep was restless and plagued with the same dark dreams he’d been experiencing since the Redridge Incident 28 months earlier.
Despite the late night before, and the uneasy rest, Agent Andrews seemed remarkably perky come morning. He was mostly awake by the time the alarm went off, rose quickly, showed quickly, dressed quickly, and was ready to hit the road no later than 7:30 AM.
Although they’d declined room service on arrival, Agent Tony made a point of leaving absolutely nothing in the room that might hint at their true purpose here in Clearview. He’d neatly stowed his documents back into their folio, which he tucked in his go-bag. The map he folded carefully and tucked under his arm.
Trompe lOeil
let's go
Myles was tired enough to drop into a deep, dreamless sleep. At least, that's what really should have happened. It was mostly what happened. Myles fell asleep immediately, and he didn't stir again until the alarm yanked him abruptly awake. The only strange thing was that he couldn't shake the image of the woman he'd seen. He didn't remember any nightmares, but he awoke with the strangest feeling that he'd had one.
After a shower and a cup of bad instant coffee, he felt a bit better. Prepared for the day. Today Myles opted for slacks and a button-down; he hadn't even packed a full suit, but maybe in this people would buy that he was Andrews's partner. Maybe after some more time on the job he'd start to believe it himself. Part of him expected the cops on the scene to ignore him. This guy? The trainee? No way he's the guy they sent.
When Andrews combed the hotel room -- for... any of their stuff, Myles gathered -- Myles did the same. Checked to make sure he hadn't left anything behind. He assumed it was so they didn't leave a trail behind them, and that made sense to him. The fewer people that knew about Angergy and the spooks that went with it, the better.
"So..." he said, when they'd gathered their bags. "I can drive? If you want. I know I don't have a good track record, but it's daytime now, y'know? Probably safer now." He shrugged. "Up to you. I'm fine either way."
After a shower and a cup of bad instant coffee, he felt a bit better. Prepared for the day. Today Myles opted for slacks and a button-down; he hadn't even packed a full suit, but maybe in this people would buy that he was Andrews's partner. Maybe after some more time on the job he'd start to believe it himself. Part of him expected the cops on the scene to ignore him. This guy? The trainee? No way he's the guy they sent.
When Andrews combed the hotel room -- for... any of their stuff, Myles gathered -- Myles did the same. Checked to make sure he hadn't left anything behind. He assumed it was so they didn't leave a trail behind them, and that made sense to him. The fewer people that knew about Angergy and the spooks that went with it, the better.
"So..." he said, when they'd gathered their bags. "I can drive? If you want. I know I don't have a good track record, but it's daytime now, y'know? Probably safer now." He shrugged. "Up to you. I'm fine either way."
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