In One’s Eyes, Another’s Soul
Sept 29, 2015 10:20:05 GMT -6
English/Corpse and Ryder Blade like this
Post by Death Incarnate on Sept 29, 2015 10:20:05 GMT -6
In One’s Eyes, Another’s Soul
“There are only two people who can tell you the truth about yourself - an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly.”
- Antisthenes -
“There are only two people who can tell you the truth about yourself - an enemy who has lost his temper and a friend who loves you dearly.”
- Antisthenes -
Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015
Malibu, California
Malibu, California
A black Lincoln pulled from the freeway onto Coral Bay Boulevard, the driver breathing an inward sigh of relief as the hustle of pre-rush hour traffic was left behind him at last. The cracked and battered asphalt interrupted the smoothness of the ride but it was a small price to pay. Pulling up to the red light, he paused in his wait for green to eye the large yellow envelope sitting on the passenger seat. In his mind he rolled around the questions born of the envelope’s contents, mulling over how much of it he could actually trust given the source. His own voice began to sound off inside his brain, recalling the conversation of an hour ago.
”And we’re supposed to just trust this at face value,” came the retort of the detective to the man on the other end of the speaker phone. Across the desk sat an older man with graying hair and a powerful build, a multiple decade contrast between the two.
”If you care about doing your job properly, then yes.”
The older man leans in at this point, sensing that his subordinate is on the edge of lashing out and bringing a premature end to the conversation.
”You need to understand the irregularity of this situation. Contacting us bearing pages of documents, photographs and what-not pertaining to a nearly decade-old case from across the ocean? That’s going to beggar questions.”
”Questions which there are no time for right now. I understand your concerns and that of your...tempestuous friend,” the person on the phone responds coolly, his words again prompting the older man to gesture toward the younger man to lower his temper. ”But time is of the essence. Use what I’ve given you and see what you discover. I’ll be in touch.”
No time was given for a retort; the call was ended and the younger man standing across the desk from the elder gentleman comes that close to slamming a fist down on the polished oak. A deep breath later he seems calmer while his superior begins to sift through the haphazard pile of papers on his desk.
”How seriously are we supposed to take this, Chief?”
The older man doesn’t look up when he responds. His attention, as can be seen, is locked on a black-and-white picture, one gleaned from a security camera if the timestamp is anything to go by.
”Someone calls us up out of the blue claiming they’ve got information pertaining to a closed case from almost a decade ago AND a missing person report from over a year ago,” the Chief muses quietly. He tosses the picture lightly back down onto the pile, finally looking to the young man. ”We get no name and no contact information from him. On sight, a lot of these documents look legit, but…”
He trails off and the younger man leans over the desk with his palms resting on the edge. Staring down at the picture of two women, a still taken months ago, he scoffs irritably.
”It’ll take days at least to correlate with the authorities over there. But I’m guessing you want me to look into it here while we wait, right?”
There’s no need to respond, really. The two men exchange looks before the Chief slides the papers and photos into an envelope and hands them to the younger man.
”Jacob, I know you don’t like this. Part of me doesn’t either. But my gut is telling me that there’s something to all this.”
”Did I or did I not warn you about the chili at Lassiter’s?”
The bit of humor lightens the mood somewhat but the levity doesn’t last.
”Look into it. Worst that can happen is it’s a wild goose chase and we lose a few hours’ time.”
The honk of a horn snaps the young man, Jacob, back to reality. The light is already green and he pulls through the intersection, following the directions recently committed to memory. It isn’t long before a warehouse-type building looms ahead of him, standing out against the rest of the pre-fab skeletons of buildings near it. The dirt lot out front isn’t exactly marked for parking but there’s no signs against it, either. Jacob pulls up near the front doors of the building and gets out, grabbing the envelope in the process. Shutting the door behind him he gives the building a once over as he walks up to the door.
He barely has a chance to knock upon the heavy steel barrier before it’s pulled open and he’s face to face, for the most part, with brown-haired, green-eyed young woman of no more than twenty years. She looks him over somewhat critically and with immediate distrust which isn’t mitigated in the slightest when he turns back the lapel of his suit jacket to reveal a badge.
”Good evening. Detective Jacob Mulholland, Malibu Police Department. Are you the, ah, proprietor of this place?”
Again with the distrustful appraisal before the young lady speaks, addressing the detective with the same aversion she looked upon him with.
”I serve at the behest of those in charge in their absence. What business do the police have here, detective?”
”An anonymous tip led us here looking for information,” Jacob replied, hating the sound of that against his own thoughts. ”Perhaps you can answer my questions.”
”Unless you have a warrant, I fail to see why I should indulge you, detective, with all due respect.”
She eyes the envelope in his hand then returns her attention to him directly. That smooth-featured face may as well have been made of stone for all the feeling she showed. The detective notes her interest in the envelope and senses an opening.
”Fair enough,” he replies, opening the envelope and taking out the same picture which he and the Chief were looking over an hour ago, showing it to the woman. ”then I’ll settle for your thoughts on who these two might be considering that this photograph was taken from your own security cameras.”
”...who are they?”
A moment’s hesitation, a brief crack in the granite veneer from behind which the young woman peers. Jacob spots this but gives no indication, instead looking at the picture himself again.
”So you don’t know them. And what’s your name again?”
The chilly look becomes a snarl though the woman’s tone doesn’t change to match.
”Emily Morgan.”
”Well, Miss Morgan, I can assure you that getting a warrant wouldn’t be an issue. But it would be a lot easier on both of us if you would stop being so evasive and answer a few simple questions.”
”I can...answer nothing without the, as you put it, proprietor’s say-so.”
”And how long will that take to get? Time is of the essence, you understand.”
”Yours, not ours,” Emily replies sharply. She turns to speak over her shoulder at someone out of sight of the detective. A murmured reply is given and she gives him her attention again. ”Friday, 5pm at your station. She will be there.”
”Fair enough. If she is not, however, I will be back with a warrant.”
”You’ll do as you will.”
And with that, the door slams shut almost in Jacob’s face. He takes a reflexive step back then chuckles at what he considers to be the absurdity of it all, shaking his head a bit.
”Pleasant woman.”
Turning on a polished heel, he walks back to his car and is in moments pulling out of the lot with a cloud of dust in his wake. On the other side of the heavy steel door, Emily is leaning against it with her back pressed against the sun-warmed metal. Another stands close by, several inches taller and more muscular than Emily, her corded arms folded across her chest. Emily meets her stare and gestures for the phone held in the other woman’s right hand. Accepting it, she activates the screen and hurriedly sends a text message. The muscular woman takes her leave as, after sending the text, Emily pockets the phone amidst a full-body shiver. She wraps her arms about herself, still trembling.
”They know…”
Friday, September 25th, 2015
Malibu, California
Malibu, California
Some people just have a way about them, an attribute tangible or otherwise, perhaps an aura for those fanciful thinkers, that commands attention. It can be centered around appearance or tone of voice, or something else entirely, but when it’s let loose full-bore there’s few that can deny it. The woman making her way through the Malibu Police Station had presence in spades from the tips of her polished black stilettos up her long, silk-sheathed legs and past the custom-tailored power suit to her oval-shaped face, the latter partially obscured by a large, wide-brimmed black hat and dark sunglasses. Even with that level of anonymity, however, her athletic figure and the manner in which she carried herself had almost every male eye upon her as she walked click-click-click toward an office door at the back of the station’s main floor.
Upon the door’s window read the name Jacob Mulholland, and beneath that the word ‘Detective’. The woman knew exactly where she was going and who she wanted to see, raising a black-gloved hand and rapping none too softly upon the frosted glass. The clock above read 4:59pm as footsteps were heard on the other end and the passage was pulled open. The young detective we all remember from earlier was taken aback at first and then, on a whim, checked his watch. Chuckling under his breath, he brought his gaze back upon the woman.
”You’re very punctual. I honestly didn’t expect anyone to show up considering the frosty reception I got at that warehouse.”
A dark brow elevates above the shades on the woman’s fair-fleshed face.
”My employees are naturally suspicious of anyone knocking at our door that isn’t known to be under our auspices,” the woman retorts with a certain chill to her words. ”So rather than inviting another unexpected visit, I decided to indulge in this...investigation of yours.”
”Come in, then.”
The woman walks past when the door is held open for her, Detective Mulholland watching her go with equal parts attraction and curiosity. No voice is put to his thoughts, perhaps thanks to the woman’s cold attitude. Better, he seemed to think, to not provoke her before any information could be gleaned. The woman settled herself in a chair in front of the desk and Jacob walked around to the other side, easing into his own chair. She removed her hat and sunglasses, setting them in her lap as her back remained toward us.
”Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. Have a look at this,” the detective retrieves the picture shown to Emily a few days prior and passes it across his desk to the woman, ”and tell me if you know these women.”
Jacob’s tone had shifted a little, going from genial to business-like once they were face to face. Now, as the woman stared at the security camera photograph, his expression changed as well. It was the look of a man trying to find the right piece to go into a section of puzzle.
”You look very familiar…”
Before the sentence finished, the woman snapped her head up and stared right at the detective.
”Don’t.”
”...don’t what?”
The finality of her tone put him on the defensive but when she didn’t respond it clicked.
”Ah,” he says with a shake of his head. ”You misunderstand. I was just sure I’d seen you somewhere else before today. On television or something.”
”Mm. Maybe.”
Her answer is entirely noncommittal as she tosses the picture back on his desk, staring at him.
”Who are these two?”
”I was hoping you could shed some light on that. We recently received some anonymous information from, of all places, England. The person referenced a couple of missing person cases of divergent age before faxing us this photo among other things,” Jacob replies, still watching the woman curiously but not as pointedly. ”Considering that this place is noted as your establishment, we assumed you would know something, Miss…?”
Prompting for a name, the detective received nothing of the sort.
”So are they accused of something? Or do you think that they’re your missing quarry based on information delivered from some random lost soul looking for attention and playing on your need to do something special with your career?”
”You’re not much of a people person, are you?”
”It depends on the people, detective.”
Accepting that response with a shrug, Detective Mulholland leans back in the ergonomic, faux-leather chair while folding his hands before him.
”So you don’t know anything?”
”You’ve given me little go to on, haven’t you?”
”As told to us, their names are Eleanor Merriweather and Victoria Essex. The former has been missing over a year after leaving her home somewhere in Warwickshire while the other has been missing nearly a decade and, until recently according to our source, was the victim of a suicide.”
The woman’s shoulders stiffen slightly, a detail missed by the detective as he picks up and stares at the picture again. He seems either disappointed or bored by this second wall in as many days pertaining to a case that, after a point, had taken up residence in his brain without any indication of letting go.
”Apparently there’s a longstanding legal matter that’s coming up quickly over there that’s linked to this case, if that rings any bells?”
The woman again tenses, just before Jacob looks to her again. She holds her hand out for the picture, stares at it, then lifts her eyes to him anew.
”Is there anything else you can show me?”
”Not in terms of pictures,” Jacob replies, sifting through the papers in the folder before finally coming up with something that he passes to the woman. ”But perhaps this will do. It’s a cell phone record.”
Accepting the paper, she looks it over for several moments while the detective sits expectantly, doing his best not to stare. After a few intense seconds of further study, the woman returns the paper to his desk.
”I cannot be of help at this juncture. However,” she rises, replacing her hat and sunglasses, ”if there is something to be found at my property, I will find it and you will be informed by Emily as swiftly as possible.”
Jacob stands as well, but the woman is already turning toward the door and moving with startling alacrity. He literally has to step from behind his desk and approach her to get her attention, yet when his hand reaches out as if to merely touch her arm she jerks away before his fingertip comes within an inch of her. Taking a step back with his hands up, palms out, the detective speaks quickly.
”Whoa, hey...easy.”
”DON’T touch me!”
”Take it easy already! I was just trying to give you this!”
In his other hand was a business card with his number and what-not upon it which, grudgingly, she accepts. You’ve never seen a hand move so fast to take something, the woman not wanting to make any contact at all with this man if she could help it. Staring at it, then pocketing it, she stares at him coldly through her sunglasses and queries sharply.
”Why should any of this matter to you anyway? This is obviously old business from thousands of miles away. It isn’t your territory.”
”Because it’s my job? Because I was told to? What kind of answer do you expect?”
”A real one.”
Again taken aback by this woman, Detective Mulholland sighs and shakes his head.
”It’s partially curiosity, the kind that gets me in trouble a lot. The rest,” he mulls over the rest of his response before continuing, ”is because I get the feeling that if someone doesn’t do something about whatever this is, good people are going to get hurt.”
Staring at the detective, the woman then turns to the door and retorts softly.
”You’re a strange one…”
She then opens the door and steps out into the office again. A few of the cops elsewhere in the station quickly turn back to their business rather than staring at her as she walks with purpose towards the exit. It’s a fair bet that half of them were listening intently to that conversation behind the once-closed door. It’s from here that Jacob watches the woman leave before turning and re-entering his office, picking up his phone.
”Chief, we might have something to go on. No, it isn’t much, but I feel like we’re heading in the right direction.”
As he talks, he sifts through a stack of magazines settled into the middle drawer of his filing cabinet, taking one out and staring at the cover as he speaks into the phone tucked between his face and shoulder.
”I didn’t show her much beyond the picture. Just one of the cell phone logs with the Merriweather girl’s name on it. Yeah. She said she’d be in touch...or that Emily girl would, at least. Right. Yeah, I think we’ll hear back soon enough...”
The rest of the conversation becomes garbled as the scene fades out. Jacob tosses the magazine on the desk but as the view closes in on it, we’re not allowed a peek before the darkness takes over.
Friday, September 25th, 2015
Location Undisclosed
Location Undisclosed
Cut to a darkened room only illuminated by a single light bulb swinging from an old wire. Really old...the kind where the innards are quite prominent and the brightness is lacking. An empty tray with bits of food and crumbs sits on a rickety table near which rests an equally-rickety chair, the bulb at least enough to show us this much aside from bare concrete walls and a grimy window. Not without a lot of vinegar and water is that glass getting cleared enough to even show what time of day it is outside.
But that’s not the focus of the moment. That focus centers around a shadowed form huddled in one corner of the room wearing tattered jeans and an old t-shirt that hangs dirty and loose about their slender form. When the bulb swings just so, thanks to a weak floor fan offering a modicum of breeze in the bare chamber, we see a lowered head with a mass of unkempt red hair hanging before it. There’s oxygen passing through the frail woman’s form but otherwise she barely moves. When the door slams open, however, she sits up quickly. No, she scrambles and stumbles, trying to get to her feet and pressed into the corner of the room.
”Someone is awful skittish today! I wonder why that is?!”
The taunting, sing-songy voice has the redhead tightening up considerably, a grimace seen when the curtain of hair parts a bit. An odd-looking woman saunters into sight, hands on her hips almost comically as she stares at the redhead. She’s odd in the sense that her appearance isn’t quite correct, as if she’s trying to be something she’s not. Even with her tone being what it is in an attempt to rile the woman before her, it, too, bears the same amount of wrongness.
”Oh, lower those hackles, will you? You’re not going to do anything! You already had your chance and you threw it away!”
”Shut up, you little tramp…”
The redhead speaks, her voice a raspy whisper. The other woman laughs and wanders forward, her highlighted hair shown off as the bulb swings her way while she’s reaching out to grab the tattered woman by the chin tightly.
”Sticks and stones, bitch! Get it out of your system while you have the strength because your time is running out. Then your black-hearted whore will be dealt with permanently with you following suit! And do you know what that means?!”
Every passing word has the taunting woman getting more manic and shrill. Her grip is obviously painful for the red-haired prisoner, but it’s also going unbroken. The woman leans in, whispering to the shivering female in her hand.
”That means I get back what’s mine.”
”The only thing that’s yours...is the screams you’re going to belt out when I get finished with you…”
”Violent little bitch, aren’t you?!”
The taunter hauls off and lands an open right hand against the redhead’s cheek, but the reaction isn’t expected one whit. Snarling, the tattered woman leaps at her assailant, knocking her to the floor and clawing madly at her face before a pair of uniformed men rush in and pull her off. The woman on the floor is scrabbling and trying to get back on her feet as the redhead is held back, shrieking at her attacker. It isn’t until the woman is ushered out by one of two new entrants that the redhead stops fighting and shrinks back again as she had been originally.
The proper-looking, gray-haired gentleman gestures for the soldier-types to let the woman go and leave the room, which they do without a word. Backed into the corner but standing despite the lack of violent approach by the older man, the redhead lets out an unbidden whimper the moment he reaches toward her. The hand is retracted and lowered to his side as he shakes his head, sighing.
”Really, this has gone on long enough. I…we...admire your resolve, but quite simply? Time is running out,” he says smoothly, speaking impeccable English. ”Your best chance at surviving all of this intact is giving us the data and records that we require. There’s nothing left to save, my dear...nothing worth saving, anyway.”
”...no…”
”You continue to be obstinate. Do you really think we won’t eventually find what we seek, with or without you? The net closes inexorably around the traitor and our lost sparrow will soon be drawn back to the nest for the reckoning,” he speaks patiently still but with urgency underneath his tone. ”Be reasonable. You do not wish another session with my associate, I am sure.”
The woman lowers herself to the floor in response, head dropping onto her bent knees as her arms encircle them. The man shrugs and turns his back.
”So be it. Dinner will be brought shortly. You cannot say that I did not try.”
He walks to the door, turning one last time to look at her over his shoulder.
”We know where M is. If that’s what you were holding out hope for, well...I’m sorry for disappointing you. It could not have been any other way.”
The only sound after he has left, shutting and locking the heavy door behind him, are stilted sobs coming from the direction of the woman as the scene goes dark for the last time.