Chapter 6 part 4
After her bout of hysteria had subsided, I got Calla to eat some soup. Because I was feeling kind of hungry again, I ate some too. We sat at the kitchen table, munching in silence. Then I noticed that Calla was watching me eat, eyebrows furrowed.
“What is it, kid? Expecting me to be slurping it up like a savage jungle beast?”
“No. I-I just noticed that you’re left-handed, like me.”
“Actually, I’m ambidextrous.” I demonstrated by effortlessly switching the spoon to my right hand. “But Xen’s left-handed.”
“Who’s Xen?”
“My...friend. She’ll show up at some point.” I continued, “Getting back to what I was saying, many monsters are left-handed. It’s no big deal to us. It’s probably part of the reason why humans used to think it was such a taboo, and sinful thing; primeval memories associated the two.”
Calla murmured, “I see,” and inhaled a noodle so fast it flipped her on the nose as it went in. She managed a small smile at that.
When we finished, she went back to bed; and, finally admitting defeat, I did too. When I awoke, it was 7 in the morning. Normally, I would have gone to work now; however, Ishida had said that Calla was to be in my care. And, since she was forbidden to leave this apartment, I was unsure if that meant that I had to stay here too. Reluctantly, I called him to find out the exact details of her incarceration.
After about 3 rings, his voice came grumpily through the receiver.
"What is it, Wormwood?"
"Since the girl has to stay here, do I have to too?"
"Huh? What- Oh. Yes. Yes, until further notice, you are temporarily relieved from working with us. Only go out if you can get someone to replace you."
Silently, I punched the air.
"Thanks, Chief."
"My pleasure," he said dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."
"Oh, wait! I forgot to add: I got her set up with a psychiatrist. Dr. Higgins. Does she have to stay here for those too?"
"...I'll send a message to Dr. Higgins to make it a house call," he sighed. And with that, he hung up.
For three weeks, I spent most of my time in my apartment. Xen came over as often as possible, in order to help look after her, and every other day, Higgins came for the therapy session. I don't know the exact nature of his treatment, since I usually took those times to go to the station or work on the case, but I do know that soon Calla was looking a lot better. The bruises faded, and having healthy meals made her look less cadaverous. Xen went out shopping for her, and bought her some new clothes, which fit her frame a great deal better. Furthermore, she responded well to the therapy. I think Higgins might have cheated a little, using some kind of spell to calm her nerves, but if it did the trick, I was okay with it. Within two and a half weeks, Calla's serious brown eyes began to lose that haunted look. Not completely, but to an acceptable degree. A few times, I even made her smile. A small, timid one, but a smile nonetheless.
However, while she may have been improving, my case was going nowhere fast. I watched the tape, and it showed zilch. At 8:30 am of that day, Jessup was still in his cell, lying on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The list of enemies brought no clues whatsoever, since they all had alibis, and were not known for having any motive for kidnapping that I could find. I brought the magic samples down to the station, and a mage (not Fleming, thankfully) found out that the one outside the senator's house and the one in the elevator had both been used for teleportation. The one in the cell had been a hypnotism spell. That certainly made things suspicious, but it wasn't really concrete evidence. We still couldn't find out who the fragments had come from, and I was sure Jessup wasn't gonna talk. It was possible to use a spell to force the truth from him, but it had the side-effect of shattering the person's mind. As delightful as that would be, it was also highly illegal. Dang it.
Anyway, the three weeks were soon up. Calla went to the police, made her statement, and the case was officially recorded and filed. Since she was a legal adult, and had no known relatives and nowhere to go, I took her back home with me. Well, that’s not the only reason. Our laws have a special clause called the Mercy Clause, installed by President William “Billy” Bones back when he was in office, regarding people who kill in self-defense. If they have true remorse for their actions (we have ways of confirming that), and it’s clear that they hadn't planned to kill the person beforehand, they can avoid time in prison if they can instead be put in the custody of a trusted relative, or the equivalent, to make sure they don’t get into trouble again. As there was no one to fulfill this role, to her knowledge (her mother had left when she was eleven, and she didn't know where she was, and the judge and Ishida preferred to just get this over with, rather than spend time looking for her), I stepped in as her non-official guardian.
Now that she was no longer under house arrest, Calla was allowed to go stay at Xen's place while I went to work. With a small sigh, I headed for the office. It was a Monday, so of course my spirits were already rather low (not to mention it being April, the cruelest month), without the added weight of having no information regarding the senator. I slumped at my desk, and doodled furiously on my legal pad. Suddenly, I heard a knock at my (newly repaired) door.
"Come in," I called.
The door opened, and in came that freaky zealot I'd met in the street!
As soon as we saw each other, I could tell she recognized me. She flushed to the roots of her hair, and for a moment looked as if she were about to beat a hasty retreat. But after a moment, she composed herself, and entered. I, however, was slower to adapt, and gasped "You!" in a strangled tone.
Standing straight at attention, Freaky Zealot Girl said calmly, "Mr. Wormwood, I have a case for you."
I rolled my eyes. Why else would she be here? However, I decided not to comment. Remembering my manners, I said, "Please take a seat, Miss..."
"Greenbriar. Morgan Greenbriar."
Without further ado, Miss Greenbriar sat down in the chair across from me, and said, "I need your help. One of the people I have been caring for at my center has vanished without a trace, and I would like you to find him."
I must admit, my eyes popped slightly. Two people missing within three weeks of each other, in the same city? That sounded too close to be a coincidence.
Showing posts with label Higgins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Higgins. Show all posts
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
TANSTAV part 14
Chapter 4 part 4
I know, I sound completely callous and heartless towards the welfare of my fellow monsters. But at that moment, I didn't care. My mood was blacker than an imp, covered in Ghul blood, drinking octopus ink, inside a whale's gullet, at the bottom of the ocean, during the new moon. I burst into Higgins's house (the front door was always left unlocked, in order to admit patients), shaking and stomping, dripping water on the hallway carpet. His secretary, a heron man dressed in a custom-made suit, ran from his desk towards me, squawking in protest. For your information, he was of that species of monster that looks essentially like a human with some animal body parts. Very popular in Native American and Egyptian mythology. This particular one had a long, pointed beak, even longer skinny legs that looked like sticks, wings with hands on the ends, bright blue, feathery hair, and round yellow eyes.
"You are ruining the floor!" he squealed indignantly. "We just had the carpets cleaned yesterday! How dare you come here in this state!"
"Stuff it, stilts," I growled, "I'm here to see your boss."
"Not in that condition, you're not," the heron man said primly. "You must be dried off first. Furthermore, I'm not sure you have an appointment with Doctor Higgins."
I reached out, grabbed the secretary by his scrawny neck, lifted him off the ground, and moved him out of my way. Then I dropped him and moved on down the hall, going for the stairs. Higgins’s office was up there, and I meant to see him, come hell or high water.
"You can't do that!!" the heron man cried, grabbing my arm. "The doctor has given strict orders against anyone coming in without an appointment!"
"I am here to schedule an appointment with him!"
"You certainly do need one, but-"
"Not for ME, you dodo!" Wrenching my arm free, I prepared to take off. A sudden scream of fury rent the air, and I felt the secretary slam into my legs, knocking me to the floor, despite his scrawniness.
"I-AM-A-HERON!" Stilts shrieked. "NOT-A-DODO!!!"
Well, technically, he was only part heron. But I understood his meaning. Things were getting contentious, when a reedy voice cried, "What is all this racket about, Ivocnavi? I'm trying to work!" Standing at the top of the stairs, clad in his typical pale beige suit, was Doctor Archibald Higgins, in all his psychiatric glory.
Every time I see Higgins, my skin crawls. To humans, and even to most monsters, he looks very normal: tallish, thin, early to mid-'40s, receding gray hair that gives him a big forehead, a narrow, intelligent face. But I hate his eyes. As I've mentioned, I'm not impressed by flaming red orbs, and stuff like that. But his eyes are a completely different story. Cold, gray, calculating, like you'd imagine the eyes of Professor Moriarty. And how unfeelingly analytical they are! Sometimes he just stares at people without blinking, studying every movement, every sentence, and you just know he's also x-raying their thoughts-ugh!
I slowly disentangled myself, stood up, and shook water from my hair, eliciting another squeal from Mr. Ivocnavi. I ignored him.
"Hey, Doc. I'd like to set up an appointment with you."
Unadulterated delight spread in a reptilian grin across his pale face.
"You require an appointment, Mr. Wormwood? But of course! I would simply love-"
"For a friend of mine," I interrupted. Why was it, I wondered, that everyone assumed I needed psychiatric help?!
Higgins was disappointed, but also intrigued. I felt him starting to probe my thoughts (which is very hard to describe; to understand it, you'd have to experience it yourself), and began reciting the periodic table of the elements mentally. The doctor can only read thoughts on the surface of your subconscious, because he doesn't have enough power to push any further. Too lazy to practice, I guess. I didn't want him digging around in my brain just now, so it was easy to shut him out. He looked annoyed; the probing stopped, and he descended the stairs.
Once he reached us, I told him- in a nutshell- about Calla, and his delight returned.
"Wonderful!" he cried, with all the happiness of a scientist who has just discovered a new type of plant that can cure cancer. "And in only three weeks?"
"Yup. Healed up enough that she can go to the police."
"Oh, I just love a challenge!" Higgins rubbed his hands together gleefully, making a repellent shush-shush sound. "When do you want her first appointment?"
"I was thinking Wednesday."
"Ivocnavi, when am I free Wednesday?"
The heron man scrambled to the front desk, shedding a few feathers, and flipped through the appointment book.
"Either from 7 to 9 a.m, or 2 to 4 p.m."
"I'd prefer afternoon," I said.
"Splendid!" Higgins practically chirped the word. "Fill this out, please."
He waved a hand, and the book and a ballpoint pen flew from the desk, and landed in my hands. I read the page it was open to, making sure I wouldn't be selling away my soul or anything like that. It was just a formality for setting up the appointment, without enchantments, concealments, or alternate dimensions. I filled it out to the best of my ability (since I didn't know Calla's birthday, names of her parents, or the exact nature of her mental ailment; for that last one I just wrote "trauma"), signed, and handed both of them over to Higgins.
"Thanks. I'll be going now." I turned back down the hallway, passing the front desk (where the heron man glared at me), and unwittingly let slip a thought about where I was going at the moment when Higgins probed again.
"Galveston?" His interested query made me pause. "Why are you going to Galveston, Wormwood?"
After a moment, I replied, "That's my business. I'm not one of your patients, Doc." Then, humming loudly the song "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" in my head, I exited the house into the rain.
I know, I sound completely callous and heartless towards the welfare of my fellow monsters. But at that moment, I didn't care. My mood was blacker than an imp, covered in Ghul blood, drinking octopus ink, inside a whale's gullet, at the bottom of the ocean, during the new moon. I burst into Higgins's house (the front door was always left unlocked, in order to admit patients), shaking and stomping, dripping water on the hallway carpet. His secretary, a heron man dressed in a custom-made suit, ran from his desk towards me, squawking in protest. For your information, he was of that species of monster that looks essentially like a human with some animal body parts. Very popular in Native American and Egyptian mythology. This particular one had a long, pointed beak, even longer skinny legs that looked like sticks, wings with hands on the ends, bright blue, feathery hair, and round yellow eyes.
"You are ruining the floor!" he squealed indignantly. "We just had the carpets cleaned yesterday! How dare you come here in this state!"
"Stuff it, stilts," I growled, "I'm here to see your boss."
"Not in that condition, you're not," the heron man said primly. "You must be dried off first. Furthermore, I'm not sure you have an appointment with Doctor Higgins."
I reached out, grabbed the secretary by his scrawny neck, lifted him off the ground, and moved him out of my way. Then I dropped him and moved on down the hall, going for the stairs. Higgins’s office was up there, and I meant to see him, come hell or high water.
"You can't do that!!" the heron man cried, grabbing my arm. "The doctor has given strict orders against anyone coming in without an appointment!"
"I am here to schedule an appointment with him!"
"You certainly do need one, but-"
"Not for ME, you dodo!" Wrenching my arm free, I prepared to take off. A sudden scream of fury rent the air, and I felt the secretary slam into my legs, knocking me to the floor, despite his scrawniness.
"I-AM-A-HERON!" Stilts shrieked. "NOT-A-DODO!!!"
Well, technically, he was only part heron. But I understood his meaning. Things were getting contentious, when a reedy voice cried, "What is all this racket about, Ivocnavi? I'm trying to work!" Standing at the top of the stairs, clad in his typical pale beige suit, was Doctor Archibald Higgins, in all his psychiatric glory.
Every time I see Higgins, my skin crawls. To humans, and even to most monsters, he looks very normal: tallish, thin, early to mid-'40s, receding gray hair that gives him a big forehead, a narrow, intelligent face. But I hate his eyes. As I've mentioned, I'm not impressed by flaming red orbs, and stuff like that. But his eyes are a completely different story. Cold, gray, calculating, like you'd imagine the eyes of Professor Moriarty. And how unfeelingly analytical they are! Sometimes he just stares at people without blinking, studying every movement, every sentence, and you just know he's also x-raying their thoughts-ugh!
I slowly disentangled myself, stood up, and shook water from my hair, eliciting another squeal from Mr. Ivocnavi. I ignored him.
"Hey, Doc. I'd like to set up an appointment with you."
Unadulterated delight spread in a reptilian grin across his pale face.
"You require an appointment, Mr. Wormwood? But of course! I would simply love-"
"For a friend of mine," I interrupted. Why was it, I wondered, that everyone assumed I needed psychiatric help?!
Higgins was disappointed, but also intrigued. I felt him starting to probe my thoughts (which is very hard to describe; to understand it, you'd have to experience it yourself), and began reciting the periodic table of the elements mentally. The doctor can only read thoughts on the surface of your subconscious, because he doesn't have enough power to push any further. Too lazy to practice, I guess. I didn't want him digging around in my brain just now, so it was easy to shut him out. He looked annoyed; the probing stopped, and he descended the stairs.
Once he reached us, I told him- in a nutshell- about Calla, and his delight returned.
"Wonderful!" he cried, with all the happiness of a scientist who has just discovered a new type of plant that can cure cancer. "And in only three weeks?"
"Yup. Healed up enough that she can go to the police."
"Oh, I just love a challenge!" Higgins rubbed his hands together gleefully, making a repellent shush-shush sound. "When do you want her first appointment?"
"I was thinking Wednesday."
"Ivocnavi, when am I free Wednesday?"
The heron man scrambled to the front desk, shedding a few feathers, and flipped through the appointment book.
"Either from 7 to 9 a.m, or 2 to 4 p.m."
"I'd prefer afternoon," I said.
"Splendid!" Higgins practically chirped the word. "Fill this out, please."
He waved a hand, and the book and a ballpoint pen flew from the desk, and landed in my hands. I read the page it was open to, making sure I wouldn't be selling away my soul or anything like that. It was just a formality for setting up the appointment, without enchantments, concealments, or alternate dimensions. I filled it out to the best of my ability (since I didn't know Calla's birthday, names of her parents, or the exact nature of her mental ailment; for that last one I just wrote "trauma"), signed, and handed both of them over to Higgins.
"Thanks. I'll be going now." I turned back down the hallway, passing the front desk (where the heron man glared at me), and unwittingly let slip a thought about where I was going at the moment when Higgins probed again.
"Galveston?" His interested query made me pause. "Why are you going to Galveston, Wormwood?"
After a moment, I replied, "That's my business. I'm not one of your patients, Doc." Then, humming loudly the song "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" in my head, I exited the house into the rain.
Monday, July 9, 2012
TANSTAV part 13
Chapter 4 part 3
After I brought him my (soon-to-be) friend Larry, Doctor Higgins had told me to come back if I ever needed his help again, because he “finds my psyche an interesting study.” I'm not sure rather to be flattered or insulted, since I personally find Higgins to be a little creepy. But just for argument's sake, I try to be flattered.
The thing is, Archibald Higgins is a very hard person to like. His mother was a mage, but his father was a (extraordinarily oblivious) human. Higgins's abilities are comparatively mundane, just being able to move things without touching them, minor intuition, and limited mind-reading, the latter of which helps him in his job as a shrink. Not that any of that has to do with my disliking of the man. It's just that I can't stand how he views everyone other than himself as a lab specimen, something to be studied. When he's around people, he scrawls down everything you say, and he watches every move you make, and you just know he's trying to listen in to your thoughts, and identify your personality, upbringing, level of sanity, and I don't know what-all. But, if he could help Calla, I was willing to endure a bit of his staring and brain-picking for three weeks or so. After all, he's been a big help to Larry.
Larry is an interesting study. He's a werewolf, with depression, and who came from the past. That sounds kind of complicated, so let me go back a bit. At the beginning of the 1900s, he was in his early 30s, and had gone to join his father in his ancestral home in a small corner of Wales. I don't know whether the werewolf who bit him there one night was human at the time, or had only morphed halfway, or what, but whatever it was, he obviously didn't do it right. Larry couldn't morph all the way. Instead, during the full moon he turned into this weird, biped, hairy creature, not completely wolf or human. And with absolutely zero self-control. He terrorized his village, without meaning to, for about 4 months, since nobody could figure out what the heck was going on. I mean, they found tracks and stuff, but nobody could find the wolf. Then they realized it only showed up during the full moon, put two and two together (at least, as much as they were capable, since they didn't know the full story), and decided to go out during the next full moon and kill the monster. Larry was asked to be part of the hunting party. By now, he was a nervous wreck; he'd figured out what he was, and felt absolutely horrible about the innocent people he had hurt and/or killed. He had come to think of himself as a monster. Well, yes, he is; but he saw that as a bad thing. Anyway, he'd decided that the only way his soul could be saved would be for the hunters to kill him, so he intentionally separated from the others, transformed when the moon rose, and came after them, as he’d known he would. His own father had raised his gun (filled with silver bullets; it’s incredible what kind of crazy additions to myths you humans think up) and was about to shoot- when the wolf man suddenly vanished, mid-leap.
Meanwhile, on the same night, only 70 years in the future, some teenage mages were fooling around in the town cemetery, doing conjuring spells, since it was the full moon (Supposedly it's the best time for magic, when a mages powers will be at their height; personally I think I’ll believe it when I see it). And, it figured that by accident they would summon Larry. He appeared, sprawled across the coffin they'd been chanting around, snarling and growling. Terrified, the teens ran away; thankfully he was too dazed to chase after them. The next morning, having changed back into a human, he managed to get out of the cemetery and wander into the main part of town, begging anybody who came within his line of vision to kill him, and thus end the curse. That, in fact, is how we met. I was out on an investigation with Morty (this was before he became lieutenant), and Ishida gave us a call, asking us to take a break and bring in some lunatic who was causing a disturbance near the corner of Karloff and Hitchcock. So, we went and picked him up.
The moment I saw Larry, I knew he was in shock. His pupils were extremely dilated, and he staggered down the road, staring with unfocused eyes at the passing monsters. He had this awful, pained expression on his face. When he saw us, he said in a ragged voice, "Hello. Will you kill me?" He didn't even notice that we weren't exactly human, he was so far gone. Needless to say, after bringing him to the station, we searched the yellow pages for the first available psychiatrist, who happened to be Doc Higgins. And now, after almost a year of therapy, a weekly meeting with Lycanthropes Anonymous, and a special spell that helped him turn into a complete wolf every full moon, Larry seems to have adjusted to his new life. It has done him a world of good to know that he's not the only one of his kind, and that he can go through life as a werewolf without killing, or even maiming, anybody. He has a job, and a home, and even the possibility of a family in the future. He still has that tortured, agonized facial expression every once in a while, but I think that's become second nature for Larry.
Higgins lives in the middle of Elm Street, in an ancient house called The Nightmare. I don't know who came up with the idea of giving old houses names, but it's a weird one. Higgins uses The Nightmare as his office; his patients go there for appointments, so that he never has to go out, unless they schedule it as a house call. It's funny, but his house is the only one on his block that actually looks like the sort of place a monster would inhabit, and he's the only one in his neighborhood who doesn’t look at all like a monster. Everyone else has these normal-looking, modern houses, and he has this big, fancy, kind of dilapidated mansion. I wonder if he does it just to be eccentric.
It was pouring rain, and that makes for very bad flying weather, so I had to walk. I strolled down the street, lost in thought, hands in pockets. Unfortunately, my mind was so focused on the case, and its detestable suspect, that I was not paying strict attention to where I was going. Suddenly, I was hit from the front by something both small and fragile. I stepped back in surprise, and beheld a young woman, dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a T-shirt with the initials H.N.M. on it, holding a collecting tin in hand. I could see, just by observing her, that she was a hybrid Light Fae, that one of her parents had been disinherited (probably following their marriage), that she worked for a monster welfare program, and that she spent some of her time gardening. How did I know, you may ask? The first part, about her being a hybrid fae, came from her eyes. The right one was a luminous green, but the left was silver. When two different species of fae marry and have children, the children have bicolored eyes, based off what their parents are (I guess it’s because the two differing genetic materials split them, or something). Hers had been a Floran and a T'sa, respectively. And, since the T'sai are by nature mostly snobs, and discourage their offspring from associating with other species, let alone marrying them, her T'sa parent had most definitely been disowned. Also, she was generating a bit of sunlight to keep herself warm, a skill basically only possessed by Flori. The initials on her shirt stood for Help Needy Monsters, an organization that had come into being recently in Styxburg, and gives help to the tired, poor, homeless masses yearning to have a place in the monster world. H.N.M. also defends interbreeding between species, protesting against segregation and bigotry that show up every once in a while. As for the gardening, her hands were kind of tough and callused on the palms and insides of the fingers, especially on her right hand, meaning she had spent time doing manual labor. Since Flori are talented in working with plants, that could only mean work gardening.
"Sorry," I muttered, trying to push past. To my surprise and annoyance, she stepped back into my way, brandished the collecting tin, and asked, "Are you aware that every day, hundreds of monsters starve in the streets, and thousands more are shunned because they are not pure-blooded monsters, or because they are not humans?"
"Well, yes, actually, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I tried to squirm past, but she was persistent.
"Your contribution could help to feed just one of the homeless for a month, or help us to pass a law against discrimination on account of species! Only twenty dollars could-"
"Sorry," I interrupted through gritted teeth, "but I can't help you right now." With that, I bent my knees, and jumped right over her. I landed gracefully on my feet, and began to walk away. Don't get me wrong, I'm for justice and everyone having a home as much as the next monster. But I hadn't got any money on me, and I hate donating to charities. They annoy me, especially the overly zealous ones. The girl, obviously not believing I had nothing to offer her, stormed after me, demanding, "Have you no pity? While you sit in your comfortable home, eating 3 square meals a day and using hot running water, tens of thousands of poor, lost souls roam the streets crying out for the most basic necessities! They-"
That did it. My dander was already up on account of the case, and all the stress I'd been experiencing today. This girl made it worse. I snapped.
Whirling around, I snarled at her, "Look, lady! I've got my own problems right now; I don't need anyone else's! And furthermore, you have no right to judge me! Now LEAVE ME ALONE!!"
The girl stepped back in shock, looking as though I had slapped her. Without another word, I stormed on my way.
After I brought him my (soon-to-be) friend Larry, Doctor Higgins had told me to come back if I ever needed his help again, because he “finds my psyche an interesting study.” I'm not sure rather to be flattered or insulted, since I personally find Higgins to be a little creepy. But just for argument's sake, I try to be flattered.
The thing is, Archibald Higgins is a very hard person to like. His mother was a mage, but his father was a (extraordinarily oblivious) human. Higgins's abilities are comparatively mundane, just being able to move things without touching them, minor intuition, and limited mind-reading, the latter of which helps him in his job as a shrink. Not that any of that has to do with my disliking of the man. It's just that I can't stand how he views everyone other than himself as a lab specimen, something to be studied. When he's around people, he scrawls down everything you say, and he watches every move you make, and you just know he's trying to listen in to your thoughts, and identify your personality, upbringing, level of sanity, and I don't know what-all. But, if he could help Calla, I was willing to endure a bit of his staring and brain-picking for three weeks or so. After all, he's been a big help to Larry.
Larry is an interesting study. He's a werewolf, with depression, and who came from the past. That sounds kind of complicated, so let me go back a bit. At the beginning of the 1900s, he was in his early 30s, and had gone to join his father in his ancestral home in a small corner of Wales. I don't know whether the werewolf who bit him there one night was human at the time, or had only morphed halfway, or what, but whatever it was, he obviously didn't do it right. Larry couldn't morph all the way. Instead, during the full moon he turned into this weird, biped, hairy creature, not completely wolf or human. And with absolutely zero self-control. He terrorized his village, without meaning to, for about 4 months, since nobody could figure out what the heck was going on. I mean, they found tracks and stuff, but nobody could find the wolf. Then they realized it only showed up during the full moon, put two and two together (at least, as much as they were capable, since they didn't know the full story), and decided to go out during the next full moon and kill the monster. Larry was asked to be part of the hunting party. By now, he was a nervous wreck; he'd figured out what he was, and felt absolutely horrible about the innocent people he had hurt and/or killed. He had come to think of himself as a monster. Well, yes, he is; but he saw that as a bad thing. Anyway, he'd decided that the only way his soul could be saved would be for the hunters to kill him, so he intentionally separated from the others, transformed when the moon rose, and came after them, as he’d known he would. His own father had raised his gun (filled with silver bullets; it’s incredible what kind of crazy additions to myths you humans think up) and was about to shoot- when the wolf man suddenly vanished, mid-leap.
Meanwhile, on the same night, only 70 years in the future, some teenage mages were fooling around in the town cemetery, doing conjuring spells, since it was the full moon (Supposedly it's the best time for magic, when a mages powers will be at their height; personally I think I’ll believe it when I see it). And, it figured that by accident they would summon Larry. He appeared, sprawled across the coffin they'd been chanting around, snarling and growling. Terrified, the teens ran away; thankfully he was too dazed to chase after them. The next morning, having changed back into a human, he managed to get out of the cemetery and wander into the main part of town, begging anybody who came within his line of vision to kill him, and thus end the curse. That, in fact, is how we met. I was out on an investigation with Morty (this was before he became lieutenant), and Ishida gave us a call, asking us to take a break and bring in some lunatic who was causing a disturbance near the corner of Karloff and Hitchcock. So, we went and picked him up.
The moment I saw Larry, I knew he was in shock. His pupils were extremely dilated, and he staggered down the road, staring with unfocused eyes at the passing monsters. He had this awful, pained expression on his face. When he saw us, he said in a ragged voice, "Hello. Will you kill me?" He didn't even notice that we weren't exactly human, he was so far gone. Needless to say, after bringing him to the station, we searched the yellow pages for the first available psychiatrist, who happened to be Doc Higgins. And now, after almost a year of therapy, a weekly meeting with Lycanthropes Anonymous, and a special spell that helped him turn into a complete wolf every full moon, Larry seems to have adjusted to his new life. It has done him a world of good to know that he's not the only one of his kind, and that he can go through life as a werewolf without killing, or even maiming, anybody. He has a job, and a home, and even the possibility of a family in the future. He still has that tortured, agonized facial expression every once in a while, but I think that's become second nature for Larry.
Higgins lives in the middle of Elm Street, in an ancient house called The Nightmare. I don't know who came up with the idea of giving old houses names, but it's a weird one. Higgins uses The Nightmare as his office; his patients go there for appointments, so that he never has to go out, unless they schedule it as a house call. It's funny, but his house is the only one on his block that actually looks like the sort of place a monster would inhabit, and he's the only one in his neighborhood who doesn’t look at all like a monster. Everyone else has these normal-looking, modern houses, and he has this big, fancy, kind of dilapidated mansion. I wonder if he does it just to be eccentric.
It was pouring rain, and that makes for very bad flying weather, so I had to walk. I strolled down the street, lost in thought, hands in pockets. Unfortunately, my mind was so focused on the case, and its detestable suspect, that I was not paying strict attention to where I was going. Suddenly, I was hit from the front by something both small and fragile. I stepped back in surprise, and beheld a young woman, dressed in jeans, a jacket, and a T-shirt with the initials H.N.M. on it, holding a collecting tin in hand. I could see, just by observing her, that she was a hybrid Light Fae, that one of her parents had been disinherited (probably following their marriage), that she worked for a monster welfare program, and that she spent some of her time gardening. How did I know, you may ask? The first part, about her being a hybrid fae, came from her eyes. The right one was a luminous green, but the left was silver. When two different species of fae marry and have children, the children have bicolored eyes, based off what their parents are (I guess it’s because the two differing genetic materials split them, or something). Hers had been a Floran and a T'sa, respectively. And, since the T'sai are by nature mostly snobs, and discourage their offspring from associating with other species, let alone marrying them, her T'sa parent had most definitely been disowned. Also, she was generating a bit of sunlight to keep herself warm, a skill basically only possessed by Flori. The initials on her shirt stood for Help Needy Monsters, an organization that had come into being recently in Styxburg, and gives help to the tired, poor, homeless masses yearning to have a place in the monster world. H.N.M. also defends interbreeding between species, protesting against segregation and bigotry that show up every once in a while. As for the gardening, her hands were kind of tough and callused on the palms and insides of the fingers, especially on her right hand, meaning she had spent time doing manual labor. Since Flori are talented in working with plants, that could only mean work gardening.
"Sorry," I muttered, trying to push past. To my surprise and annoyance, she stepped back into my way, brandished the collecting tin, and asked, "Are you aware that every day, hundreds of monsters starve in the streets, and thousands more are shunned because they are not pure-blooded monsters, or because they are not humans?"
"Well, yes, actually, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I tried to squirm past, but she was persistent.
"Your contribution could help to feed just one of the homeless for a month, or help us to pass a law against discrimination on account of species! Only twenty dollars could-"
"Sorry," I interrupted through gritted teeth, "but I can't help you right now." With that, I bent my knees, and jumped right over her. I landed gracefully on my feet, and began to walk away. Don't get me wrong, I'm for justice and everyone having a home as much as the next monster. But I hadn't got any money on me, and I hate donating to charities. They annoy me, especially the overly zealous ones. The girl, obviously not believing I had nothing to offer her, stormed after me, demanding, "Have you no pity? While you sit in your comfortable home, eating 3 square meals a day and using hot running water, tens of thousands of poor, lost souls roam the streets crying out for the most basic necessities! They-"
That did it. My dander was already up on account of the case, and all the stress I'd been experiencing today. This girl made it worse. I snapped.
Whirling around, I snarled at her, "Look, lady! I've got my own problems right now; I don't need anyone else's! And furthermore, you have no right to judge me! Now LEAVE ME ALONE!!"
The girl stepped back in shock, looking as though I had slapped her. Without another word, I stormed on my way.
Monday, July 2, 2012
TANSTAV part 12
Chapter Four part 2
"Who are you?" the troll lady inquired in Jotun.
"Tristan Wormwood, detective; your brother sent me here to look for your husband." I just barely avoided another vicious jab for my eyes by the flamingo I was holding.
Mrs. Skald's enormous hand flew to her mouth. Then she snapped at the pernicious, plastic birds, "Go back to your places! This is a guest!" I released them, and they reluctantly did as they were told, giving me a few parting hisses. Then, in what seemed to me to be a very hurried manner, she brought me inside, closing and bolting the front door behind her.
"What's the rush?" I asked.
"Nobody outside you and our family knows Gunnar is missing. We would prefer to keep it that way. He hates being in the papers."
I gave the hallway a cursory glance. The house was as large on the inside as on the outside. It was also unnaturally tidy, looking as if it had been swept, mopped, and dusted almost every day since it had first been inhabited. It reminded me of another place, one I would prefer to forget. I shoved the memory away, and ordered myself to concentrate. I looked at the gold-framed pictures on the walls, the fancy glass chandelier on the ceiling, and other such obvious displays of wealth.
"Does your desire for anonymity have anything to do with the fact that your husband is a senator, Mrs. Skald?"
The woman looked surprised.
"How on earth did you know that?"
Managing to keep my eyes from rolling, I said, "His picture is on the wall; I recognize him from the newspapers."
Her eyes strayed to the photograph I meant, and then she rumbled with soft (for a troll) laughter.
"Oh, yes. I should have realized."
I was being expected to find a missing politician. It was all I could do not to express my disgust. Don't get me wrong, I know that not all politicians are bloodsucking, greedy, unscrupulous rats. At least, I’ve heard they aren't. But, as I have mentioned, I have bad experience concerning politicians. I was not overly enthusiastic about having to retrieve one, especially since he was probably just off with another woman, or something. Though why he would leave so early in the morning, and leaving behind one of his slippers, was beyond me, unless it was just an oversight.
Mrs. Skald and I sat down in a pair of fancy armchairs in the living room. The fabric was red velvet, with golden threads woven in so as to create a pretty, swirling pattern over the furniture.
"When was the last time you saw your husband?" I asked as I made myself comfortable.
"Early this morning. We got up at the usual time, and as I fixed breakfast, he went outside to get the paper. I saw him going down the path through that window-" she indicated which one- "-and I remember turning my head to glance at the clock. I was worried that he would miss his appointment with his secretary. When I turned around again- Gunnar was gone."
She choked down a sob, and quickly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. I got up, and went into the kitchen.
"Where exactly were you standing?" I asked.
"By the stove-right there, I think," she sniffled. I stood where she had indicated. I scanned the area- there was a frying pan still on the stove, with pieces of bacon and eggs on it, burned to ashes. I presumed they had been forgotten due to the sudden disappearance of Senator Skald. That confirmed that she was probably being truthful. I looked up, towards the window she had mentioned. I could see the cement path-and the stupid flamingos-very clearly. I returned to the living room.
"Did-does Senator Skald have any enemies?" I asked, reseating myself.
"He does have some political rivals, but-"
"Anyone who'd want to harm him?"
"Well, you could examine his list."
"What list?"
"He made one of all the people he didn't like, or who didn't like him. It was his enemies list. He kept it in his study; I'll go get it."
Hmm, an enemies list. I rather liked the sound of that. I don’t have that many enemies, but there are a few people who hate my guts. With some of them, the feeling’s mutual. I decided that I would have to write one for myself. You never know when it might come in handy.
Just in case, I accompanied Mrs. Skald upstairs. I was taking no chances on her destroying evidence, or something like that. But the troll lady didn't seem to have that intention. Either she was innocent, she had a more sinister plot planned, or she was just stupid. Regardless of which it was, Mrs. Skald gave me the list. It was on ordinary paper, written by numerous utensils, proving he'd added to it at different times of life. And, of course, it was in Jotun. But I can read that, so it was no problem. I sealed it in another baggie, which I stowed in another pocket, bid Mrs. Skald goodbye, and left, being sure to stay on the concrete path, and trying to ignore the flamingos, who glared at me as I passed by. I had two more calls to make before I could go home: Doctor Higgins's place, and Galveston, Texas, home of the most securely guarded prison of the monster world.
"Who are you?" the troll lady inquired in Jotun.
"Tristan Wormwood, detective; your brother sent me here to look for your husband." I just barely avoided another vicious jab for my eyes by the flamingo I was holding.
Mrs. Skald's enormous hand flew to her mouth. Then she snapped at the pernicious, plastic birds, "Go back to your places! This is a guest!" I released them, and they reluctantly did as they were told, giving me a few parting hisses. Then, in what seemed to me to be a very hurried manner, she brought me inside, closing and bolting the front door behind her.
"What's the rush?" I asked.
"Nobody outside you and our family knows Gunnar is missing. We would prefer to keep it that way. He hates being in the papers."
I gave the hallway a cursory glance. The house was as large on the inside as on the outside. It was also unnaturally tidy, looking as if it had been swept, mopped, and dusted almost every day since it had first been inhabited. It reminded me of another place, one I would prefer to forget. I shoved the memory away, and ordered myself to concentrate. I looked at the gold-framed pictures on the walls, the fancy glass chandelier on the ceiling, and other such obvious displays of wealth.
"Does your desire for anonymity have anything to do with the fact that your husband is a senator, Mrs. Skald?"
The woman looked surprised.
"How on earth did you know that?"
Managing to keep my eyes from rolling, I said, "His picture is on the wall; I recognize him from the newspapers."
Her eyes strayed to the photograph I meant, and then she rumbled with soft (for a troll) laughter.
"Oh, yes. I should have realized."
I was being expected to find a missing politician. It was all I could do not to express my disgust. Don't get me wrong, I know that not all politicians are bloodsucking, greedy, unscrupulous rats. At least, I’ve heard they aren't. But, as I have mentioned, I have bad experience concerning politicians. I was not overly enthusiastic about having to retrieve one, especially since he was probably just off with another woman, or something. Though why he would leave so early in the morning, and leaving behind one of his slippers, was beyond me, unless it was just an oversight.
Mrs. Skald and I sat down in a pair of fancy armchairs in the living room. The fabric was red velvet, with golden threads woven in so as to create a pretty, swirling pattern over the furniture.
"When was the last time you saw your husband?" I asked as I made myself comfortable.
"Early this morning. We got up at the usual time, and as I fixed breakfast, he went outside to get the paper. I saw him going down the path through that window-" she indicated which one- "-and I remember turning my head to glance at the clock. I was worried that he would miss his appointment with his secretary. When I turned around again- Gunnar was gone."
She choked down a sob, and quickly dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. I got up, and went into the kitchen.
"Where exactly were you standing?" I asked.
"By the stove-right there, I think," she sniffled. I stood where she had indicated. I scanned the area- there was a frying pan still on the stove, with pieces of bacon and eggs on it, burned to ashes. I presumed they had been forgotten due to the sudden disappearance of Senator Skald. That confirmed that she was probably being truthful. I looked up, towards the window she had mentioned. I could see the cement path-and the stupid flamingos-very clearly. I returned to the living room.
"Did-does Senator Skald have any enemies?" I asked, reseating myself.
"He does have some political rivals, but-"
"Anyone who'd want to harm him?"
"Well, you could examine his list."
"What list?"
"He made one of all the people he didn't like, or who didn't like him. It was his enemies list. He kept it in his study; I'll go get it."
Hmm, an enemies list. I rather liked the sound of that. I don’t have that many enemies, but there are a few people who hate my guts. With some of them, the feeling’s mutual. I decided that I would have to write one for myself. You never know when it might come in handy.
Just in case, I accompanied Mrs. Skald upstairs. I was taking no chances on her destroying evidence, or something like that. But the troll lady didn't seem to have that intention. Either she was innocent, she had a more sinister plot planned, or she was just stupid. Regardless of which it was, Mrs. Skald gave me the list. It was on ordinary paper, written by numerous utensils, proving he'd added to it at different times of life. And, of course, it was in Jotun. But I can read that, so it was no problem. I sealed it in another baggie, which I stowed in another pocket, bid Mrs. Skald goodbye, and left, being sure to stay on the concrete path, and trying to ignore the flamingos, who glared at me as I passed by. I had two more calls to make before I could go home: Doctor Higgins's place, and Galveston, Texas, home of the most securely guarded prison of the monster world.
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