Chapter Seven part 2
Calla's eyes grew to nearly the size of wagon wheels; for a moment, she was speechless.
"You don't have to answer just yet," I assured her. "Think about it for a while."
"What would I need to do?" she squeaked.
"You'd help me in my investigations."
"Like Dr. Watson?"
"Not exactly. I can write my own memoirs. But you could go ask people questions for me, visit crime scenes, pretty much the same stuff I do. People are more likely to talk freely to a harmless-looking girl than a big, scary gargoyle."
Calla half snorted, another large step for her.
"You're not that scary."
Suddenly, I spread out my wings to full length; standing up to my full height, I bared my fangs, exposed my claws, lunged forward slightly, and roared, "OH, YEAH?!"
The girl screamed in fright, and flung her arms up in front of her. Without warning, I felt something slam into me, knocking me backward into the wall!
For a few minutes, all I could do was lie there and try to get my breath back. I managed to lift my head up and look at Calla. She was huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her chest, rocking back and forth. Finally, she looked over in my direction. Seeing that I was staring back, she uncurled from the fetal position, and crawled forward.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. "Please don't be hurt."
"I'm fine, just a little winded," I replied, managing to pull myself up.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No, I'm sorry for scaring you like that. I forgot."
"But I should have had more self-control!"
"Kid, you've been through an incredibly traumatic experience. I'm not surprised that you're a little shell-shocked."
"But Doctor Higgins has been treating me! He was supposed to get me all better!" She looked down helplessly.
"Patience, kid. Rome wasn't built in a day, you know."
"What's Rome got to do with it?" Calla muttered. However, she smiled a little, so I knew things were okay for now.
I avoided mentioning the previous conversation for a few days. No sense opening old wounds, and it might be good to let her think it over. So it surprised me when, on April 13, Calla asked, "Do you still want me to be your assistant?"
"Only if you want to," I replied.
"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind. I mean, you can't be everywhere at once, and it might be nice for you to have an assistant-"
"Calla," I interrupted, "what would you like to do? Quit worrying about what I want."
"I-I'll do it, if you like."
"But what do you, personally, want?"
"...I want to make you happy."
I gave a small sigh of amused exasperation. Blushing, Calla finally stammered, "I think I would enjoy being your assistant."
"Good. That's all you had to say, kid."
The next day, I took Calla with me to the office. In order to get her started, I had her read over the facts of the case, while I sorted through old files, and organized my desk. Occasionally she would ask me questions, but for the most part we both worked in silence. It was nice to have someone with a fresh view of things there; maybe it would help me find some extra clues. Suddenly, in a remarkable display of good timing, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," I called, with a feeling of deja vu.
In came Greenbriar, followed by an imp, a Fonin woman, and two mouse men, all of whom looked exceedingly nervous. Greenbriar glanced curiously at Calla, who looked up when they entered, then quickly back at the papers on her desk.
"This is Calla Gardiner, my assistant," I announced. "Anything you need to say to me can be said in front of her. Calla, this is Morgan Greenbriar, head of H.N.M, and..."
"The eyewitnesses. Jared, Grace, Timothy, and Nigel," she said, indicating each of them in turn.
The two of us exchanged pleasantries, while the foursome clustered together in a huddle, eyes darting in all directions. To make them feel better, I got up from my desk, crossed the room and closed the door.
"That won't work," Timothy muttered. "The shadow sees all, knows all. We'll be next, I know it!" His whiskers trembled in fear, and he was absentmindedly tying knots in his tail.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," I declared. "Now, I'm going to need statements from all of you about what you saw. Calla, would you mind?"
Nodding in understanding, she touched a spell we’d purchased earlier that would record things other people said. It turned green, indicating that it was on.
They all said pretty much the same thing-during lunchtime at the center, they had been heading for their usual eating corners, when they saw a dark form appear out of nowhere (soundlessly), grab Whitechapel, and disappear just as soundlessly. The only real variation was that Grace had been going to join Mr. Whitechapel; apparently, he was her boyfriend, making her the most distraught out of the whole group.
"You've got to find Clarence, Mr. Wormwood," she pleaded, "You've just got to!"
"I shall certainly do my best," I promised.
"See?" said Greenbriar as they were leaving, "I told you it would be all right!"
"Only now we can expect repercussions from the shadow," moaned Timothy, apparently the self-declared nay-sayer and prophet of doom. I hoped he would be proven wrong.
Showing posts with label clues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clues. Show all posts
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
TANSTAV part 24
Chapter Seven
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
Sunday, September 9, 2012
TANSTAV part 23
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.
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.
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