Book Three: Out of Time

[DadsAngry]

Dr. Clarke:

"Yes I'm fine," he says as he pushes the Irish man back, relieving himself of the toxic cloud that has engulfed him.
David rises from his bench and shuffles over to the barred wall. "Officer! Officer!"

[Grognardsw]

Edith Walton's Apartment
Corner of Pickman and Walnut St.
Arkham, Massachusetts
8:18 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


"Of course, you're right," says Edith, straightening her back and adjusting her teacup. "And what about David? He has broken my heart and is a murderer."

She puts a handkerchief to her eyes. "Thank you for being there Frank. Forgive my emotional outburst."

Frank pulls up the collar of his coat and exits into the rain-swept street. All during his walk home his troubled mind turns over the problems before him (Psychology roll please.)





Arkham Police Station
Arkham, Massachusetts
The Wee Hours, Oct. 7-8, 1925


Several minutes go by before a police officer appears at Dr. David Clarke's cell.

"Whad'ya want?" he asks curtly.





McSweeney's Catch
Waterfront
Providence, Rhode Island
8:00 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


Reginald and Marius follow the brow-beaten suspected cultist to the table of the Haitian. Marius puffs on his fag as he notes that the patrons all stare at them before continuing their own conversations. The pair are out of place; more so the antiquarian Reginald, in his slacks and tweed.

The Haitian

The Haitian looks up as the trio approaches. There is another creole sitting next to him who shifts in his seat (Psychology and Spot Hidden rolls please.)

"I am sorry Agwe, these men they must see you."

[DadsAngry]

Dr. Clarke:

"Yes, um do you think I could get a cup of coffee?. No cream, two sugars."

[Starbeard]

Marius Albertoni

Marius doesn't even bother to nod, just drags deeply from his gasper and looks at the Haitian. "You Dwayne?" He glances at the two men with him and drops his eyes to see if they're packing.

Psychology (5): [1d100] = 44

Spot Hidden (25): [1d100] = 53

Spot hidden to check for weapons, if needed:
Spot Hidden (25): [1d100] = 35

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, bookdealer
Reginald does his best to look menacing. He awaits a response from the Haitian before saying or doing anything else. He tries to stand between Marius and the cultist, so that he does not run away.

Psychology (05) [1d100] = 94

Spot Hidden (50) [1d100] = 68

Ugh, that can't be good...…

[Grognardsw]

Arkham Police Station
Arkham, Massachusetts
The Wee Hours, Oct. 7-8, 1925


“What do you think this is? A restaurant?” barks the policeman with derision. “You can drink your water.”

He turns and leaves. Dr. Clarke looks at the metal bowl jutting out from the prison cell wall, half-full with stale water. A hair floats in it.





McSweeney's Catch
Waterfront
Providence, Rhode Island
8:01 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


Reginald puffs out his chest and makes a menacing face, keeping an eye on the cultist.

Marius can’t tell if the men are carrying weapons. If so, they must be small firearms or blades.

The Haitian takes a swig from his jug, looks at Marius, and says: “White men call me Dwayne. What you want?”

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Making his way home, Frank braces himself against the rain and ponders the recent turn of events. ”I pray David is well and will be released soon.”

Psychology (05): [1d100] = 58 nope, nothing amiss here.

[DadsAngry]

Dr. Clarke

Frustrated David returns to his bench. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt on his left arm to just past his elbow. He looks down at his pink flesh. With his right hand, he proceeds to pinch the excess fat on his exposed arm, wincing at the pain that is produced. He continues this act of torture throughout the night whenever he feels his eye grows heavy. He will dream no more tonight if he can help it.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, bookdealer
Reginald tries to persuade the Haitian to help.

What we want is information. Your lackey here says you get your orders to spy on us from some dark lady. We can turn you to the BOI right now for conspiracy, but we know that you dont want that kind of attention on this ... operation. So tell us what we need to know, and we can leave this joint alone and stop roughing up your thugs.

Persuade (41) [1d100] = 81Crap

[Starbeard]

Marius Albertoni

"Lookit here. You don't want us around, and we don't want to be talkin' to you. But we don't like be tailed either, and I bet you don't like getting your goons roughed up. Just tell us where to find the Lady. Then we're outa here, you can go back to your drink, we all forget we ever had anything to do with each other."

Marius knows how to handle these lackey types, just show 'em who's boss and give them the lazy way out. He drops his fag and crushes it under foot to show his nerves are calm and cool.

Persuade 15%: [1d100] = 23

[Grognardsw]

McSweeney's Catch
Waterfront
Providence, Rhode Island
8:03 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


Dwayne smirks, crooked grimy teeth white against his black skin. “You find her at 21 Long Wharf. Tell her Dwayne sent you to get special treatment.”

The big Haitian motions for Reginald and Marius to sit down. “Drink with us.”





Dr. Frank Morgan's Home
Arkham, Massachusetts
10:30 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


Dr. Frank Morgan arrives at his home, mentally and emotionally drained from the strange occurrences of the last few hours. He settles into bed in hope of peaceful sleep.





Arkham Police Station
Arkham, Massachusetts
7:30 am, Oct. 8, 1925

Dawn breaks, blue sky revealed behind wispy clouds left over from last night's storm. Dr. David Clarke looks out the barred window from his jail cell. His arms are bruised and sore from pinching, but the pain and his willpower kept the professor awake all night and dream free.

A red-haired policeman walks in with a tray of food - oatmeal, milk, a piece of bread - which he slides through the jail cell. Though basic fare, it is good given Dr. Clarke’s hunger.

“You have a visitor Clarke.”

[Starbeard]

Marius Albertoni

"No thanks, I'm on the job," Marius lies. He's not about to trap himself behind a table in this joint. He flips a quarter onto the table and motions to the beaten cultist. "Get him some rum."

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Frank wrestles with the day’s events before succumbing to sleep and plans to return to visit the incarcerated Dr. Clarke on the morrow.

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, bookdealer
Reginald doesn't trust the Haitian, or his information. Something doesn't add up. He begins to worry again about his tomes. He wonders if he and Marius are being set up.

We'll be sure to tell her that. You just tell your boss Carcosa that he'll find no peace at the gate.

Unless Marius has more to do, Reginald leaves the cultists to their drinks and heads back to his apartment. He ignores the rumbling in his stomach for now.

[DadsAngry]

Dr. Clarke:

"Is it Agent Mulder? Am I to be set free!?"
The doctor quickly finishes his morning meal. He needs all the energy he can get. He stands up, adjusts his suit jacket and brushing the dirt from his sleeves. He runs his fingers through his hair to give it some semblance of cohesion.

[Grognardsw]

McSweeney's Catch
Waterfront
Providence, Rhode Island
8:04 pm, Oct. 7, 1925


The man sitting next to Dwayne picks up Marius’ quarter. Dwayne nods as Marius and Reginald withdraw.

“Be careful,” the Hiatian warns.




Dr. Frank Morgan's Home
Arkham, Massachusetts
1:00 am, Oct. 8, 1925



Frank Morgan listens to the rain outside his window as he drifts into uneasy sleep.



Hallucinated rain in a mirage of gutter. Conjured by its sound, the Autumn downpour rinsed the teeth of drains. This insubstantial torrent a phantom, speculated gate,somewhere else, that had its night voice netted once, then drugged, pinned to a specimen board of magnetic tape, revived to flutter weakly here tonight. Who knows how long since it was captured, or how far away?

What non-Euclidean map includes the places to go and have gone from? Say its name, the absent town, the city in remove and there it rises in the backyard of our eyes, some uncommon landmark, snapshot first, and then, specific street, and house, and room, specific chair. These are the places of dark and light built from remembered brick, conjectured beam, that stand in Leng space, a plane of concept and idea where thought is form. Where the recalled smell of cave is an event in place and time. These detailed weightless places we carry in our fragile skull, that teem with reminiscent traffics, populous with bias, opinion, rumor, legend, lie.

Locations we may visit that yet have their hearsay substance in our lives. They rest in occult Mercators where distance is not marked from point to solid point, but calibrated there between the spark-gaps of our free associations, yielding geographies with Land's End next to Dreamlands, an Earth and shadow with poles adjacent. Continent, nation, mapped outside of matter, state of mind. Metropolis erected out of nothing, only metaphor, and ringed with slums of dream. Mnemonic roads made from smears of field glimpsed once through glass at speed, or from the jaundiced flicker of bygone gas lamps, an amber necklace on the night's bare throat.

Strung between the shimmering fabricated towns, inroads of anecdote, synaptic rails to bear the trains of thought, a beaded web across our gazetteer of the interior. Seen from above, the glittering threads of meaning run like mercury, converge on the imaginary place, a shadow image, the idea of it, flickering in the forebrain. Here, amongst conceptual terraces, past violence thrusts, a black insistent grass between the flags. Here is the serial killer's dreamtime, murder Mecca, legendary Carcosa, bloodlines, scabbed now, faint with age.


Frank wakes in a sweat.





Arkham Police Station
Arkham, Massachusetts
7:35 am, Oct. 8, 1925


The police officer releases Dr. Clarke from the jail cell and escorts him upstairs to the interrogation room. Coffee and donuts are on the table. There he is met by a BOI agent and a lawyer.

“Agent Mulder sent us. My name is Agent William Cooper, and this is Daniel Cranston, esquire. Officer, can we have some privacy with our client?”

The policeman leaves the room.

“I’ve ordered an autopsy of the body,” starts Agent Cooper, sipping the coffee. “We’ve paid bail for your release.”

"This is not good coffee," says Agent Cooper, with a wince.

“Okay now Dr. Clarke, tell us what happened,” asks Agent Cooper. “What is your relationship with Ms. Waite, in light of her past diary entries in which she accused you of harassment? What led you to illegally enter her room?”

“Agent Mulder has ordered a mental evaluation of you, given the track record of mental stress and unusual behavior exhibited by both civilians and agents in this case.”

[Mant72]

Dr. Francis Morgan:

Frank’s eyes snap open, rolling wildly like a swine’s in a slaughterhouse. Minutes skulk by before his hands unhinge from his bedding. He slowly rises, unsteadily reaching out to the nightstand to scrabble for a cigarette. He lights the fag and inhales deeply.

The stale nicotine does nothing to soothe his nerves.

“Haven’t dreamed such disturbances since that damned crystal... Need to get to David.”

He snubs his smoke, showers, and heads to the police station.

[Starbeard]

Marius Albertoni

"That goes for both of us." Marius nods as he leaves. "Dwayne. Gentlemen."

Outside, Marius pulls Reggie aside. "Two bucks, they keep shadowing us and send a runner to the Dark Lady. Should we hit her now or double back to surprise them again in case they try to pull a fast one on us?"

[SocraticLawyer]

Reginald Wilkins, paranoid bookdealer
I think it's a setup, says Reginald. I doubt we will find any answers there. Let's head back to the shop.
They already know about that location. We can return to the dark lady's location with BOI agents tomorrow.

[DadsAngry]

Dr. Clarke:

"I'm assuming you already know my relationship with Ms. Waite? Did Agent Mulder not inform you of the on going investigation? The reason that I was there at Ms. Waite's room was to look for evidence to further link her to the ritual murders that have occurred. She is the cousin of Konstantin Chertovski and was at his house the day of his murder. Horrible mutilated bodies were also found on the premises. Why she was let go was beyond me. Her link to Chertovski, the mutilated bodies found in the basement of his house and the murdered Miskatonic University students found at the old mill is enough to warrant her a suspect in the affair. She also has an uncanny ability to manipulate people's minds. One of your own men while investigating Chertovski home fell victim to her manipulative gaze. I suspect that Edith, that's Dr. Edith Walton my close colleague who arranged for Ms. Waite to be gone at the time of my incursion, was manipulated by Ms. Waite to believe me to be the one to have murdered her. Which I did not! I never set foot passed the threshold of her room and there was an open window. A escape path for the real killer. Now what she has written about me in her journal is pure fiction. Another ploy to incriminate me because she and her associates knew we were getting close to the truth. It was them or Sam Archer the man who murder Chertovski in cold blood. I won't passed him to be behind this. He was once a good man, a just man but has become a loose cannon; a menace to society."