Outcross: The Letter M » Places

         "I guess we'll have to see about that," Vyral gave a crooked grin, holding out a hand. "Nice to meet you too, mate. And I haven't found a whole lot. I've not been on active duty very long, on this case at least. My first job was supposed to be meeting Twenty at Trafalgar Square, but as you can see, that got a bit, ah, complicated."

Vyral turned his head, observing the door that Near, Twenty, and Brian had left from.

"What Brian said was true. I know the city better than anyone," he turned back to Debonair, tapping his temples. "I can get you anywhere. Dead useful, when you want to avoid traffic .. "

Vyral folded his arms over his chest, now, observing Deb with a sort of measured, idle curiosity. "So .. you and Twenty, you've been all over the world before, then? Using your powers or whatever?" here, the young man waggled his fingers and widened his eyes. "I've heard a lot of tripe about what you both can do. You don't actually have some sort of magical, mysterious ability, do you?"

         "Hello?"

"Afternoon."

"Are you Outcross?"

"I am. Come in."

I did.

He called himself Cyclops; not for any resemblance to the towering monster, but for the magnifying lens held in front of both eyes by a metal headband. He was a forgery specialist and a master of calligraphy as well as a gem purveyor tucked all wrapped into one, tucked away in the top floor of a downtown London apartment. He lived alone. He had taste in sherry wine and thick, colorful carpets. I observed all from the small kitchen.

"How are you enjoying the city so far?" he rasped, reaching out to take my coat.

"Oh. It's good. Busy. I haven't had a chance to enjoy it much, thus far," I shrugged out of it, making sure to keep my phone with me however.

"Bloody terrible weather for that sort of thing."

This sort of smalltalk was what I was used to. It was always trivial, and always a bit awkward. It was best to just stagger through it. There was a job to be done in any case. Cyclops took my coat, hung it up, asked softly that I take off my shoes on the linoleum, and then he shuffled away, leading me down the narrow hall to his workroom.

Aha! There were stacks of reference books against the wall, cabinets overflowing with papers and diagrams. You could hardly see the floor from clippings and other paper items. You could hardly see at all, really. The light was so low in the room save for one bright desklamp -- that was where the illumination came from, and that was where Cyclops headed, at once.

I was here to inquire about the letters themselves. Deb, Vyral and I were growing increasingly suspicious that the letters were being written before the actual crimes were being committed -- a worrying occurrence, to be sure. The Administrator was having the items looked at closely, but they needed to be returned to evidence within the next few days -- I wanted to see the findings. I had to see the findings.

If I don't get a vision by the next time a body shows up ..

Well, I didn't want to think about that.

Cyclops slid onto the stool, and took up the letter with one gloved hand. "They're written calmly. Carefully. Embellished. Strange -- such a stylized hand, and I can't match it. Very frustrating, but very interesting. Whoever your man is, Twenty, he's good."

"Yeah," I licked my lips, trying not to think of the mutilated bodies. "Too good. Anything interesting about them?"

"Written with the same pen, if it matters. A very old-fashioned stylograph."

"Stylograph?"

Cyclops rummaged around a pile of folded maps, and procured a stylograph. It appeared to be an ordinary pen, but with a conical nib for the ink to run out of, rather than a flat one.

"Can you get anything from it?"

"Types? Brands? No. The flow is very, very smooth. I've examined the type of paper, however. Printed from a press in London itself."

"A sign? Does that help us?"

"You could look into it if you wanted, I suppose, but it's nothing concrete. Here."

Cyclops scooted away, beckoning that I step forward and into the light. I did so, reaching out with trembling hands, afraid to brush the edges of each paper, spread out so carefully on the bench.

"Well, alright. Not sure how much good it'll do .. "

I began to read. It was slow at first. Signed the same. Then I started looking at who each letter was addressed to ..

Dear Mr. & Mrs. David Engrall .. Dear Mr. Joasine .. Dear Mr. Benjamin Stanmyre .. DEAR ADMINISTRATOR --

.. What was that last one?

The words (real or not?) leapt out at me from the page, and slammed into my mind like a frying pan. My head jerked back from the force of the vision. Sights, sounds, feelings, sensations came in that rip-roaring tidal wave and I think I hit the ground, but I don't remember.

-- however fond you are of your young Specialist, I fear that her time ended rather quickly. She tried to run, but despite her most champion of efforts, she was captured. Next time, I would advise finding yourself an American who has spent more time preparing herself for such --

And then, a scream.

Was I reading words, or hearing voices? Was I seeing things, or was I just hallucinating?

I saw Cyclops in this room, pouring over this letter.
Looking for clues. Reaching for another light.

-- my greatest pleasure to address you by your name, sir. Will you not do me the honor of --

Worse.

This vision was worse than the others.

I'm not seeing, I'm only

feeling and hearing.

-- I struck her with the butt of the pistol, a bit too hard I'm afraid. Her skull was fractured before she fell, and she struck each stair solidly before reaching the bottom. Upon retrieving the body, I hooked a shoe under her chest and flipped her over. She was already gone. I decided to take her with me instead.

I saw a tall staircase with white walls. Winding upwards. The only reason I saw upwards because I was falling; the world pitching this way and then --

Oh God.

A horrible, horrible taste blooms in the back of my mouth.

Salty, like rust. Like copper. Dried blood.
My tongue. Like lead. Like sand.

-- She did not stir again until after we had returned to a more private place.

Help me.

Trying to move my mouth, speak. Trying to.

-- Piano wire does wonders as a binding tool. The more you struggle, the more it cuts into the skin. One thing that must be said for your young Specialist is that she is indeed persistent. Panic made her fight 'till her wrists bled. The blood moistened the binding, until she could slip one hand free.

A light.

Help me. Oh, for the love of God. If someone is there, please ..

HELP ME!

-- From the look in her eyes, I don't think she realized that there was quite so much blood inside of her. She had completely soaked the mattress before I could attend to other matters.

No, no, no, no, NO!

It's a vision. A vision, Twenty. Just --

It ended as soon as it started, but I didn't return to reality right away. At least, I didn't think I had. I blinked a few times, furiously before realizing that the room was dark and Cyclops was at my side, sitting me up.

"Th .. There's .. " I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think, I couldn't move. My phone was pinging on the table. It kept going off, shrieking, demanding to be picked up. Cyclops stared at me with three very wide eyes.

"There's going t .. to be another letter."

I felt very alone.

"And it's written for me."