The Arcane: Alistair Mann

CHAPTER ONE

ALISTAIR MANN

Late one dreary evening in a forlorn cemetery several miles off highway 53 stands an older man clad in a variety of lively colors. While the man's top hat is orange, his vest is blue and suitcoat a giddy yellow. His obviously regularly ironed pants are a deep red and shoes a rather spontaneously light shade of green. If a stranger were to see him most would suspect that he had just come from a circus. Though, if you knew the aging man, you would know that this is how he always has dressed, not for attention, simply because of his deep love for the atypical. He has never liked to fit in, never thought it necessary. Societies niches, standards, and expectations have always bored the man. And what others might call tacky this lonely billionaire would call stylish, what others might call ugly he would call beautiful, and what others might call strange he would call normal. For what is "normal"? It is a word backed by years of parochial perspectives fueled by parochial beings.

The man takes a step back from the grave that had his fixed attention for so long and reaches behind him. As tears slide down his face, he swings a sledgehammer as hard as he can into the tombstone. It makes contact on the upper righthand side and parts and pieces fly away. With another swing landing near the same spot as before several larger chunks break off. The man does not know the person on the tombstone, but he knows that he was loved, the funeral concluded just a few hours before. With each swing of the hammer a smile broadens across the old man's face. Not a smile born from anything kind or sympathetic, but one of anticipated pleasure that one knows will soon be fulfilled. A short bark of laughter escapes his lips as the recently deceased William Cormorant's tombstone crumbles away.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CORMORANTS

Thalia Cormorant rolls her emerald eyes at her rather ignorant husband whom which she tends to loathe most days. Seeing her mannerism in his periphery he smiles viciously. Retaliating, he says some quip phrase and turns back to his driving. Immediately laughter erupts from the couple's three children in the back which annoys Thalia even further. Her husband and children continue their dance of jokes and banter the entire three-hour car ride, Thalia joining in every so often. After a while she nonchalantly asks Justin Cormorant to turn on some music which he does, turning the station to some contemporary pop tunes. Thalia does not relax though, for she knows that within a few minutes the assembly will join in on the song's catchy beat and will be belting it out horribly in their off-tune voices.

They soon arrive at their destination after the long car ride from Eau Claire, WI to Madison, WI. Justin pulls the car to a stop in a full parking lot of forlorn cars. Thalia steps out of their Ford 250 truck and opens the door for her five-year-old menace, Aleeyah, to which the young girl screeches something completely unacceptable insisting that she can help herself as she blows stray bangs of brown hair out of her eyes.

"I can always cut that for you," Thalia tries.

"It doesn't bother me mommy," Aleeyah says happily.

"Come on let's go!" Aleeyah's two older brothers say excitedly as they run ahead of Justin, which prompts him to pick up his pace and follow.

Aleeyah in turn picks up her pace, her little legs propelling her as fast as they can. Sighing Thalia follows close behind as they catch up to the husband and boys. Smiling, the family sees Thalia's mother approaching them on the grassy hillside. She slides down her giant cat sunglasses, the sun shining confidently down. Mother Agnus walks stiffly up to the Cormorants with a not-so-subtle sneer written on her face.

"Daughter Thalia, Justin," Mother Agnus exhales quickly, "You must keep your family under control. Your behavior is just simply unacceptable, disgraceful. We are at a funeral for goodness sakes, your father's funeral!"

Thalia smiles in return and sighs tiredly, "Good to see you too, mother."

Hearing what she thinks is sarcasm in her daughter's voice Mother Agnus says, "And to think that I doubted disowning you for a brief heartbeat. You know you're only here as a courtesy."

Mother Agnus turns around abruptly and walks away, back to the congregation of mourning relatives. Tears fight to slide down Thalia's red cheeks. She knows that some of those gathered closest to where they stand heard the entire interaction. Justin looks at his wife, still with a smile written on his face and reaches for her hand.

"Let's go sit down," he says.

Thalia nods her head and takes his hand sheepishly.

Arriving late most seats are already taken. The Cormorants eventually find a row of five seats suiting their family in the mid-section of the set-up chairs on the lawn by the side of Lake Mendota. Aleeyah kicks her feet back and forth slowly as she sits as reverently as she can in her five-year-old state of mind. For most of the service she stares up at the sky and clouds as they pass overhead. Occasionally she would start humming "Sunshine on Your Shoulders" to herself and get subsequently shushed by Mother Agnus a few seats away. Thalia knows Mother Agnus does this intentionally, shushing Aleeyah before she can herself, trying to create more excuses that she can use to berate her daughter.

"Don't let it bother you," Justin leans over and says in Thalia's ear.

Thalia ignores Justin and quietly thanks God for keeping her two buck-headed sons reverent during the service. At eleven and twelve they understand the significance of the situation and become reserved of their own accord. After of course getting a talk from Mother Agnus, she would not have it any other way. Several times during the service Thalia heard whispers from other audience members concerning the Cormorant's disrespect for the dead. Once the service is over Thalia is absolutely ready to go home, though she knows that there will be an after-service dinner following.

It gives her no comfort watching her oblivious children run about the grassy park always in their obvious state of euphoria. Thalia walks over to one of the shelters and sits at a picnic table in the shade next to her husband. He smiles and wraps his arm around her. She winces slightly at this and tries hard to mask her discomfort. Thalia's first cousin Arthur sits down across from them and sighs. His long straight red hair blowing slightly in the gentle breeze.

"It's sad to see him go, he was as wonderful an uncle as he was a father," Arthur says contemplatively.

Justin nods his head, "We all have our own personal issues from events in our lives that will always stay with us, but at a time like this those don't seem to matter anymore. What matters is the celebration of a wonderful man's legacy."

Thalia's swallows hard, Justin knows what he said would call up memories from the past that would make her anxious. She says, "Father was a man only concerned with his legacy and not his family."

At this Mother Agnus steps into their peaceful circle. "Thalia Harold Cormorant I have endured enough of your insolence today. Please leave this respectable gathering and take your abominable family somewhere else."

Suddenly close by onlookers stop their chatting and look between the determined Mother Agnus and a much beleaguered Thalia Cormorant.

Justin breaks the silence with his typical cheerful undertones, "I hear dinner is just about ready and I don't know about you all, but I am quite certain that Father Cormorant would want us to enjoy the food so graciously prepared."

Successfully diverting the chaotic interaction everyone nods their heads in agreement and gather around the picnic tables laden with comfort food that lightens anyone's spirits. Grilled brats and hot dogs sizzle quietly on their oval platters and a variety of salads such as potato, taco, lettuce, cucumber, and pasta are laid out on the tables as well. With chips and punch the dinner is everything one could ask for. Once evening rolls around most are smiling and having a good time. Almost forgetting the reason why, they are all gathered there. Except of course for Mother Agnus whose petulance leaves a scowl on her face the entire time and only lets her gaze drift away from Thalia a few times to stare incredulously at her husband and children.

Once the meal is finished the ensemble all contribute to the clean-up process, it takes no time at all until they are ready to leave. Justin volunteers to bring the trash to the dumpster and soon everyone is making their way to the cars. One by one the cars pull out of the park's parking lot and disappear down the road. Immediate family hangs back and waits for a few minutes for everyone to leave. A purple hearse arrives, which almost gives Mother Agnus a heart attack for the second time. Strangely, all the black hearses were rented out and the only one available was an old purple one, which has been blatantly neglected by everyone.

Mother Agnus mutters loud enough to make sure everyone still hears her, "It's just simply inappropriate, a purple hearse. Gahh!"

Aleeyah chimes in with her rather low pitch voice for a five-year-old, "I quite like purple. It fits."

To which Mother Agnus inevitably responds, "No one asked for your opinion young girl." Pausing she continues, "If you had a proper mother, she would be teaching you proper etiquette," pausing once again, the short old willowy figure says to Thalia, "Keep your recalcitrant children in line or I will."

Thomas, Aleeyah's eleven-year-old brother says, "Yeah come on sis, no one likes your opinion."

Chiming in happily Justin says, "Let's just be one our way, shall we?"

"Just like I was saying," Mother Agnus says, always needing the last word.

The group disperses and they all get in their respective cars. Somewhat downtrodden, Aleeyah drags her feet through the neatly manicured grass to the car. Thalia kneels down next to her and says, "Don't let what Mother Agnus says get you down. Despite her unwelcoming attitude she really does love us all."

Aleeyah's bright blue eyes look up to Thalia's, she nods her head slowly then continues walking towards the awaiting husband and boys in their truck. Once in the car and driving down the road Justin rests his hand on Thalia's leg and says, "Thank you for that back there, helping Aleeyah like that."

Thalia looks over to her husband and smiles in kind. "Yes, well I was only doing my job. I am not actually entirely sure that she does love us."

Justin nods his head then reverts his focus back to the road. From the back seat of the white truck, Marshall the eldest, says, "The food was so good dad, we should go to funerals more often. Those brats were amazing."

Justin smiles and says, "Oh yeah? What was your favorite then?"

"The ones with the pepper jack cheese infused into them."

"Infused? That's a big word, where'd you learn that? Certainly not from anyone in this family," Justin smiles.

"From Cynthya," Marshall says rather proudly.

Thalia's head snaps back in her seat, so she is staring at Marshall. Her long golden hair flings abruptly from her right side. "And who's this Cynthya girl?"

Marshall, realizing too late what he had done stutters while his cheeks turn red, "Oh, oh she's no one. Just a friend."

Aleeyah giggles while Thomas instantly seizes up this golden opportunity to start teasing his brother. Within a few seconds a cacophony of indistinguishable comments and arguments erupt from the back seat.

Justin calls out, "All right, all right. Marshall has a girlfriend, it's bound to happen so Aleeyah and Thomas just settle down."

At this Thalia mutters to her husband, "Don't encourage him, Justin."

Justin smiles and looks over at her, "You know it's not going to mean anything in the end," he pauses for a moment and leans over to Thalia's ear and whispers something unintelligibly.

The burial ceremony goes as anyone would expect it to. The Cormorants kids delightfully ramping about, and a father who more encourages their behavior than disciplines it. And poor Thalia who is always the brunt of Mother Agnus's verbal torments. To further add to the general dismal mood, rain starts to lightly drizzle down on the small company of mostly saddened figures around halfway through the service. The great oaks dotted through the cemetery, their branches tearfully swaying in the gentle breeze. Some funeralgoers scurry away from the ceremony to grab umbrellas for themselves, and others gathered. The Priest's acolyte hurriedly runs to get an umbrella for his leader. Knowing that the Priest hates it when his holy white and golden garments get wet in the outside rain.

The priest, interrupted from the bouts of commotion and rain is further interrupted by Mother Agnus's belligerent tone, "Gah, I was told it wasn't supposed to rain today. Who is responsible for this absurd folly?"

Already annoyed with Mother Agnus, for he saw how she was treating her daughter earlier, the priest defensively says, "I recommended the time-of-day Mrs. Cormorant."

Mother Agnus pauses, realizing now that what she was going to say next is probably left better unsaid and to everyone's surprise, she meekly closes her mouth. Being a devout Catholic it would be highly blasphemous to get into a tousle with a Priest of God. The Priest politely stares into Mother Agnus's eyes until she looks away, Thalia seeing the entire altercation smiles smally, glad to see someone getting the better of her insufferable mother. Shortly after Thalia's smile fades she sees her mother's attention drift from the Priest to her two rambunctious boys. Before Mother Agnus starts again in her hypercritical behavior the Priest gathers everyone's attention.

"I know that conditions are less than optimal now, what with the drizzle. But shall we continue with the service to honor a fallen hero and dad?" The Priest says warmly.

Everyone nods their heads in agreement and the Priest continues the rather cliché speech. After the service and everyone is gone, Thalia walks up to the Priest with an expression of gratitude on her face.

"Thank you for how you handled my mother," she says.

The Priest shrugs, "It's no problem my dear," the Priest smiles and continues, slightly comically, "I was getting rather annoyed of her condemnatory behavior myself. I hope you have a blessed day Thalia."

And with a polite nod the Priest steps away, his acolyte following closely behind with a sheltering umbrella. The acolyte is careful to not let any stray raindrops find their way to the Priest's robes.

After a long and stressful day, Thalia is relieved too finally be home once more. It never ceases to amaze her the energy of her two rambunctious sons. Even after getting into mischief all day, they still run out of the truck and bound up the steps to their front door. They beckon Justin to hurry up and open the door. Suddenly Thalia snaps.

"Thomas! Marshall! Your grandfather is dead, have some respect!" She yells.

Aleeyah quietly gets out of the car and walks over to Justin, who is several paces behind Thalia, and is closer to his truck. She says slightly smirking, "Someone needed to do it. I've been aching to all day, but it's probably better that Mommy did."

Justin looks down at his small daughter, raising an eyebrow: "For an eight-year-old you seem to understand things beyond your years."

If one were to judge the magnificence of the Cormorants house based on their behavior most would probably judge poorly. While the Cormorants tend to come across as ignorant and not respecting, their house says the opposite. It is a large three-story home first built around fifty years ago, though within the last ten years it was heavily remodeled. Thalia's father's wealth spilled into her life whether she liked it or not. The siding is light brown with dark green trim and steel roofing. Inside the small mansion every room presents a different mood. While the good-sized entryway and adjacent living room to the right is light orange, warm and welcoming. The TV room, parallel to the living room, is a seductive dark purple. Calling one to hunker down on one of the several comfortable leather couches and binge the latest Netflix series. Past the TV room is an energetic light red dining room, an energetic place one always loves to be, for the instant gratification of food is just around the corner. The kitchen is behind the dining room parallel to it through two white wooden double opening doors. While the dining room is light red, the kitchen is smokey gray. Hinting at the feeling of the industrious work that any mother goes through while working in their kitchen. Across the white hallway with cherry wood flooring from the kitchen and dining rooms, and behind the living room, is a master bedroom and a connecting office. And this, is just the first floor. Two staircases, opposite of each other in the entryway, rise to two more floors.

Justin opens the grand dark green front door and instantly his two sons scurry through the widening opening. Calling after them Justin reminds them both to remember to take off their shoes in the entryway. Thomas and Marshall slow down and hurriedly take off their shoes and toss them away. Justin sighs to himself as he walks through the door.

"My, it feels good to be home," Justin says to Thalia and Aleeyah behind him.

Aleeyah smiles while Thalia says, "I didn't think I'd be able to stand one more minute with my mother but another minute always passed."

Fatigued, Thalia walks to her bedroom and sits down on the scarlet comforter smothering her and her husband's bed. She can feel her eyes start to droop and it is at this moment that the first wave of sorrow washes over her. During the funeral and post-funeral services her mother successfully distracted Thalia from grieving. But now, in the comfort of her home and far away from Mother Agnus, the somewhat estranged daughter feels the beginning pangs of sadness. Justin walks into their bedroom door and leans against its jambs.

"Did you see Mother Agnus's face when that priest put her in her place?" Justin smiles, "Absolutely priceless."

"Don't," Thalia interrupts, "Don't make jokes. Please spare me that."

Justin's face turns from that of hopeful amusement to one of sternness. "Remember what I said about rebuking me? Honey? Don't."

A flash of fear sweeps across Thalia's face, in her state of grief she knew the mistake she made. Justin steps forward, then closes and locks the door behind him. Fluidly, he takes off his shoes, then socks, then suit jacket. Fear in Thalia's face increases, she starts to stand up, but Justin shoves her roughly back down onto their bed. Within another moment or two Justin is standing before Thalia with a wicked grin spread across his face and a brass knuckle in his fist. With astonishing speed, Justin steps across the room and firmly covers Thalia's mouth with his hand. Tears course down her cheeks, wanting to scream but unable to. Just then the lights flicker out in their bedroom. The husband hesitates for a second, unconsciously loosening his grip over Thalia's mouth. Something rattles from inside the couple's closet. Aleeyah often hides in their closet, trying to escape her two older brothers.

"Aleeyah sweetheart, is that you?" Justin asks sweetly.

"Yes daddy," says a scared meek voice. "What are you doing to mommy?"

"It's alright honey," Justin says warmly as he pulls on some pajamas, "Mommy and I were just having some fun. You can come out of the closet now."

"Uh uh, I'm scared," says a small voice in return.

Justin gets to his feet and walks over to the closet. He opens the door with a smile on his face. Abruptly it vanishes, no one is in the closet.

"Um Aleeyah?" Justin says, a chill running down his back. He turns around and is met with the sight of no one in their bed. "Thalia?" Justin says louder.

The door is still shut, walking over to it he finds it is still locked as well. And besides, he never heard the door open to begin with. Every time Thalia would walk back from checking on the kids in the night, he would always complain about the squeaky door.

Justin flips the light switch, but it doesn't turn back on. Cold sweat starts to bead on the sides of his forehead. He reaches down and grabs the doorknob and immediately jerks his hand away in pain. The doorknob is freezing cold. Walking swiftly to a drawer where he knows he keeps a flashlight; he grabs it and pushes the button. Dismay floods through him when it doesn't turn on.

"Thalia! This isn't funny sweetie," Justin calls out.

He strides across the bedroom and kicks their bedroom door open. Immediately he charges through, only to find the lights are out in the rest of the house as well. Cautiously, the terrified husband walks down the main hallway. When he enters the grand entryway his heart leaps out of his chest. The horrifying sight before him stops the demented husband in his tracks. Before he can let out a scream, weirdly cold and clammy hands cover his mouth. A second later Justin's body quietly slumps to the floor.

CHAPTER THREE

A NEW DAWN A NEW DAY

With a smile already on his face, Magnus Prince wakes up next to his altogether lovely girlfriend, Maggie. Quietly, he tries to get out of bed, a task nearly impossible. Once his weight shifts off the plush mattress and it inevitably wakes Maggie. Magnus Prince walks over to the beige curtains and pulls them back, letting bright light envelope the entire room. Squinting her eyes Maggie looks to her newly graduated FBI agent.

"Today's your big day Magnus, first day on the job," Maggie says, then seeing the look on his face, "What's wrong?"

A nervous Magnus turns to his girlfriend, "I'm getting assigned to Charli Young as my partner, and well she is kind of a legend."

"Yes, well so are you," Maggie smiles reassuringly.

An hour later Magnus Prince is walking in his new black suit up the sidewalk to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, VA. The building itself is a complex of several different structures all bland in their design. With simple gray brick walls and repeating glass windows, it is not an impressive sight but Magnus Prince is nonetheless impressed. When he reaches the front doors he is greeted by a kind elderly secretary. Her sandy white hair is drawn back into a ponytail unsuccessfully covering a bald spot.

"Why hello Special Agent Magnus Prince," she says with a twinkle in her eye.

Magnus nods his head, "Hello to you as well. I was told I need to find Director Agent Russel Grayson."

"Yes, indeed. Follow me." Her voice low, but smooth and comforting.

Anna leads Agent Prince down a gray and brown carpeted hallway. They exit out into a large open room of a convergence of many different hallways leading to various rooms. There is cut out circle in the middle of the space around twenty feet wide with a pine railing, making it possible to look down and up at other floors. A few seconds later they reach their destination. Gently, Anna raps on the door several times. A deep gravelly voice answers, beckoning them into his dapper office. Director Grayson rises out of his chair and rounds his desk to shake Magnus's hand.

"Special Agent Magnus Prince, this is your new partner, Special Agent Charli Young," Director Grayson motions toward a short figure sitting with legs crossed on a chair in a small corner of the Director's office.

Her red lips pursed, Agent Young says dryly, "Okay."

Then she stands up and casually smoothing her gray fitted suit. Magnus reaches out his hand to her, but she ignores it and continues past the rookie agent.

"Are you coming or what?" Agent Young calls back to the young man standing confused in the director's office.

"Oh uh, yes of course. Where are we going?"

Young stops and raises an eyebrow at him. There is an alacrity to the young man that the aging agent finds insufferable.

"You weren't briefed? Goodness the Bureau really is going downhill," Agent Young says sarcastically.

Magnus picks up his pace to catch up with Young. "We have a case already, partner?"

Agent Young spins around on her flat-heeled shoes and leans into Magnus's face, "Listen kid. Despite what Director Grayson says, you are not my partner until you prove yourself. Until then we are just acquaintances, got it?"

A slightly startled Magnus nods his head, "Yes Ma'am."

They walk out the front doors where there is a taxi there ready for them.

"So where are we going?" Agent Prince asks curiously.

"Eau Claire, Wisconsin," Agent Young replies.

"Wisconsin?" Intrigue obvious in his voice.

"Just four hours ago the FBI got news of a horrific and strange homicide of an entire family. Local police have kept the scene locked down, but they have no idea what they're dealing with. All they've really accomplished is keeping the press in the dark. They named us to head the task force to investigate and capture the deranged psychopath who did it." Young looks over to Magnus and sees a determined expression on his face.

Six hours later the two agents land at the Chippewa Valley Regional Airport. Waiting for them is an unmarked black Range Rover. The car ride from the airport only takes around ten minutes to get to the scene. The neighborhood is a nice one but eerily quiet. Evenly spaced middle class houses line both sides of the street with carefully manicured lawns, gardens, and trees. In this way the Cormorant residence stands out from the other neighbors. Their house is at least twice as big as any of the others. Security tape lines a perimeter of seventy feet in a half cube in front of the house. There are several local police cars parked around the perimeter. All the officers are busy keeping the eager crowd of press away. Agents Prince and Young step out of the car and duck underneath the yellow tape, showing the officers their badges. Prince hears one of the officer's mutter, "Goodness, I'm glad they're here."

Agent Young calls out, her loud and smooth voice carrying over all of the other commotion, "Alright everybody. This crime scene is now in control of the FBI, everyone reports to me."

The Sheriff walks out the front door and his face lights up slightly when he sees Agent Young. "I'm sure glad you're here now, not gonna believe what's in there." The Sheriff gestures towards the house. Looking over to young Agent Prince the Sheriff asks, "Who's the kid?"

Young smirks slightly to Prince's annoyance. He replies, "Special Agent Magnus Prince."

"Well, Special Agent Prince, I hope you have a hard stomach."

Sheriff Drisby leads them through the great oak doorway doorway. While Magnus takes an involuntary intake of breath in disgust, Young seems to take a breath in awe of what is before her. In the large entryway, spread before them is a horrific scene of carnage. A woman and what appears to be her two sons and daughter are placed in a semicircle standing up. Each victim has a music stand in front of them and each is holding an instrument. Sheriff Drisby tries to keep his attention away from the eye sockets of the victims. Replacing each eye are small bouquets of pink roses. While the woman and three kids are facing the entryway, the father stands in front of the semicircle, his hands arched in the air as if conducting a small orchestra. There is blood spread around in swirls beneath and behind the victims. Giving the scene an almost artistic aesthetic.

"They look so lifelike, so real" Agent Prince marvels to himself quietly.

"What do you see Magnus?" Asks Agent Young, taking the opportunity to gauge him.

Agent Prince takes several steps closer to the mother, who is placed on the far left, from the perspective of entering through the now insidious entryway. The woman's entire figure is held up perfectly as if her bones and muscles were still functioning. Agent Young watches from several paces behind the black coated Magnus. He slips on a latex glove and touches the woman's arm. Abruptly he jerks his hand away and mutters a curse word. Agent Young's brow furrows when she sees this.

"She's freezing. That must be how the bodies are positioned," Agent Prince says.

Agent Young steps forward, "One answered question always leads to another unanswered. Why don't they appear to be?"

The deceased frozen bodies before them have no frost patches or ice anywhere on the outside of their bodies. They appear to be completely normal and unfrozen. By the father's beard there are no flecks of frosted moisture.

"Dunno," Agent Prince replies, "I imagine we won't be able to find that out until the ME gets ahold of them." Agent Prince looks to Young, "You're enjoying this aren't you? I can't help but notice a slight expression of joy tugging at the corners of your face."

Agent Young walks around to the backs of the individuals.

"This isn't Satanism or any religious ritual, this is art. At least that is what our unsub thinks it is that he is doing."

She nods to Sheriff Drisby and he motions forensics to come in. A group of around eight walks through the doors and subsequent entryway. While some surround the scene taking pictures others swab different furniture for fingerprints or any other DNA or evidence.

"I'm going to take a walk around the house," Agent Young says to Sheriff Drisby.

Agent Young and Agent Prince walk past the scene of musical carnage and down the white walled and ceiling hallway. The dark oak wooden flooring squeaks quietly under their feet. The two of them stop and peek into the master bedroom. The sheets are ruffled and there are clothes strewn about.

"Huh, that's interesting," Agent Young muses.

"What?"

"These clothes on the floor. The entire house, and the rest of this bedroom is spotless, neat, and yet these clothes are thrown so carelessly onto the floor? Almost like they were forgotten...If they took them off themselves don't you think they would've been put away?"

"You would think so," Agent Prince responds.

"Yes."

"I wonder," Agent Young says to herself quietly, spinning around in her shoes and walking past her fellow agent. Confused, Prince follows picking up to a faster walking pace to keep up with Agent Young.

"What is it?" He asks curiously.

Agent Young smiles and points to the father and mother, "Look at their clothes."

Just then some small draft blows under the frozen figures which makes their clothes slightly sway.

"Their clothes were put on after they were frozen. Why I'm not sure yet, and maybe it doesn't mean anything. But observing and taking note of all that you can, may be key to any mystery."

Agent Young steps away from the bodies and walks on the left, lightly stained, oak staircase to the second story. Prince never noticed Agent Young walking away, too deep in thought. The two staircases on opposing sides of the entryway lead into each other at the top and in the middle where they meet is a hallway leading to the rest of the rooms on the floor. This second floor is carpeted with something like camouflage. There are various dark greens, earthy greens, browns, grays, and blacks spotted throughout it. The hallway's walls are light brown and arch into a semicircle overhead. The sounds of the various clicking cameras and people idly chatting slowly fade until only the sound of Agent Young's soft breathing can be heard.

She advances slowly forward, peeking causally into rooms that she passes. Near the end of the hallway Agent Young opens a door that leads into Aleeyah's bedroom. There are various articles of clothing strewn all around the deep blue colored room. Other than the clothes everything is in near perfect order. All the toys and dolls are put neatly away, Aleeyah's shoes are all placed on their shoe rack, and the various other meretricious trinkets and stuffs all seem to be where they belong. Agent Young walks over to the expertly made bed and sees a small semicircle of wrinkles, evident that someone had sat on the quilted floral designs of tropical flowers and flora. Scratching her chin, Agent Young exits the girl's room and opens to door parallel to it. Inside are two beds each on opposite sides of the large room. While the other rooms were all perfectly groomed, this one is evident that those habits remain a struggle. Some LEGOs can be seen at the base of the bins from where they are kept. Other figurines can be seen hiding in other places. And while the beds are made, they are done so with considerably less care. Agent Young smiles smally, noting the carelessness of boys. On the floors, again there are clothes spread haphazardly about. With the conciseness of all the other elements of the house she knows that this is not just a coincidence. Behind her Agent Young suddenly feels the presence of someone else and a coldness flutters around the room sinisterly.

CHAPTER FOUR

ORGANIC MATERIAL

Agent Magnus Prince opens the door to an abandoned flower shop on Main Street of Eau Claire and walks inside. From the outside it appears to only be a rundown building of a shop that closed years ago. The LED sign that once brightly displayed Ma's Floral Emporium, now hangs sadly from one chain with no light emitting from it. Dust and dirt from years of not getting cleaned cover the once spotless windows that gave glimpses into the rows of beautiful flowers behind them. Now, since the FBI moved a temporary headquarters there until the Cormorants case is resolved, all the windows are boarded over making the place look even more abandoned and lonely. Inside the building it is stripped out of all its shelves; computers, desks, and files taking their place.

Agent Prince strides over to Young who is scratching her sandy blond hair contemplatively. He smiles slightly and says, "I checked with all the families and nearby relatives to see their spin on the events and to get a sense of their relationships. All around the board it was the consensus that the mother seemed to belittle the Cormorants, especially her daughter Thalia, the woman that was murdered. They did say though that to some extent it was justified, saying that Thalia's-"

Young interjects, "Stop using her first name. Detach emotion from your investigation."

Agent Prince raises an eyebrow and continues, "Saying Mrs. Cormorant's family was fairly inappropriate, one might say facetious."

Young sits down in her high-back wheeled chair behind her perfectly organized desk. The folders neatly stacked or filed away, and the various pens and pencils put away in their holders, nothing out of place. Agent Prince leans against her desk slightly which barely knocks a folder out of place. She glares at him until he stands up and straightens the folder.

Agent Young continues, "How does one freeze and keep frozen five bodies without any external signs? Nothing except touch. There were no signs of a break-in and the only things out of place were the clothes strewn across their bedroom floors."

Prince bites his lower lip and says hopeful, "Perhaps some chemical agent we are not aware of yet, it must be."

A shy young man walks up to the two agents and says, "Excuse me, but I was told to tell you Agent Young and Agent Prince, that the ME says that he needs to see both of you."

Agent Young looks up at the young man standing a few paces back from her desk and says, "It must be important."

The young man nods his head and says, "Yes, the ME says it is urgent."

"Well then we better be on our way, Magnus."

While it is unprofessional to use the Agent's first name, Agent Young doesn't really care.

The two agents get up from their seats and exit out of the front glass double doors of the old flower shop. Several paces away waits their black standard issue Range Rover. Agent Young always insists on driving, trying to not let anything deviate from her ideal way of life with the addition of a partner. Agent Young would deny it, but her OCD often makes her hold onto seemingly childish acts. Agent Prince never says anything though, he always has looked up to Young and was not going to let little discrepancies interfere with Agent Young's obvious ability to be able to teach. The elder agent has a process for just about every aspect in her day-to-day life and any disruptions bothered her. "Perhaps that is why she became an agent," Agent Prince thinks, "The idea of letting things continue out of place from her world view is too much to leave it be."

Within a few minutes the two pull up to a curb and park in a business-oriented neighborhood near the Hospital. The ME's office is a small one-story building with a basement, where all the bodies are kept and where the autopsies take place. The outside of the building is simple, boring, and bland. Black bricks start the first four feet of the building until it transitions to dark gray vinyl siding. Walking through the door, Agents Prince and Young are greeted by an assistant.

"Ah, I see you have arrived," a boy of perhaps sixteen says.

He is short for his age and thicker too. His long unkempt black hair tumbles down freely all around his head. His unruly bangs defiantly hang down in front of his eyes, causing the boy to constantly have his head tilted back so he can see clearer. Although the soft frame and light skin might promote a presence of gentleness, this was far from the truth in many ways. He was born to be a medical examiner and loves working with his father. The gruesome and grotesque bodies never bothered the boy even at a much younger age. His father, instead of keeping his son from his freakish interests helped him delve into them. From the time the boy was seven years old he was helping his father at the morgue.

The boy continues, "Follow me."

He leads the two agents down a bright hallway lit by lights hidden in the upper corners of the walls. On opposing sides of the hallway are doors leading into various rooms, all dark. At the end of the hallway is a large elevator. Made to easily carry several bodies on stretchers down to the building's lower floor.

"My father nor I know what to make of those dead bodies. Their-" the boy cuts himself off, "I guess I should probably just let my father tell you."

The elevator doors open, and the trio walk through and into a large room. On the left wall there are columns of cooled containers that hold dead bodies. In the surrounding areas of the room various medical equipment is spread around. In the middle of the room there are five tables lined next to each other, each one of the bodies on them stripped down nude and with a white sheet covering them. The ME looks up from his work when he sees the two agents and his son approaching. He puts down his scalpel and tweezers. Both Agent Young and Prince notice a look of fear across the man's wrinkled face.

"Good afternoon, Agents Young and Prince. My name is Doctor Robert Sinclair. I see you have met my son Benjamin," the ME says.

Agent Young nods her head while Agent Prince says, "Yes, nice boy."

A corner of Doctor Sinclair's mouth twitches in slight amusement. Then he says, "I autopsied all five of the bodies and all yielded the same results, chilling results. It seemed at first that the bodies were frozen. That's why at the mutilation sites there wasn't any blood flowing, but this isn't so. I found that there is an extremely thin layer of what appears to be an organic material covering the entirety of their epidermis. Now this foreign tissue is cold to the touch, and so far, it doesn't seem to be, well...human or animal or..." Doctor Sinclair trails off.

"I'm sorry, what are you saying?" Agent Young asks.

"I'm saying that this layer of foreign material is either from something that hasn't been discovered yet, or it isn't from this world. And there is something else; exteriorly there were no signs of any kind of incisions or cuts, no lacerations; but the brains of all the victims are gone. And I can't figure as to how they were removed.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Agent Young's mouth, "In all my years I thought I had seen it all, but alas there is always something else. Agent Prince, the game is on."

Chills run down a confused Agent Prince's back as he gazes unsteadily at Robert Sinclair and his son Benjamin. A mysterious organic layer covering the bodies? This cannot be true, Doctor Sinclair must be mistaken and going crazy. But this isn't so, Robert Sinclair has never been saner.

"How do you figure the bodies were positioned upright?" asks Agent Young.

"Unclear," replies Doctor Sinclair, "Perhaps our mystery skin, if you will, holds the answer to that. That isn't all though. The blood that we thought was frozen isn't even in their bodies, it's just gone. And those swirls of pooled blood beneath the arrangement of bodies wasn't theirs."

"Gone where? And who's was it?" asks Agent Young.

"You are not going to believe this, but it's yours Agent Young, and yours Agent Prince, and all of the other officers at the scene."

CHAPTER FIVE

CEMETARIES AND CELEBRATIONS

In a dimly lit room on the uppermost floor of a large cabin-style mansion stands Alistair Mann. Just a few minutes before he had returned from the cemetery. The room is small, and the darkness makes it feel even more claustrophobic. The only furnishing is a tall metal table and a wooden stool. Alistair Mann walks over to the stool with a pouch that carries a variety of knives, scalpels, surgical scissors, and even a small hatchet. Sitting on top of the metal table is a lone cooler filled with ice. Alistair Mann sets his leather tool bag quietly on the table and opens the cooler and brings out a case of human eyeballs that were deftly plucked from the orbits of an unlucky human's face.

Alistair Mann unrolls the leather bag on the table revealing the neat rows of the surgical instruments. Choosing one of his favorite scalpels, one with an ivory handle, Alistair Mann makes a swift cut through the cornea and conjunctiva. As he continues with his evisceration, Alistair Mann makes a careful incision around the iris, pupil, and lens and deftly extracts them. With steady hands he places two glass slides on each side of the extracted parts of the eye forming a perfect glass slide of the superficial part of one's eye, the iris and pupil with the lens beneath them. In his workshop is one of the few places Alistair Mann feels at peace, and small smiles twitch on the corners of his mouth as he is working. He does the same process with the other eye from the recently deceased woman's body and the four other sets of eyes from the husband of the woman and their three children. As Alistair Mann works, a crooked smile is spread across his face.

CHAPTER SIX

BLOODLESS VICTIMS

The day after they were told by Dr. Robert Sinclair of the bloody situation, Agent Young and Agent Prince sit in the chairs at their parallel desks. Agent Prince idly scratches his long auburn hair, with no smile on his face. Accepting and understanding given facts are two different things. Agent Prince accepts the fact that the foreign layer of organic material is possibly alien, but he does not understand it. Yes, while Agent Prince is religious, and he believes in the supernatural, he is an idle Catholic and only goes occasionally to church with his devout girlfriend, aliens though are not supernatural or derive from religious beliefs, they originate from science. If proved real, they would be a cold-hard fact for everyone but that isn't so.

And the business about the backdrop of the swirls of blood being his own and his fellow coworkers. How does one understand that? DNA says that what the ME told him is the truth, but how is that possible? Agent Prince does not know the answers to these questions, he does not even know how to understand these questions. He looks over to his newly appointed and very stubborn partner, Agent Young.

"We should brief all those involved, question them on anything out of the ordinary in their recent lives," Agent Prince says to his partner.

She nods her head in agreement, "Yes, we should." Then she gets up, grabbing the folder of information that Dr. Sinclair sent over.

Agents Prince and Young stand behind two plastic tables in front of a small audience of around fifteen officers seated in metal folding chairs. All of them stare expectantly at the two federal agents. Sheriff Drisby walks into the quiet room that was once for managerial purposes and nods his head towards Agent Young who nods hers in turn. A few seconds before Agent Prince had pulled the sheriff to the side and told him the incoming news. The Sheriff's face paled slightly then swallowed hard. "I am just as confused as you are," Agent Prince had told him.

"We called you all here because there is some vital information that all of you must know," Agent Young pauses for a second and then shrugs, taking the blunt route. "The swirled pool of blood that acted as the backdrop at the crime scene is comprised of all the blood of the people in this room, including myself, Agent Prince, and Sheriff Drisby."

Immediately the room erupts into a cacophony of conversations and questions all directed at the two agents. Ignoring all of the officer's remarks Agent Young shouts over all gathered, "Agent Prince and I will be conducting interviews with all of you, starting with the officers in the back and working our way to the front. None of you are allowed to leave this room until all the interviews are complete. Sheriff Drisby is here to keep all of you from leaving while Agent Prince and I interview you officers individually and privately. Officer Hendrick would you please follow me and Agent Prince."

One of the officer's yells above the rest, "Are we suspects here? You can't keep us here."

Agents Young and Prince ignore the question queried by the anonymous officer, continuing to walk away with Officer Hendricks in tow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEAD LESSONS

Alistair Mann takes one of the child's brain in hand and runs his fingers over it. He marvels at its beauty. The reason behind how a mass of various tissues fastened together by connective tissues dipped in a deep lather of blood and how that can perform cognitive functions eludes him. There are more unexplored ocean depths than unexplored space, but that pales to the unknown regarding the human brain. Alistair Mann sets down the mass of tissues on his desk and separates the right and left lobes carefully. Perfectly, he severs through the corpus callosum, and the two lobes fall apart.

Alistair Mann does not understand human emotion. Why people feel, how people feel, why some people feel one way in a situation and in that same situation someone else feels totally different? When Alistair Mann kills his victims, he is thankful. To him they should be gracious for sacrificing themselves to further his research. So, why should their relatives grieve them when they die? If the families are religious and most are, death is not permanent, they are in a better place.

What makes emotion even more perplexing to Alistair Mann is the human emotion in himself. What one does not understand, one should not be a part of. Alistair Mann has spent his entire life searching for answers but to no avail, and he has spent his entire life trying to suppress emotions. You cannot bottle up emotions if you do not allow them to exist. And so, as he built his multi-billion dollar empire he did so in hopes that it would help him give him the platformn to get answers to these questions. With unlimited resources one might assume you would be able to yield unlimited answers, but that was is so.

Carefully, Alistair Mann separates the frontal lobe from the deep limbic lobe. He sets the frontal lobe to the side and continues. Working carefully, he separates the superficial central sulcus, postcentral gyrus, and parietal lobe from the limbic lobe as well. The limbic system is responsible for emotional behavior, memory, homeostatic responses, and sexual behavior in a human's brain. This has been one of Alistair Mann's main focuses on his quest for knowledge.

Scooping the corpus callosum away from the limbic lobe, Alistair Mann drops the it and holds the limbic lobe in his hands. The limbic lobe is nothing grand, just a simple ring-shaped convolution that surrounds the medial border of the cerebral hemisphere.

Alistair Mann says aloud, "How can such a simple mass of tissues that lie deep within the human brain yield such conflicting and serpentine emotions in humans?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

FULFILLING

He does not remember how he ended up in the Cormorants house only that he is here now and with murder on his lips. Everything he does is from muscle memory as he walks through this slightly ostentatious house. Another force is driving him now, a much more insidious one. He knows that the filthy husband is occupied currently trying to have his way with his poor wife, so the rest of the house is free reign.

Carefully the intruder walks up the right winding staircase to the second floor. He seemingly glides down the light brown hallway to a bedroom on the right. Opening the door, he walks into a large deep blue room. Everything about it inside is neat, obviously the mother made her children clean obsessively. In one fluid motion the man walks over to the side of the bed and rips the young girl from the comfort of her covers. Before she can make any sound, he puts his cold and clammy hand over her mouth firmly. He tries to flash a comforting smile, but it doesn't help the girl any.

Smiling he whispers to the girl, "I have some nice pink roses for you to look at."

Then looking at her pajamas he mumbles something to himself about how they, "won't work." Knocking her unconscious, he quickly walks over to her dresser and rifles through her clothes to find something nicer. Only the nicest of clothes can be worn at a concert. Next, he goes over to the bedroom parallel to the girl's and does the same with the two young boys inside.

As he drags the three bodies down the hall he barks maniacally, "He likes them alive and well dressed."

CHATPER NINE

DREAMSTATE

There is a dim glow of sunlight still lightly covering Agent Prince's bedroom. The beige curtains are drawn back and standing in front of them is Maggie. Her long red hair falls gracefully down her shoulders and cascades over her breasts. Agent Prince awakes and looks to his girlfriend.

"What do you fear most?" Maggie asks in a small voice.

"I don't know, why do you ask?" Agent Prince responds, sleep still tugging its welcoming strings.

"What do you fear most?" she asks again.

"I don't-"

Maggie whirls around and seemingly teleports to the side of the bed. Her face has no skin on it. Agent Prince stares at his girlfriend with fear shooting down his entire frame. As she stands there above him various muscles contracting are visible. Bright blood is dripping off her face and onto the white comforter. Her red sunken eyes are blazing as she stares at her Prince.

"What do you most fear?" She breathes quiet and menacingly.

Agent Prince closes his eyes and when he opens them, he is in a field with several trees spotted throughout and filled with various kinds of flowers. Some are lilies, some daisies, some Indian paintbrushes. Sunflowers stare happily towards the sun. A warm breeze blows across Agent Prince's face and a small smile spreads on his lips. Next to him sits his beautiful girlfriend picking out food from a wicker basket. Overhead they hear the sweet sounds of birds chirping in the kind sunlight. A crow lands in a nearby poplar and stares down at the couple sitting blissfully in the field. It thinks to itself in this moment of the pain that the young agent will have to endure in the coming days. Wanting to escape these depressing thoughts he crows once and flies off.

Agent Prince looks up at the crow flying above him then looks back to Maggie. Except now Maggie isn't next him. To the right where she was last, there is a trail of trampled grass and flowers. Quickly, he jumps to his feet and looks after the trail. A few hundred feet in front of him is the figure of Maggie getting dragged by her neck through the field. With tears running down his cheeks Agent Prince screams and runs after her. Nothing visible is dragging her through the cheerful flowers which sends a chill down the back of the agent. Maggie tries to call out to her Magnus frantically chasing her, but no sound comes out. Coughing, she scrapes at her throat. Trying to see who is dragging her she cranes her neck to one side and looks up. Magnus stares back down at her, but not her Magnus. This one has the same physical body but replacing Magnus's kind and somewhat mischievous smile is a menacing and insidious one. Magnus's sweet hazel eyes are replaced by blazing scarlet ones. Sharp teeth jut out of his mouth and his entire presence is shrouded in a misty cloud of black and gray smoke. His normally curly brown hair is now matted with flies buzzing around it.

A hand begins to violently shake Magnus. His head flashes up, then he looks towards his partner in the driver's seat.

"You were screaming," Agent Young says in a screeching and rasping voice.

Magnus watches as she turns her head to him. Staring back at him isn't his partner, but something else, something from the depths of hell. Not a spec on the face resembles anything human. Disfigurement beneath ghoulish appearances. Charred flesh hangs loosely over a gray skeleton. Where the eyes normally lie, there are just two empty burned sockets.

"I found them," Agent Young says. As it talks the flesh surrounding the lower mandible swishes around slowly.

Its arm jerks its middle finger to the back seat of the Range Rover they are in. In the back seats are the mauled forms of Maggie and himself lying against each other. Lacerations and burn marks cover their entire bodies. Maggie is missing most of the superficial parts of her torso.

"This is your destiny," A voice echoes.

+ + +

Magnus stares across the bustling headquarters in Eau Claire. The interviews that he and Agent Young had conducted yielded no new information to the case. Everyone was just as dumbfounded as they were. And the past few days he has been having nightmares. Every night is the same bone-chilling dream. Watching as Maggie gets helplessly taken from him and tortured while he is unable to stop it, a different kind of pain. None of the training the bureau ingrained into all their rookie agent's brains can prepare someone for this. Magnus took the job with the incorrigible Agent Young with a light and excited heart. He had heard many stories of her exploits and accomplishments and was overjoyed to be her partner. Even her gruff manner never dissuaded him from the excitement of working with the Agent Young. But now, Agent Prince thinks back to if he had never gotten the opportunity. He would still be back home in Fredericksburg, Virginia with Maggie. But then who would he be? Prince clenches his jaw as new determination enters him. This case has been defeating him, toying with him, playing him, well no longer.

Agent Young too has begun to have nightmares. She tries to ignore them like she does with many emotionally stressful situations. To her it's not worth it to fret over. Better to keep a straight head and follow your knowledge and logic. But these nightmares were like nothing she ever had to deal with. In them all of the cases she ever solved were shown to her again. Satisfaction overcomes her and she grins in enjoyment at the memories of the various crimes committed. The thrill of the next killer makes her feel alive and young again, so much so that she revels in it. Then suddenly she is in a bleak room of solid white. The walls comprised solidly of white cushions with no doors and windows, save a lonely flat screen TV just above head height. Around her torso and restricting her arms is an inescapable straight jacket. Projected on the TV are all the colleagues she knows, superiors and otherwise. The ensemble is pointing at her with disgusted looks, a brilliant detective no longer. All they see is a mentally disturbed person before them. Then all the criminals Agent Young has ever put away file into the room with her colleagues. Together they yell at her, how foolish she is, how helpless, how crazy, how she is no better than the criminals she puts behind bars because of her demented mind. The cacophony of raised and disheartening voices eats at her until she falls to her knees whimpering.

CHAPTER TEN

DRIFTING

Agents Young and Prince walk over to Agent Amir Rashidi. Young's typically straight face frowns slightly as she nears in her eyes a foreigner. She was raised to never trust anyone, especially those who are descendants from countries like Iran or Russia. They should definitely not be allowed to be federal agents. Rashidi looks up at Young and smiles awkwardly. Having one with such a reputation that proceeds her dislike you are not something to take lightly.

Agent Young folds her arms as Prince speaks, "We need a list of names of all the musicians in the area with rap sheets of any kind, please."

Rashidi nods his head, "Yes sir."

Behind her Agent Young hears a young and tearful voice, she turns curiously. Standing behind her about ten feet is a young and naked woman with dirt and grime smeared all over her body. Her skin is gaunt, almost as if she is dead. The woman turns around and in place of her golden eyes are several pinks roses. Disjointedly the woman scuttles up closer. She tries to smile welcomingly but it nevertheless is unnerving. Next to the woman stands a little girl with long brown hair tied up in two pig tails. She has two pink roses jammed into her orbitals, replacing her eyes as well. Despite the deadening appearance, she happily cavorts around her mother. Young takes in a quick breath as her hand drifts quickly down to her nine-millimeter. Agent Prince turns and sees Young standing perfectly still with her hand hovering above her holstered gun.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

As if awoken from a dream Agent Young shakes her head, then shrugs and walks away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ALISTAIR MANN PART TWO

Alistair Mann glances at his chauffer driving the elegant Rolls Royce Phantom. Its beautifully hand-crafted interior would stun any observer. The expertly crafted exterior matching in elegance. The pair often go on rides together. Rachel driving in the front and her aging billionaire father in the backseat across from her on the passenger's side. As she drives around Eau Claire they talk, albeit rather strangely, at least for the daughter. Her father was diagnosed with dementia one year ago now and it has rapidly progressed, which only adds to the things she would pour out to her therapist. Her therapist is not a nice fellow, rather sadistic if anyone else but her were to know his truths. Most of the time during their sessions his inappropriate flirtatious remarks would lead to him taking advantage of her. But Rachel feels like she deserves it, she finds the abuse healing. It is the only time she feels something other than the pain and misery that comes with taking care of her senile father.

"Doctor," Rachel calls back to her father the billionaire always insisting that people refer to him with that moniker, even his own daughter. He feels as if it asserts his intellect over those around him thus giving him easier control over them. "How have your urges been?"

Alistair Mann's head and upper torso contort suddenly, like a sudden tick. Then he mumbles something inaudibly before clearing his throat and saying in his deep and gravelly voice, "I think I killed someone recently, it was a nice family. Quite a shame really."

"Oh?" Rachel inquires, "Who did you kill?"

"The Cormorants I think their name was."

Rachel looks at her father through the rearview mirror and says, "Why did you kill them?"

She hates playing into her father's fantasies, but her therapist insists that it is the best way for them to be dealt with. She would prefer slapping him on the side of the head and beg her father to wake up. Wake up from his nightmarish dream that he is inevitably dragging her down into. She doesn't like violence, Rachel is a peaceful and quiet soul, but if that is what it would take to help her father, she would do it with love.

Alistair Mann responds, "A voice told me to do so. His name is...Larry, I think. I said no at first, but his nonstop begging, nagging, left me no choice. And in the end, it felt like a release and a relief."

Rachel slows the car, stopping at a light. She bites her lip before saying, "When did this voice first contact you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe several months ago."

Deciding that their drive had lasted long enough Rachel starts to bring them back home. Soon they pull into the large driveway, with landscaped tulips and cedar trees on each side. They look dreary with clouds overhead blocking all sun.

+ + +

A wicked grin spreads across Alistair's face as he plunges a serrated dagger into a maiden's heart, then lung, then the other lung. He plunges the knife into the girl before him again and again never relenting. Blood sprays everywhere. It flings onto the walls and floors with satisfying splashes. Panting, Alistair Mann gets to his feet, the woman lying still on the floor having died from her wounds long before the crazed man stopped pummeling her. He takes a step back, the stone floor clacking beneath his polished shoes. He is in the medieval wing of his vast mansion. Modeled after the great stone castles from the medieval and Victorian era, it is one of the bigger wings of the strange billionaire's estate. Large archways and towers rise high above the other parts of the building all made of stone.

Alistair Mann steps into a large and now unoccupied bedroom, his cane clacking on the stone floor. He remembers the day he killed that maiden; he remembers the day he killed all of them. He looks down at his purple suitcoat and trousers. A dark blue vest and white shirt peak from underneath. The man smiles slightly remembering the beautiful blood that soaked his clothes. He remembers its lifelike smell, the freshness of it. Nothing compares to the high right after killing some worthless piece of crap. Alistair Mann walks down the large stone hallway. Armor stands and other various decorative furnishings dotting the great walkway. He passes room after room, imagining the people he killed there. All servants who worked for him at the time were females. The handmaidens who helped clean up the scenes never said a word, not to him nor anyone else. Fear was always the prevalent emotion in all their minds.

Eventually Alistair Mann reaches a small wing of the mansion that resembles a modern log cabin. The interior walls are hand milled and varnished pine logs. The high vaulted ceiling has a single large chandelier from it, lighting up most of the room quite efficiently. There are a couple hand crafted couches imported from Italy dotted in the room with coffee tables at their ends. One faces the exterior wall. Large glass windows that span the entire height of the wall let light shine in and reveal a glorious view over a private lake aptly named Sliver Lake for it is a long and narrow body of water that stretches away from the estate several miles. Another couch flanking the one towards the lake faces a wall with a large flat screen TV that has probably never been turned on. On the opposite side of the room to the TV there is a wonderfully comfortable recliner which finds Alistair Mann resting in it nearly every evening. He goes there now, tired from the walk through the castle.

The aging man sits down in the chair with a sigh and leans his cane on the right arm rest. Just as he starts to close his eyes all the lights in the room flicker off. The temperature seems to lower itself until Alistair Mann can see his breath drifting through the air in front of him. A damp and slimy hand slides its way onto the man's shoulder. Ragged breathing that seems to be coming from all around Alistair Mann sends chills down his back.

A hoarse and rather quiet voice, but with evil written all over it says, "It's nice to see you again...Doctor?"

Alistair Mann's back stiffens, and he replies, remembering that the being behind always insisted on being acknowledged. "No. You as well Larry."

The creature smiles slightly, nothing kind about it. Mist emanates from the being. Frost covers its necrotized head and torso. After the torso, his body disappears into a frozen fog that is impossible to see through. The creature presses its lips, if you can call them that, closer to Alistair Mann's neck.

"Death is the purest form of healing," The creature starts uttering alluringly, "There is another dysfunctional family for you to do away with. You did a good job on the last one and so I am sure you are looking forward to another."

Alistair Mann swallows hard, "Of course."

At first, he refused the being's commands, but now he realizes it is pointless. Better to do what the creature tells you to do and damn the consequences. Whatever they may be there is no way they could be worse than whatever the creature would adore doing to his aging and frail body. For a moment he recalls his daughter, his yellow daisy. Her long yellow hair flowing gracefully in the wind as she races around her father and mother's yard in a state of pure bliss. She would look over to her father, her black piercing eyes gazing at him hopefully. Alistair Mann longs for the days he was still with his daughter. Life was simpler then, with her and his servants. A low growl reins his mind back into reality and the feeling of icy sharp nails digging into his shoulder. He feels warm blood start to seep out of the wounds beneath the creature's claws.

"Good," the being says menacingly, "You will know who when the time comes."

A light flickers on and a worried voice calls out, "Doctor? Are you alright? You've just been sitting in your recliner completely rigid."

Startled Alistair Mann turns around and sees his last servant standing before him. The room is warm again and the fear ebbs away as he sees her. A cursed smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he looks at the woman standing before him. She has beautiful and long yellow hair with the same amazing black eyes that his daughter has. Had, he corrects himself. Perhaps his only regret in life is killing his daughter. He did it out of curiosity. After killing so many others he had wanted to feel a new emotion a different emotion, experience something new. It did not feel right, it felt like a violation, but of course then it was too late.

Rachel looks at her father in the leather upholstered recliner. For a moment she sees a sense of loss flash across his face which is quickly replaced by his usual sly smile. A smile that always looks as if he had just pulled a prank and is waiting for the prankee's reaction or in Alistair Mann's case, the results after he murders a new maid. Beleaguered from the long day she walks slowly over to her father.

"Doctor, don't you think it is about time for you to go to bed?" Rachel says.

Alistair Mann replies, "In a sticky web of crime and destruction we the fly cast ourselves into it, waiting for the spider to spin us."

Rachel says nothing in response and watches as Alistair Mann limps away, one hand in his cane and the other rubbing his right shoulder. She had been standing at the door longer than she let on. Previously, she had not heard Alistair Mann communicating with the one he referred to as Larry. While he tried to keep the fantasy figure namelessly secret, there are times when Alistair Mann lets his guard down a little too low without himself realizing it and when this happens words slip. But Rachel seeing it happen is different. A chill wraps itself too snuggly around her, claustrophobia rising in her senses. She never saw anyone, but the fear on Alistair Mann was real. For most of her life she thought that her strong-willed father was incapable of fear. He always told her that fear is the first step towards debility. But now, having seen the raw fear written all over his face, his frame, and feeling the temperature in the room change she wondered about this Larry that he so dreaded.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SHADOWS

The Lismore Hotel is an above average hotel for northcentral Wisconsin. Its five modernly architecture stories comprised mostly of glass rise above Eau Claire yearning for beleaguered customers to come its way. While the outside fails to capture the eyes though, the interior is much more appealing. Agent Young's suite's interior wall, behind the neatly made queen bed, has old newspaper for wallpaper. An aesthetic not commonly seen. Adjacent to the it is the exterior wall made up of large glass panes the full height of the story. It reveals a view of suburban Eau Claire seen nowhere else. Beautifully shined pine table and chairs are set near the glass. There is a large QLED TV opposite the green blanketed bed with a small dresser underneath it. To the left of the TV is a short hallway with drably placed grey carpeting. The door leading to the hotels main hallway is down this passageway, along with the suite's bathroom, that gives the false impression of cleanliness. Its white tiled floors and marbled sink shine gloriously from the light casted by the lone bulb on the ceiling. And the toilet with the bathtub to its left beckon to those occupying the room to please use the clean services it provides. The meretriciousness of the entire suite makes Agent Young scoff at nearly everyone's desire to appear lavish.

Agent Young is sitting, hunched over her meticulously organized papers laying on the pine table. Checking her watch, the time reads midnight. Grunting tiredly, she goes back to studying the papers laid before her. Like all nights for the past week she hasn't been able to get a wink of sleep. Nightmares plagued her dreams and so eventually she gave up trying to sleep. Instead, Agent Young would study case files and other documents trying to figure out whatever idiotic musician decided to go and murder an entire family making her life, well now that she thinks about it, meaningful. Though she won't admit it, Agent Young loves the hunt and even more the scene they leave behind. Although it's her job to capture criminals, she can't help but admire some of them and the creativity in their work.

Agent Young strains her eyes at the papers laid in front of her. All the lights in her room are off except for a small lamp next to the table shining dimly onto the papers. Abruptly, Agent Young hears someone humming down the hallway. She cocks her head slowly over from where the sound came from.

Agent Young calls out calmly but threateningly, "It's not a good practice to get into walking into strangers hotel rooms, especially mine."

The veteran agent waits a few seconds for a reply, but none comes. Drawing her nine-millimeter she stalks silently across the gray carpeted and deathly quiet room to the hallway. Just then a low clanking noise sounds from within the bathroom followed by the light flickering on several seconds later. Stealthily, she makes her way to the threshold of the bathroom door. Suddenly she whips around the corner and is stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Elizabeth Monte Carlo Young, her mother. It cannot be her though. Elizabeth Young died when she was just a girl in 1973. She went missing in Russia on a mission for US intelligence. Never being heard from again and eventually was declared dead. The woman standing before Agent Young seems to be the same age that her mother was before she disappeared. Beautiful and smooth fair skin with long brown hair, the same startling sapphire eyes shining brightly at Agent Young's stupefied face. A familiar red river lily is between the woman's ear and head. Elizabeth Young always seemed to have a floral decoration on her person.

The woman smiles from her place on the toilet and says annoyed, "Why are you here?"

It's the same voice too. A smooth and controlled contralto, demanding everyone's attention every time a word is uttered. And growing up Agent Young's mother always demanded her attention; more than that, her emotions as well. More so than her father did. Elizabeth Young tried to mold and control her young child and with an estranged drunken father only around for a few minutes every other month that was never a problem for Elizabeth Young.

Scoffing at her daughter for not replying to her question she says, "Get out until I am finished..."

Agent Young cuts her off, something she shouldn't and wouldn't ever do as a child for fear of getting whipped. But the woman standing before the agent cannot be her mother, she just can't. And so Agent Young says, "How are you here...mother?"

Mother. The word feels strange in the aging agent's mouth. And as if answering her own question, she raises the gun to the throat of the being in front of her and says, "You cannot be here, you're dead."

Agent Young's breathing quickens. She always prided herself with the knowledge that her cognitive abilities are better than everyone else around her. Her sagaciousness always ensuring that she makes the best possible decisions in any circumstance. Without her sanity who would she be? Without her mind ensuring the consistency and potency of her knowledge and subsequent skillset, who would she be?

Agent Young pushes these thoughts away and fires at the thing in front of her before waiting for an answer to any of these confusing emotions and thoughts. The figures face turns into whisps of smoke as the bullet passes through it. A thud resounds as it lodges into the wall behind. The smile with no joy written anywhere leaves the woman's face. A look of sadness almost appears to replace it.

She says dryly, "You shouldn't have done that...daughter."

Confused and startled Agent Young shoots again, then again, and again. Each time the bullets pass directly through the head of her target having never made contact. Again, the lights flicker, but this time when they turn back on the troubling woman is gone. Still breathing hard Agent Young turns to leave and ponder what had just happened, or rather what obviously didn't happen for it is impossible to happen. Ever since she came to Wisconsin things started to happen to her that she cannot explain; things seen that couldn't be there, dangerous hallucinations that she somehow feels has a connection to the case. But as she turns something red and innocent catches the sharp eye of Agent Young. A red river lily is lying beside the toilet.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

INSANITY

Insanity is akin to that of a terminal illness. Once it takes a hold of its afflicted there is no cure, nothing to alleviate it. It sneaks up on individuals as it sinks its dangerously sharp claws into its clueless prey. When it first begins, what remaining logical thought we have retained is cajoled by the worm that is insanity to make excuses supporting our insane thoughts and desires, our delusions and hallucinations. Farragoes of thoughts often run rampant as there are two realities that our brain is trying to comprehend. But once insanity has reached its full strength, there is nothing that can sway the victim's new reality. The insanity is so concrete it appears that it was always so.

No one, no matter how intelligent or sagacious and sound minded, is immune to the tendrils of insanity. In fact, those of greater intellect are often more susceptible to the affliction because of their propensity towards intransigence, stubbornness and egotistical behavior. When your intellect leads you to believe you are always correct, whether this may be the case or not, it welcomes insanity to its new home...you. But now that insanity has found its new home in you breeding chaos; with so much mayhem and lunacy already in the world that begs the notion, maybe everyone is insane.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A NEXUS EVENT

Agent Prince lies down in his hotel bed with trepidation. He dreads going to sleep every night. Not due to restlessness or nightmares, he hadn't had a nightmare since the first night, but because the lack of them, because the lack of everything. Every night he gets into his night clothes, which is just a another way of saying he strips down to his underwear and gets beneath the warm green covers of his hotel suite.

The young agent would stare out the glass walls across the lit-up city of Eau Claire trying to fall asleep. The varnished pine table and chairs and lamp in the bottom of his eye. And every morning the agent wakes up fatigued on top of his covers in his black suit with the dark green blankets all made as if he had never slept. And indeed, it felt as if that was so. Agent Prince never remembered anything about getting dressed, making his bed, hell even getting out of his bed in the first place. The befuddled agent couldn't remember anything about the previous night.

The young agent again stares at the glass windows thinking of what can possibly be happening to him. His mind wanders to his supportive Maggie, the one thing that had always kept him sane and motivated. Agent Prince longs for her touch just once more, to tell him that he will be able to overcome what is thrown his way. Maggie has always been the supporting girlfriend. The person everyone dreams about but never meeting. To Agent Prince she seems perfect. Supportive, kind, funny, and always there when her Magnus Prince needs him. But nothing is ever as it seems. This kind of blind and loving loyalty doesn't exist.

When Agent Prince isn't looking, when he was gone at his classes or at work, Maggie had a habit of bedding men. Not wanting to lose Agent Prince she tries to alleviate her guilt by treating him with the utmost respect and loyalty when they are together. Despite her tendencies she loves the young man, loves who he is and who he wants to be. And despite herself, she also loves the ego boost of dating a federal agent. And so, through their years of dating Maggie had fallen into a habit of sleeping with other men while Agent Prince fell further into loving ignorance.

Agent Prince hears what sounds like gunshots coming from Agent Young's room right next to him and smirks slightly. That old, unhinged agent always seems to be doing something bizarre. No warnings go off in the drowsy agent's mind as he hears the gunshots and proceeds to fall asleep.

Something wakes up Agent Prince in the middle of the night. Everything is so still, so quiet that one might hear the sighing of the dead. The agent walks across the gray carpeting and dresses before making his bed. Agent Prince walks out the hotel's door and into the hallway. He takes the elevator down from the third floor to the first and goes to the black Range Rover parked nearby. Several minutes later he finds himself pulling into the deserted parking lot of the Medical Examiner. Agent Prince exits the vehicle and walks up to the locked back door of the building. He ensures to stay out of the view of the security cameras doing their best to patrol the surrounding territory. Agent Prince reaches for his pistol and shoots the door, blowing the lock. The silencer on his nine-millimeter only allowing the sound similar to that of a BB gun to escape. The young agent walks into the deathly quiet building. As he walks across the tiled floor of the upper office, his shoes clack softly. Getting into the elevator it takes him to the lower story where Doctor Robert Sinclair and his awkward son do most of their gritty work.

Forebodingly the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Doctor Sinclair and his apprentice look over in surprise. The building is locked, safe, which means someone broke in. They recognize a second later that it is Agent Prince, and their nerves are calmed slightly. But a slight intake of breath escapes Doctor Sinclair's mouth when he sees the empty and dead face of the agent. His eyes have a white film over them while the color of his face is almost completely drained.

"Why are you here? Everything alright?" Doctor Sinclair asks nervously.

Agent Prince doesn't reply as he swiftly walks across the room. Benjamin Sinclair steps around his father to greet the young agent that he cannot help but admire. An instinct goes off in the Doctor and he grabs several sheets of paper and stuffs them in his mouth to swallow. Something is off with the young agent in front of him. Doctor Sinclair shudders at the memory of the Agent's eyes. The good doctor turns to see Agent Prince point his gun at Benjamin and fire. Blood spurts from the fatal wound in the boy's chest. He slumps to the floor gasping for breath. Coughing raggedly, blood sprays from the boy's mouth as he lays there. A plethora of unexplainable and unimaginable emotions rocket through the mind of the good Doctor as he sees in shock and horror his son get shot right before him. Tears burst from his face as he collapses to his knees beside his dying son. They look into each other's eyes and Benjamin smiles slightly trying to say something but cannot. Then, the boy exhales for the last time. Doctor Sinclair looks up to Agent Prince, his grip tightening around the scalpel in his hand.

"I don't care your reasoning or your story, that is my son," Doctor Sinclair cries out grief stricken.

Doctor Sinclair springs to his feet with surprising speed. He thrusts the scalpel at Agent Prince's chest, never wanting to inflict pain so badly before. He is a good doctor, a kind doctor, and a fair doctor. And although his job is slicing dead people open, Doctor Sinclair would never hurt anyone...unless you mess with his family. Something inhuman awakes within the doctor. Emotionlessly Agent Prince sidesteps the doctor's wild swing and shoots the determined man in the head, blood spattering everywhere.

+ + +

Agent Prince groggily wakes up in his bed wearing one of his sharp and uncomfortable suits that he despises but his girlfriend loves. He snorts slightly remembering the grin on her face on his first day of work. She insisted on him wearing a suit, saying that all federal cops where them and its "just tradition". Agent Prince looks down at his clothes and freezes. Dried blood is splattered on his suit. He tries to remember anything about the night but can't. Just then there is a knock on the door and Agent Young's beckoning voice.

In a blur he hears her say loudly, "Prince, we need you now. You weren't answering your phone. The ME and his son were murdered last night."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE CORMORANTS (DITTO)

Agent Prince stares at the gruesome and heartless scene in front of him. A feeling of déjà vu flickers through him as he grimaces. The scene before them is organized akin to that of the Cormorants. Instead of an orchestra, a touching father-son duet is laid out before the two silent federal agents and accompanying forensic crew. The son, Benjamin Sinclair, with his unruly blond hair is positioned playing an alto saxophone. His father is positioned next to his son behind a mini grand piano. His face seems to be engulfed in lost emotion as he plays a symphony. They are frozen in place without anything keeping them there. Agent Prince remembers the strange organic material that the good doctor had found, and a chill runs down his back. Once again, he wishes he is back with his comforting girlfriend. But then he remembers the families of the Cormorants and the innocence of Doctor Sinclair and his talkative son. He must find the villain responsible for such heinous crimes. Again, a feeling of déjà vu flashes through Agent Prince, making him hesitate as he steps around the erected bodies. He looks to the pink roses replacing the Doctor's and son's eyes. Whoever is doing these grotesque atrocities to these innocent people deserves to be locked up for the rest of their ugly life.

Agent Prince looks to Agent Young who is kneeling closer to the bodies, but still out of the pool of blood with its carefully scrawled designs through it. She is staring at the bodies intently, her brow furrowed deep in mentation. After sighing, she gets back to her feet and walks around to the metal tables that have various equipment and tools on them. All around, you can hear the shutter click of the forensic team's cameras going off as they document the scene of carnage and all its surroundings. Agent Young walks over to a table with documents marked with observations Doctor Sinclair noted during his autopsies. Typically, the results would be filed away in the office above, but these are not. She looks to see what their date is, and it reads September 11th, 2021, yesterday. Quickly, the grim agent scans the documents hoping to find something useful, but to no avail. She wants answers to all the unanswered questions the doctor left them with about the strange organic layer of skin found on the Cormorants and how the blood on the floor was the culmination of hers, Magnus Prince, and the rest of the crew. A chill runs down Agent Young's back begging the question; who's blood is it now on the floor beneath the good Doctor and his son?

"Everything alright?" Agent Prince asks from behind, noticing the typical revelry in crime gone from her.

Agent Young turns and is about to make a glib remark when she sees that Agent Prince seems to be in a sort of shock and realization as well.

Instead, she says gruffly, "I will be upstairs, if you need me holler but make sure I can't hear you."

As Agent Young leaves, she takes one last glance behind her. She sees Agent Prince examining the mutilated bodies and for a minute appreciates the toughness of his young stomach. Just like her partner Rob-. Agent Young cuts herself off, burying the resurfacing thought in depths that rival the Mariana Trench. It isn't that Agent Young is just insufferably stubborn about new blood, not wanting a new partner. But it is that Agent Prince reminds her so much of her old one, Robbie. The sweet innocence and iron determination. Although he was a few years older than her he always acted half her age. She had found Robbie irresistible, one of the only things that kept her from being engulfed by her darkness. When he was murdered, she vowed to never attach herself to anything again, so although that blasted Director Grayson assigned them together Agent Prince will never be her partner, he can't.

Later that day Agent Prince and Young sit at their opposing desks in the temporary headquarters for their investigation into the strange homicides. Typically, Agent Prince would be trying to bounce questions and investigative observations off Agent Young in hopes of finding a break in the case. But today not even Agent Prince is saying anything. Both sit silently at their desks not saying a word or looking at each other. A reticence has washed over the other officers and agents as well. Only the clacking of keyboards, mouses, and other appliances resound within the abandoned Ma's Floral Emporium.

Suddenly Agent Rashidi makes a loud exclamation of joy. Everyone in the room looks over to him which prompts his cheeks to redden. Just as soon as they looked to him the ensemble turns their heads back to whatever task they are or are not doing. Agent Rashidi picks up his laptop and stands, walking over to Agent Prince and Young. Swallowing hard he approaches the aloof Agent Young. While he would much rather talk to Agent Prince, the veteran agent is definitely the leader of the two. Despite his unease, enthusiasm can't help but bubble through him as he lays his laptop on Agent Young's desk. Annoyed she raises an eyebrow and straightens out the Apple device, so it is aligned with the other appliances on her desk.

"What?" she asks gruffly.

"I found something," Agent Rashidi says and beckons for Agent Prince to come over as well. "I don't know how this could be buried this deep, but it was. There is a shady businessman who made his fortune by way of selling legal and illegal high-value and profile paintings to the highest bidder. He lives outside of Eau Claire in his enormous estate. He has become somewhat of an ominous figure to the locals. Over the years he always kept a staff of servants, janitors, for upkeep of his giant mansion. Now get this, many of them disappeared over time. On several occasions local police were involved in investigating the billionaire but nothing was ever proved, and most was swept under the rug."

"Could be our guy. Most solid lead we have had yet," Agent Prince says, a new flicker of energy lighting itself in him.

Agent Young purses her lips and says, "How old is he?"

"Seventy-seven," Agent Rashidi answers.

"He isn't an artist, but close to it, I guess. A love of art is most assuredly there," Agent Prince says thoughtfully.

"The guy's name is Alistair Mann," Agent Rashidi says ecstatic.

"Let's go give this Alistair Mann a visit then," Agent Young says slyly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PROMISE

It is a cool day for September and the clouds blot out the warming sun. There is a strange mist as well when Agents Young and Prince pull up to Alistair Mann's rural home after driving down an eerie and misty countryside road with trees that hang over the road with sinister intent. Several deer run out into the road, causing Agent Young to slam on the brakes. They continue in trepidation now making sure to keep their eyes peeled. Soon, they round a bend in the road and sprawled out before them is a large mansion. Agents Young and Prince drive through the open gates and passed overgrown gardens that emanated hints of past beauty. They marvel at the magnificence and grandness of the manor lying before them. Various sections are themed differently; one part resembles that of a medieval castle and another more of a modern mansion, yet another section resembles a quiet log cabin though dialed to a scale much bigger. Another section makes one reminisce about the architecture of the Victorian era and yet another seems to model England in its industrial revolution.

The two agents step out of their vehicle and walk to the great marbled staircase. On either side of the staircase are great quartz pillars that rise a couple stories before connecting to the porch ceiling. This area of the mansion seems to be the most modern with beautiful white concrete walls and many glass windows that span entire floors. The design is random, some glass walls extend even around corners before polished white concrete continues again. Agent Prince rings the doorbell and the two wait for an answer. A woman answers the door. She has a small smile on her face and looks utterly exhausted. Her long yellow hair cascades down with grace and her jet-black eyes are absolutely riveting.

"How may I help you two?" she asks kindly.

Agent Young returns a warm smile and says politely but with authority, "My name is Agent Charli Young, and this is..." Agent Young hesitates for a moment before continuing, "Agent Magnus Prince, we are with the FBI, and we have some questions for an Alistair Mann."

Agent Prince looks to his stubborn partner with total surprise. He has never seen the woman smile before and didn't think she was capable of speaking with such calm politeness. He desperately wants to make a comment and is sad that now is most assuredly not the place.

"Oh, um. Sure, come in."

The woman leads them into a grand entryway with a vaulted ceiling several stories high. There are three magnificent glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in a staggered pattern. Sunlight shines through high-set glass windows and glint beautifully through the chandeliers and onto the mahogany floor. As they walk through the great room Agent Prince gawks at the many paintings hung up on the walls. Other pieces of art and statues are placed elegantly on stands. Some of them worth hundreds of thousands, maybe millions.

"Is that a Van Gough?" Queries Agent Young.

Alistair Mann's daughter smiles modestly and replies, "Yes, it is. My father has a slight obsession with art, as I am sure you can see."

"Your father?" Agent Young asks.

"Yes," Rachel blushes and smiles smally.

The three continue walking, Rachel leading them into a smaller room decorated with a couple scarlet couches and black oak coffee tables on their ends. The walls are also sided with black oak and on them more paintings. Impressionism, abstract, expressionism, surrealism, and other pieces hang proudly beckoning someone's gaze. Rachel motions for the two federal agents to sit. Agent Prince sits on one of the luxurious scarlet couches while Agent Young sits on a simpler oak chair.

"If you agents would wait right here, I will go fetch Alistair Mann," Rachel says.

"I'm sorry, but we didn't get your name," Agent Prince says as she is leaving.

Rachel turns, her cheeks reddening. "Oh, how rude of me. My name is Rachel."

"Rachel Mann," Agent Young says, musing.

"Um, yes."

Rachel turns and walks out the door. When she is out of ear shot Agent Prince says, "This is quite a remarkable home."

Agent Young chews on her lip, pondering, then says, "Remarkably distasteful. I find it meretricious and ostentatious."

Just then, Alistair Mann limps into the room, his cane clacking on the floor. Both Agents are surprised at the sight of him. He is of average build and slightly below average height. He looks to be in his seventies, the years of life and work weathering his face ruddy and wrinkled. Hair that used to be curly blond is now bleached white with gray flecks throughout it. With age his waistline also grew. But the most apparent thing about the man is his attire. He is wearing bright blue trousers with pineapples speckled on them. A tropical button up shirt hangs loosely around his torso and proudly sitting on the top of his head is a purple top hat one might have worn in the 1800s.

Alistair Mann walks across the room with surprising speed for one with a cane. As the seconds pass, Agent Prince feels less and less sure about what seemed like such a promising lead. The elder stops at Agent Young and looks to her knowingly.

"Dear lady, you are sitting in my chair," his voice deep and gravelly.

Rachel's cheeks redden and after a second of consideration Agent Young gets to her feet and sits on the opposite end of the couch Agent Prince is occupying. Alistair Mann sits down with a sigh.

"When I was a boy," Alistair Mann says distantly and sadly, "my father would come home from work drunk every day. The mines were hard on him and after the death of his newborn he snapped. Drinking was the only thing that comforted him. He was not a good or sagacious man. He terrorized mom and us kids, the six of us. And our collective fear and pity of him drove him more insane and more to the bottom of the bottle. One day after coming home particularly drunk he called for our mom, Agnus. Hesitantly she walked to the front door, knowing another beating was coming her way. Our dad grabbed her by the ears and pummeled her poor body until her screaming stopped. Us kids cowered and watched helpless. There was nothing we could do; I was the eldest and at the time I was seven. But there was something we could do, there was something I could do. And so, as I watched my mom's body fall to the ground limp and lifeless, I ran into the house and fetched the 45 Long Colt. Back on the porch my father stood over my mom's dead body just staring at it, his eyes obviously far off in some other realm. Without hesitating I pointed the revolver at my father and shot him dead. It was horrible but necessary. He killed my mom."

A tear slides down Alistair Mann's cheek. Finally, a way out of this haunted house and memories. A confession and arrest seem to be indeed what he needs. An opportunity Alistair Mann cannot pass over. Finally, after all this time he can own up to the many lives he took over the years of his staff. Alistair Mann leans forward in his chair to rise to his feet when suddenly he shakes violently. It passes as quickly as it came.

Alistair Mann leans back in his recliner and smiles, an expression devoid of any joy or emotion. The fingers of his right hand strum the armrest of the chair rhythmically.

He sees Agent Young about to ask something but instead he interjects with a deadly calm, "Do you know what happens when an abused child grows up without any healing? His shattered mind and unresolved trauma get blasted onto all those around tenfold. And you know what? That child enjoys it...greatly."

Alistair Mann grips the revolver hidden on his left side, readying to shoot the two standing before him when abruptly his head twitches. He looks to his servant sitting nearby, a dazed look on his face. She is wearing a simple dirty-red blouse and jeans. There is a sadness in her eyes as she sits there, a familiarity to. The girl reminds him of his lost daisy, his daughter, his Rachel. Killing her is his biggest regret.

"I am no different than my father," Alistair Mann whispers, his eyes cast down.

Then he looks to the two people sitting in front of him. A younger man and a middle-aged woman. Both look strong, wise, and both are well dressed too in classy black suits. Alistair Mann wonders why they are here and for that matter why he is here. The last he remembers is lazing in his recliner in the log cabin.

Alistair Mann takes a sharp intake of breath. "I think I killed some nice people," he says slowly. "But I can't remember why."

Alistair Mann contorts once more, then he sits up straight in his seat. Rachel stands and walks over to him, concern written all over her face.

"Are you alright, father?" she asks.

"It's Doctor," Alistair Mann responds, "I am a doctor, dammit."

Rachel's swallows what she is about to say, then says, "Yes, sorry Doctor."

"What, what is happening?" Questions Agent Prince.

Alistair Mann looks to the young agent then to the female agent. A sly smile tugs at the corners of the old man's mouth. Both would be a fine addition to the collection of brains he is dissecting in his workshop. Such fierce intensity and wits must influence the biology and physiology of a human, but how? Emotionlessly he stares at them, contemplating what he should do with them. Their bodies will have to be disposed of, naturally, but that would not be a problem. Alistair Mann steals a glance at his daughter. She tries to mask her fear but is doing a poor job of it. That emotion is prevalent all throughout her face and frame. Out of all the emotions fragile human beings have, Alistair Mann understands fear the most. He understands its necessity if felt with temperance. It keeps people alive and safe and keeps stupid people from doing stupider things.

"Are you addressing me?" Questions Alistair Mann in response to Agent Prince's query. "Because if you are, you address me as Doctor."

Then, Alistair Mann abruptly twitches again. His head lags to the side for a second before straightening slightly. His gaze is distant and sad once more, distracted.

Slowly and tiredly, he says, "I killed my father, and I am haunted because of it. My fortune, deserve I not of it any longer. Take me now."

Rachel motions to the two agents to follow her out the door and after a moment they listen. The three of them stand in a circle. Rachel can see the skeptical, confused, and hostile looks on their faces, well, mainly on the young agents face. The woman agent is a mask of undiscernible emotions.

Rachel clears her throat and says, "My father has had dementia for several years now. Lately, within the last couple months, it has gotten exceedingly worse. The doctors say that he doesn't have much longer to live and the most peaceful option is to just let him live them out in his own fantasy world that he has created."

"Is it possible that his fantasy world spilled into everyone else's reality? He has strangely violent fantasies," Agent Prince asks.

Rachel is obviously nervous to the two agents. She clears her throat again and says quiet and as polite as she can manage, "You have seen him, seen the state of his mind and body. You know that he is incapable of committing whatever it is you have come here to question him about. He is fragile, weak."

The lights in the mansion flicker off. A silence so quiet it would even unnerve the dead rolls across the already silent mansion. The three figures standing in the hallway turn to look in the lounge they were just in. They see Alistair Mann by the natural light cast by the sun still sitting in his recliner, but he is rigid and tense, fear seeming to gush over his body. The three step into the room and are immediately engulfed by cold gray smoke. All three stop dead in their tracks. A similar feeling to when she encountered or envisioned that thing that professed to be her mother flutters its way through Agent Young. A drowsiness seems to wash over Agent Prince as he begins to forget, to fall "asleep". Rachel closes her eyes, trying to stay calm. Everything that has happened to her, to them, to her father is all her fault. Rachel is meaningless, a commodity that should have never existed.

A presence makes itself known behind the four cowering people in the room. Agents Prince and Young look at each other and with a nod they both pivot on their feet simultaneously drawing their nine-millimeters. Both instantly freeze in place when they see the being standing before them. It smiles warmly to their horrified expressions. Its dead and rotting face exposes teeth, muscle, bones, and tendons beneath. Spiderwebs of ice sprawl across the beings body on everchanging places. And where its legs should be the torso disappears into thick gray smoke. The creature extends its decaying arm towards Agent Prince, its long claws that could pass for fingers pointing at the helpless young man. Then the thing points to Agent Young and to Rachel.

"You shouldn't have looked," it says in a surprisingly quiet voice, but the malevolence behind it still sending chills down the backs of all those who hear.

Shaking, Alistair Mann gets to his feet making sure to never look at the unearthly creature in front of him. He grabs the gun out of Agent Prince's hands and begins to position his appendages like he is playing a flute, there would be time to find a real one later. His clothes are fine, that doesn't need to be changed, same with Agent Young, but Rachel's will need to be. A blouse and jeans are not proper attire for an orchestra.

As Alistair Mann prepares Agent Prince, it is not the death, gore, or killing that bothers him. It is the lack of control of oneself and the malevolent thing controlling him. Alistair Mann chortles quietly. Despite the ungodly thing behind him, humans still manage to be the evilest creatures on Earth. They kill millions of animals and millions more of their fellow humans. They knowingly pollute their home without a care. They persecute others because of their beliefs, or the color of their skin. Alistair Mann can hear an intake of breath as the last bits of color drain from Agent Prince's body. His blood turns into a fine mist and escapes through his orbitals. His eyes pop out of socket and Alistair Mann catches them. The blood drifts through the air and into the creature's mouth and nose, obviously relishing the red. Alistair Mann leaves the room for a second, forgetting his cane by the recliner and comes back with a bouquet of pink roses. He sets a couple in the orbitals of Agent Prince's eyes. The old man then looks to the left where Rachel is frozen and to the right where Agent Young is frozen. He takes a step for Rachel when something hits him in the back. Confusion courses through him for a moment, then he starts to choke. Blood gurgles up his throat and out of his mouth. Alistair Mann falls as his legs give out. Just as the pain hits him his eyes close happily, glad to be finally free of the evil controlling him.

The evil creature is stunned for perhaps the first time in its amazingly long life. While he was relishing the goodness Agent Prince yielded to him, he failed to notice the cops showing up at the mansion. He failed to extend his demoralizing and cold aura around them. Maybe this is better though. From what they witness they see an old man somehow keeping two federal agents and a woman, his daughter, completely frozen. Blood completely drained from one of the agents without any whereabouts as to where it went. And his pet is dead, shot in the back. The confusion and trauma sparked by this will reverberate in people for years to come. The necrotized creature smiles inwardly as it folds in on itself and vanishes.

Agent Young and Rachel unfreeze. Collectively they take in a gasp, then Rachel takes in another when she sees the dead body of her father and Agent Prince. The youthful and handsome looking agent is frozen in place as if playing a flute. His eyes are gone, and pink roses take their place. Agent Young looks on at the scene as well, swallowing hard but otherwise showing no outward fear, shock, or sadness. For perhaps the first time in her life she struggles to keep the mask up. The cop who shot the old man stumbles into the room a confused expression washed all over his face. A couple seconds later another cop walks in, then another.

"Are you alright?" one of the cops ask the two women.

Rachel nods her head wordlessly, tears coursing down her face as she kneels by her dead father.

Agent Young says dryly staring at the still form of Alistair Mann, "We found The Symphony Orchestra Killer."

THE END...