Episode 4--C
People watching from above. It was interesting, sometimes. They felt like they had a birds eye view of the city, even though they were only a few stories above everyone else, and it reminded them of how they'd felt weeks before. By now, it was starting to get frustrating, the way that they were missing it. They were circling above, and they couldn't quite see the right details. In fact, the more Alex went through the same actions again and again, the more they began to suspect that they were thinking too far up. That they had to stoop to conquer, that it was pointless to try to look from afar if they weren't going to swoop in.
At the same time, they knew what happened to those who didn't look before they leapt. And so Alex stared down into the darkness, and at the streetlights, and tried to imagine the killer hiding there. Down below. It was clear that they weren't looking to be lionized, they weren't trying to draw attention.
They were acting as if they already knew they were prey. Alex could tell, because if they wanted to be known, it'd be easy to announce themselves, easy to send letters to taunt the police, using the dead. Instead, they behaved as if they were vulnerable, maybe even very vulnerable, and whatever they were doing, it was very, very careful.
It had not left any obvious physical signs so far, so it was probably smart to guess that it didn't leave signs. They had a number of possibilities. They could continue to circle above, trying to figure out how they were hiding. They could swoop down, and yet if the killer got them as well…?
Or they could make a loud noise. Alex thought about it. Somehow scare them out of hiding, force them to reveal their position. But there was no good way to do so, and so they remained circling, uncertain, thinking through far too much, with far too little to show for it.
They knew that breakthroughs came, that all of the pieces would eventually fit themselves just right, but in the meantime, they kept their eyes peeled, and began the long, arduous and time-consuming research into the supernatural.
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Ever talk to teenagers? James Morris has. They were hard to deal with at the best of times, but when they thought of themselves as activists, it was even harder. Still, they all talked eventually, once he called them in to ask about what they'd been doing. And the answers were all simple enough, and they hadn't seen anything. But what they did know is the structure of Mid-Hill, and it was...very interesting. Very, very interesting, in fact.
It was hard to get them to talk about the right things, and it was even harder when he didn't know what those even were, really. But he was a detective, it said it on the badge and everything, and that meant he didn't knuckle under the first time that things got a little bit rough.
So, he dug and dug and dug, and did it all with a smile on his face. Alex could be brusque sometimes, and worse than that, they could jump around the point as if it was a sin to ever tell the truth or ask straight out.
James, on the other hand, was careful, but determined.
"So," one boy, Bart Kane, said, frowning up at him. He was short, and James was tall, and he seemed to be fidgeting, "Mr. Sellers told us about the protest, and we had to go, right? I mean, you can't let the enemy ever get a break, right?"
"Mr. Sellers?"
"He teaches debate," Bart said, rolling his eyes as if this was obvious, as if Mr. Sellers was such a celebrity that everyone should have heard of him. "He's brilliant."
"Brilliant?" James asks.
"Has a PhD and stuff, used to work at a university. You know, brilliant." Again, the scoffing.
"Ah, so he mentioned the march?"
"Duh. He's always talking about politics and ethics and what's right and wrong and systemic racism and the way sexism works and--"
"I think I get it," James said, nodding firmly. "Now, I'm curious, who else is in the class?"
James had had a...thought. Or three.
He wasn't sure whether he wanted it to be right or not.
******
Exodus: But," he said, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live."
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An old story: In 1437, there was uproar in Germany around a weird seer kid (not what the stories called him, but Alex didn't care) who seemed to be able to predict when a person would die. He declared the day of death of each person, and soon enough a local prince took him up, keeping up as his pet seer, and his truth seemed absolute, despite confusion from authorities. But then he started to get dates wrong. He'd announce a man had a year to live, and then he'd die within a day. He began to go mad, as such things were told, and the prince kicked the boy out, fifteen by that point.
The day before he died, on the streets of his town, he was raving, or so people report, about seeing black wings hovering over him, and hearing the laughter of devils. Mocking him!
He died the next night in his sleep, and, as a strange figure, with nobody to care for him, he was buried in a pauper's grave.
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Another story. A French alchemist in the 17th century claimed to have discovered the secret name of God. He said that with it he could kill anyone, but he did not say what that name was. He kept this secret to his grave, dying young.
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Yet another story. In ancient Japan, there was a rumor of curse-bearers, strange oni that could appear to only certain people, and only just before their death.
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In Southeast Africa there were rumors that if you sung the names of your enemies on the wind, they would die within a week.
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In India, in the 20th century, a strange cult formed claiming that there were 108 Gods. It died without much fanfare.
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People told a thousand stories, and all of them wildly different. But the focus on death, in the stories that Alex sought out, was pretty obvious. The face or name of God seemed important in some of them, and in others it was the understanding that was important. If you understood other people, you could kill them.
Alex understood that, in their own way. There was no consistent rule, no easy answer, but somewhere in the stories there was something true. They just had to find it. They sighed, rubbing their eyes, hoping that James was having better luck. It was amusing, reading stories as if that were their job, but sooner or later it was going to have to turn into action.
In the meantime, though, there were thoughts, there were considerations, and there was something to consider.
Names. Names mattered. Or did they? It was strange, reading supernatural stories and trying to assume they were true.
Or could be.
*******
That Sunday , an email came from an email they'd never seen before, to their official police email.
'Hey Alex.
Stupid that you never told me your last name. This stupid website doesn't have any fucking pictures, and there are a hell of a lot of "Alexes" out there, you know? But really, Pulaski? You ain't polish, Alex. Just call it a street hunch.
So, yeah, this is Darius, and I've been looking into the limp. I didn't kill anyone, either, and I'm expecting home-made cookies from you for it, because fuck me if it isn't Slick Willy. This little nobody's limping around from me driving him off.
Y'know, what led to my boy getting murdered in the first place? I kicked him in the leg a lot because he kept on going for a gun, and if he's involved, that really fucking narrows things down, if you can just find the driver.
By the way, head's up, this ain't going to be a quiet Fall down in the hood. There's some real shit brewing.
See ya, Darius.'
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"Thank you for telling me, Alex," Frankie said, "Though I could have guessed it. It's just horrible, the way this keeps on going forever, and yet just...not doing anything doesn't help it." She sighed, looking up from her coffee. Alex leaned over her, frowning at her. She looked way too tired, which usually meant she'd been staying up. "You have the systemic problems but you're a cop, you know? You solve murders, or you bust drug dealers, you can't really fix everything. It's not your job, but you want to."
"I understand," Alex said, nodding. It was cultural, it was political, maybe people at the top could change policy, but people at the bottom just had to enforce it. "Still, it's gang stuff, you can at least pay attention to it."
"Yeah, we're pursuing all possible leads. At least that's what we've been told to do." Frankie rubbed her own hair a little absently, "Trying to find a big bust for November."
Alex nodded. "A big bust...hrm."
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"Guess who is on his way to supplanting you?" James asked, on Monday morning.
"You?" Alex guessed, leaning back. They had a mustache on their face, and a rather prominent beard. They looked in fact, like an old time miner had somehow been forced to wear a business suit, and it fit their somewhat playful mood. Things weren't going any better, really, but they'd had a decent night out drinking the previous night, and it did feel like they were running in circles anymore.
"You don't make it fun if you guess it immediately." James sighed, "It's like you're a detective or something. So, I was digging into something--"
"Like you're a detective or something."
James paused. "You know, I deserve that. So, more important than your sass is the fact that the second victim used to go to a Debate class run by Mr. Sellers. The football star. His ex girlfriend, his football playing best friend, and his friend, Rachel, all go to that same Debate class, as do five of the six Mid-Hill students who were at the rally. And Mr. Sellers talks about politics a lot, and about injustice. Don't have any clips of him talking, but just looking online with the help of a nephew pulled up a lot."
Alex lacked nephews who could tell him about "the social medias" and so they were forced to struggle along on their own, feeling old when they were only in their thirties. "Like?"
"He's stated before that if the system is broken, radical change is needed, and he talks a lot about all sorts of politics. The exact sort of people who would be targets are all he talks about, and he's important, right? Very respected by a lot of students, and very outspoken. He could have easily influenced students to put stuff up on GuiltMonger, if he was the killer trying to hide his tracks, and even if he isn't, the fact that he's talking about all of this means he could be the inspiration to whoever did it. He talks about the evils of the world, the person gains the ability to fix it, and there you go."
Alex stared at him. "We...we have to listen in. If he's a source, then that means we can…"
"Yeah, though that's going to be a little hard, you know. It's a school," James pointed out, "Talking to him's easier, right now. But we can figure something out, I suppose."
"Hopefully."
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On Tuesday, October 26th, Arthur Ash commits suicide. Like a majority of people who do so, he did not leave a note.
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Actions (Alex) (Choose 2)
[] [Alex] Try to find a way to get information on Mr. Sellers without talking to him. There must be a way to sneak something in or...something.
[] [Alex] Talk to Mr. Sellers.
[] [Alex] Talk to Rachel.
[] [Alex] Talk to someone else (write-in).
[] [Alex] Continue looking on Guiltmonger for likely 'candidates.'
[] [Alex] Follow the news: perhaps the next murder will be 'seen' there.
[] [Alex] Look into more supernatural stories, dig deeper.
[] [Alex] Ask CIs about this 'Slick Willy' and keep on digging. It's definitely getting closer.
[] [Alex] Write-in.
James Actions (Choose 1)
[] [James] Use the nephew! Perhaps he might have insights about this "GuiltMonger" element.
[] [James] Talk to someone!
-[] Write-in who.
[] [James] Examine the physical evidence on the Rick case, is there anything that can link Willy to the crime scene that they missed?
[] [James] Now that all but one of the people in the audio is dead, perhaps the last survivor, Mr. Abramson, would be even more likely to put pressure on others, out of fear if nothing else.
[] [James] Look into the four murder, is there anything that's been missed here? Was the suicide also part of the habit of ironic/suitable deaths?
[] [James] Write in. Really, there's a lot of options when it comes to James, he's cleverer than you think.
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A/N: The falcon circles, trying to figure out how to flush out the rabbit. End of Episode 4.
