Lilly – Part 2

Collinsport. Vera Marie Endecott, who was really Lillian Margaret Snow, having been murdered in 1929, has been resurrected, and her soul transfigured into the body of her great-great-niece Natasha Snow. As part of a grand master plan orchestrated by one Count Andrea Petofi, the necromancer Nicholas Blair had held her captive in the basement of an abandoned farmhouse, until the authorities and members of Collins Investigations recently rescued her. Held now in protective custody by the Collinsport Police Department, Rhyaad de’Annar, at the insistence of Nicole Collins, has decided it is time to question her.

Part 2

St Clair watches as Rhyaad de’Annar nods and then looks across her desk at her, “Protective . . . for our sakes?”

“For ours and hers—“

Samantha Brook, sitting in the chair off to the side, rubbing her temples as if she had a bad headache, raises a hand to call attention to herself as she sighs, “Hey, Bacon Lady, do you have any aspirin or something?

“And she seems to want to talk to you to Miss Collins.” St. Clair finishes her sentence – not particularly happy with the sobriquet of ‘Bacon Lady,’ especially seeing as how Samantha Brook was not in a cell.

Rhyaad de’Annar though turned to glanced at her with concern, “First Harry Potter and now Bacon Lady . . . what kind of crazy pills has she been eating tonight?”

The Chief reaches over and St. Clair decides to once again overlook Brook, and in so doing reaches over and press the intercom, “Officer Mills, would you step up here for a moment?”

Nicole Collins raises an eyebrow – she is all cold reserve and resolute to the matter at hand, “Is she available?” God she would be formidable if she ever –

Officer Mills takes one final look at the jail cells, grumbles, flips on the record button on the CCTV camera and goes to the main entrance.

St. Clair shifts her shoulders as if trying to remove tension in them as she looks into those brilliant blue eyes – eyes that one could well get lost in, “Yes, in a bit—but there are a few things you might want to know first . . . “

Nicole Collins looks at her with interest, “Yes—you did say things have been a busy in Collinsport.”

Jamison smiles, “Precisely. First of all, it appears the situation here has rather dramatically changed in the last 24 hours. For example, Elijah Snow . . . I am sure you are aware of who he is.”

Nicole Collins nods, “Yes, he’s from Ipswich.”

“He and his sister—Narcissa . . . “ Rhyaad de’Annar begins to explain, “They did the ritual murders. They belong to Starry Wisdom.”

“Yes.” St. Clair looks at Nicole with a wry smile, “He is from Ipswich—my we are being rather coy tonight.”

The blue eyes remain emotionless, “I am sorry, St. Clair. I don’t mean to be – yes, I know of him. Elijah Snow . . . and, he is from Ipswich—a member of the very infamous Snow family. He is a self-ordained minister of the Church of the Starry Wisdom. And the eldest brother of Natasha and Narcissa Snow.”

“Yes Chief?’ Officer Mills asks stepping up to her desk.

“Would you mind helping our Miss Brook here? She seems to need something for pain, aspirin and maybe some hot coffee.”

“Yes, Chief.” Mills says in her usual efficient manner.

“And maybe a prozac or three,” de’Annar mutters under his breath.

Officer Mills looks at him almost as cold and resolute as Nicole Collins. She turns without comment and heads over to the office supply closet for a moment.

Agent Brown’s cell rings and he answers it, stepping away from the desk – out of range for eavesdropping, but not far enough if he was aware that Collins and de’Annar were undead. St. Clair watches Brown with interest – possible news from the remaining members of his team?

“And there’s a nice piece of work, Narcissa Snow. Very handy with a knife. Wanted in conjunction with unsolved murders in nine states.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry to much about her any more, Chief. She’s dead.” Nicole Collins informs her.

“Dead?” St. Clair asks inquisitive, “Oh, really?”

Officer Mills returns now with a bottle of pills and a blanket. On her way back from the supply closet she has stopped to pours a cup of coffee; and catches this last bit of their conversation.

“Yes. On a small island in the Miskatonic River down in Arkham.”

Rhyaad de’Annar turned to Miss Collins and raises an eyebrow. “Narcissa? You killed her?”

Officer Mills hands the coffee to Samantha Brook, and one of the pills, as she looks back at Spock, hearing the words, you killed her? “Here you go Miss.”

Samantha taking the coffee and the pills noticed the look in the officer’s eyes, a look she has seen before, and she feels a surge of panic – damned Rhyaad, older than the hills and at times dumber than a rock, “No—no . . . nobody killed anyone, that crazy Narcissy woman she fell and broke her neck on a rock. It was raining – it was all slick and wet.”

Officer Mills drapes the blanket over her back, and listens intently of this talk of killing – accidental or otherwise.

“I know the island,” St. Clair nods, “There is not much to be found on it. Not a tourist attraction . . .”

Samantha looks down at the pill, and then back up at the too suspicious Officer Mills, “Could I have the bottle?”

Nicole Collins remains silent.

Officer Mills gives her another pill but keeps the bottle, “Now we would not want you to overdose Miss.”

St. Clair looks at Nicole, and Nicole looks back.

Unsaid—everything that needed to be said.

Samantha Brook is beginning to break into a light sweat and she suddenly interrupts; “Is no one listening to a word I say? It is like I said. It was an accidental death.”

Officer Mills watches Samantha Brook intently.

Jamison St. Clair glances at the Brook woman – she is far too intent on deflecting the question of Narcissa Snow – and she is much too obvious about it. Mills is too good and Officer not to have caught it . . .

Samantha downs the pills without the coffee.

Rhyaad de’Annar cleared his throat nervously as he seem to have surmised that despite his concerns for the impending destruction of the world – that Officer Mills had seen through Samantha Brook’s bad lies—and he was growing agitated that too much emphasis was being put on the death of Narcissa Snow rather than where it should be, the oncoming Universal Destruction. If only Gregory were here—he thought to himself, “So Narcissa Snow is dead. Wow. A disagreeable and horrendous serial murder is no longer among the living. Well I say good! Now what about her equally unsavory brother, Elijah?”

Samantha Book glances up at Mills nervously, “Why are you lookin’ at me?”

Officer Mills smiles pleasantly, “I was just wondering if you were feeling better?”

“Will be when the pills kick in.”

St. Clair’s response is to look up at Miss Collins, “That could be worrisome, you know . . . the Snow are they – have alliances.”

‘That is not a concern.” Nicole Collins says evenly.

“The Metropolitan?”

‘Yes.”

Jamison notes that Officer Mills as pulled out a notebook and pen and is watching Brook and Collins intently.

“Miss Collins—I must say, you are becoming quite the provocateur.” And she leans forward, and says I a low voice, “You need to know that Elijah Snow is dead also.”

Samantha Brook not at all happy with this Officer Mills hovering over them says, “Ummm doesn’t this lil piggy have to get to market or something?” as she points at Mill’s and looks at St. Clair.

“Elijah’s dead?” Nicole Collins asks, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Officer Mills turns a stern glare on Samantha Brook, “An just who are you calling a pig?

Jamison St. Clair nods, “We found him this morning.”

Those cold blue eyes turn now to look at Samantha Brook, they grow a bit narrow and stern, “Samantha, please. Excuse her officer, she has had a rather long day.”

“That’s what I asked. Is Elijah dead also? Oh. . .” de’Annar pauses for a moment as if suddenly remembering something, “Stabbed, I presume?”

“Presume? Clairvoyant there, Mr. de’Annar?” Officer Mills asks. “Another of your many talents?”

Fairly certain she is not being compelled, but under the spell of Miss Collins’ mystique – which certainly is more than seductive for those of us with certain proclivities, St. Clair thinks, watches Samantha Brook’s rebellious attitude drop as she looks down, “Sorry Miss Nikki.”

“We found him this morning.” St. Clair begins, “Dead in his car. Looks like he has been dead or a couple of days actually – bled to death from,” She looks over that de’Annar, “A stab wound in the upper chest.”

“Oh no, do go on miss Brook,” Officer Mills, insists, “I’m so interested to hear all about this . . . accident .

Nicole Collins looks at St. Clair, “You think it was Narcissa?”

Rhyaad de’Annar nods as it is his assessment. “That would be his own sister’s work. Wonderful family, these Snows.” he says sarcastically.

Samantha glances up at Mill’s defensively, her temper worn thin from pain and worries as of late, “Well Miss Mills, I think there is a fish pond over there from the late Sheriff, so why don’t you come with me and I can help you climb up on those wet rocks and demonstrate just how you can frickin slip of a wet rock and break your frickin neck – unless you were there . . . and you have some other frickin idea as to what happened – which, might mean you’re the one who is so frickin Clairvoyant , seeing has how you have some ideas based on facts not in evidence, not having even been there to begin with, or maybe you do card readings too? “

“She seems as handy with her mouth as Narcissa was with a knife, Collins.” St. Clair says of Samantha Brook’s outburst.

“We have had a long trip, starting in Innsmouth.” Nicole Collins tells her and then looks at her, the blue eyes now gone very cold, “Has something changed since I left – between us?”

“No.” St. Clair tells her.

Officer Mills is unfazed by Miss Brook, “Well, actually, I was thinking more along the lines of this Miss Brook. How about you come with me and my partner, and we have a little informal chat away from any, “and she glances at Nikki for a moment, “little distractions.”

“It was Narcissa who killed the women, or at least some of them. She said so.” Rhyaad de’Annar says finally, perhaps, becoming aware that he was standing in the middle of a Police Station and that one in his position had to be careful what one said.

“Innsmouth?” St. Clair asks – that’s a wretched place, “Whatever in the h**l were you doing there?”

“It was the beginning of a riddle that lead to the Shinning Trapezohedron.”

“The Shinning T?” St. Clair asks looking a bit odd. She sat up now and glances sideways to Agent Brown, who had just hung up from a call. She looked over at Mills – things were getting a bit out of hand – she needed to just talk to Collins, without all these others around.

“Yes.”

de’Annar now turned his own blue eyes for just a moment on Officer Mills, and for just that brief instant they actually flashed. “I wish to have a private interview with YOU later, Officer Mills.” Before he quickly turned back to stare at Nikki.

St. Clair leans forward, shaking her head slightly, no, he still doesn’t get it. She drops her voice to almost a whisper as she asks Nicole Collins, “So you have it?”

She looked over surprised to find that for reason de’Annar was now all very excited by this prospect. “You have it! The T? Finally? Good. I need to get into touch with Gregory. And that crazy Dr. P. So that we can then prepare to make our trip to the sun.”

Mills looks sideways at him. They were all crazy.

“No—“ Nicole tells her, “It’s beyond this dimension.”

St. Clair sits back in relief, “Good! Just how far beyond?”

Of course, St. Clair observed that Rhyaad de’Annar looks now very confused as he stars back and forth between the two of them.

“Very far.”

“I thought the point of this whole excursion was for us to obtain the T for ourselves.” He asks now bewildered. “How can we trap Him and drop him into the Sun!”

Officer Mills glances briefly at the talk of dimensions and shining T’s, whatever they were and once again could not fathom why a good officer such as St. Clair allowed herself to be distracted by these occult loonies, “Why don’t I get you some more painkillers eh? Then we can have a talk.”

“St. Clair!” Nicole says rather brusquely.

Jamison St Clair was caught by the tone in Miss Collins’ voice as she says her name suddenly and raising a brow as she looks over to Officer Mills. “Perhaps you need to explain to me precisely what has happened here in Collinsport since we last spoke – I was unaware Jamison that certain aspects of this case were so publicly disseminated.”

St. Clair certainly wanted that cigarette.

She felt Agent Brown’s eyes upon her – as they were observing not just for himself but also for Alphonse. And yes, this conversation had gotten too far afield, too d***ed quickly, “Officer Mills, thank you. Agent Brown and I can handle this now.”

Mills looks at her, closes the notebook and nods, “If you say so Chief.” And the young officer steps away, unhappily, and returns to her cubical.

St. Clair looks at the expression on Rhyaad de’Anna face, what?

“As to the Shinning Trapezohedron. That, which was held in, has long since escaped . . . and so its now nothing more than a one way portal . . . something that can be used in any manner of nefarious ways to bring something we certainly do not want coming through.” She tells him.

“As well as the corrupting influence it has on those who gaze unwittingly into it.” Nicole Collins adds.

“Dexter?” St. Clair nods.

“Precisely.” Nicole Collins agrees.

“Perhaps . . . but I was hoping we could force our so-called-friend Praetorius to put old N-Tep back in his special place when this is all over.”

“What?” Nikki and St. Clair say simultaneously.

“Oh, that is a truly wonderful idea, Mr. de’Annar – but it is a misguided weapon pointed from the other side. All our research indicates that it can only be used as a one-way mechanism now, for allowing things through. “

“And there is no way he can be put back in?”

“No,” both St. Clair and Nicole Collins say.

“I hope you did not try to do anything with it, Miss Collins, you did not look into.”

“No—well aware of aware of it’s corrupting power I made certain that it was removed beyond our time and space and hidden away.”

“Good one less thing we have to worry about falling into the wrong hands—”

“I am sorry, but doesn’t it seem we should have kept it? Locked up in a secure place? Removed beyond our time and space? You mean in some other dimension?” Rhyaad de’Annar continues in his desire to have the gem – a desire no doubt driven by the influencing power of the gem itself . . . seeing as how he knew nothing of it’s history.

“Yes—A dimension very far away from ours”

“It’s not going to come back?” St. Clair asks.

“No it was taken by one who knows that the Darkness wanted it removed.” Nicole tells her, “And fear of the Darkness locks it away.”

“You have been busy Miss Collins.” St. Clair admits, and then frowns, “I also have some news you are not going to like very much, I fear.”

“What is that?”

“Blair checked out of the Inn. He’s gone.”

Officer Mills drops her notebook on her desk and grumbles to herself, sipping coffee, watching the closed circuit screen – something is going on here – and she is not at all certain what it is. This Nicole Collins – she had to admit, the woman exuded some form of powerful aura – more that mere culture, refinement and money. The Collins name – which had way too much power and influence in this town.

“Not surprising actually.” Nicole Collins says matter-of-factly.

“This is all very strange and disturbing . . . and I still think . . .” Rhyaad de’Annar says disagreeing with Collins, “Blair!” He clenches a fist. “That damned murderous necromancer. I’d very much like to know where he is. I want him dead.”

Jamison St, Clair turns now to look at Nicole Collins, her expression telling her that she had best find some way to control de’Annar. He was becoming far too loose a cannon.

“We thought he was still inside, but when our team entered, he was gone.” Agent Brown explains.

Samantha Brook looking over the steaming rim of her coffee smiles at de’Annar, “Well, Rhy if you go after him, don’t forget the leopard skin, “ and then she cackles happily at herself.

He glanced back at her. “I don’t intend to seduce him, Miss Brook. I intend to kill him.”

“Miss Collins!” Jamison now says using Nicole Collins’ earlier tone back at her.

“You would still look good in a leopard skin dress.” Brook continues to taunt him.

“Rhyaad, do please try and remember—where you are.” Nicole Collins says quietly.

Jamison St. Clair lifts an envelope and reaching over her desk extends it to Nicole Collins, “All we found was this. It’s a letter, addressed to you.”

Nicole steps over and takes the envelope, taking note that it had been opened.

She takes the letter out and reads it:

Miss Collins,
Events have taken a decidedly unforeseen turn, and as such I am sure you will understand our eventual confrontation must alas be postponed.

Enlisting HIS aid, what a grand stroke worthy of your father.

Jamison watches as Rhyaad de’Annar steps over to read over her shoulder. “So the bastard escaped!”

And so, let me say, please be assured, that you and yours shall always remain upmost in my thoughts as well as in my plans for the future.

Until we meet again.
Adieu,
Simon Orne

Collins, having finished the letter hands it over to de’Annar to read.

He let out a tiny noise that sounded like it should have come from a wolf. “When we meet again, I will show you what murder is, Mr. Orne.”

Nicole cuts him a sharp look of darkening blue eyes.

“I have Homeland Security watching the airports, but, I suspect we will not catch him.” Jamison tells her.

“No, he will just abandoned his current body and assumed another. He has lived far too long to be incautious now.”

“Just so.”

“What if you used an extrapolated list of aliases?” Brook now adds – yet once more giving St. Clair the impression there was more to Samantha Brook than the crazy façade she created – she had been after all part of Task Force 141. “All known aliases and names similar to the known ones?”

“Yes. We are doing that.” St. Clair tells her and then looks over at Nicole, “So you say you want to talk to Lillian Snow.”

“Yes.”

De’Annar stands sullen, shaking his head, “Well, it pains me not to be able to teach Blair a lesson about killing. But some day. Some night. He did say we would meet again. I shall look forward to it. Now what about the other, Petrofi? We must find him. He’s the one who can open this gate to Hell, or “he who shall not be named”, or whatever.”

St. Clair sends word to Officer Bishop to bring Natasha Snow up from her cell.

As Officer Bishop strode past her cubical toward the holding cells, Officer Mills rose from her monitor, and looked across the station. Chief St. Clair was still seated with that group of lunatics, which had arrived earlier. Carefully, waiting for her opportunity, Officer Mills watches and was soon rewarded when the Chief looks in her direction.

Mills makes a motion with her hand.

St. Clair rises from her chair and excuses herself for a moment. She walks over toward Officer Mills’ cubical.

Mills was from Augusta, a seasoned cop with a no nonsense attitude—part of which St. Clair saw as a much younger version of herself. It was one of the reasons she had hired her—even though technically she had intended to only hire police officers that had had a brush with the paranormal.

She hoped she would not come to regret the decision – as Mills was becoming very, very suspicious of those from Collins Investigations.

But, who could she blame her? Rhyaad de’Annar seemed to have absolutely no self-control whatsoever and Samantha Brook – who knew what game she was playing. Collins had to get some control of her own people. Things had started out fine, when it was just Esther Friedman and Collins.

In her position, they would soon put her at risk.

“Chief, may I have a word with you?” Mills asks as she directs St. Clair away from her office and to a secluded area of the station. She glances back to Agent Brown for a brief moment, “Not that I am trying to second guess anything—but do we really need to call in the G-men?”

St. Clair sees the look in Mills’ eye – suspicion, “I want to make sure we have everything in order on this one. Narcissa Snow is wanted in nine states for suspicion or murder. The woman is insane, and she has eluded two major law enforcement offices – she got away in Falls Church, Virginia and made fools of them all in doing so. I just want to make sure we have federal eyes on this – should things go south.”

“Fair enough Boss, but I think there is something you are overlooking.”

“Why don’t we step over to your cubical?” Jamison says looking over at Officer Anderson, who is now looking to see what they are conversing so quietly about. Office politics. God how she hated it.

They walk together over to Mills’ cubical, as Jamison watches Officer Bishop escort Natasha Snow over to her desk.

Rhyaad seems to have forgotten Blair at the moment, as he regards Lillian Snow calmly, not mentioning her disheveled or dazed look. “Miss Lillian Snow. A pleasure to finally get to talk to you.”

Nikki stands silently looking at her –assessing her condition as to where she was in any condition to be questioned.

Lillian Margret Snow, inhabiting the body of Natasha Snow, looks now across the desk at Nicole Collins. “Disappointed? Not what you expected?” She asks, her voice surprisingly low, a whispery rasp.

“No, not at all,” Nikki says, “On the contrary seeing you at all is a wonder.”

“Disappointed, why of course not.” Rhyaad says in agreement, trying to make her feel at ease.

“You want something to drink, water, coffee, tea?” Nikki asks. Lillian looks like the hell from which she had no doubt been summoned.

Officer Mills takes a seat in her chair, “Okay, granted . . . the FBI. But Boss, these so called specialists you’ve called in are giving me that twitch. Something’s not quite right about them.”

“How so?”

“They all but admitted to having found Narcissa and killing her. And then that Miss Brook tried to hastily cover it up.” Officer Mills explains in a low confidential tone, “But she ain’t tellin’ the truth.”

“I am certain that if Miss Collins had done something that drastic, she would tell me, and if she did, it would have been in self-defense.”

“Because she is a Collins?”

“No, because she’s not just a PI. She also works for a special British Agency.”

“What she’s Jane Bond?”

“Let’s say it’s similar to our Homeland, in some regards.” St. Clair says, “Now as for the Brook woman, do I think she is certifiable – maybe.” St. Clair explains, well aware she has to settle Officer Mills’ concerns before they grow too large to handle. “But, I will be contacting Arkham PD, it is their jurisdiction—I am going to talk to Chief McCloud.”

“It may be their jurisdiction, Chief, but we have suspects of murder right here. Maybe it wasn’t that Miss Collins, but I am certain Brook had something to do with it. I think she killed her. And now, they are over there talking to a relative of the murder woman– at your desk.”

Lillian’s wry smile curls, “Whiskey or gin if you have it.”

“Maybe the Blood of the innocent victims of your family . . . oh excuse me, how rude of me . . ..” Rhyaad gives her his most sarcastic look.

“No, I leave the blood for you and your friend,” Lillian answers with a curt look at Rhyaad, before turning to look again at Nikki. “I would die for a cigarette.”

“You die from them too.” Samantha giggles.

Lillian Snow, turns a look to her, “Honey, I have already died. And it was not at all pleasant.”

“Cut her some slack, Sam.” Rhyaad tells her, “She’s already died once.”

Lillian Snow smiles, her sea-grey eyes looking at Nikki, “Seems we both have.”

“You are aware—” Nikki asks, looking across the way to see St. Clair and Officer Mills in a conversation. She is aware of Mills suspicions.

Jamison St. Clair looks at Officer Mills silently for a long moment, and then speaks calmly, “Okay—please, bring up the report on the murder.” She motions to the monitor on her desk.

“The report?”

“You are preparing to investigate a murder, so I assume you have read the report. So, when did the murder occur, the time of death, so we can accurately check the timeline, and, what is the official cause of death?”

Mills looks at her, “There isn’t a report.”

St. Clair rises her eyebrows, “Oh – so, how do you know you have suspects of a murder.”

“Because . . .‘

“Because a delusional woman reported an accidental death on an island in Arkham? If that is the case then I would assume that what we need to do, procedurally, is report that to Arkham PD, and have them investigate the suspected scene of the crime – and, if they report a murder – then perhaps we have something to look into . . .“

Lillian looks into Nikki’s shifting blue eyes, “Aware of what you are? Yeah, Blair knew. They know all about you.” She says evenly.

“Okay, okay, so we’ve all died.” Rhyaad wanting to move things along, “Okay, now that we have that out of the way . . . can we now get to the point! Blair, Petrofi, where are they? Do you know what your family has done? Elijah and Narcissa?”

“And what of Blair? Do you know where he is?” Nikki removes a pack of cigarettes from St. Clair’s desk drawer and hands it over to Lillian.

Lillian sighs and takes one out, her hands tremble slightly. She lights a match and takes a long drag off the cigarette.

“Or Pickman, for that matter? I’m sure he’d just LOVE to know where YOU are.” Rhyaad adds pointedly.

Samantha watches the pack, as Lillian deftly pockets it – and glancing back at the cells, smiles, looks like Lillian was now officially become rich.

“Blair?” Lillian says exhaling a plume of smoke upward, “More than likely—he will end up somewhere very secluded within what you . . . I think . . . once called the Eastern Block.”

Jamison St. Clair stands in the doorway of the cubical, glancing back over to her desk, seeing Lillian Snow lighting up a cigarette, “Now, what I do have is 10 murders here in Collinsport, of which I know that I have no known suspects sitting at my desk. I know who did those, and her name is Narcissa Snow.”

“Very well then. A disappearance. Chief. I would like to request to investigate the case of the disappearance of murderer Narcissa Snow, and I would request the audio to your office’s CCTV as evidence.”

“I am a bit confused, a fugitive, on the run from the law is a disappearance? If that is the case then Narcissa Snow’s disappearance began 18 months ago with the first reported murder to which she was connected and has been on the run every since. And then that case would belong to Charleston, South Carolina.”

“A fugitive on the run, who I have reasonable suspicion, based on what I heard when administering a blanket, painkillers, and coffee to Miss Brook, has been herself murdered.” Officer Mills says adamantly, “Hearsay or not, I feel it deserves following up.”

Jamison nods, “And as I said, we will contact Arkham PD, but I can’t . . . I am sorry Officer Mills—I can’t arrest people on suspicion of a murder I don’t even know has even been committed. Now, if Arkham asks for our assistance, then we will certainly provide that assistance.”

“Then we can question them to help with our investigations. Or . . . or . . . “ But Mills now begins to see the Chief’s point, and begins to calm down, begins to think clearly—even thought she knows Brook is guilty of something. And that Rhyaad character – constantly talking about killing people. “At least let me listen to the tapes that are being recorded even as we speak in your office. If it turns out to be nothing, I will drop the subject.”

“Well – at the moment, I am not certain of Natasha Snows involvement in the case and she was not been read her rights and so, I don’t think I want to go through those tapes right now.”

“They are questioning the only witness we have!”

“Right . . . and at the moment I agree, I had intended to be there, but at the moment, I am here with you . . .” Jamison told her, “I also need to let you know that Agent Blake is part of a special investigative division of Homeland Security.”

“Oh? Are we dealing with a terrorist now?”

“So, there is a good chance this may all become federal” St. Clair explains, “A lot of things that were handled locally are now being directed into Homeland – it’s the nature of the times, Officer Mills. That’s why we have to play this one carefully as I said, we already have federal eyes on this case.”

“Great. That’s all we need.” Mills answers sarcastically. “Look. Chief. Those friends of yours set me of twitchin’ like nobodies business. Please let me follow through on this hunch.”

“Here’s want I you to do, as we have an unconfirmed report of a mishap on an island in Arkham, Massachusettes, I want you to run liaison with Arkham PD.” St, Clair tells her and then says in a low tone, “Just be careful – this Brooks woman is crazy—so, I have no confidence whatsoever that they will find anything other than her delusions.”

Officer Mills smiles now, “Thanks Chief. But when you review the tapes, please, let me know if anything comes up in the Closed Circuit audio.”

“I’m going to take that under advisement, Officer. I don’t want to impede anything with this Snow woman – should she be involved. I want her to feel relaxed with this group of PI’s so she may be more forth coming with us.”

“Thanks chief. This twitch of mine hasn’t set me wrong yet . . . oh, by the way, the blood analyst results are on your desk with profiles of the victims from the house.”

“Great. And Officer Mills, I want you to know I hired you because you are a good officer. I understand twitches – just remember this case is very high profile and I firmly suspect we are going to lose it to the Feds.”

St. Clair stands, and places a hand on Officer Mills’ shoulder. “Chief McCloud is a good man, so I would run this through him – it’s not that Arkham PD isn’t competent, it’s just they lost several good men recently – and oh, make sure it doesn’t go through an Officer Gilman.”

“Sure thing Chief.”

Officer Anderson steps up to Natasha Snow, “Ma’am this is a non-smoking facility.”

Nikki looks at him, her blue eyes flashing, “It’s quite alright officer.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and steps away.

“I would say, Blair is no doubt in a hide-away village somewhere that doesn’t appear on any map.”

“Lillian, I need to know precisely what—” Nikki sits now on the edge of the desk in front of her.

“What they are up to?” She asks, “Yeah, you do,” smoke exhaling around each word. “It’s Petofi you should be worried about . . . and that Son-of-a-b***h Pickman . . . “

“How did you come to know Pickman?”

Rhyaad nods. “It’s Petrofi that needs something to, as St. Clair put it, unleash hell on earth.”

Jamison St. Clair leaves the cubical and looks across the way to Agent Brown, whom she motions to step over to her. Brown steps away from the questioning of Lillian Snow and walks over to St. Clair, “Walk with me Brown.”

Officer Mills in her cubical begins composing an e-mail to Chief McCloud.

St. Clair directs him over to the running stream that Sheriff Patterson had installed, where she knows there are no audio devices.

“Ma’am?”

“Agent Brown, I need you to do two things.”

“Yes, Ma’ma.”

“One, I want you to declare this an official Homeland investigation, “B” Cell takes over.”

“Yes, Ma’am”

“Two, I want you to take all audio tapes that maybe connected with this case, in particular, that discussion at my desk right now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“This is now officially a Delta Green investigation.”

“Ma’am, why don’t you just declare it, you are the ranking agent on the scene.” He asks – “I mean DG has been officially reinstated, we’re not just the ‘conspiracy’ any longer.”

“Because,” She turns and looks around, “No one knows I am Delta Green.”

Blake nods.

“Alphonse and I want it to remain that way.”

St. Clair turns and looks at Mills’ cubical and nods her head toward the cubical, “So, go and take this case.”

Lillian Snow takes another shaky drag off the cigarette. “He needed a model. I was in Boston up from New York, having left LA owing to a bit of . . . unpleasantness . . .

“The unpleasantness that was Durand Drive and the Delgado woman’s death?” Jamison says as she returns now to her desk. She looks at Lillian and it is odd to see Natasha Snow, sitting there in a completely different manner of sitting, of speaking, even her voice was different, smoking one of her cigarettes. One she would love to have – she opens her drawer and see’s the pack missing.

Lillian looks at her for a moment, “Yeah that.” She takes another quick drag of the cigarette expecting to be told to put it out. Jamison instead opens another drawer and takes out a new pack, which she begins to open.

“So, a friend of mine, who had met him, Pickman, gave me his name – said he was looking for a model and at the time I needed the money.”

“But you became more than just a – model?” Nicole Collins conjectured.

“You mean, did I f**k him? Yeah.” She took a drag off the cigarette, “I said I needed the money didn’t I? I’ve done worse – or at least I thought I had.”

“But your family, Lillian, they were wealthy.” Jamison says, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up.

“Let’s just say daddy wasn’t very happy about the outcome in LA.”

“Durand Drive.” Nicole Collins says.

“Yeah.”

“And so—you . . . modeled for Pickman.” Jamison drops the pack of cigarettes into her drawer and closes it.

“He paid me for certain services.” Lillian said and flicked ashes in the heavy crystal ashtray on St. Clair’s desk, “Which took me by surprise at first.”

“Why is that?”

de’Annar was listening now intently – anticipating the more ghoulish aspects were about to enter the story.

“Well, he came across as light in his shoes, you know,” She said smoke curling about her face as she squinted against it, “But—then I discovered, man, woman, anything in between – there wasn’t anything that degenerate wouldn’t screw. At some point, he professed his fascination for me, those were his words, fascination – made your f**king skin crawl to hear the way he said it, fascination, and . . . he led me to believe he knew a lot more about – things – things in Providence, around Boston, then he really did. And so – I made the mistake of telling him more.”

“About what is in Providence?” Nicole asks.

“Yeah. When I found out he was lying – well it was too late. They came for me.”

“King’s Chapel Burial Ground? A tall oak tree?” St. Clair adds, leaning forward.

She shuddered and her eyes revealed the memories of her murder, “Let’s not dwell on that shall we.”

“And now . . . Lillian, you are here. That is a bit of astounding Biomechanical Alchemy, the projector.” Jamison offers as she exhales a curling plume of smoke.

“Well it was Pickman’s camera.”

Jamison looks at her, “Pickman’s Camera?”

“They let him watch. He filmed it.”

Nicole looks at her with an expression that softens somewhat, “They let him watch your murder?”

“Yeah.” Lillian says and flicks ashes in the ashtray, “And so—he had some connection to Bernard Natan, who directed The Hounds Daughter and so Richard gave him a few of the pictures – one of which was the moment of my death, captured forever in that snapshot—and then somehow, Natan, he spliced it into The Hounds Daughter. The rest is as they say, history.”

“Connection? You mean like bestiality, ghouls, and so forth?” de’Annar asks her.

Lillian looks over at him, “Yes.”

“Bow chicka bow wow,” Samantha sings out from across the room.

“Officer, Millis, is it?” Special Agent Brown asks as he lightly knocks on the outer edge of the cubical entrance.

Officer Mills turns around in her chair, “Yes?”

Agent Brown removes his flip wallet and shows his Homeland Security identification, “Officer, we are officially taking over jurisdiction on this case, so if you wouldn’t mind, would you be sure to secure any and all tapes or transcripts involving the Snows. That would be Narcissa, Elijah, and Natahsa.”

“Homeland Security?”

“Especially if there is one being made right now.” He adds. “I will sign the chain of custody for them.”

“Really? And I don’t suppose you’ll let me review the tapes before I turn them in.”

“I’m sorry, but this is a Homeland Security matter.”

Officer Mills rises and gives the Special Agent a look, “Is it now. So I suppose that means you are not going to tell me, why, exactly this is being declared as such?

“Ma’am, all I can tell you is that I am part of a special unit recently re-established by the President. For certain restricted reasons, I am not allowed to reveal the nature of that organization—other than we are part of Homeland Security and this case falls under those mandated guidelines.”

He puts his badge away, “I gather you are not from Collinsport.”

“No sir. I am not.”

“Arkham?”

“Augusta. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. And thanks Officer – oh, and just bring me the COC when it’s ready.”

“Certainly certainly. I’ll bring it right too you.”

Officer Mills stops at the entrance to her cubical and looks at him, “But know this.”

“Yes?”

“There is something up with Nicole Collins and her little troupe of Private Eyes. Mark my words there is something they aren’t telling us. Take that little piece of suspicion and feed it through the federal presses will ya?”

He looks at her, “Thanks officer, it’s under advisement.”

Officer Mills goes to the security station and obtains the recordings of the office and of the cell of Natasha Snow.

Officer Mills looks around to see if anyone is paying her any attention.

Agent Blake turns and walks around the cubicles to watch Mills.

She looks up to see him headed her way and silently curses the eyes of her federal superior and renders the audio without making a copy

Officer Mills placing them on a thumb drive, she hands it over to Agent Brown without saying a word.

“Thank you – I know it’s tough when a local case goes Federal.” He tells her, “Do you have the COC, so I can sign?”

She hands him a sheet on a clipboard without saying anything.

He signs the Chain of Custody and takes the thumb drive and places it in an evidence bag, noting the bag’s id number on the COC document. “By the way, I hear you did a wonderful job in collecting blood evidence at the Cranshaw House.”

Officer Mills takes the form back. “Thanks,” and she turns away from him and returns to her cubicle. She turns the classical music station up a decibel higher and goes back to typing a letter to Chief McCloud advising him, informally of course, to get as much of the truth as he can before the feds got to him.

Rhayaad de’Annar looks at Lillian, “Can other things be popped out of that film like you were?”

Lillian nods, “Maybe, Richard gave out various bits of his films to other directors in Hollywood, those that had done work with me.”

“So,” Nicole asks, “Blair, how did you come to know him?”

Lillian stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray, “Him? I met him in Hollywood, him and this Count. Count Petofi.”

“Were they part of the Duran Drive ritual that night?” Nicole Collins asks.

“You seem to know a lot.” She looks at her, and takes out another cigarette, “Yeah. Blair, or Orne. You do know his name is really Orne, Simon Orne.”

“Yes.”

“Petofi, the pretentious ass, he’s really Edward Hutchinson.”

Nicole Collins nods, “Yes, I know.”

A wry smile, “Of course you do – know he was the one who botched the sacrifice.”

“The Delgado woman? That was him, not you?”

“Yeah, only that bastard Campbell – the one who the cops got to rat us out, he said it was me . . . Prick DA tried to pin it on me based on that bastard’s lunatic rantings. But Petofi pulled some strings and got me released. Got the charges dropped. Still, the bastard ruined my f**king career. Orne and Hutchinson. It did not go down well with daddy either.”

“So Petofi got you out of the murder charges – he is the one who bribed the DA, not the studio.”

“Honey I was a B-grade actress who did porn on the side.” She squinted against the cigarette smoke, “The studio bribe a DA for me?’ She laughs – it’s a sultry one that most have gone over well with a 1920’s audience. “It was Petofi—Hutchinson. Said he would ask me for a favor some day—seems he thinks that day is fairly soon now.”

“What is it he is planning Lillian?” Nicole Collins asks. St. Clair crushed her cigarette out and let Collins continue the questioning – she was very, very good at it. Perhaps, owing to what Collins was, Lillian had struck up a surprising rapport with her, seemed now to trust her, and so she did not want to interrupt—not while Lillian was talking.

“Call me Lilly.” She looks across the desk at Nicole, “Hutchinson? Well, let’s just say it is some of the wildest assed craziness that would have scared even the s**t out of my father – and let me tell you honey, noting, nothing scared the s**t out that old man.”

She took a long drag off her cigarette, ” So, is Elijah dead?”

“Yes.”

“Narcissa?”

“Yes.”

Silence, looking at Nicole Collins, “You do it?”

“Narcissa, Yes. Elijah, no. Narcissa killed him.”

“Well—”

“There’s no one left to protect anymore Lilly.”

She flicks ashes, “You’ve been to Providence?”

“Yes.”

“So they okay’d killing me again, I gather.”

“If it comes to that,” Collins tells her coldly, “Elijah – how did he get involved in all of this?”

“Elijah heard about some kids in Bangor who had found something in an estate sale and were looking into Starry Wisdom and then something called the Interfaith. It was when they started looking into the Interfaith – they were the ones who let Elijah know about them . . . the kids, what they had found, what they were investigating.”

de’Annar’s eyebrows shot up at that, “The Interfaith – so there was a connection.”

She looks over at him, “Yeah, they pointed Elijah in their direction—to stop them from researching their church, or whatever they were.” She turns her attention back to Nicole Collins, “You know my father founded one, a Church of Starry Wisdom, in Ipswich—of course he didn’t have the Shinning Trapezoherdon. That was in Enoch Bowden’s in Providence, the church on Federal Hill. Not that he didn’t try to get it once or twice. But, without it he could only basically hold services to honor The Darkness. “ She took a drag off the second cigarette, which was beginning to irritate some of the officers, St. Clair noticed. “Mostly held some bastardized church services, used it mainly to gather up young girls for his own . . . particular needs. Occasionally having to make a sacrifice or two.”

Samantha Brook raises and eyebrow.

“And then, Elijah was told he could have the Shinning Trapezoherdon.” Nicole says.

“Yeah, that’s what they told him. Only he had to figure out some crazy poem, and he thought he could figure it out – only, it was Orne.”

“Who deciphered the poem?”

“Yes, and Elijah was certain that if he could find it, the Shinning Trapezoherdon, then he could set up his own altar and call HIM. Have him appear in his church, something even old Iscariot Snow hadn’t been able to do. Wanted HIM to ordain him for real, you know, like HE ordains – but Elijah was just as crazy as Narcissa.” She sighs, “He was just so in awe of my father—like so many f**king people were, are, in awe of my f**king father. Elijah was obsessed with becoming the new Iscariot. Wanted to show Providence that the Snows were still just as powerful as when my father was alive. Narcissa, she just wanted to help—of course the poor girl was insane. Elijah of course didn’t want to admit it.”

“Hey, don’t knock the nutters,” Samantha Brook interjects.

“She didn’t want the Shinning Trapezhedron, she just wanted to help Elijah, until Orne gave her the idea that HE would take way the voices in her head.”

“By HIM I suppose you mean Nyarlathotep?” Rhyaad de’Annar asks.

“She wanted the treasures Keziah Mason would grant. She wanted to bring Iscariot Snow back from the dead for Elijah. She wanted to stop the voices of the dead in her head—she was totally insane—but—understandable, she was a Snow wasn’t she. It’s not good to be forced to read Cultes des Goules when you are seven.”

“I read it when I was eleven.” Nicole tells her.

Lillian sat silent for a moment looking at Collins, her eyes unblinking, she flicks ashes off her cigarette, “I was twelve.”

Jamison St. Clair’s eyebrow rose slightly – knowing what was in that book, how a child could be allowed to read . . . god no wonder these women were so f**ked up.

“Yeah, well, did your old man screw you when you were eight?”

“I am sorry Lillian,” Nicole Collins tells her.

“Well, it’s just f**king life you know.”

St. Clair could tell that Lillian was getting to Collins, she was beginning to feel something for the woman now, whether it was misplaced or not, “So—they, Elijah and Narcissa, they were not at all connected with Blair and the others?”

“Not at first—and then, they just wanted you to shut them down before they drew HIS attention.’

“Really, Lillian. It seems Narcissa did the murders at the house Blair protected.” de’Annar suddenly points out. “And you have not said who HE is . . . but if you mean your God, Nyarlathotep, I have news for you. His attention has already been attracted and he is none to happy with Blair or any of them.”

“Of course they didn’t want HIM to know what they were planning—and so, owing to the alliances they felt if they kept forcing your hand to find the gem, then you would stop Elijah and Narcissa. Only when she got so close to being able to actually call Mason then Blair hedged his bets and waited to see if she could actually get it. Which is a weakness of Simon’s – he wants to know too much.”

“So, Lilly, just what is it that Blair and Petofi are planning, precisely?” Nicole Collins asks pointedly.

“First of all they were going to trade me to Richard – seems he wants something better to f**k then what he has in that Dreamlands of his.”

“Well, you said he was fascinated with you.”

Lillian gave her a hard, cold look, and St. Clair was afraid Nicole had just broken the connection she had gained with Snow – only Lillian smiled, “Honey give me an hour.”

Nicole smiles, “So, what is it that he is willing to trade for you?”

“I hear – it is The High Priest from the Cold Wastes.”

“But why, is he not the High Priest of Nyarlathotep?” Jamison asks, based on her understanding.

“Some Priest in Yellow, yellow mask, yellow something.” de’Annar could not resist adding.

“No, he is the High Priest of the Temple of the Elder Ones. He serves them all.”

“So, they did not want to call on Nyarlathotep.” de’Annar continues.

“Cthulu?” Samantha asks. “Maybe?”

“Why would they want to do that?” Lillian says looking at him oddly, “The crazy bastards are actually planning to circumvent HIM—what they are planning to do is call on him who is not to be named.” And she looks around quickly and holds out a hand, “And I know there are those who don’t think all that much about it, think it’s just a joke, or something, but DO NOT say that f**king name. Routhgate screwed with my mind enough with those films of his based on Carcosa.”

“You’ve seen Carcosa?” Nicole asks.

“Yes, dear and I don’t need to see it again.”

“But seeing it drives one insane.” Jamison says puzzled, how was it possible, she seemed fairly rational – for one who was dead and called back to life and in possession of another woman’s body. Which, the more she thought about it was just a crazy as it sounded – but then again almost everything she knew was intended to drive most people insane.

Lillian removed her cigarette from her lips, “What makes you think I’m not.”

Rhyaad de’Annar shrugs. “I’m with Potter on that. Not saying a name makes it more powerful. But what is this Carcosa?”

Lillian looks at him, “Potter?” She looks at Nicole Collins, “Who the h**l is this Potter?”

‘I will explain later Lillian,” Nicole says with a quick wave of her hand, and then looks over to de’Annar, “Carcosa is a mystical city that was once the capital of a grand empire until one night ‘he who is not to be named’ came and everyone was driven insane and they are all trapped forever an endless ballroom—forever trapped in time, waiting for the ball to end, only it never will, and they must relive that night for eternity.”

Samantha Brook laughs, “Sounds like my idea of fun.”

“And he who is not to be named, searches for other cities, and finds those corrupted enough, those whose spirit has become mad enough that it will call Carcosa to them. And then, he allows the Yellow Sign to appear to begin driving the people mad for the Phantom of Truth to come and make his judgment.” Collins continues. Jamison noting that Agent Brown was listening intently – new information even fore him.

“And if he judges the city be as corrupt as Lost Carcosa, then the city begins to phase into place, and it absorbs the city to which it has been called, and all those therein are taken away into the mindless insanity of HIM when it phases back out again.”

“So HIM means, “he who’s name you won’t say” and not old Narly, who walks among us?” de’Annar finally catches on.

“In this case, yes.” St. Clair nods trying to help him beyond the confusion this all brings.

“But Lillian this makes no sense, these men, they have signed their names in the Book of Nyarlathotep. They worship him, why are they even planning to betray their god?”

“It seems Petofi got around to finally reading the second act of the King in Yellow,” Lillian tells her, “Of course he thought he had a protective charm around him at the time, but he was still affected by it – and so, he is driven now to bring Carcosa to earth – here in Collinsport, where he has old scores to settle.”

“With my father?”

“Right,” Lillian nods, “And being his daughter, with you.” She stubs the cigarette out, “I told you they know all about you.”

“And when he creates the rifts and brings Lost Carcosa here, then what?” St. Clair asks, as she wants to know what it is Petofi precisely means to do.

“So it’s not quite Hell that Petrofi wants to bring to Earth, just Carcosa. Entrap all the people of Collinsport in some eternal ball. OK. But what does Petrofi get out of this?” Rhyaad de’Annar asks.

“He plans on offering to trade places with the King in Yellow, him who is not to be named.”

“Letting him free into this dimension?” Nicole states.

“Yes, Petofi thinks he can take his place and obtain Godhead in so doing. . . “

“Hutchinson wants to become a God?” Nicole Collins surmises correctly.

“Precisely – I told you he was a pretentious ass.”

“When is this meeting planned?”

“Ah, Immortality. I should have guessed it. So human. Well that explains Petrofi’s motivations. Now . . . what will “HE” in yellow do when he comes to Earth? Devour small children? Blow up cities?” de’Annar asks looking at them.

“He thinks he will be able to fill men’s minds with madness, and delusions, to make man as mad and as insane as the Old Ones themselves, and then he will be worshipped as the new god of a new age.” Lillian tells him.

“When? When is he going to do this – I have asked and asked an no one seems to know when this is all going to happen.” Rhyaad de’Annar says angrily.

Lillian looks at him, “Whenever Petofi can get here. It appears his plan has gotten the attention of others as his Darkness is after him – and so the Count has to find avenues that HE is not watching – which is not at all easy, it seems Nyarlathotep has so many followers these days – not like in my time.”

“Yes, well there is a problem now with their plan.”

“Yes?” Lillian looks at her quizzically.

“I have you.”

“Yes, you have me, and if he can not make the deal with Pickman he can not bring Carcosa.” She smiles at Nicole Collins, “Having me, all their plans are upended. I am just so glad you got me out of there before –” She shudders, “Look honey, I’m just looking to make a deal. I am under no illusions here. I know Providence gave you authorization to kill me. Again. It’s time to start cleaning up this mess. And the one thing they do not like is a mess . . . or loose ends. And I am one. So, I’ll do whatever you want – I just want out. I wanted out in 1929.”

“Where is Petofi?” Collins asks her pointedly.

“I really don’t know.”

“Lilly, if you have been lying to me, about any of this.”

“Why would I lie?” She asks, “Look what they have done to me. Look what they did to me in 1929. I was alive when they gutted me, took out my eyes, cut out my tongue, sewed my lips and eyes together . . . you better than anyone know what it is like to be murdered. You think I want to have anything to do with that bastard Pickman again? I just want the f**k out—out of all of this. I got word to the Diogenes Club – I told them all about this – you can ask them.”

Nicole looks at her and then to back over her shoulder at St. Clair, “I need to find a place for her that is safe.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you – and not this place? Protective custody? It’s a joke,” She says looking at St. Clair, “Not to say anything about your jail here, it’s all very nice, and all, but if Petofi comes and wants me, he will just walk right in here and do it.”

“We will protect you, Lillian”, de’Annar assures her. “The last thing we want is for Petrofi to succeed in his plans. But we still have to find the bastard to stop him.”

“Then don’t protect her.” Samantha says stepping over to the desk.

“If you wish, I have lairs to hide you in. Hells, all decent vampires have lairs.” de’Annar all but smirks.

“What?” St. Clair looks at Samantha Brook.

“Make her stand out, broadcast her whereabouts. Then the Petofi man cometh.”

“Use her as bait.” de’Annar says thoughtfully, “If we could make it seem as if she was someplace, maybe Petrofi would come for the bait, as it were.”

Lillian looks terrified at Nicole Collins, “Miss Collins, you seem to be not only sane but very knowledgeable. You know about Hutchinson . . . Petofi . . . what he is capable of and now – now he has been touched by the madness of The Yellow Sign. Using me as bait — please, I beg of you, do not do this . . .

“I promise you Lillian, if you have been truthful with me, I will protect you. I will not let him have you.”

“But she should have to pay, Nikki, in some measure. I mean what about Natasha.” de’Annar looking over at her coldly, “You know, the woman you damned to eternal oblivion so you could steel her body? Are you sorry for that?”

“Yes. I – I did not have any control over that . . . I admit I wanted a chance for life again, who wouldn’t, when I found out it was possible through communicating with Finch via that old projector – but . . . I did not know how they planned to do it.”

“Lillian, Finch believed that it was Pickman who murdered you—” Nicole Collins says softly, “I don’t think so. It was your father wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” She all but whispers, her hands tremble . . . “I do not want to be a bad person. I want to be free of this horrible nightmare which is my life – the abuses that started when I was six.”

St. Clair looks over at Agent Brown. He nods.

“She appeared to me, you know. Natasha. She says she will never be free.” de’Annar continues.

“I – I did not know . . . appeared, she has form still?”

“Form? No, not exactly. She’s a ghost. It must have taken quite a lot of effort for her to manifest like that. She begged me to burn The Hound’s Daughter.”

Lillian looks to Nicole Collins, “They all need to be burned – they all have horrors within them, two of them, by Routhgate in particular, they have allusions to Carcosa . . . Did you get them? The Films. Are they destroyed?”

“I buried the Hound’s Daughter.’ Rhyaad de’Annar tells her.

“And the others?”

“I am not certain, I have been out of town.’ Nicole Collins tells her truthfully.

“Burn them please, burn them – there is no telling what else is on those old movies.”

Cue Music End of Episode