Collinsport. A new day dawns and autumn ever deepens in all of its rustic colors. It is a time of beauty. The foliage in all it’s splendor. A beauty that will soon give way to the cold winds of winter, which will soon arrive to rip those lovely leaves from the trees and send them spiraling downward to their deaths. And even as the seasons fade, so shall many within the small costal community of Collinsport. Alliances forged have begun to fray and are coming apart. Even as new ones are slowly coalescing and the Ancient Ones are ever plotting against the living and the dead.
Tilly Brewster, Evan Hanley’s private secretary, sits in the high-blacked, black leather chair, which she ever so slightly swiveled with the athletic movement of her right foot. She sat with her legs crossed, revealing a hemline that had slipped upward to reveal her long, graceful legs. She finishes the last bit of dictation and then glazes upward across the flat plane of the neatly arranged desk.
Evan Hanley stands now at the large window of his office, which exposed the early morning panorama of the Collinsport Harbor and Frenchman’s Bay. His back to Tilly, he stands there for a moment in silent reflection. A small fishing boat was just setting out and he watches as it glides effortlessly across the water.
“Read that back, Tilly.” He suddenly says.
“Starting from where?”
“And thus, the claimant . . “ He directs
“And thus, the claimant declares it malicious and injurious, both emotional and financial, in that the aforementioned Collinsport Police Department, under the temporary direction of Lieutenant Rebecca Mills, current Acting-Chief-Of-Police, in and for the city of Collinsport, has most willfully misrepresented facts and circumstances in order to malign the plaintiff’s good name and reputation, with regards to alleged rituals, ill advisedly termed “occult” that may, or may not, have occurred upon his property, on or near, the vicinity of the Temperance Vale Road Viaduct, of evening last.”
On his desk was a copy of the Collinsport Star. The headline read, “Gregson Farm Scene of Ritual Murder.”
Hanley turns and looks at Tilly, “Occult? No strike that – should be occult in nature.”
“So – they suspect Nathanial Gregson?”
Evan Handley turns from the window, where he had been facing away from her, and narrows his eyes. He idly tugs at his right ear lobe, “At the moment, I think Rebecca Mills suspects everyone in Collinsport—and, no one in particular.”
“So when is St. Clair returning?” Tilly asks as she made the notational change in her stenographer’s pad.
“A question as yet,” He says striding over to his desk and pulling back his swivel chair, “Unanswered.”
“Whom we would much rather have in charge?” Tilly asks, “Would we not?”
He sits down and places his forearms atop the desk, “Given a choice between the two, yes. St. Clair’s knowledge of Collinsport’s iniquities had an oddly stabilizing effect to say the least.” He replies as he contemplates the choices, “Whereas Mill’s outright disbelieve could, in the long run, not only be disadvantageous but rather dangerous. But—“
“Yes?” She inquires.
He interlocks his fingers together, “We need to get back to work – and so. Being that the aforementioned plaintiff, having voluntarily given a clear and concise statement of facts, regarding the aforementioned events, alleged to have transpired in or around, or upon his property, at said time, when plaintive voluntarily responded to inquires made by the duly authorized representatives of the Collinsport Police Department, when he explicitly denied having had any involvement, or knowledge, of or concerning the alleged homicides, or that he entertained any interests at all in matters that could be construed to pertain to the occult . . . ”
“You still want Nathaniel Gregson to come in this afternoon?” Tilly Brewster asks looking now from her highly abbreviated shorthand, which she paused every few moments in order to allow Hanley to catch up to her notation.
Hanley pulls thoughtfully at his ear lobe, “I cannot see how Mills can try to make the connection. What concerns me more than their interest in Nathaniel is the whereabouts of his son Ezra.”
She sits back thoughtfully, “He still has not returned home.”
Hanley shakes his head, “Not from my last discussion with Gregson.”
“If only we could call Tony.”
“If only –“ He sits back and taps his fingers into the palm of his right hand, “His infatuation with Angelique Collins is fast becoming a liability.”
“Have we no idea when he will be back from his little trip?”
“Soon I hope.’ Hanley says. “You did make certain Gregson understood that he was to use the upmost caution in attempting to contact Wolff.”
“Yes.” Tilly replies.
Hanley nods thoughtfully and was about to give Tilly more instructions when there was suddenly the sound of loud voices just outside the door to his office.
He immediately recognizes one of them as his receptionist, who appeared to be trying to stop someone from entering his office, and was apparently finding her attempts to be rather unsuccessfully as the knob of the office door turns.
Angelique Collins swings the door open, “And I can assure you! Mr. Hanley will most certainly wish to see me.”
She steps into the office pushing past the young receptionist.
Evan Hanley cocks an eyebrow and stares at Angelique Collins, “You are back?”
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“Yes, Evan. I have returned.” Angelique Collins strides across the elegant office toward his desk. She gives a quick unconcerned glance at Tilly Brewster as she arises from the high-backed, black leather chair before Hanley’s desk.
The receptionist closes the office door.
“Tilly, some coffee for Mrs. Collins,” and he motions to the chair Tilly has just arisen from, “Have a seat. How are things in 1933?”
Tilly Brewster continues to listen as she steps over to the side door and the small kitchenette, where the coffee machine awaits.
“Not well, not well at all.” She tells him settling into the chair, “Jospeh, did you . . . did you disturb either the Orb of Solace or the Sands of Time?”
He looks at her curiously, “They were disturbed?”
She lifts a haughty eyebrow, “Someone righted the Sands and stole the Orb, and so, Tony and I were transported back.”
“And the little item of interest?” he leans forward.
“I found it – only the owner was murdered. And, just as I was starting to search for it – I find myself suddenly back in Samantha Evan’s bedroom.”
“From what I hear that’s a regular occurrence for some.” Tilly Brewster remarks as she strides back from the kitchenette with two cups of coffee resting in their matching white china saucers. She looks at Angelique Collins, turning now to flash her that wry, and slightly bemused smile, as she hands first one cup of coffee to Mrs. Collins and then places the other on the desk before Evan Hanley.
“Yes, well she’s very much like her mother in that regard.” She remarks.
Hanley reaches over and lifts his cup and takes a first cautious sip. He looks across the desk, “Well, as you should remember, I told you from the start this plan was a bit reckless.”
“Reckless or not, this little interruption was premeditated.” Angelique tells him, “Joseph, someone is aware of our plans.”
He suddenly laughs, “Someone? My dear Angelique, the town is overrun with any number of some ones who might wish to know our plans.”
She sighs and looks at her cup of coffee as if uncertain whether to take a drink or place the cup and saucer on the edge of Hanley’s large desk before her.
“Where is Tony? By the way?” Hanley asks.
“He went home to shower and change. And no, do not even ask, you are not getting him back. I need him.”
“No. I need him. Things are getting a bit out of hand.”
“Meaning?”
“Not only is Collinsport, as I said, attracting a rather unseasonal number of suspicious tourists, but there has been a series of beheadings.”
Angelique places the cup and saucer on the edge of the desk, “Decapitations?”
“Yes.” He places his coffee cup precisely in its saucer, “I gathered that would attract your attention. Rather like those once in Bedford.”
“For a moment, one might suspect Gerard Stiles.” Tilly remarks archly.
“Has he been sighted?” Angelique asks with the slightest of unease in her voice.
“Well not in any guise that someone has reported.”
“He was a rather troublesome apparition.”
“Yes.” Hanley nods, and looks down at his coffee, “But your husband’s intriguing bit of sleight-of-hand with time should have negated all of that. Or so I was lead to understand. “
“Joseph, I do not have time for this!” Angelique says, well aware that Evan Hanley was in fact the mercurial wizard Joseph Curwin.
“Neither do I.”
“If it is Stiles, then I killed him once, I’ll do it again.” She tells him icily.
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly Mrs. Collins.” Tilly cautions.
Evan Hanley looks at Angelique coolly, “Yes—and just how well did that work out for you?”
She stares back at him.
Evan Hanley sits back rather leisurely in his black swivel chair, “I must admit my knowledge about the events in and around 1840 have never been all that clear. For instance, the one purported to have orchestrated the nefarious events has always been identified as Gerard Stiles. Although, at best, Mister Stiles’ mesmeric abilities were, shall be say, no more than those of a charlatan.”
“And a murderer.” Angelique added.
“Yes – and so, with you spending time with my consulting detective,” Evan Hanley told her, a slight smile appearing for an instant, “I decided to see what I could piece together from some of my more reluctant sources. You were aware that Joanna Mills was at Collinsport at the time?”
Angelique’s eyes fail to conceal her irritation, “Joseph—I was there. I don’t have to go over all of—“
“Were you aware she was secretly working for your father?”
At that revelation she grew oddly silent.
“From what I have been able to establish, via some of my more reliable sources, Joanna Mills and Ivan Miller, whom we know as Gerard Stiles, were employed and sent to Collinwood by Count Petofi – whom we both know is Edward, your father.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Quite sure.” Evan Handley told her, “The dead rarely lie as you well know.”
“But why?”
“It would appear it was about the book. The Relics of the Anti-Saints – Jules Allard’s personal first edition.”
She sits back, “He knew of it’s properties even then.”
“So it would seem.” Hanley told her, “And so . . . like yourself, Stiles didn’t stay dead for long. Seems Mills furtively procured the body from the Trask Mortuary and reanimated him – no doubt using some of Edward’s incantations. Edward was always the far better necromancer.”
Eyes narrowing, “So Stiles was reanimated?”
“Yes – and even more indebted to Edward – so much so that he sent them, Stiles and Joanna Mills, to Egypt. There they met the acquaintance of one Enoch Bowen. And the rest as they say – is History. So, you see if Stiles were about – I would think his agenda would be far more inclined toward trying to locate the Shinning Trapezohedron, which was, as we know, the object of those meddlesome Snows and their less than accomplished little escapades in Collinsport and Arkham. But – your daughter took care of that . . . or so we were lead to believe.”
“That is not at all possible. Egypt? Their history—“
“There history is whatever your husband’s interference may have put into motion.”
She shakes her head and her green eyes betray her frustration, “I do not have time to concern myself about the history of Gerard Stiles. I need the Pearl, Joseph. It is the Pearl to which we much direct our efforts.”
“Really?” Evan Hanley sat forward, “I would have thought your concern would have been more in regard as to whether or not Judah Zackary was truly disposed of . . . seeing as how, we are both very much aware that death for some can be but merely a minor inconvenience.”
“Zachery? Why are you so concerned with Zachery? Julia Hoffman . . . and that irritating Pansy Faye . . . destroyed Judah’s body in 1840. Thus leaving only that infernal head—which I destroyed the day that I exposed Judah as being the one in possession of the unfortunate Stiles.”
“Are you so sure. History has an affinity for trying to correct itself.”
“Enough.” Her eyes now flashing with irritation, “Enought of Gerard. Or Judah. Either one is of them is of very little consequence to me right now. It is all of my plans that are inconvenienced. And Joseph you well know how I do so dislike being inconvenienced. Now—where is Peter?”
“Cairo?” Hanley frowns. “He’s still at the Collinsport Inn. Why?”
“I need to see him.”
“Are we not back to our original dilemma? In that no one knows where the Pearl disappeared to after boarding the Orient Express in 1933.”
“Well as you have so succinctly pointed out Joseph, history has a way of being altered.”
“You suspect time may have been changed?”
She flashed the infamous smile, “Anything is possible.”
He reflects a moment upon the possibility.
“So, since you don’t have the Pearl then I can assume you don’t know where the Mask of Ba’al is either?”
The smile disappears.
“Our contract my dear was for the Mask, and if you don’t have the mask, then I shall have to make arrangements elsewhere..”
“I told you Joseph, I would get the Mask.”
“Like you would get the Pearl.”
She glares at him, “You would dare to double cross me?”
“Crosses have nothing to do with it, as you well know.”
She lifts a brow and as her anger grows, she starts to move her hands oddly, as if she were beginning to fold origami paper.
Hanley’s hands quickly move now almost as if in counter movements to hers, “Let’s not do something we both will regret.”
“Alright.” She says standing up glaring at him across the desk, “But Joseph, you must give me some time. I will find the godd**ned Mask.”
“Yes, well time seems to be running strongly against you at the moment Angelique.”
She grows haughty, “I need Tony to help me in locating it.”
“You have two days.”
Angelique turns and storms out of the office.
Hanley sighs and looks at the door closing behind her, “That was exceedingly odd.”
“To say the least.” Tilly agrees. “She seemed totally unfazed about the information regarding Gerard Stiles.”
“Yes, and that is interesting . . .” He looks at his cup of coffee and then looks over to Tilly Brewster, “But we have work to do, so, let’s get back to work on that brief.”
“Right,” And Tilly moves around the desk to gather up the cup of coffee Angelique Collins left untouched.
Just as he was lifting the cup and saucer from the edge of the wide desk, the office door opens and the young receptionist peers through the threshold: “Mr. Hanley, there’s a Mr. Sanford to see you—he doesn’t have an appointment, but he said you would want to –“
“Yes, see him in.” He says with a wave of his hand.
Carl Sanford strides into the room, looking over the rather opulent office, “Good Morning, Evan.”
“Carl.”
Sanford steps over and takes a seat, unbuttons his jacket, and looks out the window at Frenchman’s Bay. “Was that Angelique Collins I saw leaving?”
Hanley nods, “Yes.”
“Seemed in a hurry.”
“She does not have the Pearl.”
Sanford lifts a brow, “Pity. But then again, I warned you, the woman has always been a bit too grandiose.”
“Neither does she have the Mask.”
Sanford adjusts the pleat in his trousers, “I am well aware.”
Joseph Curwin, known as the seemingly respectful attorney Evan Hanley, looks now at Carl Sanford with suspicion, “You, so it was you who brought her back.”
“Yes. From a fool’s errand.”
“If it was to get us the–”
“The Mask?” Sanford interrupts. “The price for what she intended to do has always been far too high. Joseph, you are well aware of what the Pearl can do.”
“I never thought I would see the day that the Lodge was intimidated by an artifact.”
“Yes, well, Joseph, the Lodge knows far too many secrets and the secret of the Pearl is one we respect.” Sanford tells him,
“But if it leads us to the Mask.”
“If Joseph – if. The Crimson Pearl is more than a mere artifact. Who even knows if it would give up the secret of the Mask. Besides, there is really only one whom we suspect could even handle the Pearl, properly.”
“And we wouldn’t want to contemplate the prospect of her return.”
“No, we would not. Not without the Mask.”
“Well, I gave her two days . . .”
“Two days, let me see,” And Sanford begins to count off on his fingers, “Petofi, Báthory, possibly Gerard Stiles, and that crazy doctor from the Diogenes Club . . . all here looking for it . . . are you certain two days isn’t a bit too long.”
Curwin shrugged, “We shall see. But I originally made my deal with her, and so, I felt it only fair.”
“Fair? Fair has nothing to do with the End of The World, Joseph.”
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