Not certain whether Richard Upton Pickman’s camera is truly necessary now that the transmigration of souls as taken place and successfully transferred Lillian Margret Snow into the body of the hapless Natasha Snow – Nichole Collins, Samantha Brook, and Rhyaad d’Annar have traveled to Boston in the hopes of finding Pickman’s abandoned studio and his infamous camera. Through a maze of narrow alleys and streets in the North End, Samantha Brook was able to eventually locate the long abandoned studio. But along with the camera they also found a Ghul Hound waiting to protect the studio. In order to escape they had to burn the studio and a high-speed police chase ensued. In the confused aftermath, Nicole Collins had been left behind in Boston, while Rhyaad and Samantha made their way through a portal of Rhyaad’s creation. And so, in Collinsport, the remaining members of the Collins Investigations team await word from Boston–unaware of this series of unfortunate events. They are about to receive that word from a most unexpected source.

The long black limousine with New York plates makes its way slowly down Barnes Street. It passed the Shell Station at the intersection of Waterman Street. Turing to the left, the gray Atlantic, its cold and darkening waters visible, just beyond the docks and tops of the boats, along the sunset harbor as the elegant stretch limo continued past maritime streets and tourist-haunted seaport scenery, on past antique shops and the Old Wharf Gallery, past a Starbucks and a bakery shop, the clutter of a rust hued machinist shop, the lengthening shadow of an ancient steeple top the white-washed non-denominational church. Those merely passing by, or by chance standing near a window of one of the shops, or, a shopkeeper happening to glance over the shoulder of one of their customers, could not help but pause in order to watch the long black Lincoln Navigator as it continued to move slowly along the streets of Collinsport. There was a feeling among them all that the car carried someone of importance, someone significant, just hidden beyond the darken windows. For some it seems a strange sensation of déjà vu – or of seeing a dream come true. Outside foghorns call out to one another and there is the rheumy chug of late fishing boats traversing the harbor.

Huddled in his dark navy Burberry, hands deep in its pockets, fourteen-year old Bramwell Collins sits on the worn wooden bench watching street expectantly. He’s dressed in a pair of faded jeans, scuffed boots, a chestnut rose t-shirt advertising Coke-Cola in Japanese. His left leg bounces up and down much too nervously. He feels a comforting hand suddenly on his thigh as Grace Duncan stops his leg from bobbing, “Bram what are we waiting for?” She asks as the cold breeze stirs in her chestnut hair.

She tries not to shiver but it’s so cold.

“I don’t know for sure – I had this dream.”

“A dream?” She asks, her cold fingers touching his cheek, “Again?”

“There was this long black car—a hearse maybe—moving through Collinsport. Slowly like it was driving up and down and all around town searching for something – searching for someone . . . “

“And you think that someone was you?”

“I don’t know Grace, I don’t know – I said it was a dream.” And he notices that she has suddenly become very still. He turns and sees the long stretch limousine turning on to East North Main. He grows very tense. It is so like his dream.

The long black car moves down the roadway slowly, no more than ten miles-an-hour. The black windows are closed – no hint of who or what is within. The car pulls to a halt at the curb before Bramwell and Grace.

It sits idling.

A cold, black thing – almost as if it were alive.

Grace grabs his hand as he stands up – he looks at her and then at the car.

“Bram—no” she whispers.

He walks toward the car and she can only follow.

The electric car window lowers now with a soft whine.

“Bramwell Collins.” A voice from within the car says and does not ask – the voice is mesmerizing. “Is there something that I can do for you?”

“I’m not sure—“He finds himself saying – unaware of what it is he is going to say.

“Or you Grace? Surely there must be something? What ever do you want?”

“I want to know about my mother.” Bramwell says suddenly.

A dark, almond skinned hand reaches out of the window . . . “Everyone in this town seems a motherless child.” His hypnotic voice says and Bramwell finds himself pulling his hand free of Grace’s grip so he can shake the almond hued hand.

“Sweet dreams are made of this.” The voice says.

“What does that mean?” Grace asks.

“Who am I to disagree?” The voice replies, “Everybody is looking for something.”

“I’m not.” She says.

“Mr. Meriwether, please continue.” The voice says.

The window rises and the car moves away, slowly.

Bramwell stands with his left hand still in his wool Burberry coat pocket, fingers curled about his father’s revolver, as he looks at his right hand – the one he had shaken hands with . . .

“Bram what does any of that mean?”

“I don’t know Grace.”

The slow black car makes its way to the center of town, to the main rotary and pulls to a halt in from of the law offices now being used by Collins Investigations. The electric window lowers. The almond skinned man in the back of the limousine leans forward to look at the names on the window, Matigan & Wiley, “How apropos Mr. Meriwether.”

Mr. Meriwether, the driver, a very large black man turns off the Lincoln’s engine. He opens his door and gets out. He takes a moment to survey the rotary, the ever lengthening shadows of the late afternoon as dusk arrives, and he adjusts his grey pin-striped suit jacket.

He walks around the car and opens the door for the almond skinned man, who steps out and smiles.

Meili Rainheart after having traveled carefully through a couple of narrow alleys turns a corner and sees the limousine taking up much of the curve of the rotary in front of Nikki Collin’s office. He spots the two men, who do not at all appear to be innocently standing before the building. The tall, slender man points at the windows and seems to be telling the larger man something. There is something too charismatic about the tall man who stands next to what is obviously his huge bodyguard—something that Meili does not like about the look of them, some sixth sense, and he is about to just walk on by and keep on walking when the almond skinned man, with a wry smile, says, “Good evening, Mr. Rainheart.”

“I am sorry, do I know you?” Meili stops to look at him.

“Perhaps you would be so good as to open the door so we can await Miss Friedman’s arrival.”

Meili looks at him, “You’re a client?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The man replies. Meili took an immediate dislike to him; he didn’t like the small pretentious pharaoh’s beard, or the hint of eyeliner about his eyes. He certainly did not like the strange hypnotic sound of his voice.

“I am sure you have a key Mr. Rainheart, you are after all consulting for Miss Collins are you not?”

Meili reached into his jean pocket and felt the key he had been given—that Nikki Collins had strange clients, he already knew that and so he steps over and opens the door.

The men from New York enter. The almond skinned man walking about looking at the office. Meili turns the lights on, “I would think someone should be here soon.”

“Oh, yes, I think you are right.” The man agrees.

Meili observes how the bodyguard seems to move almost as a shadowy extension of the man.

The tall almond skinned man stood with a regal bearing as he continued to look assess the small offices, “Quaint, Mr. Meriwether,” he said to the large man beside him,

Mr. Meriwether nods, “Yeah – real Quaint!”

Meili stands uncertain watching them, wondering just where Esther Friedman was . . .

Toward the north end of town where the woods grew sparse and weeds gave way to the parking lot of a convenience market, Esther having already been walking in below freezing weather felt now the cold ocean breeze as she stepped out of the woodlands. Her shotgun is slung across her back and she has a rabbit over her shoulder.

The almond skinned man stepped over to the bookcase and began to lightly run his long fingers along the titles. “I think Miss Friedman will be along shortly.”

“Oh—well, I’m not too good with names and such – I just know the name of the owner,” Meili pretends a lack of knowledge.

“Oh I am so sorry to hear that Mr. Rainheart, they do not yet trust you, perhaps?” The man says with his back turned to Meili as he continues to examine the titles of the books.

He points to the gilt lettering on the spine of one of the books in the large bookcase that is filled with a collection of strange and mysterious old volumes, as if pointing it out to Mr. Meriwether.

Mr. Meriwether steps over and removes the book, opens it to turn a few yellowed pages as he holds the book very gently in his massive fingers, “Prinn’s De Vermis Mysteriis, a Second edition.”

The almond skin man’s brows rise and his eyes widen.

“Few people are privy to my name. Very few. This conversation has just turned in a direction I’m afraid I don’t like much,” The blond man says frowning as he began to get the rather distinct impression that everything about this situation was wrong and confrontational. “I expect this isn’t a social visit, then.””

Mr. Meriwether looks up from the book, “Yeah, we don’t give too many motherf**king social visits.”

The almond skinned man looked at his rather large servant, “Now Mr. Meriwether, we are guests and as such we should act accordingly.” He then turns to look at Meili, “So, I gather you do not know where Miss Friedman is . . . “

Esther strolls along the cold, shadowy sidewalk as she makes her way to Ide’s General Store.

“As you see we are quite aware of Miss Collins’ whereabouts at the moment.”

Mr. Meriwether snaps the book closed, “Yeah, down in ‘F**king Woonsocket, a real s**tass of a town to say the least.”

The man almond skinned man lifts his arm to check his watch.

“And so, Mr. Rainheart, how are you doing these days?” ”

“Meili reaches up to cup a palm over his forehead and sighs, just what he needs some seedy man and his hired muscle. Just fantastic. Just what he needed right now when everyone had vanished after the heist and he was starting to grow worried about them. “Quaint. Well friend, your friend there has a lovely way with words. Poetic, really.” He sighs, looking g at the door – wanting Esther, someone to walk in at this moment, tell him what he should do. He felt this was bad. Very bad. And about to get worse. Why did he let them in . . . “As for . . . Esther? I can’t say off-hand. But as for me—well, I’m fine, though, thank you. Now to my earlier point . . . however did you come to know my name, though? It’s very disconcerting.”

The Almond skinned man smiled, his teeth very white, “Oh, I know so many things – it is a bit disconcerting to try and keep up with them all.”

“Getting harder every day.” Mr. Meriwether adds.

“But, I have made a rather long trip from New York, and I do need to see Miss Friedman—that is unless . . . there is someone else I can speak to in Miss Collins absence . . . ”

“I see . . . and so, spying on Romanians from the 19th century is a pass-time for you? As well as this Esther woman?”

“What about the f**king elf?” Mr. Meriwether asks putting Prinn’s De Vermis Mysteriis back in its place in the bookcase.

“Ah yes, Mr. de’Annar, is he by chance available?”

Esther enters the general store. The bell over door jangles as the radio in the store plays Styx’s Grand Illusion. “Hey Marc. Gotta ‘nuther furball for ya” She says as she holds up the rabbit.

. . . Come on in and see what’s happening . . .

“Anouther one? Already drained of blood I bet. “ Marc Ide says rising up from behind a counter.

“Well, I’m tryin’ to do ya a favour. Can ya complain?”

. . . get your tickets for the show . . .

He smiles and shakes his head motioning Esther over to the wooden butcher’s case across the way.

“Rhyaad isn’t here, either. In fact, I haven’t seen him or Miss Collins in a few days. You wouldn’t happen to know why they’ve gone off on holiday without me, would you dear? Seeing as how you know so much.”

The almond skinned man moved over and took a seat behind Esther’s desk, “Well, Mr. Rainheart, let me see if I be of some help in that regard – you see, Miss Collins is hiding out in a horrid, little motel that is actually more of a whorehouse than a motel, although, it does serve as such for the more unsuspecting traveler along I-93. It is in Woonsocket, on her way to Providence, where she will eventually meet a gentleman known as the Metropolitan. It would appear they, meaning your new friend, Miss Brook . . .” he looks up to Mr. Meriwether.

Mr. Meriwether nods, “Miss Brook.”

“Miss Brook, and your old friend, Mr. d’Annar, and your current employer, Miss Collins, tried to find something at Richard Upton Pickman’s old studio.”

Mr. Meriwether stands behind the almond skinned man, his legs wide, hands crossed relaxed in front of his crotch, “And they found one of his damned watchdogs instead.” He adds.

“Well, I don’t think Mr. Meriwether the Ghul would care to be considered a watchdog, but yes, they did meet one of Mr. Pickman’s associates and so a fire ensued and then there was a police chase and so Mr. d’Annar and Miss Brook—“

“Pickman?” Meili paused and muttered the name, familiar with it in the line of their investigation. “Oh, yeah. The camera . . . so, they went to swipe it as well . . . and found a guardian. Hnn.”

The almond skinned man sat behind Esther’s desk and waited for Meili to finish. “Yes, they went to—“

“Swipe it.” Mr. Meriwether finishes the statement.

“Yes – burning down most of the studio.” The almond skinned man nods, “Rather unfortunate that,” And so, it would seem they felt forced to use a portal – a rather messy means of transportation, if one doesn’t know how to use it properly. And so, I am here you see, because . . . “ And he stands to place his palms on the desktop and lean forward, “I HAVE BEEN ASSISTING YOU IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE ANY YET YOU CONSISTENTLY CONTINUE TO F**K EVERTHING UP!”

He then calmly sits back down.

Meili flinched and jumped where he stood, off put by the sudden shout and visibly shocked.

. . . Suddenly your heart is pounding . . .

Esther watches Marc Ide behind the butcher’s case, “So with this one, adding to the others this week, that’s” He looks over the case at her, “$1,200.”

“$1,220.” She says.

Marc counters, “$1,210.”

Esther shakes her head, “$1,215.”

He smiles, “$1,212. Final offer.”

“Done.” She waves her hand at him.

. . . the TV or Magazines . . .

Marc turns the radio off as he moves over to his register.

“Was that REALLY necessary?” Meili asks.

“Now, I really would like to see Miss Friedman.” The man says very calmly. “SO, Mr. Rainheart would you care to play a bit of a game?”

“A game?”

“To pass the time.” The man says with a wave of his hand, “Mr. Meriwether, the rifle behind you – on the wall – it is very important to Miss Friedman, please take it down.”

Meili looks at them, “Now, wait—“

“Oh, no concern Mr. Rainheart, it is a very simple game.” The almond skinned man holds up a hand, “Now, Mr. Meriwether, if Miss Friedman does not arrive in the next few minutes, please destroy it.”

Mr. Meriwether takes down the gun, “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

Meili groaned under his breath and rubbed his temples wearily. “Crime lords haven’t changed in two hundred years, I see.”

“Crime Mr. Rainheart, is so petty. There are far more grander endeavors within the cosmos to spend one’s time lording over.” The man says with a vulpine smile, “Now do you or do you not want to play the game, it is very simple as I said. You guess. Will Mr. Meriwether have to destroy the gun?”

Marc tags the rabbit as #1586, and hands Esther a check.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.” She says and takes the check and folds it neatly in half.

“Don’t mention it. And Etsher—you please be careful ’round that Collins. Ok kid?”

“I’m always careful Marc. Even when I’m brash.” Esther opens the door the jangle of the bell, closes it and starts to walk down the sidewalk.

“You see, I already know the answer,” The man says, “Let’s see if you do?”

Esther turns the corner as she approaches the office and sees the limousine. She furrows her brows – more d**mned paperwork.

Mr. Meriwether looking over the gun asks, “This Collinsport sir, you helped found their ‘History” did you not?”

“Senseless destruction of property, and threats? Hmm.” The blond smirked. “I was hoping I might have come to a more civil age.”

“A civil age?” He smiles seemingly at some joke, then looks back toward the huge bodyguard, “Now, I have found that one does not need to brag of one’s accomplishments, Mr. Meriwether, something you will do well to learn. I would say thought it is time – guess Mr. Rainheart, You only have a few moments?”

Esther suddenly has an odd feeling and so she takes the shotgun off her shoulder and approaches the door and turns the knob.

It is unlocked!

Mr. Meriwether hears the door open and cocks the rifle and whirls pointing it at the door.

Esther throws open the door, shotgun aimed. “Ok, who th’ f*** is tryin’ to rob us now!?”

The almond skinned man smiles at Meili, “Oh, dear, looks as if I win.”

“You picked a bad time to show up,” Meili grimaced and turns on his heels to look at the woman he had met a few times before. “Run.”

“Ah, Miss Friedman, I have been waiting so patiently for your arrival.”

“Put my rifle down!” She demands.

The almond skinned man’s fingers lightly play across the keyboard of Esther’s laptop, “You know I gave them the technology for this.”

He turns on the Internet radio.

. . . They show you photographs of how your life should be . . .

Esther’s eyes widening as the song it is the same song, the one that was playing at the general store and it picks up precisely where Marc Ide had just turned it off.

Mr. Meriwether points the rifle at Esther, “PUT THE MOTHERF**KING SHOTGUN DOWN! NOW!”

“He will not say it again.” The almond skinned man tells her. “I have come along way to see you, Miss Friedman, so do put the gun down.”

. . . So if you think your life is complete confusion . . .

Meili Rainheart quietly put his hand forward and flexed his fingers, a subtle rippling between his fingers indicating his intent. “I think you lot should be a bit more clear, first. Especially since she’s armed.”

The almond skin man looked at her, “So have you successfully thwarted the mechanizations of the Necromancers? Have you solved the problem of the riddle?”

. . . Just remember that it is a grand illusion . . .

“Have you found the gem?”

“Have you even the smallest idea what you are up against?”

Esther hesitates. The whole thing with the song has her distracted. “This Shotgun is loaded with buckshot, and I figure if yur lookin fer me, you want me alive to talk to. So I’m not folding right away. “
‘Oh, I do love those who want to lay.” The almond skinned man said.

“You know too much….” Meili snaps back at the man.

The calm, almond skinned man smiles and stands to lean once more against the desktop to look at them, his eyes suddenly very stern – and just as the song breaks into the lead guitar solo he says: “I HAVE SPENT CONSIDERATE TIME AND EFFORT IN ATTEMPTING TO HELP YOU AND YET. YOU ARE NO FURTHER THAN WHEN YOU BEGAN, THIS IS NOT AT ALL ACCEPATBLE!”

Esther “You—You are th’ man behind all this arn’t you. “

“Humans, I told you sir. ” Mr. Meriwether

“Again with the shouting! WHY. The shouting?” Meili returns with a scowl and a cold glare. “Human? Oh, p**s.” His eyes widened, this was getting worse by the moment.

The man sits down and looks at Esther, “No, Miss Friedman, I am the ONE behind trying to stop this insane plan – and I had hoped you – at lease under the guidance of Nichole Collins you were up to the task – so the question is have I been wrong?”

Esther stares at him: “Who are you . . “

Mr. Meriwether frowns as he keeps the rifle pointed at Esther’s head, “When have WE ever been able to rely on humans?”

The Almond skin man turned to look at the large body guard, “The Vampires were once our most superior of servitors, as smart or smarter than the Shoggoths – so, Mr. Meriwether I am still letting my money ride, as they say, on Miss Collins – but, if Miss Friedman can not uphold her end of the arrangement – if she can not solve the riddle – then, I will have to step in.”

Meili Rainheart felt it was time to defuse the situation, “Look we nicked the book, the film, and some other pretty little things. You know that much, I’m guessing.” Meili narrows his eyes contemptuously. “We’re on the right track. Unless you’ve got some better plans for us.”

“Rainheart! Stop! Don’t tell him Jack . . .. Besides. I have a feeling he already knows Now, you,” she says to the man behind her desk, “You haven’t answered my f**kin’ question . . .. Who. Are. You.”

. . . So if you think your life is complete confusion . . .

“Miss Friedman, I need you to listen and to take this down, Miss Collins must know all of this.”

“Just who the F**k are you?”

‘They will trade Vera to Pickman and he will give them the key to a lock.”

“An’ who th’ F*** are you to tell me what to do!?”

. . . Just remember that it is a grand illusion . . .

“The lock will open Lost Carcosa.”

Mr. Meriwether watches with intent.

“And the Phamton of Truth will appear.”

Esther watches the man with the rifle.

“He will call the King in tatters.”

“He who is not to be named will be allowed to step through the gate. Tell her that. “

“You tell her yurself unless you tell me who you are.”

“And you my dear . . . you need to solve the riddle.” He says pointing a long slender finger at her.

“It’s F**king Innsmouth!” She snaps.

He smiles and opens his hands, palms up to her, “Oh Esther you restore my faith.”

“Who the f**k are you?”

“Well As for me.” He smiles, “You really wish to know my name?”

“Yes.”

. . . someday soon well stop to ponder what on earth is this spell we’re under . . .

The almond man’s skin suddenly turns dark—ebony.

“YOU!” Meili Rainheart shouts.

“Please allow me to introduce myself.” The ebony man behind the desk says.

“I have been here a long, long time.” Mr. Meriwether says, his voice now the same voice as the man at the desk.

“I have been here since the Great Ones came from the stars.” The man behind the desk continues.

“I am the messenger. “ Mr. Meriwether adds.

“I am the Darkness.” The ebony man says.

“I am the crawling chaos.” Mr. Meriwether continues.

“I am from Kadath in the cold waste.” The man behind the desk tells her.

“I am Nephren-Ka.” Mr. Meriwether says sighting down the barrel of the gun.

“I am Nyarlathotep” Both of them speaking together.

Esther was already not prepared for any of this . . . and then suddenly . . . beside her the blond man begins to roar in a fury, his eyes suddenly growing nearly red with rage. His hand flew down in a rapid arc toward the chair with a grim and clearly murderous force. “You monstrous THING. I HAVE WAITED FOR THIS. I have not forgotten you in nearly two decades, you vile creature!” He growled. “You. ALL OF IT IS YOUR FAULT.”

Styx’s Grand Illusion comes to an end.

It is certainly all a grand illusion, Esther thinks.

How is it even possible – the man and the bodyguard, he is both of them . . . the man behind the desk and this Mr. Meriwether. She glances over at Meili and she is not at all certain this is the tone one should be taking with – whatever this was sitting and standing before her.

“And you will be very wise to stand very, very still Mr. Rainheart, for in a whim I will break down the sub-atomic particles of this very room.” Nyarlathotep behind Ester’s desk says evenly.

“I will break down time and space, itself, and I will hurl you into the outer abyss of eternal chaos.” Nyarlathotep standing behind himself with the rifle adds.

He rises and steps toward the front doors.

Mr. Meriwether, following, lowers the rifle, which he hands to Esther: “You WILL stop the necromancers before they destroy my world.”

Stephen Alzis stands in the threshold.

“If it puts a wrench in your black, infernal schemes you godless beast. I’d help them myself!” Meili rages at him, aware that Nyarlathotep has the advantage at the moment – even in his anger and rage, he is held in check.

Esther steps out of the way, almost involuntarily, but manages to keep her shotgun trained on them — well aware that it is no doubt useless.

“You will do well to save your revenge until the task at hand is completed.” He says at the door as his skin changes back to almond.

On the radio bongos begin to play . . .

“Providence. The Metropolitan.” He says to Mr. Meriwether as he steps over and opens the door of the limo and gets into the back seat.

Mr. Meriwether steps around the car.

. . . it’s almost a voodoo beat.

He gets behind the wheel and closes the door.

. . . Please allow me to introduce myself . . .

It’s the Rolling Stones beginning to play Sympathy for The Devil.

Esther lowers her shotgun and stands in stunned silence.

The car moves forward and drives off.

“YOU HEAR ME, CREATURE? I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN FOR WHAT YOUR DID.” Meili Rainheart roars after the limousine. “YOU WILL KNOW THE PAIN OF THE RAINHEART FAMILY.” Meili growls murderously where he stands, fists clenched and teeth barred in rage.

. . . Please to meet you . . . Hope you guess my name . . . but what’s puzzlin’ you is the nature of my game . . .

Scene cuts to silence . . . End of Episode