Do You Love Me

Collinsport. A horrible crime scene at the Cranshaw House has led Chief St. Clair to an abandoned farmhouse. Within, held captive in a cold basement room, Lillian Margret Snow has been discovered. For now, everyone suspects that these abominable events could only have been perpetrated by the vile necromancer Simon Orne, disguised as Nicholas Blair. Only, along the lonely, snowy streets of Collinsport the true hand that has welded the knife is about to step out of the darken shadows.

A single red drop of blood hits the whiteness of the snow.

“Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” She recites dispassionately as her ballet flats sink into the three inches or so of soft damp flakes that collapse around her ankles. She is much too scantly dressed for the weather in a white mini-dress and black leather jacket, and an odd necklace, which was a gift from her grandfather. Her orange blonde hair is wild and windblown.

Another red drip of blood strikes the snow.

She holds the hilt of the large carving knife tightly, her knuckles gone white from her grip.

She strides now through the narrow alley, looking about now as if she is not certain of where she is or where she is headed.

“Gone away is the bluebird,” She now lifts the knife and let’s the wet bloody blade drag along the brick wall of the building as she moves through the alley to the light at the end.

The scrape of the steel blade echoes loudly along the alleyway in the stillness of the winter night.

Narcissa Snow steps out of the mouth of the alley and looks at the winter scene of Collinsport draped in snow. “As we go along.” She says to herself now continuing one step at a time into the snow, her feet cold and getting colder.

She makes her way over to the wood and metal bench and sits down, alone.

Her breath escaping in white puffs, she begins to stab the knifepoint into the wooden seat. She looks down the street to the lights of a café that still seems to be open.

“As we dream by the fire. To face unafraid, the plans that we’ve made.” She now begins to sing rather than recite, “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.”

“Do you long to be arrested before our work is done Narcissa?” The voice says to her and she looks up to see Elijah Snow hurrying over to her, the leather of his shoes too slick for the snow as he slips several times on his way to the bench.

“O, what land . . . is the Land of Dreams.” She tells him. “Tis a shame brother that our work is so nearly done.”

Elijah Snow steps over to stand before her, as if trying to hide her from the view from the street, “Yes, Narcissa, but you are not yet finished. So, please get in the car.”

A voice behind the tree, softly, a woman’s voice, says, “You will never be able to complete the task at hand Narcissa.”

Narcissa Snow suddenly looks back into the shadows, “I will.” She says.

Now a voice from across the street, who might be the young boy she killed in Boston, or the one she killed in Bangor, she is not certain which, says, “You are too easily distracted.”

While, the voice behind the tree, perhaps the waitress in Akham, the one whose throat she had slit so effortlessly, having followed her into the bathroom, the one she left lying in the growing pool of blood near a stinking metal bucket of stale water and the old, much used mop, sighs,” So true, she can not stay focused.”

“Shut up!” Narcissa says and stabs the knife between her cold bare thighs into the wooden seat of the bench, “I know what I am doing!”

A voice sultry, light, one of the prostitutes, she’s not certain which, “Dear Child—I also by pleasant streams . . . ”

Narcissa smiles now, “Oh—Yes, I have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams.”

High above, the man known as Marshal mumbles, “Rhyaad isn’t’ here . . . ” to himself. Somehow, he’s managed to get himself on top of a building, a spot Meili likes to hang out upon, likely using his own transportation to get there, as he continues to scan the snowscape of the town for his friend. However, below, he instead spots something very interesting . . . a mad women, it seems, walking about with a bloody knife. It didn’t take long for him to take an interest, using a small pair of binoculars to watch from atop the tower, as he lay on his stomach to avoid being seen. The empty, windless night lets their voices carry, and his enhanced hearing allows him listen. The woman seems to be speaking to herself, having some manner of argument – with no one.

“But the haunter of the dark, he WILL reward me!”

“Narcissa – listen to me,” Elijah bends down before his sister, seeing how blue her lips are – that her legs are bare, her feet are wet and covered in snow—her skirt and blouse splattered with blood, “They have found your work at the Cranshaw House . . . we can not stay here, not here, in the middle of the city. You need to come with me.”

“But when I bring him the Trapezohedron Elijah—when I have completed the sacrifices, then he will take these voices out of my head, won’t he – you said he would and . . . and he will give you your Church back.”

Marshal’s strange binoculars made several very small, minute clicking sounds while he observes, the man and the woman below, as he continues to listen. And NOW, he took a more active interest. The Cranshaw house, he’d seen it, while stealthy observing his friends . . . these were the perpetrators . . . so, it was not Blair as Rhyaad had told him – it was . . .. This mad woman!

“Narcissa, they have Lillian.”

“Apostate!” She stabs the wooden seat. “They have Pickman’s Bitch?”

“Yes,” Elijah tells her, “We have to re-evaluated our plans.”

The voice behind the tree suddenly whispers, “See, I knew you could not finish the task at hand.”

The voice of the waitress from Arkham scoffs, “And now they have Aunt Lillian.”

The voice of the high-school cheerleader across the street laughs, “She is always much too distracted.”

“I am not!” Narcissa shouts into the darkness.

“Narcisssa, stop listening to the voices and listen to me . . .. I am your brother.” Elijah tells her; well aware she is lost among the schizophrenic voices. He places a comforting hand on her knee – finding her so cold.

She stands up suddenly.

“You listen to me bitch.” She points the knife at the tree, “I slit your throat in a cheap dinner in Arkham, so don’t you even pretend to tell me that I can and cannot complete.”

“Narcissa, stop!” Elijah Snow tells her, “They only want to taunt you – you can finish the ritual, you can give him the Trapezoherdon and he will take all the voices away.”

The voice of the boy she killed coming from across the street says softly, almost in a whisper, “Don’t listen to him, he only wants IT for himself.”

The voice of her grandfather, from behind the tree sighs, “Narcissa, poor, Narcissa, such a stupid b***h . . . he has been using you.

“Why don’t you kill him now!” The boy’s voice implores her.

“He is my brother.” Narcissa tells the dead boy.

“Narcissa—what are they telling you.”

“Are you using me Elijah?” She asks, looking at him, her hand tightening her grip on the carving knife, “Do you want the f**king gem for yourself, for your f**king Church of Stars.”

“Narcissa, I want it for the both of us, he will take the voices out of your head, I promise.”

The Trapezohedron! Marshal recognizes this, it’s the device with which Nyarlathotep could be summoned . . . he knew they somehow were connected, it wasn’t a coincidence that these murders were occurring at the same time the trickster was about, and that he was planet side. This was a wealth of information he could use against Nyarlathotep, and stop Meili from dealing with him.

The old man she had killed at the truck stop in Concord speaks up from the mailbox down the street, “I would just kill him Narcissa – how many have you killed already? What is one more?”

“STOP IT! ‘ She shouts into the night, “He is my brother!”

“Yes, Narcissa, please put your knife away.” Elijah tells her beginning to grow worried.

She looks at the bloody blade; “This is the knife grandfather came in that night to kill me with.”

“Yes, Narcissa” he nods, “And you took care of grandfather. The ice-pick, remember.”

“Yes – Elijah – they have found my work?”

“We need to get off the street – and they have Lillian also.”

An old man sighs, “Not enough guts to do it huh.” It is the voice of her grandfather, cold and disparaging.

The plum-lipped prostitute’s voice taunts from her from behind the tree, “Wait and see, when he gets what he wants, just like your grandfather, he will come with his knife.”

The voice of the mother from an Aylesbury Laundromat sighs wearily, having heard it all before, “She is so easily distracted.”

“Listen to me – I am your brother Elijah – We are the last of the Snows – do you wish to end us here in this two-bit burg?”

“Elijah, they want me to hurt you.”

He brushes her tangled hair back from her face, “I know. But we have a mission to perform, remember the ritual – the gem?”

“Yes!”

“Then come with me, you can keep the knife, but please get in the car.” He helps her stand up from the bench.

“Grandfather is not in the car – Elijah – he is dead.” She tells him.

“I know.” He gets her to take a step away from the bench.

“Can we go now?”

“Yes, just get in the car.” He puts his arm around her shoulders and slipping in the snow walks her toward his car.

Narcissa Snow, careful to keep a firm grasp on her carving knife walks down the cobblestone street trying to block out the voices of those she has killed.

They approach the car.

“See, I told you she was a worthless b***h.” Her grandfather’s voice snarls.

She stands waiting at the car – letting Elijah open the door for her.

Narcissa Snow, first and last name, Marshal notes. He can ask his Pentagon and DIA friends about it latter, or check the Index file. Now, he has to decide if he has enough time to get down, go to his vehicle, and track them before they leave, as it seems they are about to do, or should he try something else.

Elijah Snow closes the car door and looks at his sister; she looks up at him with her yellow eyes. As bright as sunflowers – reflecting light like a cat. She places a hand on the glass of the window and he places his over hers. She smiles. He then hurries around the car and opens the door and gets in.

As it was clear they were leaving, Marshal decides it would be unwise to follow them not knowing where they were going or what he would find. However, moving quickly as it appears they are about to leave, from his vantage point on top of the tower he removes a small, cylindrical device from his jacket, pointing it below – it makes a barely audible mechanical whistling and whirring noise, lighting up briefly before it is put away. He needs to go find Meili and report what he’s heard from them . . .

“How many – how many more?” She asks.

“Until we get want we came for, Narcissa.” He tells her and puts the key in the ignition.

“Do you love me Elijah?”

“Yes, Narcissa, you are my sister.”

“Awww—that is so nice,” And then she suddenly stabs the knife deep into his chest and twists.

AGGHHHHHHHH!

She kisses him and pulls the knife out of his chest and jumps out of the car. She hurries away, down the street.

.”F**k!” Marshal suddenly exclaims, taken now completely by surprise by what he has just seen, his hand flying towards his sidearm.

Elijah Snow clamps his hand to his chest as if trying to hold the blood inside and starts the car.

He guns the motor and awkwardly drives down the Collinsport street.

One single drop of blood falls into the snow.

She walks now slowly back into the shadows.

Her cold feet sinking into the hoary undisturbed snow upon the sidewalk.

Another drop falls into the whiteness.

“In this land of unbelief . . . “ Narcissa Snow says to herself, “Oh the weather outside is frightful.”

And she disappears into the night.

Cue Music End of Episode