Lilly

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 Andreas 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.

St. Clair double checks the report and puts it in a folder. She wasn’t at all certain precisely what was going on, but the report from Frank Black, the consultant from the FBI, who had arrived with ‘B’ cell (apparently added at the last moment by Alphonse), worried her. Not so much that Alphonse had once again intervened; she had understood his concern, after all she had replaced the original Agent Andrea a little over a year ago (no one of course ever explaining to her precisely what had happened to the original Andrea). Although by now he should have had confidence in her ability – or they should have never promoted her to replace ‘Andrea’ as part of ‘A’ Cell . . . but he was one of the last of the old guard, he had known Fairchild. He had survived wetwork operations by MJ-12’s assassins . . .

But this Black report – his analysis of the situation . . . that for all she thought she knew – the Starry Wisdom Cult in Collinsport, the ritual murders at the Cranshaw House, the connections to Simon Orne and Edward Hutchinson (a.k.a Blair and Petofi), the reported necromancer alliance with Richard Pickman, the secret from Leng being traded for Lillian Snow – he suspected it all to be subterfuge for some grander strategy. “Ultimately this is a game, Agent Andrea, and the true players are not even sitting at the board . . .“

This worried her –

Of all the agents within Delta Green, only those designated, as ‘Andrea’ understood the true meaning and depths of the paranormal activity that most of the other 29 field agents came into contact – the knowledge of the true nature of the Old Ones, the Outer Gods. Only ‘Andrea’s” were given access to the texts—it was Alphonse’s way of keeping the risk of corruption contained. ‘Andrea’ was ‘the encyclopedia’ of things that could have never been written down – and so Jamison’s experience, her study of the occult, her reading of certain text’s (even before being assigned to do so), her training in the Behavioral Science Unit had lead ‘A’ Cell to chose her to replace the lost ‘Andrea.’

And so far she deductions, her analysis, her instincts had not been proven wrong – and yet, this report from Black – if it were true, then she has missed something.

Something very significant.

She looks up now to see Agent Brown of ‘B’ cell walking towards her. She is more than certain that several of her officers would have more than a slight concern with him and his team taking over most of the investigation had Brown not also been member of the FBI. It was General Fairchild’s brilliance to recruit from existing law enforcement when Delta Green had been forced underground owing to the incident that caused the government to initially shut them down.

Suddenly her iPhone began to play The Fixx’s One Thing or Another; Rhyaad de’Annar. She picked up the smartphone, “Yes, Mr. de’Annar?”

“I’m here. Should I leave the gun in the car, or will your officers not freak out?” He says.

Jamison St. Clair wanted to sigh, and rather heavily, but instead looks up to Agent Brown, who stands in front of her desk, his own cell phone at his ear, “The team has cleared the old farmhouse—nothing of interest there.” He tells her with a sidelong glance.

“That’s excellent.”

“Are you certain this is really a Red Mark One situation?” He asks.

“Just a moment, Mr. de’Annar,” Jamison says into her cell before cupping her hand over it and looking up at Brown, “Well, at the moment we need to see how events evolve. The Doctor indicated that the sedation he gave Miss Snow should wear off soon; we will know more when I get a chance to question her.”

“You read Black’s report.” Brown replies.

“Yes,” hoping there isn’t any hint of irritation in her voice.

“You know his reputation.”

“I am well aware of Frank Black, yes. Let’s wait until we can talk to Lillian Snow.” Jamison cocks an eyebrow at him – more than aware he is no doubt also reporting back to Alphonse. She removes her hand cupping the cell phone.

“Yes – well, Mr. de’Annar, let’s just keep it concealed, shall we.”

“Right.” He says abruptly and hangs up.

Jamison drops the phone on her desk – she needs a cigarette. If she’s made a mistake in any of this it is in having decided to ally with not one but two of the undead. Nikki Collins did not worry her, really – she had been at least vetted by the Diogenes Club and made an Extraordinary Member, but her co-worker, de’Annar . . .. She was taking him on the word of Collins herself – but no one had vetted him. And of late he had become far more unpredictable. At the Cranshaw House he had given Officer Mills far too many reasons to suspect something . . . “Brown.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He replies, turning back as he had just taken a step away from her desk.

“A Mr. de’Annar will be arriving; do not concern yourself that he is armed.”

He nods.

St. Clair rises from her desk and steps over to get a cup of coffee. She still longs for a cigarette to go with it. She looks up to watch now as Rhyaad de’Annar enters he station and strides past the Intake Desk. He hurries over to her.

“So, what’s the news, St. Clair? Has your team arrived yet? Have you found Pickman? Blair? Are they dead yet? How big is this team of yours anyway? I am getting worried.” He asks as she walks back to her desk.

Officer Mills, leaving her cubical to place a report back in the file cabinet notices the strange consultant, Rhyaad de’Annar standing before Chief St. Clair’s desk. He seems agitated. She keeps a wary eye on him as she steps over to the front desk and reaches in to take a doughnut from one of the two boxes sitting there. She also takes another glance at the Special Agent taking on his cell, before she returns to her cubical.

This was all very strange. FBI. Homeland Security. Special occult consultants. All gathered in Collinsport over the satanic ritual murders they had uncovered in the Cranshaw House. It was almost as if there was something more the Chief was aware of but not informing the rest of them.

“Mr. de’Annar, this is Agent Brown. His team has checked the Cranshaw House.” Jamison tells him as she takes a sip of the strong, hot coffeee.

“As well as the farm house where you found Miss Snow.” Agent Brown adds.

“They have been cleared — i.e. there are no charms or glamours still active there.” Jamison adds.

de’Annar looks at the tall, rather solidly built man in a dark blue suit, “So you are Delta Green?”

“That is classified, Mr. de’Annar.” St. Clair curtly looks at him.

“Oh.” He regarded the man. “So, then you have seen the bodies . . . the extent—of the cruelty. And where they kept Lillian.”

“Yes,” Agent Brown replies and glances at St. Clair, then back to de’Annar, “The bodies have been moved to our forensic unit.”

“That’s good. But we know the atrocities done in that house were only a warm up for what’s to happen next.”

Jamison sits the cup of coffee down on her desk – she is going to have to have a talk with Mr. de’Annar. This had to stop — his constant lack of discretion. First and foremost, Delta Green was secret – not something to be discussed openly in public – and especially not now that it had just been reinstated. There were still issues with MJ-12 – and she did not need some media incident here in Collinsport. But before she could say anything, her attention was diverted now by the presence of the two women entering the glass doors of CPD.

Nicole Collins and Samantha Brook.

Brook appears tired, as if she has been up all night – and driving most of the day.

Collins? She looked as she always did – a bit too aristocratic and far too attractive even wearing nothing more than a pair of faded jeans, a black jacket over a white blouse and a long dark woolen overcoat.

St. Clair watches as they pass the Intake Desk. Agent Brown steps over and slips a hand into his jacket pocket. He was silent, but wary as he had immediately sensed they had piqued her interest and he was hovering more protectively. He was trying now to determine if they were, friendlies, or witnesses, or just two women coming to report a crime – but she knew that it would not take him long to sense that there was something about Collins. Agent Brown had seen a lot and had had more than his fair share of Nights at the Opera. Of course, Frank Black would have known immediately upon meeting her – what with that sixth or seventh sense of his.

“Miss Collins—good to see you, finally.”

“Chief.” She says with that exquisite voice – that seductive accent. Jamison knew she was undead – but she still could not help her attraction to the woman. Something dangerous she should not be feeling.

Rhyaad de’Annar stood up at once and stared at them. “Nikki! You’re back – alive!” His joy seemed genuine, as if he had held an expectation that she might not have returned alive.

Samantha Brook nods and heads for the coffee machine – she longs for a warm chai.

Jamison watches as Collins steps forward and gives him a hug.

“So good to see you Rhy, it has been a long, long trip.” She tells him.

Jamison finds herself wondering what it would be like to be in those arms . . . God! What power she must have if she were actually trying to ‘compel’.

“No shit.” Brook mutters on her way pass. Now, the report on Brook was thick, very thick – and only Nicole Collins kept her from pulling the woman in – she was wanted for questioning in a case still open in Detroit. A Blackjack Investigation that had gone bad – for everyone concerned.

“So I hear you have been to Providence.” She says putting her hands on her hips and looking at Nicole as she saunters that oh so sensual walk of hers.

“Yes, with a few side trips.”

“Business or pleasure? I hear Providence is a great town for both.”

“It is.” Nikki replies, being evasive.

“It can also be dangerous.” St. Clair tells her and walks over behind her desk.

“It certainly can be.”

“Like Boston.” She cocks an eyebrow as she pulls her chair back from the desk.

de’Annar impulsively steps forward and hugs her again and then steps back. “As dangerous as what you went for . . . yes. . . I am glad to see you back in one piece.”

Jamison glances quickly over to the left hearing Samantha Brook mutter, once again, “No shit,” as she continues on her way to the coffee maker.

“Boston?” Collins asks, those bright blue eyes seeming to shift hues as you watched them.

de’Annar seems now to just notice that Samantha Brook appeared to be injured, “What happened to Samantha?”

“Yeah.” St. Clair takes a seat, giving Nicole Collins a look that says don’t try to conceal anything from me. “I hear strange old historic buildings there can suddenly just go up in flames.”

“You did Rhy,” Brook stops and turns giving him a look. There seems to be something going on between them, Jamison thinks, aware of how Brook is glowering at him. “You happened to me, teasucker!”

Nicole Collins glances over at Samantha Brook and then back at de’Annar, “As I understand it, far too many historical sites are actually fire hazards.”

“Oh . . . oh. . . that’s right.” de’Annar glances guiltily toward her, no doubt wondering just how much he should say about that particular incident in the night.

“And late night car chases,” St. Clair says knowingly.

“Fast and Furious.”

“Involving a black Ferrari – in fact, the one you reported stolen.”

“I do so hope they have found the car. I was rather fond of it.” Just how much of this was Nicole Collins – and how much was what she had become. Had she always been this self-composed.

St. Clair shook her head, “Not in the best of repair from what I hear. It was located in the bottom of Back Bay.”

St. Clair noticed that de’Annar winced a little at the report of the discovery of her car.

“Well—and then it’s been a bit busy here in Collinsport also—I am sure you’ve heard about the grisly find we made out at the Cranshaw House.” She told her.

“What was that about cranberries?” Samantha Brook suddenly says walking back with a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee – there wasn’t any chai.

Officer Mills, sitting in her cubical, listening to the small Bose radio {obvious product placement} turned to the Bangor Public Radio station, the only one that played classical music, as it plays a selection by Chopin, and finishes her doughnut. She looks away now from her monitor. Pushing back her chair, rolling it a bit out into the walkway just outside of her cubical so that she can take another glance back at the cell occupied by Natasha Snow. Still lying on her side, back turned to her. Still hasn’t moved since she last looked. Or is she merely pretending and is really just lying there listening, trying to figure out what is happening, plotting her next move – if she has one, since Mills wasn’t sure how much of the story to believe – the one from the gypsy and Dr. Spock.

She takes another sip of her coffee.

“Yes,” Collins says now in reply to the question regarding the findings at the Cranshaw House, as she looks over to Samantha Brook, and then, back to Jamison, her eyes for only a moment lingering on Agent Brown. “It appears you have decided to supplemented the Collinsport PD.”

St. Clair nods, “Well, seeing as how I was not precisely sure what I’m facing—Miss Collins. Not having the benefit of intel from other organizations.” She says, referring of course to Nicole’s involvement with the Diogenes Club.

She took note that de’Annar seemed glad that Collins has turned the subject away from the incidents that took place in Boston. “Yes. But not as busy as it could be. St. Clair called this . . . what? A red mark 5, or something? These men, Blair and Petrofi, they mean to bring forth something even worse than N-Tep. Something that will destroy the world!”

Samantha Brook laughs, “My great grandmother’s coming?”

Meanwhile, Officer Mills glances at her watch, and goes over now to relieve the officer on cell watch. She sips from the cooling cup of coffee as she walks across the station.

Jamison St. Clair watches now as Samantha Brook ver dramatically collapses into a chair.

“Well,” She looks up to Collins, “I felt it best – owing to the conversations I had with Mr. de’Annar that it was best to be prepared – since I heard various names being articulated – ones that shouldn’t have been.” She tries to read Nicole Collins ‘ face, but she is a mask of languid reserve.

“This is Special Agent Brown of the FBI.”

“Agent Brown.” Nicole Collins nods to him, “Of the FBI.”

The man did not smile, nor did he reply; he stood silent beside St. Clair. Still trying to size her up – but Jamison knew from his expression he had gathered she was someone St. Clair trusted – not a friendly, exactly, but someone well informed in the ‘conspiracy.’

“Even worse, Sam.” de’Annar now says to Miss Brook, “We are talking Universal Destruction. This man in yellow, ancient gods . . . “

Only—Miss Brook has eyes now only for Agent Brown, “Hallo shake n’ bake.” She says as she salutes as if a little drunk. Jamison well aware it was all a feint – it was Brook’s way of misdirection . . . and she played crazy to perfection. The question she had had for some time now was just what was behind this act?

“ . . . this Hastur or whatever his name is, it all confuses me. St. Clair is the expert on these matters.” He continues.

St. Clair looks across her desk at de’Annar rather sternly, even as Nicole Collins turns to him quickly, “Rhy, please—don’t say that name again. Really, please.”

St. Clair looks at him and then slowly back to the long legged blonde and smiles – she was right, only Collins knew the truth depths of what they faced.

“Now excuse me, what is all this about Universal Destruction—St. Clair . . . ” She looks over to the Chief of Police.

Jamison St. Clair lifts her hands as if in surrender; then motions toward Rhyaad de’Annar, “Hey, he works for you. All I know is he came in here with this story about the end of all of creation. Universal Destruction. Total annilation. The end of time as we now know it.”

“Dogs and cats living together.” Samantha Brook adds.

St. Clair cocks an eyebrow at Brook.

“So what exactly is going to happen, then? Who or what are these men going to summon? We must act to stop them before they destroy the world!” de’Annar says, his voice filled with anxious frustration.

“And them—allusions to mystical cities about to displace Collinsport. That He who should not be named was plotting to bringing madness and chaos –” Jamison continues.

“But that is not Universal Destruction. Nor is it total annilation.”

“Damned Voldemort.” Samantha Brook says as she raises her glass of coffee.

St. Clair watches as he tries to ignore Samantha Brook’s Harry Potter reference and he stares at her across the desk, “St. Clair, it was you – you were the one who said ‘Hell on earth’, like it was the end of everything. And the only thing holding them back is that we have Lillian Snow. But I fear that’s not enough. What if they do it without her?”

Nicole Collins looks at Rhyaad then back to her sitting behind the desk. Jamison longings for that cigarette she wanted twenty minutes ago.

“St. Clair, do you have Lillian?” Collins inquires with the first hint of frustration.

Nodding slowly, “Yes. She’s in protective custody—she’s been sedated.”

“Good, I need to talk to her.”

Cue Music — end of Part 1