Tearoom Tango

Collinsport. Rhyaad de’Annar had intended to visit an ancient monstary in Tibet via use of a device given to him by his friend Gregory, “The Marshall”. But rather than finding himself in Tibet, he instead found himself in a strange land, in another dimension: a place called The Dreamlands. He had been taken there by a woman with a mysterious and magical silver key – a woman he had recognized as Catriona Kaye, the former head of the enigmatic Diogenes Club. Only as he eventually sought to return back to Collinsport, he found himself once again diverted in order to not only meet with the current head of the Diogenes Club, but to be offered an Extraordinary membership — in return of course for his acceptance of a mission: to spy upon his friend Nicole Collins. But as he now returns to Collinsport, transported via portal by the machinations of this puzzling British Intelligence Agency, which is tasked with combating the forces of the paranormal by any means necessary, he is soon to discover that all is not as he had left it . . . .

‘Well, yes, that is what he said.” Harriet Simpson says as she looks up at the officer.

Nathan Simpson, her husband, sits calmly eating apiece of cheesecake and sipping his coffee – whereas his wife had came to the Nightingale for the tea, he came for the coffee. He had been very pleasantly surprised to discover that it was much better, and far cheaper than Starbucks. He sits now looking across the table at his wife whom he has let do most of the talking – as he normally does.

“But you don’t think they really exist – do you?” Harriet continues.

“No ma’am I do not.” Lt. Mills says as she looks up from her moleskin reporter’s notebook.

“I mean I hear that New England is rife with old tales and superstitions, and I have to admit I watch Phenomenon-X all the time.” Harriet says with a low confidential tone, as if a bit embarrassed to make such an admission, her fingers playing idly with the handle of the teacup sitting on its white china saucer. “But, a real vampire? Do you really think he was – you know real?”

“Fad.” Nathan mutters.

Harriet Simpson smiles a bit shamefacedly, “Yes, well I have to admit I do like Vamp Night. And, I mean, part of our coming here to New England, you know – was for the ghost stories. The spooky old places like Arkham, Ipswich, and Kingsport. Places that have been on Phenomenon-X, you know. And, then when we heard about Collinsport – we just had to come see. We’re from Iowa you know.”

Lt. Mills nods. Mrs. Simpson had told her three times already; she smiles at the woman sipping her tea: “And so, you heard him say that he was one?”

Harriet nods, “Oh yes, he even pretended that he was going to bite this very nice looking woman.”

Nathan also nods and takes another bite of his cheesecake.

The sound of the hidden panel, which was carefully concealed behind the wooden room divider, just behind the odd antique globe, was just barely audible — if one were near by — as it opened and Rhyaad now emerges, looking quite different. Instead of the clothes and scraggly hair he had disappeared with, the night of his emotional torment, he was now dressed in a flowing velvet robe of deep red, with soft flannel pants, and a crimson sash. Sandals were on his feet, and his hair was immaculately coiffed. He even smelled slightly of lotus oil.

As he emerges from behind the screen he takes a moment to look around the Nightingale. A wide grin appears on his face.

Oh, it was so good to be back.

“I see ma’am, and you said his name was Blackwater? Is that correct?” Lt. Mills asks.

“Oh, yes, said it a couple of times.”

“And he was about, yea tall?” Lt. Mills holds up her hand about 6 feet.

“Taller.” Nathan replies pointing at the Lieuteane with his fork.

Rhyaad’s ears perk, quite literally, at the sound of the name. He nods to one of his regular customers – aware that there was not very many people at all in the tearoom tonight, which was unusual, being as this was the tourist season—he moves over near the police officer, whom he recognized as Officer Mills. He notices yet another officer talking to the hostess. He wonders what is happening as he approaches Mills, his smile growing warmer. “Blackwater? As in Darien Blackwater?”

Lt. Mills, turns to look at him, the leather of her thick belt creaking a bit as she does so, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to not interrupt.”

Sir? She knows my name. He thinks – aware from her expression that something is not quite right.

Lt. Mills closes her notebook and looks at the couple seated before her, “I do want to thank you for your cooperation.”
“Oh, any time officer.”

She turns now to look at Rhyaad with a frown. Why a grown man continues to ear Spock ears – was beyond her.
Rhyaad gives her a tiny bow of the head in that odd fashion of his. “Forgive my rudeness, Officer.”

“As I understand it, Mr. de’Annar, you are the owner of this establishment, yes?”

“Yes, that is correct.” He says as they step away from the table, leaving behind the tourists from Iowa.

“A moment ago you said Darien Blackwater – as if you knew him. Do you?” The Lieutenant asks, noting that a few of the staff are now looking toward them.

“Darien – yes, of course I know him.” Rhyaad says not certain where this line of questioning was going.

“Mr. de’Annar, how do you know Darien Blackwater?”

“Could we sit down?” He asks aware that the few patrons in the Nightingale are now all watching them with growing curiosity, “Perhaps a spot of tea for you?”

“No tea. Please, just answer the question Mr. de’Annar.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Policemen. And women. All hard-core business. No smelling the flowers on the way.” He sighs. “Darien Blackwater is, in a way, my son. You could say, ward, perhaps. Why? I trust he has been here and left as per my instructions?”

Lt. Mills watches him closely now as she informs him, “He has been here and left alright. And I’m sorry to say, but your son is currently our top suspect in a murder case, and we need to bring him in for questioning.”

Rhyaad blinked in total amazement.

“Murder case! There must be some mistake. I assure you Darien is no murderer. He may have some . . . some . . . issues. But he is not a killer. Whom may I ask has been murdered?”

“Alice McFadden. A high school teacher on vacation from South Carolina.” She tells him. “Darien was seen here the night before last making threats and baring false fangs. Later that night, Alice was found all bitten up. Like someone trying to make it look like a vampire attack. Now we both know that the people round here will believe just about any two bit sci-fi tale you give them and call it, “the history,” and I believe your son was trying to play off on that fact.”

Rhyaad looks at the policewoman mystified – how, how is this even possible? He left Darien in charge of the tearoom . . . what did he do?

“When did you last meet with your son Mr. de’Annar?”

“Sorry. I have never heard that name. Alice McFadden. And I assure you Darien would never murder an innocent person like that. I last spoke to Darien on the phone oh . . . ” He pauses, and looks confused. “What date is this?”

Lt. Mills sighs and rests her hand on the butt of her service revolver, is everyone here on drugs? The man doesn’t even know the date – she looks down at the sandals.

She takes out her notebook, and flips through a couple of pages, “A Mr. Fu Waing, who happens to be one of your employees, states that Darien physically threatened a visiting professor from Massachusetts with a set of very realistic false teeth. He not only hissed at her, but he seems to have tired to enact some type of vampiric movements, as if to bite this professor – all the while, continuing to make various allusions to vampires – and vampire legends. Would you say sir that Darien was into things like vampires and such?”

The digital watch on Mill’s wrist shows that it is 10:04 PM, June 29th, 2012 as he quickly glances at it, trying to get his sense of timing, “Ah. That was about 3 days ago, that I spoke to him on the telephone. And yes, I would say so. You know how infatuated people are with the vampire legends these days. And I did tell you Darien is my ward. Actually, I was afraid to tell you the whole truth. You see, sometimes he takes this vampire fantasy a bit too far. And forgets to take his pills. Whatever happened, I assure you there has been a misrepresentation.”

“Forgets to take his pills?” She asks now with interest. “Is your son seeing a doctor for psychological treatment? Does he have a mental condition?”

“I can see Darien causing a scene Officer Mills. He can be rude. But he would never actually commit an act like – like the one you describe.” Rhyaad tires to reassure her, “I’m afraid he’s delusional at times. But with the proper medication, he keeps it under control. Perhaps he forgot his pills that night.”

“Delusional.” Lt. Mills gives him a curious look, “Can you give me the name of the doctor who prescribed those pills?”

“I don’t have the latest records handy.” He tells her. “But if you give me a few days, I’ll have a complete file for you, if you desire.”

“Mr. de’Annar – this is a murder investigation. I will want those records as soon as you can get them to me. Now, you said you spoke to him on the phone. What did you talk about?”

“Darien I expect has returned to Los Angeles by now, so it will take a while,” he explains. “But I assure you Darien is no murder.”

Lt. Mills turns now to another officer, “Scott, contact LAPD, get a BOLO out there.”

Rhyaad looks at her aghast – how can Darien have gotten himself into – this situation, he was only supposed to watch the tearoom?

“Right, Lieutenant.” Officer Scott Anderson says and hurries out of the Nightingale and out to one of the two patrol cars sitting in front of the tearoom.

“I asked him to come here and check up on the place while I would be away on an errand. From what you’re telling me, I gather his performance was less than stellar?” Rhyaad, looking for some answers himself, attempted now to do his own questioning. “Just what did Darien do to cause such commotion as I sense may have transpired?”

“WelI Mr. de’Annar – various witnesses say that he portrayed himself in a rather aggressive and threatening manner. And then, at one point, as I told you, you threatened an out-of-state educator with vampire-esque tactics. He was then observed leaving this establishment and only a few hours later, another out-of-state educator was found dead. Did Darien have problems with teachers as a boy?”

“Um, not that I know of. But I promise you, Officer Mills, I will look into this personally. And I shall have a statement for you within three days. I may also arrange an interview with Darien for you, if you wish. But that will take time. Will this be acceptable? I hope I am being cooperative?”

“What would be acceptable is that he had not decided on interstate flight, sir. What I would like, is I would like him back here to answer questions asap.”

“Interstate flight? He has not been charged with a crime – has he?”

“He is a person of interest in a homicide, Mr. de’Annar.” Lt. Mills tells him coldly, she turns to a new page in her notebook, “So—just how old is Darien?”

There was an awkward pause. Rhyyad knew this was not going to go well, as he answered, “27”.

“Attending collage in LA?”

Rhyaad shook his head. “Graduated already. Darien is smarter than he looks, ” his tiny smile returns.

“So, why the different surnames Mr. de’Annar?”

“Eh? Oh, you mean his and mine? Well of course I am not his biological father. Look at me. But I am, in a way, responsible for him.”

Lt. Mills now cocks her head slightly to one side, “You are his legal guardian? At the age of 27 – is that owing to his mental condition . . . and if so, why is he living in LA and you are here in Collinsport?”

“It’s complicated, Miss Mills. But no, I am not in any way, according to your law, recognized as his legal guardian. It is in another capacity that has nothing to do with law. Let’s say, it is more like I am custodian by way – of family. But, he is capable of taking care of himself – I mean Darien is working as a private investigator. Or was. I am afraid his condition may be deteriorating. Perhaps it’s time I re-evaluated things with him.”

Lt. Mills now was very curious – something in this story just does not add up, “Just how old are you Mr. de’Annar?”

“Me? I’m 25.”

“25?” Not his Biological father? Not his Adoptive father? Not his Legal Guardian? Who the hell is this man to call himself the father of a man 3 years his senior? She thinks – but wants to play this out a bit further before circling back to this curious little oddity . . .

“Yes.”

“Family – so, who are his actual parents Mr. de’Annar?”

“I’ll have all that in the report for you. His actual parents were killed in a car accident years ago.” He tells her – this is gong to get much too complicated – what was Darien thinking?

“How many years ago?”

“When he was 18. So, about nine years ago.”

“Well, that was fortunate – that you were there to take him under your wing as it were.” She smiles at him.

He nods. “Something like that.”

“A good friend of the family, I suppose.” She continues to smile

He nods again. “Something like that.”

“Even though you were a minor at the time?” The smile now gone in an instant.

“It isn’t illegal if we didn’t have sex, now is it, Miss Mills?” He asks. “But really, isn’t the murder of this woman from South Carolina of greater concern than the details of my history with Mr. Blackwater. As I said I shall have a statement for you soon, and I will track down Darien. But this is a very awkward time, for me.”

Lt. Mills’ eyes go cold, “Everything to do with Mr. Blackwater is of interest, Mr. de’Annar – he is the prime suspect in a murder investigation. He has left the state – and the only one who seems to have any information regarding his possible whereabouts is you – and so, yes, this is all of interest to me.” Her green eyes are piercing, “Particularly, when what you just told me would indicate, Mr. de’Annar, that you were only 16-years-old when you supposedly “took him under your wing” as it were. And he was 18.”

Rhyaad looks at her.

“What I think Mr. de’Annar – is that you have just lied to a police officer when you claimed to be the man’s father. Now, would you care to revise your statement?”

“Relationships are not always about age, Miss Mills. I am far more mature than Darien, regardless of what numbers you may care to attach to us. But you police types, yes, I know numbers are all that matters to you.” Rhyaad says, and tries to remember the teachings of the crimson monks – to let himself flow like the river, and he calms himself, “And I never said I was his father. I said that, in a way, he was like my son.”

“In what way?”

“That is personal, and beyond the scope of our shared concern. Our concern is to prove that Darien did not murder that teacher.” He tells her, “And I shall be working on just that.”

“A legal adult does not need a ward Mr. de’Annar, I cannot trust you unless I know the manner of your relationship with the suspect.

“I’m sorry, I truly do not mean to be offensive. But neither do I wish to lie to you, Officer Mills. As I said, our relationship has nothing to do with your law, and is of a manner most personal. I will not divulge anything further on that manner. I am sorry if that causes you not to trust me, I truly am. I can only ask you to remember what I have done for you, and St. Clair, and what she might say if she were here.” He gave a little bow of the head again. ” I do not mean to be rude or uncooperative – but where is St. Clair?”

“Chief St. Clair was shot yesterday in Massachusetts. She has left me in control of Collinsport PD while she recovers. So—let me be blunt, is the manner of your “wardship” related to psychological issues? “

“WHAT!” Rhyaad’s eyes widen and he steps back, aghast. “St Clair was shot? Why? By whom? Is she all right? Is she . . . no, she must not be dead! Where is she?”

“I cannot divulge that information.” She tells him, “What Detective agency does Blackwater work for.”

“Um . . . His own.” He says now completely distracted. “He is, or was, it is his own business. And you must tell me, Mills, please! I must visit St. Clair!”

“Her attackers are still at loose. And so, I cannot disclose her location—I am sure you understand.”

“Attackers? What—what happened?”

“She was shot twice in the back.”

“Gods! How—who? Who could have done such a think?” Coats told him—they were regrouping. Is this somehow connected . . . and now with St. Clair gone – Gods this was going to get very complicated as she’s the only one who truly understands.

“It’s an on going investigation, Mr. de’Annar – as is this. Now, what is the name of this agency? How many other people work there?”

“Blackwater Investigations. And as far as I know, it was just himself and that woman, his secretary. I’d have his card, if I were wearing my normal clothes. You have come at an inconvenient time, Miss Mills.”

“Lieutenant.” She corrects him – not that she wants to flaunt her promotion, but that he keeps calling her Miss Mills.

“Lieutenant Mills,” he corrected himself – so many things have happened in just three days? “I must say, congratulations on the promotion.”

“Thank you.” She says, “So—when you talked over the phone, did he allude to doing anything other than watching the restaurant?’

“No, he did not.” He tells her, “This is news to me, Lieutenant Mills. I cannot believe that Darien would commit crimes like this.”

“Other than watching this, “ she indicates with a motion of her hand the tearoom, “Did you give him any other instruction? Did you ask him to check up on some people? Visit friends? Feed pets? That kind of thing?”

“I feel responsible for certain people and properties here, and needed someone capable of handling things should any trouble occur. But it seems Darien has caused more trouble than he might have prevented.” He says sadly, “I am most displeased.”

“You’ve known each other for nine years. Has he ever before shown signs of violent behavior?

There was a long, awkward pause. “Nothing unusual.”

“Unusual . . . What is usual Mr. de’Annar?”

“I mean to say, no behavior unusual for someone in his condition, of course. No excessive violence. In fact Darien is a model of self control.”

“Right – a model of self-control only when on his medications as you say, for a mental condition, which you, as his 9 year “ward,” have trouble remembering precisely what the name of the medication is—how is – what is he like when he is not on his meds.”

“He reverts to this delusion that he is a vampire, and is prone to histrionic behavior.”

She nods, “So, he does have a vampiric delusion.”

He looks at her. “I cannot help but resent the trash they put out as movies these days. “Fang Night”. It can only drive people to obsessive fantasies.”

“The movies made me do it is a far too convenient excuse, sir. “ Lt. Mills shakes her head, “Seeing as how he was in LA . . . when you spoke to him. Did he give you any specific information on how he intended to get here from LA? Flight numbers? Destination. Portland? Bangor. Rental car?”

“Darien always makes his own travel arrangements. I wouldn’t know.”

“Did you two go to school together?”

Rhyaad shook his head. “No.”

“Did he ever talk about his school life? Problems? Trouble with teachers?”

“Teachers – no, nothing like that. He was – he was just obsessed with vampires and the occult even then. He was a bit rebellious, like most teenagers. Tended to be in the ‘Goth’ crowd. Not surprising, really.”

“So like most rebellious teens in that genre, it could be said he had a distain for authority, yes?”

Officer Scott Anderson puts the microphone down, and taps the keys of his onboard computer, having called in and asked Officer Boyle to put out a BOLO on Darien Blackwater in Los Angeles. He glances up at the front of the Nightingale tearoom, highlighted by the landscaping flood lights, to look for a moment at the painting of a willow tree and several Nightingale birds. The mural takes up most of the left façade of the building. For a moment he thinks he sees two bats flittering about — but he is not certain, and looks back at his onboard computer.

Nothing new on Chief St. Clair’s condition.

As he continues checking information on his computer, Samantha Brook, having stopped as she noticed the patrol car, and the officer inside, begins to carefully slink around the front of the Nightingale. She can see the officer in the glow of his computer monitor, and so watching him warily and staying very close to the landscaping shrubbery she moves toward the front doors. The red paint cans making soft clunking noises as she comes to a stop and looks through the glass of the front door to watch as the hostess steps away now from the entrance.

“I see where you are going Mills. I will not allow you to paint a picture of my ward as a dangerous psychopath with a distain for authority. Or if you use the descriptions I have given you, a substantial portion of the teenage population could be so painted. Darien is a decent soul. He is committed to . . . to . . . to NOT killing people.”

Samantha Brook chuckles as she notes only a few cars in the parking lot, and only a couple of customers remaining inside – stupid Blackwater, looks like he has run everyone off, and so she will just wait until the lights go out and the staff leaves – only, the interior light of the patrol car suddenly comes to life as the door opens and the officer gets out.

She quickly pushes the front door open –maybe she can hide in the restroom . . . until . . .

Lt. Mills’ green eyes narrow, “I understand that you might be willing to protect him Mr. de’Annar. I understand that is what loved ones often try to do. But the fact of the matter is that this man is our only suspect, and quite frankly, it sounds as if he forgot to take his meds and had a one-night relapse of an otherwise fine life. Now I know it may be hard to accept, but worse things have happened. Just look at what happened in Aurora.”

Samantha Brook starts giggling to herself, albeit stutteringly due to the wires holding her teeth tightly clenched. She suddenly sees Rhyaad and Officer Mills . . . and so, she slips toward the restrooms.

Officer Anderson’s attention, diverted from the front of the Nightingale, hitches up his leather belt as he walks over now to the F150 pick-up. “Evening Arliss.” He says stepping up to the driver’s window.

“Steve.” The owner of Mills Auto Repair and the Shell Mini-mart says as he sips coffee from a Styrofoam cup pock-marked with greasy fingerprints.

Officer Anderson turns and looks at the front of the Nightingale. “Nice night.”

“Certainly is.” Arliss agrees.

Smoking curling up from the cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Anything I should know?” Officer Anderson asks.

Arliss tosses his the stub of his cigarette out the window onto the asphalt of the parking lot in a shower of sparks.

Officer Anderson crushes it with the toe of his shoe.

“Not at the moment, no Steve.” Arliss tells him.

“I have no more questions for you Mr. de’Annar, but I will appreciate those records at your best possible convenience.”

“I question your methodology, Lieutenant Mills. Just because Darien was behaving strangely on the night that woman was killed is no logical reason to consider him the prime suspect. There happen to be a LOT of kooks that put on vampire fangs, and a substantial number of such attacks and murders in recent years, if you have failed to notice this. I feel like you are trying to pin this on Darien because he is . . . convenient.”

Rhyaad turns and as he does, he notices Samantha seemingly sneaking toward the restrooms, “Sam? What are you doing?”

She turns and glares at him, the wires on her mouth visible.

“And what’s wrong with your mouth?” He asks.

Samantha Brook freezes, sees the police officer looking at her also – f**k.

Lt. Mills closes her notebook and puts it away as she looks at the paint cans in Miss Brook’s hands.

“MMMMMM!” Samantha mumbles, “MMM MMM MMM!!!”

“Just what are you doing Samantha Brook? Not that I am not happy to see you, I am. But what’s this paint and brushes? What’s wrong with your mouth?”

Samantha Brook, well aware she’s caught, suddenly decides on another course of action. She stops, bends down and pries the lids off the paint cans.

Lt. Mills watches puzzled.

“Sam?” Rhyaad asks.

As she rises, lifting the cans, she suddenly charges toward him and deftly turns the cans up and over his head, spilling the thick paint on him.

Lt. Mills suddenly turns and draws her taser as does Officer Anderson, just now re-entering the tearoom – as well as Office O’Reilly stepping from the kitchen were he had finished interviewing one of the staff.

“Aaah!” Rhyaad screams as he is dumped with red paint.

“Stop! Police!” Lt. Mills yells.

“Sam! Why are you doing this to me?”

“mm MM mmmMMMm HHHmmMM!!! [you, s**t, your f**king b*****d kid did this to my f**king mouth!] Samantha Brook tries to say as she points at her jaw then points dramatically at Rhyaad.

He struggles to wipe the paint out of his eyes. “Mills! Where are you?”

“Drop the paint can. Now! And put your hands up!” Lt. Mills orders, aiming the taser at Sam.

Harriet and Nathan Simpson watch with rapt attention.

Samantha Brook drops the can with a splash of paint.

She quickly motions to the Lieutenant’s notepad indicating she wishes to write messages. And then keeps pointing at her jaw, wired shut, and then back over to Rhyaad.

“Scott, give that woman your notepad and pen.” Lt. Mills directs as she lowers her taser slightly.

Rhyaad wipes the paint away from his eyes surprisingly fast, and looks at Sam incredulously. “Sam! Have you lost your mind . . . ” and then seriously considers the irony of that statement. “What happened? I finally get to see you after god knows what happened and you dump paint on me?”

Officer Anderson, putting his taser away, steps over and hands Samantha Brook his notepad and a pen.

She grabs it quickly and then begins scribbling furiously, then passes the note to Lt. Mills.

She looks at it.

[Blackwater, his b*****d, did this to my fucking jaw!!!!!!!]

Rhyaad removes the robe and starts trying to wipe paint off of his face and hair. “Well, so much for keeping these clothes.”

Lt. Mills looks up quickly, “Blackwater! Blackwater broke your jaw?”

Samantha nods smugly.

Lt. Mills puts the taser away, and then turns back to the paint soaked Rhyaad de’Annar, “Well it seems that not only is Mr. Blackwater a suspect in a murder investigation – his is also now wanted for assault.”

“Darien? What now?” He blows a little paint out of his nose. “Assault? I don’t believe it!”

“MMMMmm MMMM met!” Samantha tries to say, [He attacked my ferret!]

“Miss . . . Brook was it?” Lt. Mills asks, “Would you mind coming into the other room with me? I have some questions regarding Darien Blackwater for you.”

“Sam, why don’t you just calm down and write out for the officers what really happened.” Rhyaad tells her dripping with red pain.

Samantha Brook blinks and then eyes the Lieutenant suspiciously.

“Lieutenant Mills, may I be excused?” Rhyaad asks, hands held out from his sides as he continues to drip pain on the hardwood floor, “I seem to have an urgent need for a shower before this paint dries.”

Lt. Mills nods, “Yes. Please.”

“I shall be back.” His tone makes it seem not an entirely pleasant promise as he looks at Samantha.

Lt. Mills now approaches Samantha Brook and motions her over to a set of chairs in the entryway, “We are looking for Mr. Blackwater concerning the murder of Alice McFadden, a high school teacher. When did Mr. Blackwater attack you?”

As Mills and Brook withdraw into the anteroom, Rhyaad slips behind the screen and disappears into the sub-levels.

As she sits down, Lt. Mills, motions to Sam to have a seat.

Samantha Brook hands her the pad with her answer to her question.

“So last night.” Lt. Mills nods – which means Blackwater has just fled today. “Did you happen to know what time of the night it was?”

Samantha Brook shakes her head.

“Why did he attack you Miss Brooks?”

She scribbles quickly, oddly focused, [He was asked to leave the premises, when he refused I tried to forcibly remove him from the building]”

“Premises – where did this happen?”

Samantha starts to write down Blackjack, but scribbles it out and writes Collinsport Investigations.

“I see. And what was he doing that warranted being thrown out?”

After pausing a moment, Samantha starts writing, [Loud, noisy, abrasive, got violent and assaulted the office mascot]

“I see. Did he show signs of Delusion? Such as pretending to be a vampire or the like?”

[He did at the teahouse], she writes down quickly.

Then turns the page and writes, [Entire teahouse heard and saw him . . . ]

Lt. Mills looks at her, “So you where here, at the teahouse, when he threatened the Massachusettian Professor?”

Samantha Brook nods emphatically. She jots down, [The Swiffer lady, yes]

“Swiffer lady? Care to elaborate?” Lt. Mills asks.

[The professor person, he acted like he was gonna’ bite her]

“Professor Swift, yes, from Arkham?”

Samnatha nods.

“Did you hear any of their conversation?”

[Wasn’t really listening]

“It’s ok. Tell me about your second encounter. Why was he in Collins investigators?”

She blinks and shrugs, [He was there when I woke up]

“Do you remember any of the conversation that occurred there?”

[Seemed to want to brag. Show off. Said he was detective. Wanted us to guess why he was there]

“Brag – about something he had recently done?”

[More like he knew something that we didn’t]

Downstairs, Rhyaad scrubs hard to remove all of the paint from his body and hair. It seems next to impossible to get it all out of his hair. Perhaps there will be time for a turpentine bath later. Then he reflects on the fact that Sam’s choice of color may have been fortuitous, and purposely leaves lines of red around his eyes and trailing down his face, the way tears would. It might come in handy, if these terrible things they say about Darien . . . but no, they cannot be true.

He knows Samantha is crazy.

There has to be some explanation — Darien would not have killed that woman.

[Said: so you call yourselves detectives, as if he wanted us to know something. Then Esther told him to leave.]

[He wouldn’t. Miyuki my pet peed on him. He got violent.]

“Is that Me-yuky?” Lt. Mills asks.

Almost as if on cue, the ferret pops its head from Samantha’s coat and she points to it.

Lt. Mills looks at the ferret.

Samantha points at the word Miyuki then points at the ferret.

“Do you have a license for that animal Miss Brooks?”

She nods.

Rhyaad finally finishes, his shower and grabs some clothes and a towel to continue rubbing at his hair.

Lt. Mills continues to look at the ferret, “Do you have tags for this animal?”

[You mean a collar?]

“Yes.’

[No. She doesn’t go more than 3 feet from me]

“I recommend getting her a collar.” Lt. Mills tells her, “Either in case she goes missing, or in case someone mistakes her for a pest.”

Samantha nods and salutes.

“So, did Miyuki peeing—did that set off Blackwater?”

[kicked her] She writes on the verge of tears.

“Ok. ok. It’s fine. What were you planning on doing with the buckets of paint?”

[Didn’t have a pen]

After some time Rhyaad re-emerges. He looks a bit damp and disheveled, but none the worse as he pads back into the room on bare feet.

“What did you plan on doing with the paint?” She asks again.

Samantha shyly holds up a really fine artists brush and indicates she was gonna write with it.

[I didn’t have a pen till other officer gave me one]

Lt. Mills looks at her, then at the wires in her mouth, deciding perhaps to let this one slide and to move on. [Why did you react the way you did to Mr. de’Annar?]

[It’s his fault] she writes.

“His fault? Do you blame D’annar for Blackwater?”

Samantha nods and turns the page to scribble, “Blackwater said he was here cause Rhy asked him to be. So his fault]

“Did he say what Mr. de’Annar asked him to do here?”

[Watch over things]

Rhyaad sits on the couch across and looks sadly at Samantha. “Samantha, I want you to know how terrible I feel about this. It is not my fault. And I am sure there must be some part of this story that is being left out. By the way, I could have you arrested for assault for what you just did.”

“I see . . . “ Lt. Mills glances over at de’Annar, “Well I must ask you to refrain from more physical altercations. And please, Mr. de’Annar, do not interrupt.”

Samantha Brook glares at Rhyaad and points at her jaw.

“Surely you don’t blame Darien for that.” He asks stepping over toward them.

Lt. Mills looks over at Officer Anderson and motions toward Rhyaad de’Annar, “One last question: that looks like very rough dental work. Where did you get that done?”

Officer Anderson steps over to stand next to Rhyaad de’Annar.

“Perhaps you should take Mr. de’Annar into the other room until I am finished.” Lt. Mills instructs Officer Anderson.

Samantha Brook looks at Rhyaad as a brief expression of hurt crosses her face and then is quickly replaced by one of fury

“Officer? This is my property.” He protests.

Samantha is deeply hurt – that he calls her crazy is one thing, but he knows her and to call her a liar?

Rhyaad watches Sam’s rapidly changing expressions, curious and perplexed.

Officer Anderson asks him to accompany him – and Rhyaad nods, “Okay – I will go to the kitchen; I’m sure I can find something to do there.”

“As I was saying, where did you get such rough dental work done Miss Brooks?”

Samantha Brook shrugs.

“You don’t know?” Lt. Mills asks perplexed.

[Blackwater punched me. Flew across room. Banged head on wall. Woke up with this.”

“I see. Who do you live with that could have called a house doctor?”

[I live in the offices]

In the kitchen, he unlocks the padlocked small fridge, takes out a bottle of blood, and warms it in the microwave. When it is 98.6 degrees, he takes it out and glugs the crimson fluid directly from the bottle, then sits next to the wall to listen.

“You mentioned Esther. That is Esther Friedman, yes? Could she have called for one?

A shrug. [maybe] she writes.

“Ok. Well thank you for your help Miss Brooks. We may want to speak with you more in the future. We will stop by the offices if we need you.” She rises and holds her hand out to shake Samantha’s.

Samantha grabs her index finger in between forefinger and thumb and shakes it cautiously

“You’ve been very helpful. I’m glad to see you are feeling better mentally, and I hope that your jaw heals well and proper.” Mills turns to Officers Anderson and O’Reilly. “Come on boys. Lets get back to the station

They turn and walk out of the Nightingale.

Samantha sits with the notepad and pen still in her hand.

“What do you think?”

“Half this town is crazy.” Lt. Mills tells Officer O’Reilly, “And I think I want to run a background check on this de’Annar.”

Cue Music End of Episode