The Widening Gyre

Cooperative: ''This story is coordinated by Laveaux. It is open to any new writers with characters alive during the year 1947 and have access to North America. The coordinator asks that any writers that do join the story, complete a character description in accordance with this article. Note that writers can only write for their characters, the coordinator will write for all other characters and events. Use the talk page if you have questions or suggestions.

Current Active Writers:
 * This story has no current active writers. Any of the characters can be used by other writers.''

He had gotten the gig through a friend who knew a friend who knew a friend, and it was better then staying at his cousin�s house and celebrating with them. The hotel was nice, and they had a full sized band. He was drowned out in the mix of instruments but it was all good.

The band stopped as the announcer counted down the last of the year. Then the band started into �Auld Lang Syne�. Mat played well, and most of the crowd was drunk. He wondered if anyone knew the words, not that you could tell as they slurred them anyway. Many of the couples were getting their first kiss of the year, good luck and all.

He would have to find himself a girl to kiss, and from the looks of this crowd there were plenty of them. Washington would not a be half bad place to hang out, not like New York, but then perhaps he could find a place in this city like New York?

--rentiger1

Women available in all their endless variety- every nationality, every scent, every flavor- and all of them searching for someone to complete them. Never mind that the predators stalked both ends of the field- men and women each desiring togetherness tonight, of all nights- it was the women who did most of the promenading. Legs crossed and uncrossed in their chairs, lips curled into a seductive smile, dresses were ever-so-slightly adjusted, hair was curled around index fingers... an endless cavalcade of semi-seductive gestures.

The music was loud and the food was good, the drink was freely poured and the dancing was erratic. If variety was the spice of life, then this particular gathering had certainly been overseasoned. Asian women, white women, black women, middle-aged women, young women... all of them here in numbers- regardless of social status or financial stability. This was New Years Eve in Washington D.C.- one could hardly expect to start 1947 without a bang, right?

--Aenigma

The band stopped and was taking five. Almost four hours of playing and the crowd was still going strong, of course it was only an hour after midnight. Mat took a long drink of water backstage and nodded to some of the other band members as they talked about the party.

�So what is your flavor Mat?� Gino asked as he passed a flask over to the next guy. �I like the Italian girls myself.�

Mat shrugged. �Any are good I guess.� He replied taking the flask and giving it a drink, the liquid burned a bit.

�Just give Mat something soft to hold eh?� The bass player said, a large black man. �I saw a few southern girls out there, I am with Mat, though, anything would be fine.�

Mat took a cigarette that was offered to him and took a few puffs. �I am just here to play. I think some of those birds out there are flying a bit high for me. I don�t know if I could afford to keep them.�

�Keep them?� Gino exclaimed. �Son, you do not keep them, you let them fly free, after plucking a few feathers.�

The group of musicians laughed and Mat shook his head. He took another drink from the flask. �I gotta go, fellas. I will be back.� He headed off in the direction of the backstage bathrooms. They were downstairs under the stage, off the dressing rooms, you would miss them if you did not know where they were.

He stepped into the room and suddenly was slammed against the wall. He knew a mugging when he was in one, he grew up in Brooklyn. His elbow pushed back as he felt the body of the attacker hit him. He heard a muffled yelp, then the attacker fell away.

Mat spun around and looked at his assailant, the man in a long coat and suit was slumped against the wall. In his left hand was a revolver and in his right was a book. His whole side was covered in blood. He had been here for a while, the floor and the walls had blood on them as well, around the sink were towels where it looked as if he was trying to stop the bleeding. He was very pale and it was no wonder Mat beat him so easily.

Mat knelt down. �Don�t, mister, we will get you some help.� He needed to get upstairs and fast. He started to stand and the man pressed the book to Mat�s chest. �Pavalio�� He chocked out, then stopped moving.

Mat took the book, tucking it into his suit and ran up the stairs. �Guys, there is a man in the bathroom, hurt bad.�

The stage manager stepped over. �You have 2 minutes left.� He showed his pocket watch as it were evidence of the fact.

--rentiger1

Blood stained Mat's hands and some of his garments, but the material was dark enough and his hands were hidden enough that the stains would not be noticed, should anyone be looking in that direction- which was unlikely in the first place. Indeed, there was a rush to get the young man back on stage for the next set. Hands were pressed into Mat's back, ushering him back onto the stage for his next performance, nobody apparently interested in whatever man might have been in the bathroom.

The music struck itself up again, and once more the women seemed to be displaying themselves for the sake of the musicians- a common practice- and showing themselves off for the affections of those who were deemed grand enough to inhabit the stage. It was like a game- these coy mistresses promenading delightedly, knowing full well what they had and that it was in demand.

The book felt undeniably heavy inside Mat's pocket- not physically heavy, but there was certainly something of an unusual emotional feeling attached to it. It wasn't quite burdensome, nor was it especially unsettling, it just felt as if it didn't wish to be held, but rather had to be convinced of Mat's right of ownership.

--Aenigma

The girls were not as interesting now, now with what happened. The last set was only two hours, but they seemed to drag on forever. The book was getting heavier by the hour and he could not wait to finish. He had to focus though, keep with the tempo, or else he would play to fast, as if the music could make things happen faster.

Only a few people were left for the last songs, most had left for hotel rooms he assumed. Then when they were done, he packed up the clarinet and rushed to find the first security guard. �Listen, there is a dead guy down in the bathrooms under the stage.� He informed the man.

--rentiger1

The security guard's eyes widened in shock, clearly perturbed by the news-- but at the same time there was a note of caution in the way he regarded Mat, as if considering the possibility that the clarinet player had simply had too much to drink. "Show me," said the man in a simple imperative- eyeing Mat alternately with suspicion and intensity.

The two of them moved down the stairs and to the bathroom, the guard following Mat's lead- and as the door slid open, for an instant Mat saw the flashes of the blood-covered bathroom, blood staining everything... the crimson fluid upon his clothing, hands, the walls, the floor...

But within the room there was nothing- only the standard polished and immaculate facility. No dead bodies, no blood, nothing that might have ever led one to believe that Mat was telling even a tiny bit of the truth. The guard, for his part, scoffed and looked back at Mat, eyes widened with mirth.

"Look here, kid, I think you've had too much to drink. Maybe you can go down to one of your band buddies and they can take you home, alright?" Laughing and muttering about drunk musicians, the man turned and began to stalk away, leaving Mat alone with the mystery of what had transpired.

--Aenigma

Nothing was there, Mat started to wonder if he had dreamed it himself. The book was very heavy now, and he clammed up about it real quick. He hardly heard the laughing from the guard as he left for the stage exit. His bike was parked out back.

He dusted the snow from the bike seat and hopped on, the streets were pools of light lit by the lamp posts as he started biking home. He played the scene over in his mind. How had they cleaned it up? He should have done more; he should have pulled the man up the stairs. There is a lot he should have done. Did not matter now, what�s done is done.

He turned the bike and rode up onto the curb. He crossed a bridge headed back home.

--rentiger1

It was late, with little real traffic- indeed, the city seemed surrealistically quiet, aside from the few parties that continued to wind down as the hours proceeded. Some people still had work, despite the holiday- and as such people were finding their way idly into their homes and making their gradual procession into dreamland. The few parties that still burnt in the cool night were filled mostly with drunks and those responsible for taking those drunks home-- and more than a few bodies would likely wake up in alleyways and with conspicuously empty pockets, by the time the morning came.

The book still felt heavy- perhaps heavier, by virtue of the strange coincidence of the disappearing body- but at the same time it never really conceded itself to the icy cold of the Washington night, instead retaining its almost flesh-warm touch.

After a brief ride, Mat would find himself at his residence- the weariness of sleep drawing heavily upon him, as he had spent most of the night playing his instrument- a wearying activity when done for too long. The excitement, too, threatened to force his eyes shut, though his mind might long for wakefulness. There was much to consider, after all- and not all of the considerations needed be done through waking thought.

--Aenigma

Mat dragged himself up to his room. The house was quiet, it normally was at this time of night. He tried to walk through the kitchen and living room without creaking the floor. It was a task that was more difficult then one might think. Stairs posed an insurmountable problem in that area.

As he reached the second floor Lindel stepped out. She was his uncles daughter, just a few years older then him. �You have a good time?� She asked, a baby cradled in her arms

�Yeah, it was alright.� He said, adjusting his grip on the clarinet case. �I got twenty dollars for the set, not bad since I also got some food from the kitchen.� If this had been a normal night he may have tried to find a nice girl, and a nice all night diner, if they had them in DC. �It was good music, but not my style.�

�It would have been nice to go to a party like that, you should feel lucky Mat.� She adjusted the baby as it started to stir. �I should get him back to bed. I will try not to wake you until lunch.�

Mat nodded and headed up the last flight of stairs to his room. He set the clarinet on a chair near the door, then pulled off his jacket. Sleep was a looming monster making his body ache with the press of his weight. He took the book from his jacket and walked over, setting it with the stack of school books on his desk. The gratefully sank into sleep

--rentiger1

The young man sank into slumber as dreams slowly pulled him into their embrace and memories of crimson stains and dark grimoires filled the absence of all things. Infinities folded into themselves as all became peace and silence. Just beyond the walls, the distant sound of gunfire rang out- ignored by all, in their desire to forget the problems of others.

Only Mat heard them, really, as he drifted toward the land of Nod. Even then, his ears might have been deceptive in their duties. Shadows deepened, even as the sun grew closer to rising, and then Matiyahu knew nothing aside from the oddly hypnotic caress of sleep.

--Aenigma

The lazy sound of birds chirping just beyond his window woke the young man up, the light streaming in through the windows of his room slowly producing wakefulness from the absence thereof. Memories seemed slow to awaken, fingers slowly flexing as the realization of the late hour would enter his mind. Lindel's soft singing, from just beyond the doorway- perhaps whistling as she prepared food for the evening meal, or perhaps offering up a siren song to lull an infant to sleep.

Dreams had not been kind to Matityahu Sommerstine, not that night- there had been the tortured realization that all had been real. Drowning in a sea of blood, staining everything, the young man had envisioned that he himself was drowning, becoming lost in the mass of disappearing sanguine pools. Horrifying- the realization that he had seen a man die and that there had been nothing he could do about it.

Then, of course, there was the book- foreboding as it was- and as the young man might sit up in his bed, he would see it resting not where it had previously been... but rather resting upon the bedside table, as if the dreams had somehow pulled it closer to Mat's bedside. The light reflected off of the licorice-black surface, the musty pages possessing a sheen that seemed to defy their age.

"Are you up, Mat?" came the call from Lindel, only a few rooms over, the sound of sizzling now entirely audible. "You've been sleeping for almost twelve hours, and you know how some people get about oversleeping..."

And then the song started anew, filled with hope and sweetness- but at the same time chilling in its innocence.

--Aenigma

He wiped his face, as if to pull the mask of sleep from him. He did not think he was that tired, or was it just the dreams were trying to keep him there, drowning. He could not wake from the sleep when he was struggling to stay adrift on the sea of blood. Now, he was just trying to clear his head and rouse his body to stand.

He looked at the book, he wondered if he did move it in his sleep. �Yeah, I am up, I will be right down.� He rand a hand through his hair pushing it back and stood, his legs still wanted to sleep but he willed them to keep him up.

Picking up the book he put it back on the desk with his other books. �You stay put this time.� He joked as he headed to the bathroom to do the morning routine. After a shower and a quick shave he was back in his room to get dressed, suit and shirt, had to look nice, even if it was just a Thursday and he had nothing planned on the schedule. You never knew when you would meet a nice girl.

He picked up the book and slipped it into the jacket pocket without thinking about it and headed down to the sound and smell of food.

--rentiger1

The reflection of his face was almost ghostly. Perhaps it was because sleep was still lodged in his eyes or maybe it was because he hadn't adjusted to the daylight yet, but for a moment he did not look himself. The reflection was a dozen years older and his eyes had lost the refraction of youth. A bit of water cured the fogginess and the reflection looked normal, if not a bit tossled.

The unfamiliar book rested in his pocket with no weight and little recollection. By the time he left the room it was already forgotten and only distant memories of a bloody dream remained, but fizzled finally into obscurity as he saw Lindel over a pan of blintzes.

"Can you get the cottage cheese out? I have some blintzes for you," she said in between tunes, "do you have plans tonight?"

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat shrugged as he entered. �I thought I would go and get some books from the bookstore. I got paid for that job and I need some books for school.� He stepped over and pulled the cottage cheese from the ice box. �Why, you need me to do something for you?� He set it down on the counter and reached for the coffee pot.

He pours the black drink into a mug and lifted it to his lips. �Happy new year, by the way, I forgot to say it last night.� He let the dreams drift away, no reason to dwell on nightmares.

--rentiger1

Lindel recoiled her hand to avoid spitting grease and then cautiously tossed the pan off the hot stove and onto the countertop. Licking away the tiny grease burns on her fingers she finally responded.

"Oh, well it's nothing major, I was hoping you could run an errand for me. Dr. Sweringer has some literature on newborn nutrition he wanted me to have, but I can't make it over to the hospital. I'll give you five bucks for dinner and you can take the car."

"Glad you saw a paycheck from those people," she added, "You should get yourself something nice. Maybe a new suit for school."

She suddenly remembered something when Mat wished her Happy New Year, "There's some champagne left from last night, but don't overdo it."

Lindel was getting into her mothering tone again.

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Sipping more of his coffee and nodded. �Sure, I can do that for you. I do not know if I made enough for a new suit.� He watched as she served up one of the golden rolls filled with the cottage cheese and took the plate, sitting at the small table. He cut it with his fork and shrugged. �I only made 30$ for the night, not too bad.�

He looked at the ice box. �Maybe latter I will have a mimosa, but for now I should go get that book for you from the doctor.� He polished off the blintz and his coffee and stood up.

He held out his hand. �I will be good to the car. Anything you want from the market?�

--rentiger1

Enjoying her blintze, the evening breakfast was short lived. Angela, her daughter began fussing and so she picked the child up and paced the kitchen whispering to her. Settling down at last, she put her in the crib in the family room.

Quietly, she grabbed the keys and gave them to him, "No thanks, I think I have everything. Careful."

She kissed him on the cheek and returned to Angela.

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

He picked up the keys, tossing them into the air and catching them. �I will be back!�

He headed out the car, stopping at the door to pick up his hat. He headed out to the car and fired it up. Soon he was on the snow slicked streets of DC, heading for the hospital. The building was tall and the outer walls were carved with wheat and grass that was made all the more pronounced with the snow clinging to the carvings.

He pulled out the key, and slipped it into his packet. Feeling for his things. He checked for the book without even thinking about it, and only after that did he remember he had it. He looked in the coat and there it was, black binding and dull yellow edged all pressed together tightly.

He pulled his coat around him tighter as he approached the hospital, opening the door and stepping in. he stopped at the nurses desk. �I am here for Dr. Sweringer, he has a book I am supposed to pick up for Lindel Sommerstine.�

Last edited by rentiger1 on Tue Apr 26, 2005 2:12 pm; edited 1 time in total

--rentiger1

The nurse smiled sweetly, perhaps being a bit flirtatious. Her young brown eyes darted to a switchboard at the desk and with a subtle flick of her finger, turned on the intercom.

"Dr. Sweringer, please call lobby. Dr. Swinger, to the lobby."

Playfully she rested her chin on her hand and said, "Are you a friend of the Doc's?"

The phone buzzed, and keeping eye contact, the dark-haired nurse picked up the receiver.

"Yes? Mhm. A book for Lindel Sommerstine. Okay."

She hung up and smirking said, "He's in his office on the third floor. And I'll be right here . . . if you need anything else."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat leaned on the counter. �Yeah, I think I could use your name and time you get off your shift.� He smiled back, pushing back the fedora. �How about I pick it up on my way out?� He did his best to give her one of his more charming smiles. �I have to get this book, but I will be right back.�

He stood up, straitening out his suit coat and walking off in a cavalier manner, a nurse, not a bad job if he did say so. He leapt up the first few stairs and made his way to the office.

The hallway was tiled and tile ran up a third of the wall. It was painted stark white and the place had a sterile dead feel to it. It reminded him of the bathroom last night. His foot falls echoed in the empty hall, this place was more offices then ward room, so not many prowled these halls.

His mind could not get the image of the man from the other night. He tried to force it back. It was not his business, and he had to have been drunk or something.

His hand went to the book. He knew he was not drunk, and he knew a man had died there. No one would believe him. Not unless he could find out about this book.

He was standing at the door of the office as this thought came to him. He would look at the book later, at the bookstore.

He rapped on the office door. �Doc, I am here for the book.�

--rentiger1

Following the young uniformed beauty's instructions, Mat strolled up to the Sweringer's office. The door was open and inside the neat office of the Doctor was visible. A graying man was busily working at a typewriter with a cigar hanging from his mouth. He had rejected his white coat in favor of a tweed one and hadn't bothered to put on a tie.

He raised his eyebrows at the young man's arrival and said from behind the stogie, "You here for the book?"

His accent was clearly Brooklyn, one that Mat was familiar with. Pointing to a childcare book on his desk he continued typing.

"Good info in there for the kid. Nutrition, mostly. How is the runt, anyways?"

The doc's attention was suddenly moved to behind Mat and he said, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Two men in nicely fitted suits and fedoras stood behind Mat. One sported a trimmed mustache and the other was aged, graying at the temples with a hardened and scarred face. He was the one that presented a federal badge.

"We are with the Central Intelligence Group and would like to have a word with this young man. Sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but he has been difficult to track down."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voices behind him. His fear grew even more when he saw the badge. "This is about last night right. Listen, can I just pick up this book, then I can tell you all what happened. Ok."

He looked at the Doctor. "Listen, this is nothing, ok." he stepped over to the desk to get the book. "Call Lindel and tell her I may be a bit late."

"I am glad you are here, no one was listening to me, and I thought I was going crazy or something."

--rentiger1

Sweringer grunted, nodded and continued with his stogie as he dialed a number. The two government men lead Mat out without a word. Not acknowleding his statements they remained quiet until they were in an abandoned office. It must have belonged to a doctor that recently transferred or retired because all that remained was a desk and three chairs. The window outside offered a pleasent three-story view of Washington DC, the iconic Washington Monument and National Mall in plain view.

The sun was already beginning to set as Mat had managed to sleep through most of the day. The Mall's lights were turned on and orange iridescent reflected off the base of the obelisk outside.

The trimmed mustached man set on the desk and lit a cigarette, while the gray-haired man sat behind the desk. They stared at Mat for an uncomfortable amount of time before proceeding.

"What did that man say to you last night? It is very important you recite his words verbatum."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat�s mouth went dry as he sat. He began to wonder what exactly was going on. Then came the question, he was glad they spoke, it took the edge off the silence. Silence has a weight, and it was getting pretty oppressive, when he spoke it was like the lead bubble was burst and Mat nodded to them, the relief shown in his eyes.

�It was a name, Palvio, or Pavalio, I think it was a name, Itallian I would guess.� He shrugged. �That was it, before he died. Listen, I did not kill him, he was shot when I got there, and he jumped me from behind. I had to fight him off.� Mat spit this information out nervously.

The book however, did not come to mind. Why should it, it was Mat�s book.

--rentiger1

The questioner sighed and glanced up at his partner, the mustached man, who'd just sat down and removed his hat, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

"Did he say anything else? Or give anything to you? You have to understand this is a matter of national security. That man had some very important top secret information and we have to be certain the information is not compromised."

The other man cleared his throat suddenly, interrupted the moment and removed his jacket. His face was becoming sicken red and sweat very quickly drenched his white shirt. The older man tried to ignore him and established eye contact with Mat again.

"You are not in trouble, we just have to know everything that happened. The President has to know."

--Laveaux 00:39, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat felt for the book, it was there, in his coat. It was heavy like a brick now.

"He gave me a book." He said slowly. His hand reaching in to draw it out.

It was in his hand, black and solid. He had to hold it in two hands to keep from dropping it. "This is it."

--rentiger1

A half-smile crossing the agent's face he took a hold of the book. Just then, his partner laid his pale and sickened head on the desk. Annoyed he glanced over.

"Jesus, Eddie, what is wrong with you."

"... don't feel so good..."

The agent sighed and pocketed the book without looking at it. Rising, he gripped his partner from the armpits and hoisted him up.

"You don't look good either. Stay here, I'm getting a doctor."

Then to Mat he said, "Don't move, we aren't done with you yet."

He left the office alone with Eddie who sat somewhat dazed in his chair.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat looked at the man. What could he do? Could he just sit and watch this man die too? The whole experience was alive again in his head, the blood, the empty look in the man�s eyes.

Mat stood and crossed the room. �Lets lay you out, get you more comfortable.� Mat said, pulling the chair out a bit to help the man out and lay him on the floor. He slipped his arms under the man�s arms. �Come on, you there at all? Come on, keep talking to me. You need to keep talking there big guy.�

--rentiger1

Slippy with persperation, the now olive-colored man slithered to the floor with very little effort. Dazed and and hollow, his eyes glazed as he looked upward. Suddenly, he doubled over as an apparent cramp clinched his stomach. Reeling for a moment, identity fleeted back into his eyes. Desperate hands grabbed Mat's shirt and he gasped, "Get the ... book from him. The cure ... is in the ... book..."

He coughed heavily and bloody phlegm jumped out onto his chin.

"He won't ... do anything... it's up to you... please..."

The door fell open and a lanky gray-haired doctor with a white coat came in along with the other agent. Immediately jumping to the sick man's aid, he took the man's pulse and checked his eyes with a penlight.

"This man needs medical attention right away."

He jumped to his feet and called for a nurse over the intercom.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat nodded to the suffering man. "I will tell them." He took out a hankerchief and wiped at the drool as the doctor rushed in.

Mat stood and looked at the agent. "Doctor, he has a book, in it is the cure for what this man is suffering. It is in his coat, you need to look at it." He pointed to the pocket the book was hidden in. "Hurry."

--rentiger1

The doctor cocked his head at Mat's plea and turned to the agent in question only to find a pistol pointed at him. A very official looking expression on the agent's face passed from the doctor to Mat.

"I'm afraid, the doctor here doesn't have the security clearence to look at that particular document. I recommend you take my partner to the emergency room and treat him like you would anyone else."

The sick man on the floor cried in agony and then blurted out, "Jesus, Richard! You know what'll happen! YOU KNOW WHAT'LL HAPPEN!"

Conviction crossed the man's face as he watched his crumbling partner on the ground, but it was immediately stomped out by duty.

"I work for the government. You know the drill, Gene."

He paused, "Doctor, quarantine the hospital. That's an order."

Confused and angry the doctor stared at the man with the gun and then apologetic eyes passed to Mat.

"Yes, sir," he said and then headed out to get help.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat stood up and looked around the room. "This is not legal, and it really is not right. You have a way to help and you do not. You may as well just shoot him now." Mat told the agent. "He is your friend, he has family, you are going to have to look at them, knowing you could have helped, is that what you want?"

Mat sighed. "Come on, I am sure he is not going to say anything about you saving his life to your boss."

--rentiger1

"There is only one cure for what he has," the agent said plainly as he kept the gun on Mat, "and I'm not prepared to do that."

The other agent, Gene, arched his back in a sudden convulsion. If Mat made any motion to help, he would bark at him to stop. Fear crossed Richard's eyes as the convulsion climaxed into a howling scream.

The Doctor and three nurses came in with a gurney. He ran to aid Gene, but then stopped suddenly and backed away, face pale and voice silenced. The nurses looked at him awaiting orders, but then as one of them glanced at their patient, she screamed.

Gene's skin was pussing at his lips and eyes and the color was drenched into a deep orange hue. He reeled onto his feet, foam leaking out of his mouth and all life removed from darkened and vacant eyes. Lurching forward with stiff posture, he grappled the first thing in his way, the gurney, and toppled it sending a huge array of medical tools crashing to the tile floor. The once placid expression of the agent now carried unnatural murderous rage.

"He's turned...", Richard said, "RUN!"

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat was now totally shocked. He stood and stared, it was like looking at a train wreck, he wanted to look away, but could not. Fear and wonder gripped him. It was not until the agent shouted that Mat realized he was between the mad man and the door.

Mat bolted, moving around the far side of the desk and grabbing for the lamp, just incase he needed something to hit with. He started for the door, stopping. He turned to pick up the child rearing book. His sister would kill him if he forgot that.

--rentiger1

Armed with a lamp, Mat careened into the hallway, it's slick tile floor causing him to slide uncontrollably into a nearby wall. Leaping back into a sprint he pounded forward. Gunfire echoed from behind. Three repeating shots and then a fourth.

As Mat pivoted his momentum to take a corner he got glimpse of the office behind them. The door exploded open as the agent, Richard and nurses fled the scene, horrorified.

The Doctor came up from the adjacent hallway and grabbed Mat's shoulder.

"Calm down, son, what is it?"

He looked with inquisitive eyebrows at the stampede of colleagues running through the hall. The lurching figure of a creature that was once named Gene stumbled out. Animalistic growls poured from his mouth as he stumbled forward into a limping jog.

Passers-by, patients, nurses and anyone else nearby screeched at the sight of him.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat did not stop. �That is what it is.� Mat told the doctor running for the stairs. Elevator would take too much time. He paused at the top of the stairs to look at the agent. Curiosity had him what was that thing, and what was in the book that could stop it?

He held onto the lamp as if it may come in handy. He needed to get the book, or at least get the other agent out of here.

--rentiger1

Not the only who thought the stairs were a good idea, a crowd overcame Mat as they poured into the stairwell. His pause to look back gave him witness to the agent opening fire on his partner again, this time unloading his weapon. The torso of the creature fell back with the impact, but he kept moving forward.

By the time Mat and the surrounding hospital staff reached the landing in the stairs, the agent arrived from above.

"Move! Move!" He shouted and with the help of a security guard locked the stairwell door.

Pouding resonated from the other side, but those in the stairwell did not stick around to see what happened. Crashing by the second and first floors the remaining third floor staff unleashed into the lobby.

Mat overheard the security guard say, "What about the others?"

"Too late for them," the agent responded.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat went with the flow, what else could he do? He followed the mob as they rushed down the stairs and onto the main floor. Mat lost sight of the agent in the throng. He was just a fish in the flow of people spilling out into the lobby.

Last edited by rentiger1 on Sat May 21, 2005 12:31 pm; edited 1 time in total

--rentiger1

Even during the chaos, Mat would not have the opportunity to reach the street. Blocking the crowd's way in the lobby were five security guards. The doors were locked and barricaded and the faint sound of sirens could be heard seeping in from the outside. As the crowd bombarded forward, they were shoved back by the guards.

"This hospital is quarantined!", one said.

"Back off! You have to stay inside!" another shouted.

The crowd was not listening and persisted. One man shouted "there is a mad man up there!" and others cursed about civil liberties and health risks. The lobby was quickly becoming a mob. Mat found himself shoulder to shoulder with the rabble, being tossed around like garbage.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Back door, there was always a back door. Mat started moving through the crowd. He had done so at Yanky stadium many times, it would get worse then this. He moved through the crowd with �Excuse me� and �Pardon� as he moved, looking for a way into one of the halls on the first floor. He looked for the agent, just in case the agent was still looking for him.

--rentiger1

Burrowing through the crowd, the young musician finally broke free on the other side of the lobby. It was well worth the effort to keep an eye out for the agent, because at some point during his escape, the agent came into the lobby. Able to keep himself hidden, he managed to eject himself down one of the many hospital corridors. Passing a gaggle of curious nurses, he crashed through double doors and into another corridor.

This was surely the emergency room. Numerous gurneys were set, helter skelter, throughout the hallway. Doctors quickly barked orders at nurses while critically injured patients were hauled into operating rooms. The staff busily moved gurneys, diagnosed patients, and administered drugs.

On his quest to reach the back door, he came into a back hall that lead to the well-trafficked area leading to the ambulance dock. Three police cars were parked outside under a flurry of drifting snow. Six officers were heading into the hospital and one was speaking to an ER doctor.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat sighed. He was not getting out that way. The place was being closed off and he did not have a way out. He looked around the emergency room. He was stuck here, for now.

He turned back, looked like he was going to be here for a while. He wondered if he could find that cute nurse. He started back for the lobby. Yeah, may as well do something fun while he passed the time. Let the officials take care of this, wait for a few hours, then be let go. It was all cut and dry really.

He straitened out his coat, cleaning up as much as he could to meet the nice girl.

--rentiger1

Retreating back to where he first encountered the flirtatious nurse, there was now a mob of malcontent. Visitors and staff alike protested the police as they marched in and secured the front doors. There were easily half a dozen. One policeman could be overheard saying, "No one is going nowhere until the Department of Health gets here."

The young man at last found his prey, but not at the desk where she was before. Standing amidst the crowd with frightened eyes, she hugged herself and kept a keen ear on what was being said around her.

Engaged in what the policeman said she didn't notice Mat approach her at all.

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat took off his jacket slipping it over the shoulders of the nurse. �No need to worry, really.� He said in a soft voice. �You did not stay at your desk like you said.� He draped the coat over her shoulders.

He looked at the police. �Mat.� He offered her his hand. �Mat Summers, you have a name?�

--rentiger1

At first alarmed, the young woman's face softened when she saw Mat. Taking his coat tightly, she twirled girlishly for a second.

"Why, there he is. I would have stayed there, of course, but I thought the mark of a true man was his ability to find me in a crowd. Your tracking ability is uncanny, Mr. Summers."

Offering her hand in greeting with a slightly limped wrist, she said, "Elsa Banks. Miss Elsa Banks."

It was her left hand she offered and there was no ring.

"I would say we should have a drink, but it appears the city of Washington D.C. has other plans."

Her playful nature dissolved only for a moment, "I hope it isn't serious."

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat looked around. �Well, we have a commissary, we could go get a drink there, Elsa.� He said with a smile. �Might even be able to get a meal.� He did his best to look unconcerned, but what he had seen a few flights of stairs above was still fresh in his memory.

Something had made the man mad, perhaps rabies. He had seen a dog like that once in New York, rabies made it foam and act all aggressive. He was not bit though, so he was safe. �What do you say you show me where it is, and I buy us a dinner?�

--rentiger1

Elsa Banks's brown eyes looked up with feigned shock, "Why, Mr. Summers, are you asking me on a date??"

She took his arm and directed him down several corridors where they finally encountered the commissary. A large tiled room held a forest of tables and chairs with a cafeteria, deli, and bar. Elsa brought him to the bar, where they found a cocktail table free amdist the massive throngs of people who'd just learned they were locked in.

The flustered cocktail waitress hurridly tossed down napkins and said, "What'ya having, darlings?"

"Brandy sour," Elsa said.

After Mat gave his order, she removed her hat and leaned forward.

"So, did you find your book?"

--Laveaux 00:57, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Ordering a highball, Mat wanted something to help his inside feel as cool as he was trying to make his outside look.

Mat held up the book and smiled. �Yes, but I fear the delivery of the book will be delayed, and so will my chance at stopping by the book story to buy my own books.� He added,

He looked at the ceiling wondering if what was going on up there was in check. He wondered how the agent was doing, and what they were all doing.

�So, you from here, Elsa?� He asked, starting to make some small talk. The usual stuff, colors, foods, music, all the things to help a guy know what kind of bird he was drinking with. �How long have you been a nurse?�

--rentiger1

Mat and Elsa had arrived just in time. More and more people shuffled in. With no one able to leave the hospital, the place was getting packed and waitresses had a hard time manoeuvring through the crowd.

Elsa toyed with a napkin and smiled at her companion. �Dad used to be all about jazz. Saved up his drinking money to see The Duke at Carnegie Hall.� She laughed at the memory. �Endless discussions when a band member left and another joined.�

The harried looking waitress reappeared at their table. Even upon her arrival, a man in a brown suit bumped into her, mumbling an apology. Liquor had splashed from the glasses onto the tray and she sighed. �I am sorry.� She apologized, sounding tired. Napkins soaked up the excess liquor when she set the drinks before the pair. �Everyone has gone mad. No one knows what is going on. That will be nine bucks, please.� She collected the cash and disappeared back into the masses.

Elsa took the orange slice from her brandy sour between thumb and index finger and dropped it on the table. Taking a sip, she resumed her story. �In 1943 Dad got ill. The nurses at the hospital were just brilliant. � She smiled faintly and shook her head. �They worked so hard and handled him just right. Up to the end Dad was joking with them. I went back to school after that. A year later I started here.� Taking another sip, she let her eyes drift from Mat for the first time since the waitress had brought their drinks.

"Looks like Doctor Joneson isn't taking this too well." She remarked, refering to a lanky, grey haired man standing nearby. Beads of perspiration had gathered on his forehead, trickling down his neck to the pristine white of his coat.

--Valkyrie

Mat looked at the doctor; a shiver went down his spine. He looked like the other guy did, just before he got sick. This was not good, where was that agent when you needed him. He was really getting concerned now.

He drunk down his highball and patted Elsa�s arm. �Hey, I saw you had a radio out by your desk, it is kind of crowded in here. How about we do some dancing?� He smiled at her standing up and offering her his arm.

�How about we get away from this guy� was what he was thinking.

--rentiger1

The pretty nurse blushed rosily at Mat�s suggestion. �Mr Summers, you are a romantic!�, she accused him playfully. Delighted with this discovery, Elsa wasted no time in accepting his gallant escort.

Getting out of the bar proved a formidable challenge. Not only had almost every soul in the hospital decided to join the crowd, most of them were moving in while Mat and Elsa were moving in the opposite direction.

Behind them, a stampede rolled towards their empty table. Elbowing, cursing and argueing, several young men had forgotten their manners in their zeal to claim the empty seats.. Doctor Joneson too tried a few faltering steps towards the table, but was soon overtaken by younger and quicker contestants. "Give him space! He's not well, can't you see?" A young woman's shrill voice shouted. " OH MY GOD, HE'S HAVING A HEART ATTACK!"

--Valkyrie

Mat was torn. His guts felt like rocks and he feared this man getting sick would be like that agent. He could not just drag the nurse away, that was not right. She had a duty, and she was passionate about it, it would be like asking him to not play when his band needed him.

�Well, if your going to have a heart attack, this is the place to do it.� Mat jested with a small nervous laugh. �You want to stay, or do you think they will have this covered?� Mat asked as he tried to keep a hold of Elsa in the throng of people.

--rentiger1

�If we can get to him..� Elsa tried to turn around, look back to the fallen doctor but a man twice her size shouldered her aside. She tumbled against Mat, clasping his arms to keep from falling. For an instant her blonde hair brushed his shirt. �Usually, I am a better dancer than this�, Elsa joked nervously. �Can you help me get thro��

A woman screamed.

A split second of silence fell over the commissary. No one moved.

Elsa ducked a little closer to Mat.

If they were going to try and get to the doctor, now was the time. The excited crowd mostly pushed away from the fallen man, but some seemed caught in morbid curiosity and attempted to edge toward him, against the stream. One of the watchers gave Mat an opportunity to squeeze through - either back inside ... or out.

--Valkyrie

Catching her he smiled. �You seem like a good dancer to me, I don�t mind holding you at all.�

Mat gritted his teeth and nodded to her. She wanted to get to the man he would help her get to him. They would have to dance later.

He shoulders his way in seeing the opening. Keeping her close to him and watchful at what the crowd was looking at.

--rentiger1

A circle had been cleared around a body on the floor, a circle that was slowly expanding like ripples on water as people backed away from the unfortunate man. A young woman with bouncy pigtails vigorously wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt as she scurried away. The whispers that fell from her lips sounded like prayers.

In the midst of the circle lay Doctor Joneson. Sweat had drenched his shirt and caked his hair to his scalp. Bloody phlegm dribbled over his chin. Elsa let go of Mat�s arm to move towards the sick man.

Another shape pushed through the crowd and stopped beside Mat. �Bloody hell�� Richard said, staring down at the crumpled form on the floor. �Spreading like the goddamn plague� The agent cast a desperate glance at the many, too many people and cursed under his breath. Attempting to catch Mat�s gaze, he breathed a warning. �Be ready.� His gun held low at his side, he poised himself between Doctor Joneson and the crowd.. and waited.

--Valkyrie

When he heard the words of the agent he knew it was bad. He turned and reached for her. "Get back, do not touch him." He tried to grab her arm and ynk her away from the doctor. This was bad, very very bad, and Mat could feel it was not going to get better.

--rentiger1

Elsa was already reaching to wipe the sweat of the poor doctor�s face when Mat yanked her away from the patient. With a startled gasp, Elsa stumbled back. �What did you do that for?� More surprised than angered, it spoke for her trust in him that she didn�t move away but stopped to search Mat's eyes as if she could read his reasons therein.

The young nurse was not aware of the agent's presence. To her, Richard was nothing but another face in the crowd, and it was to Mat that she turned. �He�s dieing, Mat! What is going on?� She whispered, her voice strained with anxiety.

Doctor Joneson screamed. His body was shaking uncontrollably now, his back arched and the severe convulsion lifted him off the ground. Beside the thud of the doctor's body hitting the floor, the only other distinct sound was a soft click as the agent readied his gun.

--Valkyrie

"It is some kind of sickness." Mat whispered back, then looked at the agent. "Give me back the book, we need to stop this, it has the cure."

The scream of the man brought Mat back around to the sick doctor. "Damn... just... damn." He tugged on Elsa and started for the door like he should have a while ago. "Come on, we need to get out of here."

--rentiger1

Without taking his eyes off doctor Joneson, the agent dipped his free hand in his pocket and slowly pulled the book out. �Here�, he said gruffly. �For all the good it will do you.� Richard hazarded a quick, sidelong glance at Mat and � coming to a decision � he reached into his pocket again. The gun Richard held out to Mat was of sleek black metal and seemed ready for use. �You'll need this." He said gruffly. "I hope you know how to use one."

"Mat!" Elsa screamed.

Doctor Joneson was sitting upright. The being's dead eyes locked on Mat as it laboured to its feet. There was no recognition in that gaze. If there was anything left of Doctor Joneson in that creature, it was only skindeep.

A crashing sound nearby pulled the former doctor's attention away from Mat.

Sprawled over a fallen chair lay a podgy man in a striped suit. He had tripped in his haste to flee the monster and now crawled away on a frenzy.

Elsa frantically tugged on Mat's arm, pulling him with her towards the exit. "Mat.. Mat, Let's go!"

--Valkyrie

This is just what he feared, like a horror comic or something. Looking at the Agent he smiled. �I can shoot, I am from New York.� He grabbed the pistol and the book. �Lets go Elsa.� He watched to see if the Doctor was coming at him, willing to pull off a shot as they fled the room.

It was like a disease, and that is why they locked down the hospital, to contain it. He rushed for the door, pushing it open. �Elsa, we need someplace safe. Someplace with only one way in and windows out.�

--rentiger1

Shots sounded and Elsa threw one frightened look over her shoulder as she hurried through the door Mat opened. �This way!�

Behind them Richard was taking careful aim at Joneson�s head, which already showed darker shades between the grey. The doctor had crouched beside a motionless shape on the floor in an absurd semblance of a doctor/patient-pose. A sullen thud could be heard but Mat was spared a visual as Richard edged closer towards Joneson and blocked his view.

�Second floor.� Elsa needed no further explanations. Moving as fast as the crowd allowed, the pretty nurse waved at Mat to stay close. When she was recognized as hospital staff, people reacted to her hurry and stepped aside. Several men and women paused their conversation to throw curious glances at the distressed nurse and her companion in civilian clothes. Elsa didn't notice. �We call it the reading room. Just chairs, tables. One door.�

Only stopping at the bottom of the stairs to turn to Mat, Elsa scanned his face, searching for a token of approval or reassurance. "Will that do?"

--Valkyrie

Mat was not believing what was happening. He ran with Elsa. �Everyone, get out of the hospital, stay away from anyone who falls down.� He shouts to them.

At the stairs he looked at Elsa, his eyes carried worry, but tried to convey resolve. �Yes, it will do, we can bar the door or block it?� He asked starting up the stairs with her. �How many floors until the roof, and is there a fire escape?�

--rentiger1

The young nurse responded with a solemn nod. �Four floors. There should be a fire escape at each floor.� Elsa reached for Mat�s hand, giving his fingers a nervous squeeze. �We can�t stay here..�

Behind them, in the lobby, people had begun taking matters in their own hand. One man had grabbed a chair and slashed it from left to right as he advanced on a small group of hospital staff. �Let me out of here! NOW!� he barked, echoing Mat�s advice. His cry got picked up by others who joined the first man in his menacing approach of the retreating personnel.

With the crowd turning into a mob, it was all the more obvious that some were not joining. If Mat tried he could find them, the ones that were either weakly leaning against a wall or collapsing into chairs to hold their head in sweaty palms.

--Valkyrie

Mat nodded in agreement with her. �You can say that again sister.� He took hold of her hand. The whole place was going crazy. This sickness was spreading fast. He did not know if the ones that were not fighting were sick, or just confused and scared. He did not have time to sort that out.

�Lets go.� He tugged on her hand as they went up the stairs. �We need to read this book. It has the key to fixing this problem.� He informed her holding out the black book he acquired yesterday. �This was starting out as such a nice night too, have the car, have a date with a pretty nurse, all things were looking up.� He commented as they raced up the stairs.

--rentiger1

Aside from a tired looking, elderly couple holding hands, they were the only ones on the stairs. Passing the second floor they heard sounds of glass breaking in the distance. Elsa kept up with Mat right till the final floor where a locked door blocked their path. �Staff only�, a sign told them.

�It�s not as good as a date but maybe this comes in second?� A key ring lay in the nurse�s open palm, holding together an odd assortment of perhaps 15 keys. She winked at Mat and selected a key, trying the lock. It took three turns and perhaps fifteen seconds before Elsa had unlocked the door.

�Where are you going?� A voice wheezed behind and below. The two elderly people were standing one floor beneath Mat and Elsa, looking up over the railing with the man supporting the old lady.

--Valkyrie

Matt looked at Elsa and smiled. �Usually I wait until later in the date to get the girl alone in a room, so easily better then a second.� He was relieved when he heard the door unlock. This was good, once alone they could read up on the cure.

He had not even really noticed the elderly couple on the way up, but now that they spoke he fixed his gaze completely on them. �We are going someplace safe.� Should he take them with him. He gritted his teeth, was it even a question.

He ran over to the older woman and took her arm. �Come on, lets get you in there with us. It is not safe out here.� He stuck the pistol in his jacket pocket and the book in the other. �I am Mat, that is Elsa.� He introduced. �We are going to be pretty close for a bit I think, may as well know our names.�

--rentiger1

�We wanted to visit our granddaughter, Lesley. She�s an historian, like Martin.�

�That�d be me.� The elderly man interrupted with a kind smile. He introduced them as Martin and Elisabeth Vaughn from New York. �Now don�t you start telling them our life�s story, mother. These young people have better things to do. They know a safe place, do you hear?�

The woman smiled and gratefully accepted Mat�s aid, favoring one leg as she climbed the stairs on his arm. Both were dressed immaculately, he wore a brown checkered coat over sharp pressed pants and Elisabeth wore a flower printed dress that was decidedly out of date. She smelled of bleach and lavender, he of cigar smoke.

Once provided with direction, the old couple hurried as well as they could. Martin hovering near Mat and Elisabeth like a protective mother hen. Elsa held the door for them, closing it after all had passed.

They stood in a small passageway, only barely enough room for the four of them, opening at one side to a few steps leading up and out onto the roof proper. The January air greeted them, crisp and cold.

--Valkyrie

Matt looked around. "I thought we were going to a room, this is the roof?" He asked looking at Elsa. "Are we going the right way?"

--rentiger1

�Yes and no. We avoid a long corridor by going this way and you mentioned the fire escape? I thought to give you a tour.� Despite the lofty words, the young nurse�s eyes mirrored unspoken fears as they sought Mat�s. �Come�, she said quietly.

Elsa pointed them to a gap in the railing lining the rooftop. Iron stairs led down, with a tiny platform at every floor. Down in the alley, at the bottom of the stairs, three men with rifles could be seen. �There. First door on the left inside.� Elsa whispered. The elderly couple remained quiet, although Martin looked towards the three guards down below with more than casual interest.

--Valkyrie

Mat sighed and sat down on the roof. The snow was cold, the night was cold. Nothing seemed to fit the mold of real life. If they tried to come down the fire escape, they would be shot.

He took off his coat and draped it over Elsa�s shoulders. He checked the corners of the building, a drain spout, anything to climb down that he could do without being seen. �Well, if we can get down we could get to my car.�

He took out the book, stepping into some light, he opened it, looking at the first page.

--rentiger1

There were various opportunities for an athletic young man to climb down. Not only was there indeed a drain spout, there was also a vertical row of metal hooks parallel with the most left windows on each floor, leftovers from the building stage oh so long ago. Whether the rusty bars would support Mat�s weight was another matter entirely, and one that could only be proven by testing. Martin Vaughn walked beside Mat and leaned over the railing here and there when the young man stopped to read. �They�ve got the entire goddamn army over here at the entrance!�

�Martin!� His wife chastised him, but the old man paid her no heed, staring down at the streets below in bemused silence.

Elsa had accepted Mat�s coat with a grateful smile but even she was shivering in the cold. With the occasional glance and encouraging smile at Mat, she walked around as well in an attempt to stay warm.

The first page of the book was written in neat, orderly letters and sentences.

We were all honoured when the assignment was given. It started, the past tense seeming a deliberate choice.

I�ve been told that we had the largest budget ever for medical research and judging by the equipment, this was no boast. Kevin, John and me, we thought we�d never see those things other than in magazines but here it was, right before us and ready for use. To us, it seemed too good to be true.

We did not know how right we were.

The writer paused his story for a recount of equipment that went on for several pages.

It was a challenge. They asked us to mutate a virus to its limits, make it strong enough to survive any antidote. We laughed and pointed out that the common cold had beaten us to the task. It was just a joke then, a challenge and all in the name of science.

They gave us several samples to work with, several seemed workable until Kevin found an antidote against every one of them. That�s how we had decided to work, two of us tested the virus and the new ones we were created and Kevin would offer means to counter them. Each time Kev offered a viable solution, we�d change course. It seemed the best way.

We should have stopped when Kevin died, but it had become OUR challenge by then. A way to beat the system, to create the unbeatable foe.

And we have done it.

A fat red line had been drawn under that sentence.

Three pages had been left blank before a different handwriting filled several more pages.

--Valkyrie

Mat blinks in surprise. �What does all this mean, Elsa?� He asks turning the pages to look a head a bit. �What is all this?�

He looks again, getting down would be impossible, he would be shot before he could reach the ground. �Elsa, does any of this make sense?� He wondered if he could shoot one of them, he shook his head, not without alerting the other man.

He moved around the building looking for a blind spot they could get down.

--rentiger1

�I can't make much of it, Mat.� Elsa shook her head. Wind and cold had colored a blush on her cheeks and despite her baffled expression, the young nurse looked rather fetching. �But I do know that some of this is very expensive material.� A slender finger pointed at the equipment list. �Dr Sherof lobbyed for these, but to no avail. Far beyond budget, they said.�

�And look here!� She exclaimed when Mat leafed through the pages. The passage that had caught Elsa�s attention was relatively short, tucked in between lengthy formula�s.

WE�VE DONE IT! Alfred, you�ve been proud of us! If only you and Kev could�ve been there, but I�ll mention you both in my Nobel Prize speech. October 12, 1946: this is the day we have changed the scientific future of the world. Kevin, not even you could have found a counter to ZCC12! General Davids returned with the results: Patient43 has recovered after three days of living death!

The project concluded with success after three years. I will perform one final test before the promised champagne tomorrow!

There was only one entry more. In big, uneven letters it read: DAVIDS LIED. The remaining pages were virgin white and Elsa withdrew a shaking hand from the book. �Mat, is this real?�

As Mat checked the roof for an opportunity to escape, he could notice renewed activity in the alleys surrounding the building. Under cover from armed soldiers groups of men in safety suits were attaching small greyish lumps of clay-looking texture to the walls, thin wires connecting each lil package to the next.

One man raised his hand, a few seconds later a shrill siren wailed its urgent warning into the cold New Year�s Day. There was no blind spot yet, but soon there would be no living man near the hospital building.

--Valkyrie

Mat closed the book in her hands, holding hers for a moment, a little to warm his and hers, and a little because she was looking so pretty. �You need to keep this book safe, no matter what happens. The key to fixing what ever is happening down there is in this book.�

He went to the fire escape, the people were busy laying down the explosives, he could only assume. �If we are getting out of here, now is the time to do it.� He said as the siren whined. �Let�s go, and keep your heads down and watch out for anyone noticing you.� He figured the siren meant that it was time to clear out from around the building, and with a lot of people rushing out in the darkness perhaps they would not be seen going down the back alley fire escape. They had not been seen on the roof yet.

--rentiger1

One level beneath theirs, the fire exit opened and a man burst through, whirled and fired several shots back into the hallway before slamming the door shut. Even with the scarce light Mat had no trouble recognizing Richard. The agent sprinted down the iron stairs, soon fading into the darkness of a small alley.

Beside Mat, Elsa gasped.

Diary clutched to her chest with one hand, she pointed frantically. �They�re at the stairs!� Her voice was barely a whisper. Martin wrapped an arm around Elisabeth, both looked towards the door. In the silence of the four on the roof, the sounds of rattling and pounding were all the more ominous.

--Valkyrie

Matt rushed down the stairs and slammed his shoulder to the door to keep it closed. �Get going, hurry, and get down.� He called to them. The gun in his hand was cold and heavy, and the snow drifting down was starting to soak his white shirt. They just needed to get to the car.

He needed to hold the door shut though. He thought quickly as he started to feel the door being opened. He pulled off his belt and slipped it through the railing, then the door handle, pulling it tight. �That should hold them for a while.� He said as he grabbed the older woman walking down the stairs. They would need to run, and while her husband was doing fine, she was not. �We need to get to the car. I have one parked not far from the front.�

--rentiger1

Forceful pounding sent the door rattling in its hinges. Mat�s belt pulled tight, but fortunately his belt was well made and held firm against the strain. The monstrous creatures on the other side doubled their efforts, its forceful blows testing the leather strap to its limits.

Elsa was already at the stairs, urging the elder couple on. �You young people go first.� Martin argued until Mat took charge and helped Elizabeth down the iron staircase. Elsa breathed a sigh of relief as she hurried down the treacherous staircase. The iron stairs were slippery from the wet snow flakes, the iron railing was freezing cold. And if one had a vivid imagination, they might hear the ceaseless pounding of the creatures against the door. It was only a matter of time.

As the foursome sprinted towards the alley, the sirens stopped. In the following silence, a triumphant howl drifted upon the wind. Their pursuers had broken loose and picked up the scent.

Elsa stopped and turned in spite of her better judgement. Martin was the first to realize what the sudden silence meant and pushed his wife against the wall, shielding her body with his own. Seconds later, the world exploded around them. The hollow sounds of the explosion and the slow, low rumble of the hospital collapsing almost covered the shots the army was firing at those that attempted to crawl from the ruins. Martin held his arm around Elizabeth, burying his face against her shoulder.

Elsa turned her face away from the two, grief and pity etched on her pretty features as she recalled the elderly couple had family in the hospital. �We have to leave�, she whispers, her voice hardly audible over the rumble all around. Martin released one hand long enough to wave them away, wanting to be alone with his wife and their loss.

�Mat?� She asked quietly. �Bring me home?�

--Valkyrie

Mat nodded to Elsa, still feeling a little numb inside, the cold was starting to bite at him through the linen shirt he wore. �Sure, Elsa, we can get you home.� He offered his arm. �I guess we can get the coffee later.� He offered a weak smile.

He led her to the car and got her door. His mind poured over how many had died there, and for what? He still was as clueless about all of this as he was when they pulled him in the room. He sat down in the car, wondering if he would get in trouble the dust that was on it now. �Elsa,� He began, �I go that book from a man who was shot. I stumbled on him the other night when I was playing a gig. I do not know who wrote it, but I know that the people looking for it will try and get it again.� He looked at her. �I should keep it, that way they are not bothering you.�

He started the car and started driving, watching out the window for any police or men who looked like the ones who stopped him in the hospital. �Can I call you later, Elsa?� He asked looking at her as they made off down the road.

--rentiger1

Every newspaper covered the story. From Evening Standard to Washington Post, reporters fought over every tidbit of information in their race to bring the readers the latest shocking news. �789 Dead in Gas Explosion�, screamed the headlines of one newspaper, �President Visits Disaster Area� said another. But although every newspaper had brought additional information every day, none mentioned the strange disease that had spread amongst the victims.

Lindel had followed the story with obsessive interest, fussing over Mat in her own motherly way ever since his return. Not an hour would pass that she would not remark upon it, how odd it was that Dr Sweringer had died, how she had felt the ground tremble and had thought it to be an earthquake. She had even embraced Mat upon his return.

�Mat, you should read this! It�s about the explosion!� Lindel had spread the Washington Post on the kitchen table and was browsing the articles while gently patting Angela�s back, holding the child for a little �after breakfast burp�.

�It says there were thirty survivors only after the explosion. Only thirty!� Her eyes brimmed. If she had not been holding Angela, she�d have hugged him again. Instead she folded the paper, revealing an envelope underneath. Mat�s name was written on the front. �Oh, I almost forgot. This was delivered for you.� Lindel pushed the envelope across the table. �I didn�t know you had a friend named Richard?�

--Valkyrie

He tried to down play his role in the event. Telling her the truth was not the best of routs to go, and now that school was starting, he could get into a routine and stop thinking about it. The place was blown up, and it was gone, the virus was gone. There it was again though, in the paper.

Mat paused, hoping that he did not hear what he thought he heard. Thirty people made it out. Who were they? �Does it say who made it out, does it have a list?� He asks. If the virus got out, then it could do more damage then just the people in a hospital,

Then the envelope slid across to him. �He is more of an acquaintance then a friend.� He picked up the envelope. He opened it slowly, carefully. �When was this delivered?� He asks as he pulled out whatever is in the sealed envelope.

--rentiger1

�The paper didn�t mention any names. You�d think they�d give us more information, but maybe this is it and they wanted to inform you personally as you are one of the survivors.� Linden suggested. �It came with the paper this morning�, she added.

But when Mat opened the envelope, he found nothing resembling a list.

Instead there was the brochure of a fancy nightclub downtown named Vita Vivace, hot spot for business men and nouveau riche. One of those places where the music was first class, the drinks overpriced and all waitresses had legs like Betty Grable.

Folded into the brochure were several photographs. There was one of Lindel with Angela in her arms standing in front of John�s Groceries, another that showed Linden in profile. The last picture showed Angela in close up, a happy smiling child. It was this last photograph where a brief message had been scrabbled on the back.

15.00. Urgent. R.

Lindel tossed her hair back, saving her curls from Angela�s eager little fingers with practised ease. She smiled at Mat. �Good news?�

--Valkyrie

Matt stuffed the pictures away. He had a cold rock in the pit of his gut. Was this come kind of threat they were giving him. It was low if it was, threatening a mother and her baby. Who did these think they were, anyway?

He looked up at Lindel. �Oh, it is nothing`, I�s got an audition for a gig at some swanky joint. I should get dressed and on my bike if I want to make the audition.� He got up from the table and headed to his room. He picked up the book and looked it over. He had enough time, leather bound diary.

�Dis is what you boys are after, eh?� He grabbed his book bag and slipped the gun and book in it, then closed it up. He headed down the stairs and out the back, picking up his instrument along the way. �Lindel, do me a favor, don�t be goin� no place with no one you don�t know, Ok?� He cautioned her.

He slipped out to his bike putting the instrument on the back and tightening it down with ropes. He headed down the alley way, watching his back for any black cars. He took a few back ways as well to get out of the neighborhood without being followed, he hoped. He swung by the hardware store, picking up a razor blade and some glue.

Then to the book shop. He went along the shelves looking for a book to match the black one, then for a novel about the same size as well. He picked out the books and slipped into their bathroom while there.

He would cut the spine off the black book and glue the cover of the novel on, then slip that in the bottom of his bag. He would then ruffle the pages of the new journal some, get it a little wet and worn. He had thought of buying a big book to hide the gun in, but that may tip them off, he had to have them thinking he was simple.

Once he had the book he was out and on his bike again. He peddled hard and turned down a few more back alleys just in case they were on to him again. His heart pounded in his chest, from the workout on the bike and from fear. He was not monkeying around with police or local coppers, this was the FBI. He knew the law and he was sure they broke several of them, and he knew he did not have time to look them all up.

He slowed his bike as he approached the stage entrance of the club. Parking it behind the stairs to keep it out of sight he picked up his instrument and strolled up to the door to go in. If stopped, he would just tell them he was with the band, replacement for the guy missing tonight.

--rentiger1

�Happy New Year!� The shopkeeper called after Mat when his only customer left the shop with his altered books. A smile beamed on his round face as he adjusted a fresh stack of newspapers in the shop window. �789 Dead in Gas Explosion� The bold, lack letters seemed to be everywhere.

As Mat left the shop a closed, dark brown Studebaker rolled past, followed by a black Ford. Perhaps it was the winter atmosphere, or perhaps just Mat�s paranoia but the world had never seemed this full of black cars� For ever blue, red or beige model, a black sedan would whirr past the furiously pedalling biker. The exhaust fumes of passing cars blew in his face, taking the bite of the chill wind. It was colder in the alleys, but at least there were no cars there, apart from the single dismantled Chevvy dragged from a garage by two men in overalls.

That was at least two blocks from the club however.

The back entrance of the club was deserted, the door unlocked. Sure, it had a sign �staff only� but who cared about that? The corridors were empty, not a soul in sight. Only, from deeper into the club -about where the stage would be- came the jazzy tunes of �Straighten Up and Fly Right�, an oldie from a few years past.

--Valkyrie

Mat made his way to the stage, stopping to slip his coat on the coat rack. He kept the backpack with him and got out his instrument. Wetting his lips he headed out to the wing of the stage to see who was on and to see who was out in the audience. If it was a band, he would slip out and find a place in the back of the band and play.

--rentiger1

"Swanky" was an understatement. This club was exclusive and drenched in money. The stage Mat stepped onto was painted white and the echo of a big band horn section pounded outward from behind decorative white stands. It was clear this was old money, because the only black people were in the band.

It was a 10-person band. Three trumpets, two tenor saxes, one alto sax, two trombones, a percussionist, and a stand-up bassist. The singer was none other than Elsa. Her nurse uniform a distant memory. She wore a silver glittering dress cut all the way down to the small of her back. Those blue eyes were glowing beneath the light and her vocals had the right combination of sass and beauty.

The band was entirely dressed in white tuxedos and although Mat was not dressed to fit in, the nearby trumpet player gestured with his head that he come and join them.

The number broke down and the trumpeter whispered, "I've got it bad and that ain't good..."

The famous jazz song began its slow rythm and after Elsa winked at him, she started the melancholy vocals.

--Laveaux 01:17, 11 December 2005 (CST)

He hoped he would blend in, but it seemed he was going to stick out even more being the only white guy in a black band. He nodded to the other musician and started in on the song. Just adding to the melody at first and watching Elsa. That was a sight he had not expected, her on stage. He had expected big men with guns, dragging him off someplace no one would ever hear about.

He kept up with the music, the only clarinet in the band; altogether the sound was pretty good. He almost forgot why he was here. He looked out over the crown, looking for the agent, or anyone who looked like them. He hoped they would not be running up on the stage to try and get him. Perhaps he could get a word into Elsa to, a warning.

--rentiger1

Investigating the crowd was somewhat chilling. The detective was, in fact, there was were some other familiar faces from the hospital. The entire audience was nervous, disjointed and suspicious. They looked uneasily from their cocktail tables and very few even listened to the band. In fact, the only two that seemed to be enjoying themselves was Mat and Elsa.

At the close of the song, the band was ushered off stage as a few feeble claps resounded from the club. The remianed on the stage while Mat and Elsa were escorted to a table of their own.

"I didn't know you played," she said with a smile, "you are quite the Rennaissance man."

Small talk aside she said, "What do you think is going on? I haven't slept a wink. All I can think is . . . . well, you know."

A very offiical looking man took the stage. He wore a simple black suit and necktie and sported thick glasses and graying temples.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I know you've had quite the scare and on the behalf of President Truman, I applaud you for your bravery. After the party, we will take you to Capital Hill, where the president will give a speech and award you as exemplary citizens of this fair country. Please enjoy your dinner and drinks, it is on Uncle Sam."

Settling doubt a little, the crowd offered an obligatory applause and the band began again.

--Laveaux 01:17, 11 December 2005 (CST)

He sat down and was happy to see her. �Well, I try to keep myself busy, you know, idle hands are the devil�s playground and all. I did not know you could sing, cute, caring, and talented, a mix to impress any man.�

He looked around the room. �You want my opinion of what is going on, I think this is a pay off. Getting a metal for surviving what the papers reported on is not normal, I mean, who gets a metal for surviving that?� He shakes his head. �I also did not like the way I was invited to this.� He hands her the invitation with the photos. �That is family, I think they were suggesting something to me, and it was not that they have good photographing skills.�

He leaned close and placed a hand on hers. �Keep sober, and lets just watch for a while, see what happens. Don�t touch anything offered though, my gut says not to trust this. It is like Hansel and Gretel. We are at the gingerbread house, lets not fatten up for the cooking pot.�

--rentiger1

She wrinkled her nose at his compliment and brushed it aside with her hand. Looking at the photos she nodded and said beneath her breath, "They did the same for me. Mine was of my mother in Hartford. They actually went all the way over there to take a picture of her. I think the war has turned our government into monsters."

When Mat took her hand she gave a crooked smile and then sat back, keeping her eye on things.

Music continued through the night. They were served wine, prime rib and cheesecake and for a little while, it seemed the two were on a high-class date, courting each other.

After dessert, the same government man came to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you are enjoying yourself. We ask that you gather your things and join us at the front. There are buses that will take you to the capital. Again, thank you for your discretion and bravery."

--Laveaux 01:17, 11 December 2005 (CST)

Mat looked at her with surprise. �You are from Hartford?� He asked. �Wow, I would not have guessed.� He slipped the pictures away. He tried not to eat much, he really was not in the mood anyway. He was nervous, you could not relax too much when your invited to a party at gun point, no matter how good the party is.

When they were told to all move to the front and prepare for a bus ride he looked at Elsa. �Want to make a break for it, or should we ride this out?� He picked up his bag, looking for any side exit that was not being watched. The gun in the bag felt heavy and he could not remember how many rounds the heater had. It could be empty for all he knew.

He figured if they did not do as they were told, �accidents� would happen to the people they photographed. But then a terrible thing could happen to a bus load of folks on their way to the capitol. Could get hit, everyone killed, nice and easy.

Mat was getting paranoid, but it may be for good reason. His palms were getting sweaty and his heart was pumping. What was this thing that was so terrible they had to cover it up?

--rentiger1

She glanced up and as if unable to maintain eye contact she muttered, "I don't like this at all. But where would we run? This is the government."

She took Mat's hand, "I don't think we could get away."

The reluctant crowd, apparently experiencing the same thoughts shuffled toward the door. The detective with whom Mat knew all too well, side stepped over to them.

"It's a cattle call folks," he lit a cigarette, "Welcome to the beginning of the end."

--Laveaux 01:17, 11 December 2005 (CST)