The House of Lonely Thoughts

A house of all our thoughts, expressed in lyricism and writing.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

To Raffy

What's this?
A two-legs!

Fascinating, fascinating

Let's start lower down.
Sniff, Sniff
Phwow, that's smellier than Jeb's butt.

Move up a bit now.
Sheesh, what's with these two-leg's obsession with this 'jeans'?
Me, I like a good furry coat any time.

Hmm...oh! oh! What's this?
Smells very interesting!
Right between the two-legs!

Let's put the nose right there!

...


...

mmm...

Monday, October 10, 2005

Department of Mysteries - AMoaB Finale

The final installment


***

Crack.

He catapulted into Abe, sending both in a rolling, cursing heap down the stairs. Whee, thought Alan giddily as they careened into the wall.

Crack.

Dizzy, Alan thought, grinning a little bit. Head hurts. Should sleep. Things became dark.

Or they would have, had Abe not been there.

Alan came to full awareness as a jet of water washed over him. He spluttered helplessly.

‘Wha-goddamn it, who – bugger it, what the fu-‘ Alan roared, trying frantically to wipe the water from his eyes. His hands felt his coat. ‘My coat! My trenchcoat! Bloody hell it costs a fackin’ fortune to wash thi-‘

‘Aguamenti.’

Another jet of water struck him full on.

‘Blast and damn you, I’m awake!’ Alan shrilled, thoroughly put off now.

‘Good, because we have more to worry about than your coat, Alan!’ Abe said. He pulled Alan up by his scruff. Alan, offended by the great indignity of it all, was about to make a snappy comeback when he looked up. The words died in his quite suddenly dry throat.

The thing that crouched now in front of the intrepid duo was most likely human. Probably. Possibly. It certainly retained the parts associated with mankind, though humans generally didn’t have pasty white skin that almost appeared ethereal, nor did their eyes normally tend to be completely jet-black. Technically, even with these mutations, one could assume that the thing was human in some way or manner.

What made matters very dubious in the exact positioning of the creature in the hierarchy of animals was that while, yes, humans technically could have unnaturally ethereal skin (say, if they were very very dead) or, just possibly, have jet-black eyes (eye-encompassing contact lenses, perhaps, or a heavy and painful application of black paint) humans had never been documented with a brain attached to their chest by a series of bloody veins that looked completely unhealthy.

Alan looked cheerfully to Abe.

‘Well, at least we found the thing,’ he said with a chipper tone that Abe thought did not befit the current situation the two agents were now embroiled in.

‘Oh hail Mary and God save the Queen, that does a bloody lot of good for us,’ he grumbled, eyeing the creature apprehensively. At the moment it seemed content to stare at the ground, slack jawed and vacant. Squinting his eyes, he could see…was the thing drooling?

‘Now now, one should not have the holy Mary in the same sentence with a profanity. And never with the Queen, god forbid,’ Alan chided, nervously watching the currently inert creature.

‘What spell d’you think we should use?’

‘I’m thinking something flamey.’

Pyromaniac. An Incarcerous would be more wise in this situation…’

At the word ‘Incarcerous’ the brain-man twitched.

With a soundless roar it leapt forward, hands outstretched and spittle flying from bared teeth. If Alan hadn’t seen the creature twitched he wouldn’t have had time to push Abe out of the way, wouldn’t have had time to realize that he had just placed himself in the path of the leaping creature.

He didn’t even have time to mutter ‘Bugger’.

The brain-man rammed into Alan. They hurtled towards the banister, raging nightmarish monster and shrieking, frightened man. The banister didn’t stand a chance. They landed on the wood floor with an audible thump, pieces of the banister raining around them. Having taken the brunt of the impact of both banister and wooden floor Alan’s back, and thus Alan in turn, was in a world of pain. He was still aware enough to realize that the brain was pulsing in a most disgusting and ominous way, and that the veins that connected the brain to Robert Freeman’s chest were slowly making their way out of the man’s skin. The brain sensed that Alan was a wizard, and a wizard was a delectable target when compared to an ordinary muggle.

‘No! Not good!’ Alan yelped. ‘Stupefy!’

Nothing happened.

Alan looked at his wand hand. It twitched as though in greeting. It was, unfortunately, very wand-less. His wand was nowhere to be seen.

‘Accio wand!’

His wand flew towards him from beneath what had once been the banister, but to no avail; Robert the brain-man batted it away with a flick of the arm. It struck the wall with a bone-cracking force that sounded very unhealthy. Glancing at his wand he saw that it looked distinctly fragile. He couldn’t risk Accioing his wand again, not in that state.

He flailed at the creature with his bare fists. His spirited attempt to was no avail. Despite several blows that would’ve surely left a lesser foe dazed, and an uppercut that Alan was particularly proud of, Robert didn’t even twitch. In desperation he kneed Robert where it really counted. The brain froze, its tentacles suddenly freezing up. Robert’s slack face twitched in a most ungentle manner.

Alan smiled with a glow of satisfaction. Whether it be magical enchantments, unnatural resilience to pain or control by a freakish brain from the nether regions of very dark places, a man kicked in the goolies is a man kicked in the goolies.

He kneed brain-Robert again. And again. And again. And just when it looked like he would succeed in escaping the evil creature, it discovered the obvious solution in preventing the blinding pain in its most precious of areas: it sat on Alan’s legs.

‘Oh come on! This is hardly fair!’ Alan yelled in outrage, unable to believe that his foe would stoop to such a level, ignoring the fact that he had already crossed that line four kicks and altogether too much blinding pain ago.

Satisfied that its prey was secure, the brain began retracting its tendrils from Robert’s body. Growling, Alan grabbed at the brain. Ignoring the sickening sensation of pulsing brain flesh he attempted to rip it to bleeding, gray pieces. Robert simply pinned Alan’s flailing arms to the ground.

‘Bad Robert! Bad Robert! Release me now!’ Alan had run out of all options and it was looking as though the brain was soon to have a new master when a voice rang out:

‘Impedimenta!’

Abe stood at the top of the stairs, in the space where the banister had once been. His wand flashed as he cast another spell. Alan whooped.

‘Abe, if I wasn’t stuck beneath this utterly disgusting creature, and didn’t fly that way of the Quidditch pitch, I would kiss you.’

‘Stupefy!’

The spells struck the brain-man with bone-cracking force, yet it stood stock still as the brain began to slowly retract from its host, otherwise ignoring Abe. Several bloody tendrils began reaching for the enfeebled Alan. Alan watched the tendrils with extreme trepidation.

‘Eh, Abe, mate, could you please hurry up and, I dunno, kill this thing? Like, soon?’

‘Incarcerous! Impedimenta!’

Ropes flew around the brain-creature, and Abe drew in breath to sigh when it burst out of its trappings with a shriek. This time it reacted to Abe’s spells. Faster than the human eye could track it took up a piece of banister and threw it with violent force at Abe. Abe fell with a sharp crack to the forehead. Alan’s erstwhile savior collapsed with a groan.

With no distractions to impede its work the brain turned its full attention to Alan. With painstaking tardiness it withdrew from its host, bloody slurping sounds accompanying each retreating tendril. The host body that had once been Robert Freeman didn’t seem to react at all to the invader’s retreat beyond looking, if it was even possible, even more stupid.

Alan tried to keep a cool head. You needed a cool head in these types of situation. Cool head, ice cold. Ignore the feeling of those tendrils working at your skin, ignore the really, utterly disgusting pulsing of the brain, ignore the sight of more and more tendrils slithering bloodily out of one body to slither into another; IGNORE. IT. ALL. He was a wizard, an Unspeakable, and they did not need to rely on their wands alone.

And then he saw the debris of the banister.

‘Accio banister!’ he cried. The brain/Robert, sensing something amiss, looked up to see every piece, scrap and splinter racing towards it. It let go of Alan’s arms to protect the brain. Blood ran freely as splinters and shards pierced its skin.

‘Hah! You filthy wanker, take that!’ Alan bellowed, and turned to summon his wand. It was only then he realized the flaw in his plan: pieces of the banister were everywhere, and were coming all to him.

‘Accio wand!’ he yelled desperately. His wand flew back into his hand. Unfortunately, so did many splinters and shards of wood.

Alan’s shriek of pain was obscured by a cry of, ‘Incendio!’

Robert’s back burst into flame. A shriek ripped out from his throat, his limbs going into spasms due to the pain. The wooden pieces of banister lodged deep into his skin also began to burst, causing terrible internal damage. The brain struggled fiercely to leave Robert as the flames began to spread. Alan’s screaming intensified as the flames reached his struggling legs.

‘Abe, you goddamn wanker, get this asshole off of me! I’m on fire!’

‘Ah, sorry about that,’ Abe, forehead gashed open and with blood streaming down his eyes, managed to sound trite. Despite the pain he managed to summon up the strength for another spell.

‘Wingardium Leviosa!’

The flaming Robert flew up into the air at a surprising speed, striking the roof with enough force to crack it. It went down, then up again at the roof, causing more cracks to form. Down, up, down, up. Alan giggled maddeningly at the sickeningly humorously scene before him, almost forgetting to beat the flames off his roasting legs as the adrenaline streamed up through his brain.

‘Come on Alan, move! I can’t keep this up forever!’ he bellowed at Alan’s struggling form below.

Alan attempted to stand up. Halfway through he slid alarmingly back down.

‘Sorry, sorry, that’s the blood pooling on the floor,’ he called back cheerfully. And there was indeed a rather large pool of blood, a great deal of which was dripping off of Alan.

Alan noticed the look. ‘No, don’t worry, it’s mostly the other guy’s.’

‘Right,’ Abe muttered. ‘I’m going to drop him, Crucio him and then we can capture the brain.’

Alan winced as he brought up his wand hand, which looked like a pincushion for splinters. ‘Ready whenever you are.’

‘Now!’ Abe cancelled his spell and the still-burning Robert dropped speedily to the ground, right into the pool of its own blood. Smoke and blood alike smothered the air and the hissing and crackling sound of steaming flesh resounded sickeningly around the room. From the smoke came a screeching cry utterly inhuman in it’s variance, and the horrid form of Robert reared up from his smoking ruin. His skin was horrifically marred, fiery welts boiling to the smoking surface before exploding in gouts of pus, where it wasn’t simply blackened beyond sane belief. It stumbled, child-like, smoke streaming from open wounds and sores, the brain on the chest beating wildly, as if in extreme pain.

Alan walked forward, wand outstretched towards the center of the stumbling Robert. Robert’s head looked up blankly at him.

Alan grinned a feral grin, a savaged wolverine turning suddenly, viciously on its surprised foe, turning the predator into the frightened, confused, helpless…prey. ‘Crucio.’

The brain went into spasms. It shook so violently, so forcefully, that it didn’t quite seem that the brain could hold such spasmodic force; it looked as though at any minute it would come apart at its bloody, organic seams. The surface of Robert’s skin was a nest of covered snakes, or so it seemed as the tentacles caught within Robert’s skin writhed jerkily, convulsively. Robert fell foaming at the mouth, mind unable to accept the sensory overload without the sensory-depriving effect that the brain had induced in his body.

Alan walked up to his helpless foe, a mad grin etched onto his feral features. He grabbed the brain and, with relish and insane pleasure drawn from the darkest parts of his heart, slowly squeezed. A whining hum began to grow from the very bottom of Robert’s chest; as the pressure increased so did the intensity and pitch of the humming.

A hand gripped Alan’s shoulder. He turned to see Abe, who was momentarily startled by the look in Alan’s eyes: eyes that flashed with a quick cruelty, eyes that screamed for sadistic pleasure.

‘What?’ he said testily. As he did so he briefly jabbed his thumbs into the brain and the humming turned into a screaming whine.

Abe pointed at the brain. ‘Eliminating the very thing we were sent to re-capture is generally not the best way to be well thought of by the administration.’

‘Yet, it is so tempting.’

‘Yet, it is a bad idea.’

Alan scowled. ‘Look, Abe, stop telling me this is the wrong thing to do. It’s not what is right that matters, but what I find the most enjoyable. Such as pushing my thumbs deep into this piece of shit as far as I can go, until I reach it’s heart, or equivalent thereof.’ As if to press the point, he jabbed his thumbs in further, eliciting a high-pitched squeal of pain, followed by what might be called in a human being, whimpering.

Abe simply glared at Alan.

Tense moments passed. The two men simply stood glaring at one another, a contest of will and fortitude. The brain whimpered intermittently.

‘Y’know, I always wanted to go to the Caribbean.’

Abe blinked once, twice. Finally he replied, ‘What?’

‘Well, Abe me friend,’ Alan began, relaxing his thumbs ‘If we bring in this beauty, we’ll probably get a raise. Money that could go into my Caribbean fund.’

Abe smiled and let out a deep sigh, echoed by the brain. ‘I knew you’d cave in.’

‘Who said anything about caving in?’ Alan placed his foot against Robert’s catatonic face. With vicious speed he gripped the brain, hard, and ripped it from Robert’s body in a welter of bloody fluid. The brain screamed once, twice, as its pseudopods left the flesh of its host violently and painfully. Viscera sprayed as it’s tentacles and various other paranaphelia shook pathetically at the force of its ejection. Just as suddenly it stopped; the brain grew still, its tentacles going slack, waving stonily in the gentle wind.

Both Alan and Abe looked at the still brain, then at one another’s bloody selves.

Abe idly flicked off several gory pieces off his bloody coat.

Alan coughed.

There was a pause.

‘Right, I’ll get the tea brewing, then.’ Alan cheerfully announced.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Department of Mysteries - AMoaB Part II

Yes, I know raghead is rascist. The context must be considered, especially by the fact that these two guys are intensely good friends that rascist terms don't matter.

****

The door opened wide with a creak. A second passed. Another. Alan entered, wand at the ready. Step by agonizingly slow step he moved into the house, eyes constantly searching. Abe appeared behind him, wand also out. They stood back to back, circling around, maintaining a three hundred and sixty degree watch.

Finally Alan lowered his wand. Abe followed. Both sets of eyes kept roving around.

‘We’ll have to risk some light,’ Alan said.

‘Not like staying blind will help us anyway,’ Abe snorted.

With whispers of ‘Lumos’ their wands lit up with a fierce globe of light, illuminating the entranceway. Walls plastered with blue wallpaper adorned with pictures of smiling faces and the odd chip of paint. The floor was wood, looking none worse for the wear. It did not look like the house of a diabolical maniac, or a fiendish dark wizard or even a slightly mad professor. No, it seemed like an otherwise completely normal British house.

Which made it all the more suspect.

‘There are the stairs,’ Abe pointed ahead at the staircase.

‘It might’ve moved down, though, in the time between Arthur’s report and our arrival,’ Alan pointed out.

They looked at each other.

‘Don’t you even dare say, “Let’s split up”,’ Abe glared.

Alan smiled innocently. ‘Who, me?’

They began the sweep of the lower floor. Nerve wracking room by nerve wracking room they swept in, slowly approaching the doorway before blitzing in, wands ready and mouths ready to unleash a torrent of spells. Each time they were faced with the eerily lit rooms and nothing else.

Finally they had reached the last room on the lower floor. Alan shouldered the door open, wand aimed to the right, while Abe stepped in, wand aimed to the left. All that greeted them was a small kitchen, as un-suspicious as a kitchen could ever be. If anything even slightly disturbing could be said about this kitchen, it would have to be the fact that there was a perfectly unused tea bag on the table.

Motion caught Alan’s eye, but it was just the light fluttering of the window drapes; the window was open. He shut it.

‘Kettle’s lukewarm,’ Alan said, holding the offending article in hand. ‘He must’ve been boiling up a cuppa before our little escapee surprised him.’ He looked wistfully at the unused tea bag. ‘Such a waste.’

Abe motioned him to silence.

Creak.

Abe pointed up to the ceiling; the sound was coming above them. Alan slowly, carefully, placed the kettle down on the stove. Slowly, carefully, they left the kitchen, taking care to open the door with the utmost care, Alan placing a sticking charm on the door to prevent it from making any unnecessary noise. Abe went up the stairs first, carefully avoiding placing his full weight on any single step. Alan followed.

Another creak. This time accompanied with something that sounded…wet. They reached the top floor. It was a small hallway, one room to the right and another to the left, ending in a large window. The drapes were shut. Alan pointed to the right doorway, motioned for Abe to take the left. Abe put up three fingers.

Two.

One.

The two agents burst through their doors, tongues spitting out spells. Better safe than sorry. The next dozen seconds was a technicolor explosion of light and sound that would’ve made Walt Disney proud. When the smoke cleared, Alan found himself in a tornado of white feathers and mattress cloth. He sneezed. He had obviously hit the bedroom. The bedpost was so much slag, melted copper and wood, with burst springs testifying as to the carnage wrought upon the bed. The pillows could not give forwith any evidence, for, alas, they had been utterly annihilated in that opening salvo of spells, their feathery carcasses the only evidence that they had ever existed in the first place. Sniffing, he noticed the smell of smoke and looked down. Various books and magazines were on fire. He extinguished them with a spell, sheepily.

From the cursing coming from next door his partner had shared the same luck.

Abe came stomping out of his target wet. His sandy blonde hair was plastered to his face, which was twisted into a grimace, his brown coat damp. He was holding a towel. ‘Bathroom,’ he muttered as he passed Alan. Alan peeked in as Abe, still muttering angrily, began toweling furiously. The toilet was a broken ceramic fountain, gushing a three-foot spray of water. There were gouges in the plaster and the ceiling light was so much powder and dust. Shards of glass lay scattered across the floor. In fact, the only untouched item was a box in the middle of the bathroom, an unassuming metal box with a red warning sign declaring, ‘Danger, Highly Toxic Materials Within. Property of the Department of Mysteries’. It’s lid was popped off, the lock that once held it lying carelessly on the floor.

Alan turned to the grimacing Abe, smiling widely.

‘Good one mate. At least you managed to avoid hitting the box. We want to be able to actually carry the specimen back.’

‘Shut up, you white wanker,’ Abe growled.

‘Better than a raghead,’ Alan called back cheerily, just avoiding Abe’s tossed towel.

Motion caught Alan’s eye. The window. Ignoring Abe’s ranting about the differences between ragheads and Indians, he stalked towards the window. Something was not quite right. It was just as he about reached the window when he realized what was wrong: the drapes were moving.

The window was open.

Before Alan could even take in the air to yell a warning the drapes burst aside.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

The Department of Mysteries - A Matter of a Brain Part 1

THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES
A Matter of a Brain
by Lawrence Wang

(Author's notes, aka me: My second and probably last HP-fan fic. I've always wanted to play around with the idea of the Unspeakables being this ultra top-secret department that dealt with all this nasty stuff that you never saw in the actual books. Sorta like the BPRD of the Hellboy universe.

I was originally going to make this a whole big post, but thought better about it. So its going in installments, one a day.
ooh, the anticipation!

And yes, the brain here is one of those brains that are found in the Dep. of Mysteries, in the book the Order of the Phoenix.

And without further adieu...)


The Department of Mysteries is the most mysterious and feared of the seven departments of the Ministry of Magic. It acts independently from the rest of the Ministry and is only answerable to itself. The department is shrouded in lies, rumors, conspiracies and half-truths. The only people who know what truly go on in the mysterious offices of the ninth level of the Ministry of Magic are the Unspeakables, the agents of the Department of Mysteries.

Here are some of the tales and rumors that surround the Department and their agents. Whether they are true or not is left to you.

‘Turn this godawful music off.’

Alan, not taking his eyes off the road, pretended not to hear. Abe was nonplussed.

‘Alan, I am serious. This music is absolutely horrid. It is an atrocity to the musical arts. In a few minutes my ears will bleed and my brain will haemorrahge and on my epitaph they will put down, “Alan’s horrible music tastes killed me”,’ Abe said, with increasing enthusiasm.

Alan threw up his hands. ‘Fine, fine, I’ll switch it to something else. What do you want, BBC 1, or Classical…’

‘Alan!’

Alan almost didn’t hear the blaring horn. That was because he was so focused on the two lights in front that were growing at an uncomfortable speed. He took the wheel and swerved hard to the left. A sudden blur and the car was past them, the horn fading as it sped away.

Alan stared at Abe.

Abe stared back at Alan.

Alan sighed, careful to keep his eyes on the road this time.

‘Fine, fine, you get to drive back.’

***

They arrived at the house shortly before ten.

The house was a nice one, Alan did have to admit, for a Muggle building. At least, it seemed like it looked nice. It was a country house, with two floors and a nice-sized stable. Solidly built too, no over ostentatious gaudy decorations. At the back the walls were covered with ivy, and this neglect led to a sort of natural beauty that he might have enjoyed at a different time.

But at night, with the bare moon overhead casting a rather unsettling pallid gloom, the house did not look nice. In fact it looked…

‘Spooky,’ Abe said, finishing the thought. Alan nodded.

‘Are you two the agents the Ministry sent?’

Abe and Alan turned to the source. From out of the shadows came a young man, somewhere in his mid twenties. He had reddish-orange hair and hornbeam glasses. He was pale and obviously shaken.

‘Who are you?’ Alan asked, carefully reaching into his coat.

‘Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle artifacts,’ the man said. Alan relaxed.

‘Yeah, we are. What’s the situation?’ Abe asked.

‘I came here two hours ago on a report of what seemed to be charmed Muggle items. It looked like a simple operation, just identify the items in question and call in the Obliviator squad to obliviate the man in question and any other related suspects.’ Arthur began.

‘Wait, before you continue,’ Abe interrupted. Arthur sent him a questioning look. ‘What’s the suspect’s name?’

‘Ah. It’s…Freeman. Robert Freeman.’

Abe turned back to the car. Alan motioned for Arthur to continue his report.

‘Yes, well. I arrived at the house and rang the doorbell several times. After no response, I decided to enter by more…forceful means. I used an Alomohora spell to open the door…so no need to unlock the door…and searched for the charmed items. I had just been cataloguing the items in the living room when I heard a faint moan coming from upstairs.

‘I climbed the stairs and followed the voice to its source. It was, I assume, Mr. Freeman, lying on the floor of his bathroom with a strange…well, strange thing, for lack of better words, attached to his chest.’

Arthur shuddered, halting his report for a moment. Alan took the time to look back at Abe, who was fiddling with something in the car. Arthur composed himself and continued.

‘It was horrible. The thing was pulsing and moving, as though it was in tune with the man’s very heart. I don’t know how long I stared at it. Then, suddenly, Mr. Freeman stopped moaning. I was unsure what to do. Just as I had resolved to go help the man his body jerked. He looked as though he was having a fit. I didn’t bother to check, though; I was escaping as quickly and quietly as possible. Then…well, I called the Ministry and they said they would send two professionals to handle this, and here you are.’ Arthur finished.

‘Thank you very much, Mr. Weasley. If you will please vacate the premises, we will handle the matter.’ Alan said, putting his hand out. Arthur shook it and began to walk away.

He turned back, a confused frown crossing his face. ‘Which department did you say you were from, again?’

Alan looked nonplussed, crossing his arms. ‘Escaped Beasts section three, Department for the regulation and control of magical creatures.’

Arthur still looked a bit confused, but seconds later a distinct crack signaled that Arthur had Apparated away. Alan let out a long-held sigh and replaced his wand back into its inner coat pocket.

***

‘Escaped Beasts? Section Three? Your imagination just gets wilder and wilder with each lie, Alan,’ Abe commented with a smile as Alan walked back to the car.

‘Shut up, you insufferable sod.’ Alan grumbled, leaning on the hood of the car.

‘You sure you don’t want to have another agent obliviate the lad? Don’t want any rumors or such to circulate around.’ Abe asked.

‘It’s okay. I’ve heard of Arthur, he’s a real straight shooter, won’t go mouthing off or any such nonsense. Anyway, what you’ve got?’ Abe had a curious expression on his face, but shook it off quickly.

‘Checked in with the Department’s files. Well, Mr. Freeman did not appear on the database as a muggle with magical tendencies, nor as a Squib. Nor has he been obliviated before. Seems he just happened to get into an illegal trafficking deal between the goblin Mafia and some rather rich and suspicious wizards without knowing it. That’s how he must have picked up our specimen.’

‘An innocent bystander, then?’ Alan asked, rubbing his jaw. Have to have a shave tonight, he thought. Never enough time.

‘Innocent? Well, if you consider innocent to include smuggling illegal shipments, then yes.’

Alan growled. ‘You know what I mean.’

Abe merely smiled.

They both turned to the house. It was looking even more forbidding by the moment.

‘Well, I guess we’ll have to go in,’ Abe said. Alan grunted.

‘Stop acting like a Neanderthal muggle. I don’t like it anymore than you do.’ Alan grunted again, but this time with a smile. The smile quickly disappeared, replaced with a scowl.

‘If only we had time to get back to the Ministry. We’re going in under-armoured for something like this, not to mention under-manned.’

Abe sighed. ‘I already told you in the car. There’s been some odd occurrence in Cheshire, Manchester has some abnormal happenings, and the rest are either on the Scotland mission or otherwise occupied.’

Alan sighed. ‘I know, but still. This is pretty serious, and I don’t care what the Head says, even with two experienced agents this is going to be a hell of an operation.’

Abe looked once again at the house, bleakly. ‘Amen to that.’

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Untitled: Part II, Section I

He stared at his data in amazement. He was sure he'd done the right calculations. He'd been glued to his notes for no less than ten straight hours and he'd be damned if he had made a mistake. He looked at his results and shook his head. Something wasn't right. The numbers were ridiculous! He was so sure he'd done everything right. He sighed, took off his glasses - the latest, unrimmed, anti-glare Ray Bans - and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He needed sleep. He needed it badly. He slowly reached out and switched his desk lamp off. He'd get back to his calculations after a few hours of unconsciousness and, hopefully, a clearer brain. He pushed himself (and his chair) away from the desk, got up and walked sluggishly to his bedroom trying to rub the burning sensation out of his eyes. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. His unbelievable results lay carelessly on his desk along with his Ray Bans which were glinting slightly in the moonlight that poured through the window.