Growden stepped into the coffee shop with a simple set of objectives clear in his mind. First, he sought to find a secluded corner with a charging port to tuck himself away in. Being that it was a Wednesday evening in New York city, "secluded" was hardly an option. Rather, scanning the different seats available, it seemed finding a charger port at all would be rather difficult. There was one corner of the shop with a long table, and at every corner of it sat a different college student clacking away at an essay or book report with headphones on to ward off unwelcome conversation.
At the back left corner, there was a collective of what could either be crackheads or runaways. Eyes looking about nervously as they stood with their coffees close to themselves and an undeniable nervousness in their stances. Growden looked to the last corner only to see it chock full of business executives and the sort of people he deemed as "insufferables" packed nicely about the remainder of the space. There was a very specific category of people which the young man hated. He hated those which were born in well-to-do positions and then walked with an air of unearned confidence. Lawyers and office snobs- he couldn't stand anyone of the sort.
The sound of thunder cascaded from behind him and he was suddenly struck with an alternative option. His eyes glimpsed out the glass door to the patio area. He muttered a thanks to the gods as he ordered a plain cup of water and then moved to the outdoor seating area. Outside on this particular day was only one other fellow, an old man with a contented sort of silence to him. This was surely more tolerable, Growden took his seat a ways away from the man and plugged his laptop into the charger port on the coffee shop's wall. The water hit his lips with a refreshing wave of cold and he began to sift through the files that were on Asia Alvarsson's computer.
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It was a wonder to the young man that the woman was able to keep a series of files so painfully organised. The first sets of categories she had were between two different options: 'Work' and 'Other'. Growden had first entered the work file, primarily because it held a great deal more files than the latter. He scrolled through the different projects for each month and a category of rather boring "important" emails the woman had kept and catalogued in yet another folder inside of the folder.
By the time he'd finished his water, it was evident that he would get nowhere sifting through years worth of a random woman's work files. So he rose from his seat, collecting his belongings quickly, and made the short walk to the parking garage that held his dear Nessie. Unlike the busy cafe, the old school Buick was a spectacle of calm, quiet. Growden tucked himself into her cluttered backseat, setting his legs on top of the centre console and locking the doors around him.
All around the young man was every item he owned in one compact space. At times he felt the worst tragedy that could befall him was if his car were to explode. There was a box of knick knacks he kept from his time in Honourfall, and the few photographs that had ever been taken of his older sister. It was his own pirate chest of treasures.
After ensuring he had a few hours before the device would die on him, the young man resumed his searches through Miss Alvarsson's files. The 'Other' section in her drives would prove to be much more interesting than the former. First of the contents to catch his attention was a folder labelled "Mamma's Journals" which only had two sections inside of it.
He opened the first to find a PDF which appeared to be a series of scanned physical journal entries. The entries were dated at the top and the collection didn't seem at all to be complete. Growden tried his best to pick up bits and pieces of the work but it was all written in an unfamiliar language which he could only assume was in the Germanic family. On his notepad, he scribbled down a brief set of notes about the journals and speculative ideas on what the entries could be about.
Next he eyed the second document in the file folder to find it vaguely labelled "Notes". He opened it to find a very organised sort of madness inside. Miss Alvarsson had entirely dissected every detail of the journals, and to Growden's luck, she had done so in Oxford English. The only matter left to discern was that she wrote in such a way that you could tell she already understood precisely what was written in the journals and thus specific details were left un-noted and it was instead only possible to get a general idea of what the journal entries had contained.
He began to skim her work slowly, his face growing ever so slightly more horrified the farther he read. He couldn't be certain of it, but it seemed whoever wrote the journals had been subject to a series of horrific and brutal experiments. Eventually, Growden slapped the laptop shut as his stomach threatened to spill its contents.
Asia Alvarsson's mother had been the unfortunate victim of a demented sociopath.
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When Growden had regathered his senses, he decided it wasn't necessary to intrude any further upon Miss Alvarsson's notes. If Miss Polson asked it of him, he would find a way to stomach it, but until then he saw no need to do such a thing.
He skimmed through the rest of the files boredly. There were a few different folders of vacation pictures the woman had taken complete with colourful margaritas or the tops of icy mountains. It seemed there would be nothing else of particular interest, until the man discovered something rather interesting: a locked file.
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