The house was eerily familiar.
How had Adam described it? I recalled his words:
"A classic Victorian with the original crown molding."
The only thing missing was a pair of resident ghosts. Did ghosts even exist in this world?
There's no conclusive evidence, Boaz commented silently, There are some anomalous events that could fit the description, but they could also be attributed to other causes, given the confirmed existence of psychic phenomena. The term "ghost" lacks a firm definition.
Adam and Barbara's house had followed me here. Why?
This wasn't the first time a similar occurrence had taken place. There had been a version of my house from Fuyuki in Imladris. It made me wonder, were these houses transported or projected across Worlds? Was there just a single instance or a duplicate in each location? It was a question I couldn't answer. Not without retracing my steps. And that was currently beyond my capabilities.
These contemplations also led me to wonder what my own house looked like at present. I had been crunched for time and had only visited the workshop. I hadn't had the opportunity to inspect the rest.
Preoccupied with such thoughts, I moved toward the front door and used the Otherworld key, registering it to Cid.
"Oops, wrong key," I claimed, feigning a search for another key. My apparent distraction aided in selling the charade.
"We don't have time for this!" Terry bellowed from behind. I turned to regard her. It seemed I may have overdone it slightly. After her healing, she appeared almost ten years younger. "We need to find Jane!"
Archer hadn't provided me with the key to the house. Not that it was truly necessary. It was just a typical lock. A quick Structural Analysis to inspect the lock, followed by a swift projection, created a functional key.
"We will," I assured her, "but first we need to get inside. Ah, here it is," I said, producing the projected key and using it to unlock the door. The stale, dust-filled air provoked a sneeze from me, which caused droplets of blood to spray from my nose. Scarlet specks landed on the white sheet covering a chair. It had been a long while since anyone resided here.
"Calm down, sister," Becky advised. She had come along with us to Hawkins, unwilling to part ways with her sister. While this hadn't been part of my initial plan, I was able to adapt. Plus, she occasionally served to calm her sister.
I had introduced myself to them simply as Ace. The moniker "Dr. Johnson" might have unfavourable connotations for the two of them. Eventually, my true identity would surface, but by then I was confident that by then I would have their trust.
What did I say about Becky sometimes having a calming effect on her sister? Well, it didn't always work, like in the present instance.
Because Terry was on the verge of an eruption. "We should be looking for her, instead of visiting a creepy abandoned house!" she protested.
Exhaling a sigh, I rhythmically tapped the riding crop against my palm and retorted, "And what exactly would you propose we do? Report the girl missing to the police? That would go over well." This might have a positive effect in a few days' time, but not right now. If I was recalling the timeline correctly, Hopper had yet to break into the Hawkins National Laboratory and discover a child's room. "Or should we just search aimlessly?"
"Better than doing nothing!" the younger sister shouted. My healing may have returned her to a functional state, but it hadn't fully tempered her trauma. Plus, her rationality was already questionable.
Her desperate plan to use a firearm to infiltrate Hawkins National Lab and free her daughter was destined to fail from the outset. But desperation often clouded sound judgment.
"Can we please stop arguing? I'm certain Ace has some plan in mind to locate Jane," interjected the elder sister, attempting to act as a mediator, only to undermine her own efforts by adding, "I still can't wrap my head around the fact that Jane is real."
"Of course she is real!" Terry lashed out at her sister. While her frustration was understandable, it was also inconvenient. "If only you had believed me in the first place..."
"And what would have changed? That repugnant doctor would have just disposed of both of us. And then who would have been there to care for you? Besides, who would believe such a thing without any evidence? What next, Nazis on the moon and snake people hiding among up, secretly ruling the world from the city in the centre of the Earth?"
Before their argument could escalate further, I cut them off, striking a piece of covered furniture with my riding crop to create a loud noise.
"Terry, please lower your voice before you attract unwanted attention," I requested, then quickly added before she could protest, "I didn't bring you to this house without reason. I'm just hoping the bathroom is still functional."
"Why would you need a bathroom?" she queried, her voice a notch lower this time. It was a small victory.
I rolled my eyes and with a sarcastic flick of my riding crop, retorted, "I've been on the move for over ten hours. I thought a quick freshen-up might be in order. A relaxing bath sounds absolutely divine."
"What?!" she asked, her volume once again on the rise.
I drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and in a composed and measured voice clarified, "You've conducted the experiments. Unless you fancy stopping by Brenner's lab to politely request to borrow a cup of sugar along with his Sensory Deprivation Tank, we're going to have to improvise."
"Do you have drugs?" she asked, calming down a bit. The emotional whiplash was proving to be more frustrating than her hysteria. Maybe I should have explained my plan earlier, but if she'd been a little more patient, this whole drama could have been avoided. Or perhaps not. She was on edge, and if it hadn't been this, something else would've set her off.
"We're past those crude methods. It's been years," I simply responded.
The bathroom was in much better condition than I had expected. For a house that had been abandoned for years, it was strangely well-preserved. If there were ghosts present, I couldn't detect them. I wasn't even sure if ghosts could naturally occur in this world. Plus, I had little idea how I could determine their presence, short of committing mass murder in horrific ways and seeing if anything transpired. Even then, it might not be conclusive, considering the Enrichment Center wasn't haunted.
"I'm sorry," Terry interrupted my contemplation with an apology. "It's just... it's been so long... and this is the best chance I've had to get Jane back."
Her apology would have been more sincere if this was the first time she'd behaved this way. What was the point of apologizing if she intended to repeat the very thing she was apologizing for?
"Passion is the pathway to power, especially psychic power," I replied as I removed the plastic covering from the bathtub. It was large enough for me to comfortably submerge myself in it. A classic cast-iron bathtub with a porcelain interior on 'claw foot' pedestals. Underneath, it was surprisingly clean. "It's a quick and easy path, but it can easily lead you astray. You're afraid."
"Yes," she confirmed.
"Fear, like fire, is a useful servant but a terrible master," I stated, testing the water. It flowed clean. And, impressively, both hot and cold water were available. "You need to let it go. Only when you're at peace you can discern what the universe is trying to tell you."
"You sound like a Jedi," Becky remarked, returning from a brief errand I'd sent her on. She was proving to be quite reliable. It was a pity she didn't have any psychic abilities. Or did she? There were indications that it could be an inherited trait. I should test her.
Noted, Boaz mentally acknowledged.
"They drew from Eastern philosophies when making those movies," I explained to Becky. Concurrently, I set the water temperature to match body temperature and began filling the tub. "Some of it is applicable. Did you find any salt, Becky?"
"Yes, there was some in the kitchen," the older sister replied, showing me an unopened package of salt she'd found. "Is this enough?"
After a quick mental calculation, I responded, "Yes, it is."
"What's a Jedi?" Terry inquired.
"It's from a trilogy of movies called Star Wars," I answered as I waited for the tub to fill. "You should watch them with your daughter once we recover her. It would be a great bonding activity for the whole family."
"I guess I could re-watch them," Becky chimed in, "I now have a Jedi niece."
"She could always choose to be a Sith," I joked, and then, imitating Vader's voice, I added, "Apology accepted, Doctor Brenner."
"That was both funny and frightening. You're good at this. Shame about the lightsabers."
"I could attempt to create one," I responded. The bathtub was now full. I began pouring in the salt, ensuring the correct ratio so that the salinity of the water precisely matched my body's density. I needed to float.
"What is a lightsaber?" Terry questioned, "And why are you undressing?!"
"Lower your voice, Terry," I admonished, "We don't want the neighbours calling the police. And I don't want to get my clothes wet."
"Should we leave?" Becky asked. There was an undercurrent in her tone.
She is attracted to you, Leo conveyed mentally. That's why she is so cooperative. Her sister too.
I hadn't observed that. But I wasn't on the lookout for it either. Until I resolved the Elven issue, my sex life was constrained to only Archer. That wasn't such a great sacrifice. Rectifying it wasn't a priority.
But I should get to it, once I have some free time. If nothing else, just to know that I could.
Though, I was confident that the effect was centred on the body. This conclusion was based on two data points. First, the specific wording in Namna Finwë Míriello mentioned the body being confused. The term used was very explicit. And second, while we were separated from our bodies, we did technically engage in foursome, without any deadly consequences.
But that was a matter for later. Currently, I have more pressing issues to deal with.
"Should we?" Becky asked again, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
"If you prefer," I replied, shrugging off my trousers. I may have indulged in a few unnecessary stretches, showing off my physique just a little. "But it might be beneficial to have you nearby during the search. We're all adults here, after all. And Terry is a mother. I trust Jane wasn't the product of an immaculate conception. Those always lead to complications."
"No, Jane's father was Andrew Rich," Terry responded, "He died in Vietnam."
"Where is he buried?" I asked, my hands going to the waistband of my briefs. With a swift tug, I pushed them down, revealing the last of my modesty to the two women.
"They never recovered his body," Terry replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she tried to act nonchalant.
I found that I rather enjoyed this scenario. Having an audience brought a certain thrill to the proceedings. I made a mental note to visit some establishment now that I was back in a more civilized land. Perhaps a leather bar where a nice show would be appreciated. I could rope Archer into it. Using actual rope.
Noted, Boaz remarked silently. I will remind you at an appropriate moment.
"Pity," I replied, pulling off my socks, the last remnants of my attire. Now I was completely bare. "Becky, the blindfold and other items, please."
"Here," she replied, handing me a strip of cloth and a small plastic tube meant to serve as a snorkel. I secured the cloth around my eyes, slipped the tube into my mouth, and lowered myself into the water.
Suspended in the tepid liquid, I floated in darkness and silence. No sight, no sound, no touch. Gradually, the world faded away, and I was elsewhere.
Beneath the pitch-black veil of my blindfold, my inner vision expanded. I found myself standing within a hollowed-out gemstone, my every reflection dancing across its multifaceted surface. The only light within this hollow existence emanated from my own body, casting a shimmering mixture of silver and gold.
This ethereal light was familiar, reminiscent of the magnificence of the Two Trees I had once seen.
Their resplendence had forever etched itself onto my soul, and its glow now stood prominent in this realm of self-reflection.
However, the luminescence wasn't the only thing that manifested. My Magic Crest, which I wasn't actively utilizing at the moment, was fully visible, a dark tapestry of intricate tattoos sprawling across my chest. A new element had joined the intricate design: three meticulously drawn eyes.
These painted eyes blinked open, the first marking of change.
"This is different," declared Arnold's voice, resonating from the left eye that was a solid green sans pupil. He was no longer a silent mental whisper, but an audible entity in this space.
"It did not happen last time," Boaz concurred, his voice emitting from the lower eye, a serene blue.
"I can't say that I'm displeased by this development," Leo chimed in from the right eye, a striking gold.
"Enough," I commanded, "We have work to do. We can delve into these experiments later when we are not bound by time."
"I will remind you of that," Boaz responded in his usual robotic monotone. Of all the artificial intelligences created by Aperture, Meticulous Cores indeed sounded the most machine-like.
"Now, let's search for Eleven," I declared, focusing my thoughts. "Where could she possibly be?"
A connection with Terry should suffice, but having a specific destination would significantly simplify the process.
"At this juncture in the Netflix timeline, she's likely leading the boys to Bayer's house, where in their reality, Will is in the Upside-Down," Boaz informed.
"We can't rely solely on that. Will isn't in the Upside-Down any longer, he's in the Enrichment Center," Arnold warned.
"Even assuming she can locate where Will is, it's highly unlikely she and the boys could cycle all the way to Michigan. It takes over ten hours by truck to reach the Enrichment Center," Leo put forth his perspective.
"That's assuming she can pinpoint the exact direction, not just the surrounding vicinity," Arnold countered. "Otherwise, she could end up guiding them to Hawkins National Laboratory to save Will."
"There are numerous possibilities," Boaz noted.
"Then, let's pinpoint the most probable one," I resolved, invoking a True Magic spell, "Shatter!"
The mirror-like planes shattered, initiating a maelstrom of shards, each reflecting a potential future. Some were dark, indicating futures that were no longer accessible from my current standpoint. With my existing skills, I could neither observe nor utilize those paths.
However, there were numerous other reflections.
Only in this abstract space, situated at the intersection of realities, could I perform such a massive-scale operation. It allowed me to encompass the entire town, and to delve into the potential decisions of others.
"First, let's rule out all the scenarios where Eleven is on the move," I instructed. Numerous shards disintegrated into twinkling dust, but a substantial number still remained.
Suddenly, I experienced a sensation akin to an iron spike being driven through my head. I lost control of the spell, and the shards reassembled themselves into a solid, obsidian mirror floating in the void.
I had overreached my capabilities.
Nevertheless, I was able to discern my target. It wasn't a complete failure. She was in a blanket fort with a walkie-talkie in her hands.
There she was, young Eleven, tucked within the cozy confines of a makeshift fort assembled from blankets and cushions. The domestic scene was surprisingly heartwarming, a stark contrast to the harsh environment of the laboratory from which she had escaped.
The dim, warm glow of fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling of the fort illuminated her delicate features. Her wide, expressive eyes were focused intently on the small device in her hand — a vintage walkie-talkie, seemingly an artefact from a time before her existence.
Her head was shaved, as expected, and despite the oversized clothing she wore — a clear indication of her slender frame hidden underneath — there was a sense of resoluteness and strength about her. The intense look in her eyes made it evident that she was far from just an innocent child; she was a survivor.
She wasn't alone. A boy, likely Mike, was by her side. There was a resemblance to the series characters, but distinct variations too. Their colouring was alike, the body shapes familiar, but a collection of minor differences marked their uniqueness.
"…talk to mom?" The voice crackling from Eleven's hand-held device was unmistakably Will's, despite the static.
"Eleven is giving proof that Will is alive," Leo stated aloud, "They must have already planted the fake body."
A wave of disappointment washed over me. "We were too late to halt that," I responded, "It's inconvenient for us, and unfortunate for them."
The implications were clear - this would attract unwanted attention to Will and, more critically, Aperture labs. It would be a black mark against Martin Brenner.
"That would be against quarantine policies. But Director Johnson went personally to Hawkins to fetch her. Can you be a little more patient?" A female voice, one of the doctors, emerged from the walkie-talkie, answering Will's question.
Decisiveness seeped into my voice. "I'll need to take action. It's imperative to protect the secrets within Aperture, and equally crucial to shield the world from these secrets. Boaz, remind me to devise an extensive warding scheme for the Enrichment Center, followed by the facility in Cleveland."
"Understood," Boaz affirmed.
With Eleven's location discerned, I retracted my consciousness, returning to the reality around me. There was a scant need for further observation. My primary concern was locating Eleven, not monitoring her actions.
"I've located your daughter," I announced, emerging from the tub. "She's at a nearby house. Walking distance."
"We need to go right now!" Terry insisted, urgency ringing in her voice.
"Can I at least get dressed first?"
The two women retreated from the bathroom, allowing me to dress in peace. My head throbbed mercilessly, but before dressing, I retrieved a bar of chocolate from my pant pocket. The Aperture logo was boldly imprinted on the wrapper.
Knowing the bar was generated by the grail, rather than being a product of Aperture's lab, gave me some assurance. The last attempt by Aperture scientists to create dieting supplements had yielded promising yet unintended results. But not edible ones.
The sweet, orange liquid, reminiscent of fiberglass insulation, was initially conceived as a diet aid, and marketed as a dietary pudding substitute under the name "Propulsion Pudding". The goal was to accelerate the passage of food through the digestive tract, leaving no time for calorie absorption. However, when it was discovered that digestion played several critical roles in eating, including breaking food into manageable pieces before being violently expelled from the body, the pudding was promptly pulled from shelves.
Renamed "Propulsion Gel", the original product gave birth to another pudding substitute attempt, the Repulsion Gel. As the name implied, this second test also failed to result in an edible pudding.
However, the source of these spontaneously generating chocolate bars was an enigmatic object I'd found in an occult sex dungeon. This made them, paradoxically, safer than any Aperture product.
Savouring quality chocolate requires letting a piece melt on the roof of your mouth. So, as I got dressed, I nibbled small chunks of the bar, occasionally holding it between my teeth when I needed both hands.
Once fully clothed, I made two calls from my smartphone. The first was to the Enrichment Center to confirm that Will had awakened, and I also got the boy's home number from him.
The second call was to his mother.
The mana-rich snack had successfully obliterated my headache, leaving me in a considerably better mood as I exited the house with the two sisters. The truck driver had been diligently unloading turrets in our absence.
Shaped from glossy metal, the turrets were oval, each one possessing a single mechanical eye and standing on a tripod. At first glance, they looked like modern art lawn ornaments. Their true function was concealed until a target presented itself. It was then that the dual machine guns would slide out from the sides.
In terms of design, they were fairly simple automatons. The most complex part was the Personality Core located at the centre, the eye. This left ample hollow space within its Shell Redistribution Chamber for storing a hefty supply of Aperture-Brand Resolution Pellets.
"Hello."
"Good day."
"Nice to see you."
The turrets greeted us in their childlike, artificial voices. Their tone was a remnant from when Aperture Science consumer product testers had considered these weapons as potential means of protecting children from criminals and monsters.
"What are those things?" Becky inquired, eyeing the turrets suspiciously.
Pointing to one with my riding crop, I explained, "These are fully automated Aperture Science Sentry Turrets. I'm deploying them to secure our base. They're quite affordable if you're rich."
"We don't have time for this," Terry interjected. "We need to find Jane, right now. Before Brenner finds her."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If the good doctor did get to her first, I knew precisely where he would take her. Brenner's security wasn't a significant barrier for me. The question was just how much I was willing to reveal at this point.
We didn't take long to reach the Wheeler's house.
"She's here, hiding with a friend," I informed the sisters as we stood in front of the house.
"What now? We can't just knock," Terry protested.
"Why not? Sincerity often works best," I replied and proceeded to knock on the door. And if that didn't work, there was always hypnotism as a backup.
The door was opened by a bespectacled middle-aged man - Mike's father, presumably.
His name's Ted, Leo provided in my mind. Act fast. Be truthful and sow confusion.
"Good evening," I initiated before he could utter a word, pointing my riding crop at the younger sister as I continued. "This is Terry Ives and her sister Becky. Terry's daughter Jane was stolen by an unscrupulous doctor, and she has managed to escape him. Your son is currently sheltering her in your basement. "May we come in?"
His mouth fell open, but no words came out. After a slow blink, he muttered, "Come in then. We'd better deal with this inside."
"I can't believe that worked. It's quite different when you're on the receiving end," Becky mused, seemingly to herself, though I could hear her clearly. I found myself in complete agreement with her sentiments. I might possess additional, undiscovered psychic powers, or maybe there was another explanation. Something to investigate later.
Noted, Boaz silently stated.
"Dear, who are these people?" a woman questioned as she rose from the couch where she'd been watching television.
"These are the Ives sisters and a friend?" Ted responded uncertainly.
"Good evening, Mrs. Wheeler," I interjected before anyone else could speak. There was no time to gauge the reach of my newfound truth-telling ability, so I decided to test it out again. "We believe that your son has been helping Terry's daughter Jane, who's been in some trouble recently and is currently providing her shelter in your basement. Could we possibly verify this?"
Surprisingly, it worked again. Honesty really was proving to be the best policy.
I had spent so much time perfecting the art of lying that I was finding myself somewhat adrift in this new reality where the truth, plainly stated, seemed to be all I needed. There was no longer a need to carefully select words and craft expressions, to keep track of who knew what and how much they were likely to believe. Of course, I still performed these actions, aiming to appear as sincere as possible, but it seemed it should require more effort.
Despite my quest for truth, I never anticipated that I would become its bearer. Could this be the real difference between being a magus and a scientist? A metaphor brought to life?
Nonetheless, it helped us gain access to the basement. However, we hadn't been particularly stealthy in our approach and, as we descended the stairs, we were intercepted by the boy I'd seen in the vision.
"Mike," his mother admonished, "Are you hiding a girl in here?"
"What!? No?" Mike's attempt at lying was woefully unconvincing.
I sidestepped the young boy, briskly walking towards the makeshift blanket fort, and pulled the fabric apart, revealing Eleven. Her wide eyes met mine, her muscles tense, fear etched on her face, yet a readiness to fight back was palpable.
"I mean you no harm," I said softly, extending my hand toward her, "Your mother is here. She's missed you."
"Mamma?" Eleven uttered, tentatively, as if the word was unfamiliar and strange to her.
"I won't let you take her away!" Suddenly, Mike was there, defensively positioning himself between me and Eleven.
"That's either very brave or very foolish," I responded, "But ultimately, this decision isn't yours or mine to make. It's hers. What's your choice, Jane? I promise to respect it, though I can't speak for others."
"Jane?" she queried.
"It's the name your mother gave you," I explained, "If you'd prefer a different name, feel free to tell us."
"Jane," she repeated as if tasting the name. "Jane. Fine."
"So, Jane, do you want to meet your mother?"
She was quiet for a long, heavy moment. Then, clutching Mike's hand, she finally said, "Mike too."
"Of course, he can accompany you if it makes you feel more comfortable," I replied and then guided both of them towards Terry.
Becky was rooted next to her sister, her grip on Terry's arm like a vice—likely the only reason Terry hadn't rushed forward. Good call, Becky.
"This is Terry, your mother, and her sister Becky, your aunt," I quickly introduced them.
"Jane, you have grown so much. I am so sorry. I tried, I tried." Terry's voice began to tremble, her eyes welling up.
"Pull yourself together," Becky said, her tone bordering on harsh, "If not for yourself, then for her."
"How do we know that you are telling the truth?" Mike asked, his tone accusatory.
"Mike!" his mother admonished.
"Is there any proof?" Mike continued, undeterred.
"Unfortunately, the man who holds the proof is unlikely to share," I intervened, "It would implicate him in kidnapping, medical malpractice, child abuse, and a string of other crimes."
"I know this is Jane. My daughter. I can feel it," Terry said with an unwavering conviction, then added more hesitantly, "You can feel it too, can't you Jane?"
Eleven gazed at her for a long moment, long enough for Terry's hopeful expression to waver and uncertainty to creep in. Then, with simple conviction, she said, "Momma."
Terry crumbled into her sister's arms, tears cascading down her cheeks. Whether they were tears of joy or sorrow, I didn't believe even she could discern.
With the last barrier broken, I retreated upstairs, leaving them to their emotional reunion. I was, after all, an outsider in this moment. Ted followed, leaving his wife to keep an eye on their son.
"I thought I had at least a year before Mike would start sneaking girls in," he attempted to jest, but his face fell serious quickly as he asked, "Child abuse?"
"She shows all too many signs. Enough that if I were a teacher or medical professional, I'd be obligated to report it," I responded, "Except, in this case, reporting it would likely do more harm than good."
Upon our return, we were met with an unwelcome surprise—a group of men, armed to the teeth, their command falling under the leadership of a stern-looking woman.
No heads-up, Arnold? I silently questioned. Did you not sense them?
They pose no threat, Arnold silently responded.
"Hands on your head!" she barked, her firearm pointed menacingly at me.
Give me their precise aim points, I instructed.
"You've certainly brought quite the party..." I remarked nonchalantly.
Mapping potential bullet trajectories, Arnold began his calculations.
"Hands on your head! I won't repeat myself," she threatened, her finger flirting with the trigger.
"Yet you seem woefully underprepared. Allow me to demonstrate what the Psychic Warrior program looks like when managed by someone competent."
With a flick of Ancalmiquë, I summoned a gale. The agents reacted quickly, unleashing a volley of bullets my way, but thanks to Arnold's calculations, I was able to deflect each bullet with sheets of diamond-hard air. Simultaneously, I unleashed hundreds of whips of razor-sharp winds from the tip of my riding crop.
The wind-whips tore through their clothes, shredding their suits to rags. They lacerated their skin, drew blood, and severed their ligaments, causing them to collapse.
Moaning in pain, they lay strewn across the ground like discarded toys, their blood seeping into the earth and filling the air with a sickeningly sweet metallic scent.
Their moans also signal arousal. Unless they are all masochists it must be considered the Searing Kiss's additional effects propagate through spells cast through it, Leo added silently, drawing my attention to details I have missed. He was correct. Those moans were right out of a porn flick.
I pondered over Leo's observation. The effect had not been present when I healed Terry using the same amplifier. Could it be related to the intent to harm or perhaps there needed to be a physical connection?
"Monster…" The female leader of the agents rasped out, interrupting my thoughts. If the effects were diminished, it said a lot about her willpower.
I cared little about her opinion, but Ted's response was more significant. He was visibly taken aback, retreating in quick, startled steps away from me. His nostrils flared, his eyes widened with terror.
"There's no need for fear. I haven't killed any of them," I assured him, trying to ease his alarm. The last thing I needed was his panic spreading to the others in the basement. I was relieved that they had the sense to not run towards the gunfire.
"But there's so much blood…" He murmured, shaking slightly.
"Their wounds are superficial. They're not in any immediate danger. I was very careful," I explained.
"You don't dare kill us," the female agent taunted. "Or are you just too weak?"
My temper flared momentarily.
"Neither. It's simply that some entities prefer living bait. You've been promoted to worm status. Rejoice in your fleeting importance."
Judging by the distressed whimper that came from Ted, I had undone all of my previous calming efforts. But it mattered little now. Something far more terrifying was approaching.
I could feel it. There at that wall.
The wall was torn apart, and a monster emerged.
This creature was the same one I had encountered previously. There were minor scar-like marks on its hide where Larmo had made contact, but no visible signs of quicksilver poisoning, although it was difficult to discern what that would look like on this particular entity.
The petal-like appendages of its head unfurled and it let out a challenging roar.
I flicked my riding crop once again, encapsulating the creature in a solid block of ice. It may have been weak against fire, but I was more interested in preserving the specimen for further study.
I pulled another chocolate bar from my pocket and began to nibble on it. A single creature like this was no match for me when I was properly prepared. The real challenge had been locating it. These creatures seemed to be drawn to the scent of blood, which is why I had thoughtfully procured ethically sourced blood as bait. I was certain Brenner's henchmen were monitoring Byers' phone and with some appropriate motivation, they would volunteer for the cause.
"What the hell is that?!" Ted exclaimed, almost shouting.
"I don't know exactly, but I can't wait to find out," I remarked, casually munching on the chocolate.
However, I realized I might have miscalculated slightly. It would have been more practical to have driven my truck here instead of walking. Now, I had the issue of how to transport the frozen specimen.
Perhaps I could leave it here as a distraction. I could always retrieve it later. Besides, the ice I had created was no ordinary ice. Without something of significant conceptual value, it wouldn't melt or easily break. And since it was infused with magical energy, it would be incredibly easy to trace.
There was potential here, I mused, but it would have to wait. "Ted, round up the others," I ordered. "We should leave before more agents descend upon us."
He looked as if he'd seen a ghost, frozen in place for a moment before he wordlessly turned on his heel and headed back down into the basement. He was a man out of his depth, unprepared for the horrors of this day.
I waited, tension humming in my veins. Not for the inevitable reinforcements, they were a minor inconvenience. Instead, I waited for the missing piece of the puzzle.
And there she was. Joyce entered the scene of mayhem, flanked by her eldest son, Jonathan. They stepped over groaning agents and didn't spare a glance for the monster trapped in ice.
"I'm here," Joyce declared, her voice ringing with determination. "Now, take me to my son. Take me to Will."