Burdens and Visions

[Carl]

Carl Weaver's Apartment Building
Tuesday, March 12th, 2013. 10:32 PM EDT

I thought I had been feeling the world on my shoulders. That was before late night Monday. I was going to check my e-mail one last time on my home computer before I went to bed. An "Investigative Matter" never does confine itself to banker's hours. That's when I saw the e-mail from a mysterious sender....that took me to the link....that occupied my sole attention until it was nearly 4 in the morning....

Now I truly felt like I had the burden of Atlas.

My mind was being pulled in all kinds of directions. Normally, I would notice something like several moving vans parked out front of the building...especially this time of night...(although this was actually quite early for me to be coming home from work, lately)....yet it escaped my attention as I turned my Cadillac into the underground parking garage.

Up in the elevator I went, briefcase in hand, just as I'd done so many times before. Nothing seemed out of place until the doors opened at my floor, and I walked out and made the left turn towards my condo.

I saw the line of moving company employees, carrying possessions......My possessions!

WHAT. THE. HELL?!

"Stop, stop! What are you doing?"

"My job, pally, and I'm getting time 'n a half for workin' dis time a night!" The man carrying off my microwave told me in his Jersey accent.

"That's my stuff you're taking!" I started yelling to the other workers, "Stop! Something's wrong!"

"Mr. Weaver."

I turned towards the door of my condo. Two men in black suits approached. One of them opened a leather wallet that would normally contain a police badge. Instead, it contained that Blue Pyramid.

Uh oh....

"Come with us."

I knew I had no choice but to comply. They led me away from my condo, down a few flights of stairs, into another hallway, before they indicated me into a "community space" area normally used for board game nights and Texas hold'em tournaments. They followed me in, shutting and locking the door behind us.

"What's the Hell's meaning of this?!" I snapped at them.

"Hadn't you heard? The police got complaints of you screaming in your apartment during the wee hours of yesterday morning. Just like they did a few months ago..."

Oh God. They know.

"Did you have one of your "Violent" nightmares last night, Mr. Weaver?"

Lying to them would have been pointless. "Yeah.....I did...." I trailed off.

It was the other suit's turn to speak, apparently. "Mr. Weaver, we are moving you to a private residence of your own on Long Island, where you'll be less of a disturbance to your neighbors. Your change of address forms are taken care of, and your utilities, TV, phone, and internet service are prepared for you at your new residence. Here's a map and directions to your new address," he added as he handed over a folded piece of paper.

I scoffed. "And here I thought bureaucrats didn't know what efficiency was." Not surprisingly, the wisecrack was lost upon them.

"You also....." The man continued with emphasis as he pulled out an appointment card and held it to me. "...have an appointment at the Psychotherapy Department at our home office tomorrow at 10 AM. It's highly suggested you keep it."

"I don't have the time then. Can I..."

The man glared at me. "Make time. Good night, Mr. Weaver."

For several minutes after they left, it was all I could to do to just stand there, staring at the appointment card in my hand....

[Carl]

Psychotherapy Department - The Labyrinth
Wednesday, March 13th, 2013. 10:13 AM EDT

"Storms all around me....Wind howling....Lightning strikes..." I droned in a stupor. "Then I hear....it's loud."

The cramped room had pure white walls and a fluorescent light was affixed to the ceiling directly parallel to the bed I was lying on below, so it shined right in my eyes. The bed itself was an unusual sight, something of a mix of a psychiatrist's couch and a surgeons operating table, and two square boxes protruded out on either side of my head...non-invasive monitoring equipment? Must be...the only instrument they had affixed to me was a fabric bracelet that sort of looked like a blood pressure cuff, but instead of a pneumatic pump, electronic wires came out of it and they trailed towards the wall, to parts unseen.

Doctor Vanden, a heavy set man with a pronounced gravelly smoker's voice sat in the corner, clipboard in hand. When I had come in the room a quarter-hour earlier, he had almost immediately stuck a needle in my arm and emptied its contents into me before I could react. "It'll help you relax during this consultation," he said.

The "medication" was what put me in the stupor, staring up at the light.

"What does it sound like, Mr. Weaver?"

"Like a freight train...massive in scale...then I see it. A tornado, bigger than a skyscraper.....it touches down not...a mile away..."

"How do you react?"

"I run...I run so fast....but it comes at me.....catching up...."

"Do you try to evade it?"

"I run left....right....left again....but it...it matches....every move. Then...it happens....I'm pulled in..."

"What happens to you inside the tornado, Mr. Weaver?"

"Thrown about...like a rag doll....no control...can't get out....and there's other things...

"In the tornado with you?"

"Knives...refrigerators...dressers....get thrown into them...cut...bruised...bashed...I want it to just stop..."

"Does it stop?"

"Goes on....hours....it seems....until I wake up. And...that's the dream."

"Thank you for sharing that, Mr. Weaver. Now I have some questions for you."

"Yeah..."

"Was this the same dream you were having when you were admitted to our facility last fall?"

"No....different....had it last two nights."

"Were you under the influence when you had these new dreams?"

"First time...yes....second time...no."

"Were you still taking your prescribed medications for these violent dreams?"

"Yes...."

"Was there a specific event that happened to you recently....something that could have triggered the return of these 'Screaming Nightmares', Mr. Weaver?"

His voice seemed to fade away and echo while he spoke the question, as though the Doctor was moving away from me down a tunnel. The glaring fluorescent light I was looking up at disappeared. Memories and scenes from the past weeks started shooting in and out before my eyes. The pile of papers on my office desk that seemed to only get larger. The times I'd gotten hopelessly drunk. The disappointments of my personal life. The moments where I felt so overwhelmed I wanted to just break down and cry. They shot past me at hypersonic speeds, something new appearing just as quickly as I recognized the previous scene. Hundreds of memories seemed to pass in a matter of seconds.

Only one of them lingered for any time. The last one.

A woman in a darkened room. Her hair a mess. Her clothes tattered. Her face weary. Her bloodshot eyes looking at me, as though there weren't a camera and a computer screen separating us.

In spite of it all....there was that familiar smirk....

"Mr. Weaver?"

I blinked. It was gone. "Um...no, Doctor. It was...probably just...an accumulation of events..."

"Very good, Mr. Weaver. Now, close your eyes and focus on sleep....."

------

11:28 PM EDT

I woke up, and immediately realized I was no longer in the same room. This room had more of the feel of a traditional psychiatrist's office. I put a hand to my head. I was thinking clearly again, finally out of the trance.

"Not bad, Mr. Weaver. Made it up before lunch time."

I sat up and looked over. Doctor Vanden was in a new chair in a new corner, he stood up and approached. "This session has been most productive. I think we've learned quite a bit in a very short time."

"Does we include me?" I asked as I rose to my feet.

He gave a curt chuckle. Not answering my question, he pulled a medicine bottle out of his pocket and handed it to me. "Continue on your normal regimen, and in addition take two of these around the dinner hour." He extended his hand to shake, "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Weaver."

I glared at the extended hand and then at his face. "What is in these pills?"

"Have a nice da.."

"What's happening to me? What causes the "Screaming Nightmares?" Is it the same thing that causes my future visions?"

"I'm not allowed to..."

"I want answers!"

There was the sound of shuffling feet towards the door. I turned. Three men and one woman stood looking at me, all of them clad in those black suits.

Vanden shook his head, "Your consultation's over, Mr. Weaver. I suggest you leave before you wear out your welcome."

------

Atlantic Ridge State Park
5:51 PM EDT

I sat behind the wheel of my car looking out at across the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, from the scenic viewpoint. Watched as the waves crashed into the sand as the night began to fall.

It must have been at least a half-hour of quiet contemplation, running things through my head, trying to decide what I should do next.

Then, I made up my mind. I pulled my smartphone out of my jacket pocket....but then reconsidered. I tossed the expensive gizmo into the passenger seat and took my ancient pre-paid flip-phone from the center console. Down the list of contacts, using the antiquated analog directional pad, finding the one I wanted. I sent off the call.

You may not be my supervisor anymore...but you're the one person I'd turn to at a time like this...

[Carl]

Carl Weaver's Home
Friday, March 15th, 2013. 6:47 AM EDT

Stunned silence.

I had logged on to my home computer to check on my e-mails, just to make sure there weren't any immediate issues that I needed to know about before my drive into work.

Was there ever an issue....

My meeting late night Wednesday had gone well. Not all of my questions were answered...but our discussion had done a lot to put my mind somewhat at ease. And thanks in no small part to her, I now had a gameplan for finding the truth behind my visions and nightmares. Discretion was also a major point of discussion, however. I knew "they" had to still be watching me closely after my "consultation" to see if I did something that was amiss. For now, I had to put aside my search for answers and lay low, not causing a fuss. It would have to be business as usual, both for AEgir's sake and for my own.

For a while, it seemed like my life was starting to regain some semblance of order. The new medication, whatever it was, had seemingly worked. The violent nightmares had gone away again. I was settling into my new neighborhood, which seemed pretty decent (some bored trust-fund kids TP'ing my house notwithstanding). And the big Department Meeting was tonight. With a "normal" CEO I would know what was coming my way, but with Shay...she might make a monkey the new Director just to see the look on my face for all I knew. Either way, I was taking solace that after today I would no longer be trying to do my own job plus someone else's. Things seemed to be taking a positive turn...

...that new video in my e-mail brought all the positivity to a crashing halt.

Unlike the first video, I didn't even rewatch it once. I could feel a deep gnawing anger inside of me. Our "sponsors," who I had once been willing to live with and punctually abide by were now the subject of my utmost ire.

I turned off the computer, and paced around the house a bit. My eyes scanned the walls, the ceilings, and every piece of furniture. All the possible places where the hidden cameras and microphones could be, and I imagined the person at the other end of them, watching me as a scientist would watch a lab rat, observing it's smallest actions and nuances.

Damn them all to Hell....

I had a message I wanted to deliver to "them." Knew the exact words I wanted to say. I was about to yell across the house, "I know you can see me. I know you can hear me. Now, hear this! Leave us alone! And leave her alone!"

But just as I opened my mouth, I stopped myself.

Maybe this is what "they" want me to do....give them a reason to keep a close eye on me. Give them a reason to go after the company. Shit, I may have almost played right into their hands. That's what they do, isn't it? Find a way to break your mind and your spirit...

I looked about the living room I was standing in, then noticed the clock on the wall. I needed to get to work.

...they may end up breaking my spirit someday....but not today. Business as usual.

I made final preparations for another long day at the office, as I normally would. Comb hair, brush teeth, put on necktie in a perfect Windsor knot, grab the wallet, the watch, and the keyring from the nightstand. Finally, on went my overcoat and I grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door. I opened the door, but before stepping completely out I turned and looked back in the house, back at all the "Eyes" that were surely looking at me.

I couldn't help but give a little half-smirk before closing the door behind me.

[Carl]

Carl Weaver's Home
Tuesday, March 19th, 2013. 7:02 AM

The writer in me would have appreciated the poetic timing of it all. In the midst of one of the most turbulent times of my life, something bright and good had found its way into it.

I met the woman at a party over the weekend. When I think back of it now, it amazes me that it took a whisper in my ear from Shay to notice that a wonderful thing was standing just a few feet away. From the moment I saw her, I was captivated by her blue eyes, framed by the blonde locks that flowed to her shoulders. In the small amount of time I've spent with her, my fears and worries have never seemed further away.

Perhaps it was because of this new positive in my life that for once I had slept a full, peaceful slumber. No screaming nightmares, not even the normal future visions that normally permeated my rest. I had laid my head down six hours ago, and had enjoyed a blissful night's rest until the alarm clock had begun bellowing that the time to awake had arrived.

I pulled myself out of bed, reflecting on the evening before, where we had spent hours in that booth at The Horned God, simply talking to each other.

On went the bathroom light. I opened the medicine cabinet, reached for the first set of "No Screaming Nightmare" pills I was supposed to take for the day...when I suddenly realized something. In my hurry to get in bed before it got too late in the night, I had forgotten to take my last dosage of medication for Monday.

I was stunned at the realization. According to the Illuminati overlords, failure to take those pills should've brought the nightmares stampeding back, preventing any hope of a good night's sleep. And yet, I had just slept significantly better. No dreams whatsoever.

My mind went back to when we said our farewells the previous evening. She had mentioned during our conversation at the God that she was a believer of the Wicca religion and a practitioner of what would typically be called "witchcraft." As we held each others hands, she had spoken briefly in a language I didn't recognize. I could tell the words had power however, and while it was nearly imperceptible, I had felt something more than just the warmth of her hands in that moment.

Is that what had prevented the nightmares?

I looked at the four different medicine bottles that had been prescribed to me by the Illuminati. I made up my mind.

It's time to put the plan into motion. I need to know what's in those pills....

[Carl]

The AEgir Parking Garage
Friday, March 22nd, 2013. 8:16 AM EDT

I sat in the driver's seat of my Cadillac, parked in my marked space in the garage. The past few days I had spent discreetly smuggling samples of the "Nightmare Pills" from the medicine cabinet and into my car, where I placed them in a small black bag. I was now waiting for person I needed to get the answers on them.

And there she was...

The black Volkswagen sedan pulled into a space several rows down. A thin, small framed woman about my age got out and started walking in my direction, towards the office.

Her name was Christine Wachtmann, and she was the one person at AEgir I knew from past experience. We had gone to college together at Western Michigan University, been in Honors courses with each other. We even dated briefly, before realizing we were polar opposites to each other in the matters of love. We'd agreed to be "just friends." Unusually, we actually had kept in contact and were on good terms with each other. Most importantly, she had studied in the science fields and now worked in the AEgir Labs.

As she approached, I opened the car door and stepped out with my briefcase, acting like I had just arrived myself. I smiled at her as our eyes met. "Morning, Christine!"

"Morning, Carl!"

I stood facing her, and she stopped before me. "How's the family?"

"Little Payton's Spring Break from the 2nd grade is nearly over. From him, you'd swear it was the end of the world!"

We both laughed. Then, I pulled the bag from my pocket and, speaking softly, began my carefully rehearsed story.

"Say, I'm working a case right now of a very sensitive nature...one that requires care and discretion...and I need your help."

She blinked. "Oh? What can I do for you, Carl?"

I handed the bag over. "These are several samples of pills we found that may be pertinent to the case. I need to know what's in them."

She nodded. "I can have these done by lunchtime..." She paused and considered. "...If you're buying."

------

The Sicilia Pizzeria
12:53 PM EDT

The restaurant was packed with the full lunchtime rush, and I had to raise my voice in order for the waiter to hear me. Normally, this would make for a miserable dining experience. But for today's purposes, the extra noise was perfect.

"A large with sausage and ham with a side of breadsticks, please." Those were the two toppings Christine and I both shared in wanting on our pizza. The order was taken and the waiter walked off.

I looked to Christine, and I didn't even have to ask the question. She pulled some folded papers out of her coat pocket and handed them over. "One Biochemical Report for one free meal. Fair trade."

No sooner had the papers reached my hands then I was unfolding them in anticipation. The first two tablets analyzed were my lunchtime pills and my new dinnertime pills. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I re-read the sections in disbelief.

"Placebos?"

"No active ingredients whatsoever. Whoever was taking that medication would have a good case for a lawsuit against their doctor."

Sadly not a realistic option in my instance. I turned my attention to next entry, the morning pills. "Mel-a-fa-," I muttered as I tried to say aloud the complex medicinal name on the paper.

"Melafamorazine," she clarified. "It's a fairly common prescription used in the treatment of anxiety and depression. Certainly no danger to someone as long as it's taken in the recommended doses."

I looked at the last one, the nighttime pills. It was marked "Unknown Medicine."

"This is the interesting one. I haven't seen any publicly available medication that's exactly like those pills, either prescription or OTC. However, based on the ingredients it would seem to be for the treatment of schizophrenia or psychosis. The amount of dosage in just one tablet is alarming, however."

"In what way?"

"Well, quite simply no normal person would need that much of those ingredients in a single dose. In fact, it could make them comatose for days on end, if not outright kill them."

"What about people like us?" I knew that she had been "chosen" by Gaia as well.

"Even for us special types, I still don't see how any one person could need a dose that large. Whoever needed to be taking these pills had some major issues..."

Thankfully, the breadsticks arrived before she could finish that thought. As we began to eat, I started to digest the new information.

Placebos? More Illuminati gamesmanship it would seem. To what end? Distracting me from something else? Maybe the night-time pills weren't enough to entirely treat the nightmares. Could they have given me the real treatment while I had been asleep in that room last week? Is that why the transcript they sent me of my appointment was entirely redacted at that point?

And that night I forgot to take the "real" pills before bed....did the words of that woman really prevent them?

A question answered, more questions present themselves. I feel like Hercules trying to fight the Hydra sometimes...

[Carl]

Carl Weaver's Office
Friday, March 29th, 2013. 9:31 PM EDT

The good moments in my life seemed so fleeting.

Jule and I had come closer together. We'd become an honest-to-goodness couple. She had brought so much happiness into my existence, and I was bringing joy into her life as well. It was wonderful.

As I sat back in my office chair, I lamented the fact that two things could immediately bring back my anxiety and the burden I felt on my shoulders.

One was the Dieter Herman case.

The other was my own search, for my own personal truth.

I stood up, walked around the desk, and opened the door. From the balcony, I looked about the emptied office space. Only the non-stop activity of the PIT crew down below broke the quiet atmosphere of the Investigation Department around me. Everyone else was either out on assignment, had gone home for the night, or was at London for Shay's latest "where did she get the idea for that?" event. Even the ever-present Miss Willmore had headed home early to enjoy the holiday weekend.

It was the perfect opportunity for the next phase of my little plan.

Back into the office, back into the chair, and I began working away at my computer's keyboard.

I was searching the Illuminati archives for cases of "Future Visions" similar to my own.

----

11:17 PM EDT

My search had garnered quite a bit of information during the hours of scanning through records and entries. It seemed that the "Future Visions" were a rare offshoot among those "blessed" with the anima. No more than one case every year, if that. What I also learned was that those who could see moments of the future had more often than not made their mark on history. There was a British naval captain who had found the way to decimate the Spanish Armada in 1588. In 1862, there was a Union Colonel who had foreseen the Confederate Army's first advance into the North, which led to the Battle of Antietam during the Civil War. And in early 1945, there was a scientist on the Manhattan Project whose visions had led to a breakthrough in the development of the Atomic Bomb.

But there was a chilling thread to all these cases. They all suffered from the screaming nightmares as well.

And these nightmares always eventually drove them insane.

From that point, those visionaries would be marginalized by those who controlled what went into the history books, forgotten by the general public. They would end up spending the rest of their days in an asylum....or they would go to extreme measures to kill themselves permanently. For instance, the Manhattan Project scientist had ended his life by sneaking out to Ground Zero of a nuclear test, ensuring there would be nothing left of his incinerated body for the Bees to put back together again.

That scientist was the latest entry I could read. From there, I got the infuriating "This Content Is Above Your Clearance Level" message that had stonewalled more than a few of our Department's investigations.

Stands to reason that those cases must be sensitive...those files probably include information about "their" attempts to treat the "Screaming Nightmares." The pills by themselves clearly don't treat the problem completely....they must have done something to me while I was asleep in that PsychoTherapy room.

I then thought about Jule...

Every time we part, she says those same unintelligible words before we say our goodbyes. The last time, I had purposely not taken my "Illuminati prescribed medication" just to see if I would go without the Future Visions or the Nightmares again. Lo and behold, that's exactly what happened. So that enchantment she is using....it really does have some protective quality against whatever's causing those dreams...

It was late by now, and I did need to start thinking about going home. But I couldn't help turning in my chair and looking out the window for a few minutes, out into night sky, contemplating my future.

She really has been a blessing in my life....in many different ways...

[Carl]

((The following passage was written by Myridean and is told from Jule Johnson's point of view.))

April Fool's Day - 08:30am EDT

Jule lays quietly in the backseat of the car, resting her eyes as Sven, her chauffeur drives her to Brooklyn for her meeting with Kirsten Geary. The quietest hum of the engine was helping her drift into a peaceful sleep. She wanted to look and be rested before facing the B. It had been a long night.

"Ma'am? Are you sure you want to go back on assignment now, what with Diana still feeling unwell?"

Diana, her daughter, had just come down the day before with chicken pox after attending a birthday party of her classmates where her entire class was in attendance. She had a great time except for that boy whose sibling must have picked up the bug in middle school and brought it home. Mrs. Taylor's class was going to be a little lighter in attendance for the next few days.

"She'll be fine, Seven. She's staying home more because she could still be infectious. Besides, with the calamine lotion and the aspirin Mary gave her, I've concocted a few more remedies that will help and I've got her something to pass the time with." Jule smiles as she remembers walking into Diana's room where it had a bio medical sign stating "Quarantine" posted outside on her bedroom door, with a huge box wrapped colorfully. She was awake while watching "Dora the Explorer".

Diana had looked it with wide eyes, "Is that for me?!" Jule grinned widely, nodding in response while she sat down on the edge of her bed and presented the gift to her. Picking up the remote beside her, she muted the TV.

"Open it."

Diana had a bit of trouble getting the gift paper off but her expression of wonderment and delight spread across her face when she had finished. "What is it?"

"It's a beginner's magician kit. You're going to start learning about the art of illusion this week." Jule begins to point out some of the different items on the picture that plastered the box, "There's a top hat, a wand, a black tablecloth, a deck of cards, some coins and it's got a book of instructions to tell you to do it all. You might find reading it a bit difficult at first but take your time. You're going to be here all week and then when I return, you can show me what you have learned." Jule grins, as she knows this was a great way to introduce her daughter to using the tools of the Craft. The hat symbolically being the cauldron; the wand is symbolic of the athame; the deck of cards was the modern version of the tarot deck and the cloth still had many uses to this day in Wiccan rituals. When she was going to be older, she would be using the real tools and their true meanings would be revealed. It was all part of the art of the illusion until she was older, mature enough to understand their real spiritual significance.

"You're going away again, Mommy?" Diana's tone was a little plaintive yet it was still enough to tug on Jule's heartstrings.

"Yeah, sweetheart, but I'll be in contact and Mary will know how to reach me. I'm just returning to Egypt to fix up some messes and you know, we have to clean up our messes, right?" Jule smiles to her daughter and sweeps a lock of her blonde hair to the side. Diana nodded in response. "Mary will be making your favorite foods that you like to eat and she thinks too that you'll be able to play with your little brother in a few days. I'll be back before you can say, 'Abracadabra'."

"Can I get the box that cuts people in half?"

Jule laughed softly as she recalled taking her daughter last summer to a magician's show before they left Paragon. Diana was particularly enthralled with the illusion of the cut-up assistant. "You show me how well you can wield those tricks and then, I'll consider you getting the box for your birthday this summer. Then, you can have fun cutting your baby brother in half." Jule touched her daughter's nose playfully before raising herself gently off the mattress.

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too, Diana. Take care, get plenty of rest and don't give Mary too much of a hard time."

"Okay, bye." Her daughter then set the box aside and then turned her attention back towards the television.

That had been an hour and a half ago. Now, Jule was getting ready inside the car to start walking into the warehouse where the easiest entrance into the Labyrinth was located. She was hoping the story that she was going to give Geary held enough credence to warrant a return to Egypt. The reasons, however, were very much different than what she was going to be telling her boss. It was going to require the art of illusion of a mental kind and that was difficult with Geary as she can see through most B.S.. To top it off, on April Fool's Day, everyone is on a higher sense of alert.

Before entering Kirsten's office, Jule takes a deep breath and straightens herself and her clothing before stepping past the door's threshold.

"Morning, is this a good time to talk?" As usual, Kirsten was looking out the window, chatting on her phone with some important client. She raises her finger to Jule and in return, Jule picks up on her cue to wait patiently. Kirsten's tone of voice as well as her body language was beginning to tense up, raising the discomfort level within the room. Jule felt sorry for whomever was on the other end of that line. Finally, Kirsten snaps her phone shut with her usual air of efficiency and turns on her heel to face herself squarely on Jule.

"Ahh, you're back from vacation, Jule! How was March Break with the kids? You must be happy to have your daughter return to Kindergarten so we can send you on your new assignment?"

"Actually, that's what I've come to talk to you about, Kirsten. I need another week off and..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jule! You and your goddamn kids. See, this is why I don't have children. I don't have the time nor the energy for that shit and they're a total drain on my hard-earned income."

Jule approaches cautiously towards Kirsten's desk, "It's Diana. She's come down with the chicken pox. She picked it up at a friend's birthday party. These things happen..."

"If every agent came in here, complaining every time their kid has a sniffle, I'd fire them! Better yet, I'd fire at them with my .22! In fact, after screwing up Egypt, I should have let that woman..." Jule breaks out laughing at that moment. "What now?" Kirsten crosses her arms and looks defiantly at Jule in part-frustration.

"April Fool's!!" Jule shouts and still continues to laugh. Kirsten shakes her head in annoyance. "I hate this damn day. So, your daughter's not really sick?"

Jule calms down, "She is but she's getting good care. I did get an email from the CoV and there's been a development so this could be my chance to redeem what went down in Egypt last month. I'll probably need some help in cleaning up some loose ends but it shouldn't take no longer than a week. Two, at the most. If I had some help, it would probably cut the time down."

"Well, if you didn't abandon your assignment last September ..."

"Hey, I didn't put the travel advisory out when the protests broke out after the Benghazi attack. That was the government's doing. It would look very strange if an American woman was still walking around by herself out there. Besides, it was a good time as it helped me prepare for Hurricane Sandy. My guys did help you out to help repair the Labyrinth in time so that it wouldn't have affected the Friends of Blue operations."

"Okay, fine, head back to Egypt and do what you need to do but stay in touch. We still have to stay on top of this."

"Of course, you'll have your reports and I'll check in with the contacts regularly there. To top it off, I can keep in touch with home as Diana gets better," Jule smiles graciously and slightly bends forward to give Kirsten a respectful bow. "As always, you are a saint."

Kirsten motions her hand to Jule waving her off and picks up her phone. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't spread that bull around. Now, go. Ciao-ciao!"

Jule quickly leaves her office, hoping it was enough to not arise suspicion. Now, it was Carl's turn to set the rest of the plan they concocted together in motion.

[Carl]

Carl Weaver's Office
Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013. 9:05 PM EDT

What the Fuck was that....

I was wondering the same question that I was two hours ago, when I had seen the latest...and apparently last "hidden camera" video of my former supervisor. When I'd seen that mysterious poster's warning, that the videos were going to be coming down shortly, I had scrambled to download a YouTube video ripper and save the videos to an external flash drive before they were lost forever. (Who knew I would ever be thankful for internet piracy?) I had just barely managed to rescue those videos from digital oblivion before the strange YouTube channel had disappeared.

Now, like each one before, I had spent the next couple of hours poring over the images that I saw, trying desperately to make some kind of sense out of them. This last one was particularly bewildering. Those strange distortions in the video feed...then the bluish fire on her arms..... Next, it was seeing a poster of a cartoon movie while something straight out of a slasher horror assaulted my ears....and then...a scene of destruction. And yet she was seemingly alright....

Seriously, what the Fuck was that....

I leaned back from the desk and into my chair. My eyes were tired from all the time spent staring at the monitor. I reached up and rubbed them, whether to soothe them or out of exasperation I wasn't sure.

I'd made a plan with Jule. She had managed to get herself assigned to more time in Egypt, and I was going to join her tomorrow. I was going off for a "field trip" to check on AEgir personnel and projects in the area. There, we were going to learn more about those words she would speak to me, away from the prying eyes that abounded in New York (and London too, I was quite sure.) I'd go without the medication for a while, see if and when the screaming nightmares would come back to me. If those magical words she had been speaking to me really did have the power to curtail the nightmares, we would find out about it then.

I suppose I should have fully expected for things to start coming off the rails today. For one, Shay was turning up the pressure valve on me again, wanting some firm answers on both the stolen prototype mess, and by extension on Dieter Herman as well. (I nearly fired back a nasty e-mail asking her if she cared about this as much as she did Jell-O wrestling and and dancing drunk with a chainsaw, but thankfully stopped myself before I managed to destroy our friendship.) I was sure I was on the right track on the Herman case now, but picking up his trail was proving nigh impossible. He had been careful about this whole thing, to the point where getting any kind of fix on him was like trying to find a needle in a pile of needles. And with the new developments on SenTaxx, trying to justify a stayover on the other side of the globe seemed a hard sell.

And now seeing the latest images of my respected mentor and friend....well, that was even less reason to be out in the middle of nowhere, wasn't it?

I was about to resignedly inform Jule that our plans had been done in by the outside forces around me, when the computer started doing the annoying beeping which indicated that a "High Priority" e-mail had just come into my Inbox.

Probably a PIT crew member complaining that the bathroom's out of lotion again...

Hardly, it turned out. My eyebrows skyrocketed when I saw who the sender was.

-----

From: The Labyrinth
To: Carl Weaver
CC: Seanne Rystaad; Teresa Auerbach
Priority: HIGH
Subject: Special Project

This message is to inform Mr. Carl Weaver that his presence is required in and around Al-Merayah, Egypt for a special assignment. More details will be provided for him in a timely manner after his arrival. He is to arrive no later than 8:00 PM local time in Al-Merayah on Wednesday, April 3rd, 2013. He should also be prepared to stay there in residency until the completion of the assignment, which is expected to require between four and seven days.

This is NOT open to negotiation or delegation. Mr. Weaver WILL be in Al-Merayah as instructed by 8:00 PM local time tomorrow, with severe penalties if these orders are not followed.

Do Not Reply to This E-Mail

------

Well, this is just perfect, isn't it?

Now there were no barriers to being in Egypt with Jule. Orders had come in straight from the directors themselves. Now, I had no choice but to be there.

A little too perfect, in fact.

This had to be another Illuminati ploy, another move in their cosmic chess game. But to what end? Two possibilities presented themselves to me.

They could be trying to get me out of the way on SenTaxx and Herman....like they may have had a hand in both of those things and I'm about to stumble upon something they don't want us to find. What better way than to send me off to a sandy wasteland at a time like this? "Divide et Impera."

Then, a scarier prospect emerged.

Are they on to me? Do they know about the effect Jule's had on my dreams? Is this a setup?

I shook my head and sighed. Even if it was a trap, I had no choice but to walk into it now.

But a clever mouse can get to the cheese without the steel trap coming down upon him...

I would start making preparations for the trip, and I knew full well to take every reasonable precaution...and probably a few unreasonable ones to boot. First thing I had to do was send out some quick e-mails to the Investigations agents regarding my absence.

But for my first e-mail, I minimized Microsoft Outlook, opened the web browser, and logged into my GMail account. There, I sent a message to a friend.

------

From: Carl Weaver
To: Mila Cameron
Subject: Long Time, No See

Mila:

I'm going to be around Al-Merayah, Egypt these next few days. If you're in the neighborhood and have the time, you're welcome to stop by. I'm sure we have a lot of catching up to do. I'll provide more details if and when I hear from you.

-Carl

------

[Carl]

Investigations Department - The Solvall
Tuesday, April 9th, 2013. 6:07 PM

A few days ago, I had been with the two people I trusted most.

Now, I was beginning to feel quite alone again, even as I passed by the bustling PIT crew on the way up to my office, returning from an evening meal.

The case I had been assigned in Egypt by the overlords, investigating a downed Orochi jet as part of a crack investigation team, had been no cakewalk. It had meant several hours in the unrelenting heat and the sun beating down upon us. But it did result in the only two people who knew the whole truth about what was happening to me finally meeting each other.

Jule and Mila. The blondes in my life.

It had been a wonderful handful days on that oasis, Jule and I being with each other. We had lived together, loved together, even fought the darkness at one point together. She had gone so far for me in our little experiment, staying up all night keeping an eye on me while I was off the medication, watching for the signs that my nightmares had returned. After a couple of nights...the tornado was back, chasing me down and pulling me into its vortex. This time, it felt like some invisible demon had grabbed me by the head while I was being thrown about.

I was struggling to free myself from its grasp when I heard strange tongues in a voice that sounded like Jule's. I awoke in a cold sweat, and realized it was her hands on my head as she put everything she had into fighting off whatever forces had caused the nightmare. I realized I had grabbed her tightly by the wrists in my sleep....horror came over me, I was worried I'd been hurting her in the throes of my dream. And after her enchantment was over, she had collapsed there on the cot beside me. The effort she'd had to expend was enough to make her pass out for a few seconds. We'd laid there together for a while, each worried for the other.

While that incident had not been enjoyable, we had at least learned about the limits of her enchantment on controlling my dreams. And our entire experience in Egypt had drawn us closer together.

And now sadly she was off on a new mission somewhere.

It made me feel alone.

Simply looking up from the camp stove that one evening and seeing Mila in the doorway of our hut had eased my mind some. Having to keep so many secrets from my co-workers, friends, and even family; having my former colleague there to confide in was therapy in itself. I had updated her on how my own personal investigation was going, and on the continuing problem that was Dieter Herman. As usual, Mila had been a source of advice and guidance I normally wouldn't have expected out of someone almost a decade younger than myself. She was a woman wise beyond her years. I had mentioned to her that no matter what I did, I simply could not pick up Herman's trail. Her response was, "If you can't find the trail, figure out where he's going to go, get there before he does."

Finally, I had brought up the videos of her. Asked her if there was anything I could do to help her. Mila answered in her usual cryptic manner. Told me that by pursuing our current cases, we were helping her.

And now here I was back at the office, where my associates were trying to turn my trusted friend into the prime suspect of the case.

It made me feel alone.

If she was the one who really pulled the heist, why would she tell me our investigation into SenTaxx was helping her? That didn't make sense at all if she had masterminded that scheme.

But what if she did it unwillingly?

I paused in my step. That first video which had been posted of her replayed itself in my mind.

Those papers she had gone through on the table.....what had been on them? Instructions? From them?

Had they made her...

I violently shook off the thought and continued on the short distance to my office. I didn't want to contemplate it any further. What I needed to contemplate was the fact that it seemed I'd reached every conceivable kind of dead end on the Herman case...

Miss Willmore was holding a package as I approached. "That Lucy girl dropped it off," she explained. There was a card with it, a picture of green mistletoe in snow on front and a short message on the inside in what was by now an unmistakable print-cursive hybrid.

"Heard you've finally announced a release date, congratulations. One hopes this one has a happier ending than your last work.

- M"

It was crisply gift-wrapped in celebratory paper, bow and ribbon and everything, about the size of, say, a paperback.

It WAS a paperback...a slightly singed, bit-bent-out-of-shape copy of New England Fog. Used, no doubt. There was even an address written down on the "If lost, please return to..." library stamp on the dedication page. No further explanation given...until I started scanning through the pages and reached the ending chapter, which had a short message scribed over the chapter header itself.

"There's no chance figuring out someone's motives and movements without learning more about them. In my case, the best person to ask would be Seanne -- boss, best friend, confidante. Who filled that role for your quarry?"

There was a house key taped on the inside back cover. I blinked, thought about it, turned back to the dedication page.

"If lost, please return to 1000 Harbor Road, Hewlett Bay Park, New York."

It didn't take long to pull up that address using Ægir's access. Solveig's home.

I normally would have sent some communication to Tess and Shay, waited for a directive. Not this time.

I grabbed my evidence kit from my desk, yelled to Miss Willmore that something had come up, not waiting for a response from her as I charged past. I briskly headed back down the way I came to the parking garage, a renewed sense of purpose to my step. I got behind the wheel of my Cadillac, pressed the "OnStar" button on the rearview mirror, recited the address aloud to person on the other end of the call. In less than a minute, I had the directions to Solveig Rystaad's residence.

As I pulled the sedan out of the parking garage and onto the streets of Brooklyn, heading towards the south coast of Long Island, I reflected on the new development.

Even now, you're still taking me to school......

Thanks, Mila.


((Credit to effinfitz for his contribution to this chapter.))

[Carl]

Investigations Department - The Solvall
Monday, April 15th, 2013. 1:43 PM EDT

It had been as horrible as I had imagined it.

I was just returning from Dr. Irving's office. The psychiatrist had reacted the way I feared he would, except even more eye-roll inducing. The very idea of Mr. Carl Weaver going to him for a consultation had obviously made the man giddy with excitement. That wasn't so bad in itself, but how he tried to hide the thrill behind a veneer of cool professionalism (and failed miserably at the task) had me trying to stifle the urge to facepalm him more than once.

Normally, Dr. Irving would be the last man on Earth to approach for what I wanted to do. However, Mila and I had both agreed that going to an outside source for the next step of my plan simply wasn't an option. We couldn't even be sure of Dr. Irving's adherence to Doctor-Patient Confidentiality, especially when it came to our Illuminati overlords.

Which is why I had made a suggestion when I asked about the use of hypnosis treatment. "I don't want to do this in some stuffy office. Let's go for a hike somewhere outdoors, find a nice quiet spot in the middle of nowhere. That's the most perfect, most relaxing place I can think of for this kind of treatment." (The fact I'd probably be far away from any cameras or listening devices was a decided bonus, as well.)

I could tell the Doctor hadn't expected something like this, and I'm sure the idea of such physical exertion had him reeling in horror. However, I knew deep down he wouldn't pass up the opportunity for a rare change of pace from his usual dull and boring existence. He agreed to the idea, and that we would make arrangements for the trip in the near future.

There was no way of knowing for sure what would be uncovered during the hypnosis. It could turn out to be nothing, in fact.

I would very much lament ruining a nice trip into the country with that quack and not getting anything out of it...

As I approached my office I heard banging from up above. I looked at Miss Willmore and asked, "Issues with the phone lines again?"

My secretary nodded. "And she's taking it out on the intercom again."

I walked back to the railing and shouted down to the PIT. "Lucy! Tess wants you!"

"Coming!" I heard Lucy Randall shout in reply.

I could hear Tess yell something from the office above us about "seats of power" and me "showing weakness in front of the pack again."

"And they wonder why I've started to call her, Jenna Junior." Willmore smirked.

I chuckled as I took new correspondence from Willmore and headed into my office, closing the door behind me. The moment of lightheartedness was brief, however. I set the new messages aside for a little later. I sat at my desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out my notes and items I'd collected from my search of Solveig Rystaad's home.

-----

Solveig Rystaad's Home - Hewlett Bay Park, New York
Tuesday, April 9th, 2013. 7:34 PM EDT

"His Home." I kept calling it that more out of habit than anything else. It was very much a Castle, complete with stone walls protecting it from the outside world. For a place whose owner had been gone for almost three years and no longer seemed to be used a residence, it was immaculately clean and all the utilities still worked. It was almost like Solveig had simply gone away for a sabbatical of some sort and could've come home any day. Any doubts about the man's fascination with Norse Mythology would have been quickly erased by the sight of the paintings around me depicting scenes of Viking legend.

Shay's old room had been swept clean of any juicy or incriminating elements from her past. Clearly, she had anticipated one of her employees coming here in search of blackmail material. What I did find however, was a tastefully framed collage of newspaper and magazine articles about Solveig Rystaad's "descent into madness." Hyperbole, really, they were only referring to the single-mindedness he displayed in the Solvall's construction. But it was the sort of thing a rebellious daughter with too much money might do...

Come to think of it, why does the idea of a wealthy business mogul who neglected all family and sense to spend his last years on a much-maligned business project sound so familiar?

It wouldn't be the last question I would continue to ponder after leaving the Rystaad residence.

Up I had proceeded to Solveig's office and quarters on the fourth floor. I had glanced at a bookcase full of dull reference material on horticulture when I'd noticed something that did not belong. Another copy of New England Fog, brand new this time. There was an index card in the pages that began the final chapter and a typed message upon it.

"Thought you'd enjoy the view up here. Very peaceful yes? My understanding is that Solveig never came here himself. It's something he made for the benefit of others, so it would be appropriate to honor his sacrifices by looking on all he's built."

I looked out a window to the lights of the New York skyline.

I'm being led along somewhere....I hope I find whatever it is in this place I'm supposed to...

Next, I had turned my attention to the painting that dominated Solveig's office. How appropriate, it was entitled "Mimir's Sacrifice". A quick check of my phone's web-browser offered an explanation to the painting, that it was Odin who was dipping the still-alive decapitated head of Mimir into a natural well....

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%ADmir

There was another word I recognized as I perused the webpage....AEsir....

AEsir! There had been papers in Herman's place on Solomon Island that referenced a "Project AEsir."

More on-the-spot research...

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%86sir

A group of the most powerful gods in Norse Mythology...that project must have been something special if Solveig gave it that name...

On Rystaad's old desk sat piles of books on his favorite subject. One of his books in particular was very well worn, with several highlighted sections. A highlighted phrase in that book ensured that I would take that book with me for further study. Not only did I not need a translation for the Icelandic words, I practically knew them by heart now.

Gáttir allar
áður gangi fram
um skoðast skyli,
um skyggnast skyli,
því að óvíst er að vita
hvar óvinir
sitja á fleti fyrir

"A man, ere he goes in should look to and espy all doorways, for he can never know where foes may be sitting in another man's house."

((The book Carl takes with him: archive.org/stream/corpuspoeticumbo02guuoft#page/n5/mode/2up ))

Finally,the last thing of significance had been a note in one of the pillows on Solveig's bed. It had sadly been damaged by time and was illegible in places, but it clearly had been written by the man I was pursuing.

"Sol...

...rge you not to shelve the....ject...ll these years, for nothing? The Hall itself and all the pla...nya's life's work, your life's wo...onor the sacri...ade.

You have my undyi...t I cannot a...e to this. I will not cont...but if my stronge...ice is unhee...then I cannot continue on as your...ation. I'll continue to supervise the field activities until such time as...

Please, Solveig. Reconsider. I not for...then for...'s sake.

Yo...

D.H.

Beneath that, written in a thick, heavy script:

"How can it be worth the price?"[/B]

-----

Carl Weaver's Office - The Solvall
Monday, April 15th, 2013. 2:18 PM EDT

"How can it be worth the price?"[/B]

More questions that needed to be answered, more pieces to this elaborate puzzle that I needed to somehow put together. It was clear now that Solveig hadn't built the Solvall with its strange angles and odd floorplans just on a whim. There was some grand scheme behind the place, one that may have even brought about the demise of it's mastermind. Was it a part of that "AEsir Project?" And what did Herman mean by "How can it be worth the price?"

This was something I had to bring up with Mila. Unfortunately, she seemed to have gone incognito on me, not returning my e-mail or my phone message. Had she found out that she was being investigated by AEgir? Or was it something worse?

However, I did know that I wasn't the only one who had been keeping in contact with my former supervisor. I had approached that person during the Investigation Meeting over the weekend, talked to her briefly to let her know what would be coming. I turned to my computer and began typing out a new e-mail message:

From: Carl Weaver
To: Lucy Randall
Subject: Feedback

Lucy:

I know you didn't have much to say at the Investigations meeting over the weekend, so I figured I'd give you a chance to provide any questions or concerns you might have about the new leadership in a more private manner. If you like, we can get away from the office, grab some coffee during the week and discuss whatever may be on your mind.

While no-one can really replace Mila, we all must do our best to make her proud.

-Carl



((More credits to effinfitz for his contributions to this chapter.))

[Carl]

The Solvall Basements
Wednesday, April 24th, 2013. 8:36 PM EDT

I shined my flashlight on the copy I had made of the Solvall blueprints as I navigated the dimly lit under-realm beneath AEgir's Headquarters. If I hadn't managed to get myself lost already, then my destination was only a few more turns away.

My discussion with Lucy the previous night had confirmed some of the deeper suspicions within my mind regarding this case. It was becoming clear that this was no mere missing person's case.

Rather, I was looking to unlock some of the deepest secrets of Solveig Rystaad, Dieter Herman, and the Solvall.

The note in the copy of my novel had been strategically placed so that I would be facing out towards Brooklyn, so I'd be able to see the Solvall out on the New York skyline when I got the advice of "looking on all he's built." It stood to reason that the warning note from Dieter Herman was in reference to the Solvall as well. But why would anyone be so worked up over a mere building?

That's when I had thought back to that nagging question I had, about why the thought of a rich man spending his fortune on a project considered a folly by nearly everyone sounded so familiar. Then, I recalled Nathaniel Winter's failed theme park on Solomon Island...and how it had turned out to be some kind of generator or conduit for occult power. And now there was SenTaxx, a place whose facilities seemed geared towards the same end.

And the same firm that designed the SenTaxx facilities designed the Solvall.....considered it the jewel in their crown, in fact.

Solveig must have built the place towards that same goal...

I had asked Lucy if we had the blueprints to the building on file. She confirmed that we did, but then informed me that there was one section of the Solvall that didn't appear on those plans. It was supposedly the size of a small office building itself, yet had no power, no heating, no plumbing, and apparently didn't serve any purpose. It was simply referred to as "Basement C" by those who knew of it.

To think, the solution to everything may have literally been right under my feet this whole time....a twist in this case that would've even impressed Agatha Christie...

So that's what brought me down below the streets of New York, by myself, searching through the very underbelly of AEgir itself. Lucy had warned me that Basement C would be every bit as maze-like as the rest of the Solvall, and I would only have my flashlight for illumination. To try and aid my navigation, I had brought along some permanent markers. My plan was simple, but I hoped it to be effective. At every fork, I would mark the wall with a letter or a symbol to use as a guide point if I had to backtrack. It was like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, except I didn't have to worry about a rat eating my guidance system.

Having more than just me trying to find my way through Basement C would have been the sensible thing to do of course, but Lucy had quickly reminded me of the gravity of my situation. Mila was trying to lead me somewhere, to find something that wasn't meant to be known about outside of a very small circle.

And it also made me recall that this was my case.....I had to see this thing through to the end myself.

I turned around one more corner, and there it was. The door to Basement C. It was time to enter Labyrinth.

There better not be a Minotaur in there.....or David Bowie for that matter....

[Carl]

Basement C - The Solvall
Thursday, May 2nd, 2013. 6:48 PM EDT

Just another day's journey through the darkness...

It was the same sights I had become so used to; empty. long, smooth concrete passages, most only marked by the tools used in their construction. Very few cracks, very little damage, absolutely nothing useful like a sign or a light or even a washroom. It was horribly dark here, even with the flashlight. Some signs that the homeless had tried to shelter here, but that was years ago -- probably back when the building was still new, and security was less tight. Now there was nothing but empty bottles and rotten bedding to mark that they were ever here.

There had been miles of twisting, turning tunnels. Some times they opened up into small, unlabeled rooms, other times giant open chambers two or more stories tall. Still others -- most, even -- came to sad, seemingly purposeless dead ends. Nothing was marked. Nothing was labeled.

Yet some things did stand out.

In certain dead ends, usually ones not too far from entrances to the other basements, I found the butts of barely-smoked Cerberus Smolders. They were easily recognizable. Mila's brand of choice. Twice, I came across occult circles not unlike the one we found in Basement B3 so many months ago -- the one that started this whole mess. There was a third, as well, further down, but it had been wiped through, obliterated as if by fire. There was something of a scorched handprint here, though no fingerprints. Gloves, maybe? Would that residue, then, be some scorched and nearly melted plastic material? It had gone cold, now, regardless. The only thing for certain was that the hand that made it was much smaller than my own.

Mila has elemental powers like I do...hand almost seems like it would be the right size. But why would she deface this particular circle and none of the others?

My search had gone on for hours, days at a time. More than a week had passed since I first started searching, and I still had nothing to show for it.

It was only just then that I stumbled across the most innocuous of clues: a drip in the ceiling. Coming from the smallest of cracks, and leaving the tiniest of puddles.

It was too localized to be rain. And besides, it wasn't raining when I first came down here today, at least. So it had to be plumbing...seeping through a crack in the ceiling like that, down a turnoff that I hadn't explored yet. Funny, though. There's not supposed to BE any plumbing down here.

I immediately turned my flashlight down that tunnel and proceeded onward.

A few minutes later the sound of the drip receded, but the next fork offered something thing far easier to follow: falling water, like the waterfall up in the Solvall's crown. Hurrying towards it, making marks along the way, it eventually led me to a long, winding staircase that spiraled down around a central cylinder three meters in radius. It was an exhausting descent, accompanied only by my flashlight and the rushing water echoing from inside the cylinder. Yet, my anticipation was raised to new heights as I wondered what was at the bottom of the stairway.

Finally, the staircase came to an end, and I stood before a door, though the connotations of that term perhaps understated the matter. It might have been better described as "a massive wall of steel with hinges akin to a bank vault entrance.". It was, of course, locked, and I could find no way to open it. There was, however, a bronze faceplate inscribed with the cryptic legend:

Multiple Interface Memetic Induction Reliquary - service entrance

MIMIR! From the painting in Solveig's home!

Almost as if to confirm I had found what I was supposed to find, there was another Smolder cigarette butt on the ground.

I pulled out my smartphone and took a few pictures of the door with the built-in camera. I then hurried back the way I came, stopping at my markings on the wall to put big circles around the correct ones and an arrow pointing the way so that I could easily come back to that door. It wasn't until I was out of Basement C that my phone got reception again. I hurriedly typed out an e-mail on my office account.

-----
To: Seanne Rystaad, Teresa Auerbach, Lucy Randall
From: Carl Weaver
Subject: Found Something!
Attachments: IMG_0427.jpg, IMG_0428.jpg, IMG_0429.jpg

Jackpot. Found this in Basement C. Giant vault door sitting right underneath us. My hunch is that the answers to many of our questions lie behind it.

Lucy, search our archives and files for the "Multiple Interface Memetic Induction Reliquary." See if you can find anything on what it's supposed to be or how to access it.

Shay, do you have any recollection of your father mentioning this, or any hints he might have provided about it?

I think it's imperative we find a way to unlock this door.

-Carl
-----

That done, I considered carefully, then closed my office e-mail and accessed my personal account. It was possible that she might not even be looking at her account, and given that she had gone incognito, she likely wouldn't reply. I at least had to let her know I had found it, though. And if there was anyone who would know how to open that door....

I phrased it carefully so it would be completely non-sensical to anyone else, but she would understand it perfectly.

-----
To: Mila Cameron
From: Carl Weaver
Subject: Sacrifice

I have located Mimir. I'm trying to gain his wisdom.

I wish to honor the sacrifice.

-Carl
-----



((Acknowledgements to effinfitz for all his work on this storyline. Most of the writing in this chapter is directly from him.))

[Carl]

Basement C - The Solvall
Wednesday, May 8th, 2013. 3:07 PM EDT

MIMIR.....how do I gain access to your "wisdom"?

I stood there staring up at the large vault door that was now illuminated by floodlights that had been set up beside it since my discovery. It had become one of my new habits, to simply stand in front of my new discovery, the place where the case that had been at the forefront of my mind had finally brought me. I paid little attention to the time during this activity, my attention focused on the door, looking for....something? Anything that might provide a hint at opening it...

From behind me I heard footsteps on the circular stairs leading down to the room. Even though I knew someone was coming, I didn't turn to see who it was.

"Has the door told you how to open it yet?" Came the matter-of-fact voice of Miss Willmore as she descended the final few steps and walked up behind me.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating it is, Claire?" I asked her. "I've come all this way to discover the secrets of Dieter Herman, Solveig Rystaad, and this building. And now here it is, right in front of me, and I can't fucking get to it."

Miss Willmore was quiet for a few moments, either trying to think of something to say or mildly surprised at my rare use of profanity. "No discoveries on how to open the door, I take it?"

"Unfortunately. Lucy has had the PIT crew digging through the archives trying to find something about this MIMIR project, but ol' Solveig hid the secrets on this thing very well. As for Shay," I shook my head, "even if her father did tell her about this thing she probably wasn't even bothering to listen. So, here I am, contemplating if I'm desperate enough to try yelling, 'Open Sesame.'"

"Really Mr. Weaver, you shouldn't obsess over things the way you do. It's not good for health or your psyche. Like the meeting about naming a new Chief Agent earlier this week..."

"What about it? We all agreed that Agent Loper would be an excellent candidate to take my old position."

"Only after everyone else finally convinced you that the Solvall wouldn't crumble from it's foundations if you allowed someone else to take the workload of Chief Agent duties off of your hands. You have more than enough to worry about being Co-Director of the Department."

I shifted my feet, not particularly enjoying Miss Willmore's sudden interest in my work-life balance. I spoke again, still facing away from her. "With the change in the leadership of Investigations and the pressures of the SenTaxx case, it was simply better to handle those duties myself than throw someone just trying to learn the position at it."

"Mr. Weaver, you're good at what you do, but you need to learn that it's alright to delegate things that are important. Do you remember when you were trying to run the whole Department all by yourself after Mila left? Do you have any idea how you looked by the end of it?"

"I know full well how I looked. Even Jule's remarked that I look younger than I did when we first met."

Miss Willmore's next action surprised me. The middle-aged woman put a hand on my arm, causing me to turn to look at her. She had a concerned look on her face. "Carl, we all admire your tenacity on the Herman Case. We know how important it is, and how you're doing it for Mila as much as yourself...but don't torture yourself by standing here for hours on end staring at that damned door."

I blinked, taken slightly aback by her words.

"Do yourself a favor," she continued, "focus on other things, maybe even take some time away from this place. Whatever's behind that door has been waiting to be discovered for some years now. A few days more won't change anything, I'm sure."

She let go of my arm. I took one more long look at the door, then turned back. "Yeah, I suppose. I'll see you back at my office." With that, I turned and started heading back up the stairs as she watched me walk back up. I paused. "Thanks, by the way," I called back down.

Miss Willmore half-smirked, "You're welcome, Mr. Weaver."

Right, I can't forget about my quest for my own personal truth...maybe I can arrange my field trip with Dr. Irving for this weekend...don't know how much hypnosis will possibly help...but at least I get a chance to be outdoors for a while out of it...

[Carl]

The Allegheny National Forest - Marienville, Pennsylvania
Monday, May 20th, 2013. 10:48 AM EDT

"We've been going for miles now, Mr. Weaver," Dr. Irving wheezed at me, "Can't we do the treatment here?"

"It's only been about three miles, Doctor. I have a particular spot in mind."

"Gah! Only three miles, as if it were so easy!" Irving continued to complain, throwing up his hands in despair.

Anyone who would have happened upon us on the trail would have thought it was a scene from a comedy movie. For the hike out to the secluded spot, I had dressed appropriately for both the warm summer day and the long walk ahead, wearing a camping shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots. Dr. Irving had thankfully put away the tweed jacket, but sweat poured out of his starched long-sleeve shirt and his black suit pants would only make things hotter and more miserable for him. Our backpacks were a study in contrasts as well. Whereas I had packed just enough trail food, water, and other supplies for a quick day hike, I knew the moment I heard pots and pans rattling in the Doctor's pack that we were in trouble. We managed just a little more than a mile before I took enough pity to trade packs with him.

Normally, I welcomed these kinds of days away from the pressures of my work and out in the calmness of nature. But the overloaded pack on my back and the constant whining of the good Doctor behind me were preventing any kind of enjoyment or relaxation at the moment.

This outdoor hypnosis thing wasn't such a good idea after all. Next time I go hiking, I'm going with someone I actually want to spend time with. At least if I go hiking with Jule, she's got that bag of infinite space...I won't be stuck hauling everything and the kitchen sink on my back then, for sure....

-----

11:14 AM EDT

Finally, thankfully, we reached the spot I had in mind. There was an open area by the side of the trail covered by the shade of the trees above us. Dr. Irving and I laid a blanket down on the ground and we had a small lunch. "Are you ready for the hypnosis now, Mr. Weaver?" Irving asked me, the sound of exasperation evident in his voice. I responded by nodding my head and pulling a pillow out of my pack.

I leaned back into a prone position and placed the pillow behind my head, looking up towards the limbs of the trees and the heavens above.

"Right, Mr. Weaver," Irving began. "I want you to close your eyes, and focus on calmness and relaxation. Listen to my voice as I guide you through these breathing exercises..."

To tell the whole truth, I was barely paying attention to the Doctor's instructions. I was focusing instead on the other sounds around me. The rustling of the leaves through the trees...the singing of the birds in the distance...I could feel myself about to drift off into a nap...

-----

"Does it stop?"

"Goes on....hours....it seems....until I wake up. And...that's the dream."

"Thank you for sharing that, Mr. Weaver. Now I have some questions for you."

"Yeah..."

Huh? That's not Dr. Irving....and I'm certainly not speaking right now!

"Was this the same dream you were having when you were admitted to our facility last fall?"

"No....different....had it last two nights."

"Were you under the influence when you had these new dreams?"

"First time...yes....second time...no."

"Were you still taking your prescribed medications for these violent dreams?"

"Yes...."

The room's taking shape....The PsychoTherapy Room! There's Doctor Vanden in the opposite corner, speaking in his raspy smokers voice and...My God, that's ME on the bed! But why am I seeing myself...

"Was there a specific event that happened to you recently....something that could have triggered the return of these 'Screaming Nightmares', Mr. Weaver?"

This moment...the flashback...they read my mind...they saw...

"Mr. Weaver?"

"Um...no, Doctor. It was...probably just...an accumulation of events..."

"Very good, Mr. Weaver. Now, close your eyes and focus on sleep....."

I watched myself from the third person as I shut my eyes, laying there on the bed, with the two square boxes on either side of my head. For several minutes, the scene didn't change. Then, Dr. Vanden pushed his overweight body out of the chair in the corner and began walking around the bed, looking at me as though I were a pot that he was waiting for to boil. Finally, he began to speak.

"Begin Phase Two: Evaluation and Corrective Procedure. First and foremost, I certainly don't need to see the readout to know he lied to me on that last question. This subject certainly is a protective one. Granted, not the worst trait one of our Agents can have, but in this ones case I certainly see it being a hindrance to him in the future."

Doctor Vanden walked over towards one of the walls, and a computer panel was revealed behind a hidden door in the wall. He stood there for several more minutes, doubtlessly looking at readouts of my vitals...and my thoughts as well...

"Hmph, it's as I hypothesized," he said as he stepped away from the console and began circling around my body again. "A sudden and dramatic event, in the subject's case seeing someone he considered a mentor and a friend leave the company and then seeing that same person in apparent trouble, can be a trigger for making the screaming nightmares stronger and more likely to occur."

He shook his head in disgust.

"I swear, everytime we think we've got the inherent problems of the "special gift" that people like the subject possess licked, it surprises us again. We have a few more processes we can try, but it appears less and less like there's a way of getting rid of the side effects of the subject's gift without undoing it altogether."

He stopped walking, taking a long look at me down on the testing bed.

"A pity you'll likely end up like the rest...hopefully we'll get a few more novels out of you before you completely lose your mind."

Oh My God....

"Begin the Synapse Calming Treatment," the Doctor ordered to seemingly no-one. However, in obedience a purplish beam began to emanate from between the two cubes on either side of my body's head. Every so often, there was a small spasm evident on another part of my body.

Doctor Vanden sighed, "Such a filthy thing..."

-----

"Mr. Weaver? Mr. Weaver!"

I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Irving kneeling over me, some concern on his face. I tried to compose myself as I sat up, not wanting him to know what I'd just experienced.

"Sorry for nodding off on you, Doctor. How long was I out?"

"A full two hours! I thought I had sent you into a coma!" The Doctor exclaimed, gesticulating wildly with his hands as he did so.

I managed to put on a smirk, in spite of what my real feelings were at the moment. "The hypnosis did the trick, I think. That was the best sleep I've had in a while."

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear!" Doctor Irving always reacted to anything I said that could even slightly be construed as a compliment to him as the psychiatric equivalent of getting the Congressional Medal of Honor. "It was so effective! We should do this on a regular basis then!"

I tried to hide my cringing reaction, probably poorly in retrospect. "I'll uh....think about it, Doctor. Come on though," I hurriedly added as I got to my feet, "we really should be heading back or we'll end up having a very late dinner."

Now it was Doctor Vanden's turn to try and hide a cringe. However poorly my acting job had been, his was undoubtedly worse. "Yeah, yeah...more walking...and now it's the hottest part of the day..."

I helped Irving to his feet, and within minutes we were heading back the way we came down the trail. I mostly kept quiet as his complaints renewed themselves with vigor, pondering deeply the new knowledge I had gained about what had happened two months ago.

I don't want to end up like the rest...

[Carl]

Atlantic Ridge State Park - Long Island, NY
Friday, June 7th, 2013. 6:14 PM EDT

It had started with an envelope in my morning mail at my home in Bethpage. Other than the lack of a return address and some noticeable weight to it, there was seemingly nothing out of the ordinary about it. I was in for surprise as I opened it, though. There was a safe-deposit box key in the envelope, and a tag with the number 1274 on it. There was also a single piece of paper with a handwritten address to a Manhattan bank, and below that was one sentence.

"You have a friend in a high place."

Blinking in disbelief, I looked back and forth from the note to the keychain a few times. I then called Miss Willmore at the office, let her know I needed to make a trip to Manhattan before I came in for work.

To the specified bank I drove, and with a well-trained smile the young, bright-eyed teller had taken my key, gone to the back, and then returned with a sealed correspondence envelope. I glanced down at it and saw the words "Read in Private" written upon it.

I left the envelope under the passenger seat in my Cadillac during my workday, not wanting one of the cameras in my office to snoop on the contents of it. I must confess it was difficult to focus on my job at hand while I agonized at what lied waiting for my eyes in that envelope.

Am I finally going to get some answers? Or is this just another game they're playing with me?

When the dinner hour finally came I excused myself from the office for a while. A trip through the drive-thru for a cheeseburger and fries later, I had pulled into the exact same parking spot in the same State Park I had sat almost three months earlier to contemplate some of the same things that still ate at me now. I quickly ate my meal, then pulled out the envelope from its place under the passenger seat. I broke the seal and began poring over the documents that resided within.

They all dealt with my "Special Gift"....or "Horrible Curse", I still wasn't sure what term was more applicable for it.

Most of the medical terminology went over my head, but I understood enough of the documents to confirm that my future visions and my screaming nightmares were caused by the same thing. There was no way to get rid of the nightmares without undoing the visions. But apparently there is a procedure for getting rid of it...to avoid the future insanity....

Then I reached the part that discussed causation of the visions and nightmares, and my blood ran cold.

I had thought about the descriptions of strange dreams I'd heard from people stationed at various places...Kingsmouth in particular...places that were being affected by filth outbreaks...

And there it was on the paper...speculations about "tainted bees" among the swarm that went out to those chosen by Gaia...

I looked up, out towards the Atlantic. I breathed heavily and ran my fingers through my hair.

My God...there's filth inside me...not enough to make me sprout tentacles out of my body...but that explains why those who have these visions get driven to insanity...

I swallowed hard and continued to read. I breathed a sigh of relief when I read that this strain of filth was only spread by the bees themselves, which meant I wasn't infecting others around me. I also found more details about the first successful removal of filth from a "Future Seer" eight years ago, followed by a detailed cost/benefit analysis by the overlords about whether saving the affected person was worth losing insights of things to come that the visions granted. The last page from the envelope was another handwritten note, with the same handwriting I had seen before.

"Mr. Weaver,

I am a friend of you and your organization. While others among our august organization shortsightedly desire to bring your company more into the mainstream, I can see the value that your unique business brings to our bottom-line.

I have been keeping track of your ongoing investigation into your special talent, and I admire your cleverness. My conclusion was that you deserved to know the truth, even as ugly as this truth is.

At this time, I extend to you an offer of goodwill. I can arrange an operation to remove what taints you from your body. But consider the choice carefully. You currently hold a high value within our group...the loss of your future visions will only make you more expendable in our eyes. This is the trade-off you must contemplate before making your decision.

Whatever your decision, return this package to the safe deposit box and mail back the key to the P.O. box listed below, with a short note. A simple "Yes" or "No" is all you need to write. I'll be in touch if you decide in the affirmative.

Be well,
The Keeper"

I put the papers aside in the passenger seat, and took a long gaze out towards the ocean.

This is my burden.

The burden of my visions.

But whereas before I would have sat and wallowed in self-misery and pity, I reached back and pulled out my billfold. I took out the wallet sized pictures I had stored there for times like these. There was a picture from the Launch Party for The Pharaohs of Alexandria of me surrounded by my co-workers and friends. There was a portrait of Mila in her trademark pose, arms crossed and giving her familiar little smirk. And then there was a picture of Jule in her sunglasses, a woman who had brought so much joy and support to my life.

I felt a tiny smile form on my face.

But now I know...I don't carry my burdens alone...


TO BE CONTINUED....




((After working on this thread since March, I figured this was the right time to wrap up this part of Carl's storyline. Thanks to everyone for reading, and another special thank you to effinfitz and Myridean for their contributions!))