--------------------------------------------
DATE: Sunday, October 28th, 2018
LOCATION: 142 Oakwood Drive, Bethesda, Maryland (suburban Washington, D.C. area)
PERIOD: Early morning
TIME: 01:41 AM
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TSK!!!
TSK!!!
Marcus slightly halted mid-turn, his grip around his wife slackened—not fully releasing her, but no longer anchored at the moment. His gaze lifted slowly toward the ceiling as the scanner remained suspended in his left hand.
Lila's hand—midway to smoothing a stray piece of hair behind her ear once again—froze there. Her elbow slowly straightened as she lowered the arm inch by inch until her fingertips brushed the collar of her robe. She tilted her head very slightly, eyes traveling up to the ceiling panels as well.
They stood like that for a few seconds.
Neither spoke right away.
Before another scrape drifted across—a bit slower than before then it stopped.
Then two quick ones.
Lila finally let her hand fall the rest of the way to her side. "Okay… you're hearing that too, right?"
Marcus tilted his head some degrees toward the ceiling, his grey hair moved slightly. His eyes narrowed just a bit, then softened as he exhaled a long breath through his nose. "Yeah…"
A wry half-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "....probably just the wind, dear. I mean they did say on the news that the weather was supposed to kick up after midnight anyways...." He rubbed the back of his neck and kept his gaze on the ceiling as though sheer willpower might make the faint… tap-scrape reveal itself at once.
Lila leaned a hip against the oak table they'd bought in '98. "You know what I think it is? Mr. Hargrove."
Marcus finally looked at her, both eyebrows lifting. "The landlord?"
"Mmm-hmm." She nodded once, decisive. "He was supposed to be here this afternoon by three O'Clock sharp—to look at that water stain in the upstairs hall and finally fix the attic vent fan that's been rattling like tin cans since last winter. Said he'd bring the roofer quote too. Guess what time it is now?"
Marcus glanced at the wall clock.
"Exactly." Lila's mouth tightened.
Marcus slightly tilted his head towards her.
She continued, counting her fingers. "No call, no text, no Hargrove. I swear, if that man shows up this afternoon with another excuse about his sciatica or his truck being in the shop, I'm going to hand him a ladder and tell him to sort it himself."
TSK!!!
TSK!!!
Another faint scrape-thump drifted down through the plaster. Marcus's shoulders rose and fell in a resigned sigh. "This afternoon," he said quietly. "I'll call him first thing. If he doesn't pick up, I'll drive over to that little office of his...."
"Okay...?"
Before she could respond.
The overhead bulb stuttered:
BRIGHT
DIM
BRIGHT AGAIN
Then there was a soft pop, though the dining room didn't fall completely into darkness, thanks to the streetlamp just outside their house. Lila blinked hard, adjusting to the change before she fished her phone from her pocket, thumbed on the flashlight, and kept the beam pointed low so it wouldn't blind either of them.
"Fantastic"
She sighed. "Just fantastic." She raised her chin toward the dead bulb. "You.... did call Bob about the wiring again, didn't you? I mean this is literally the third time this month it's pulled the strobe-light routine before dying."
"Yeah. Last Tuesday, actually," he said. "He showed up Wednesday morning. Swapped out the middle breaker in the panel and went through every outlet in here with that little tester thing." He gave a short, humorless huff. "Then he pretty much shrugged and said it's probably a dead circuit. Said he'd have to come back and trace the line."
Lila looked up. "He said he'd come back," she repeated, one eyebrow lifting. "Did he give you a day? Or just… someday?"
"Someday," Marcus muttered. He exhaled and glanced up at the dark ceiling. "I'll grab the step stool. He left two new bulbs—they're in the pantry. I'll swap them out and see if anything would change. Takes two minutes."
Lila folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "If the breaker's fine and the bulbs are new, it's not the bulbs, Marcus. You just said that yourself"
"I know," he said. "But I'd rather rule it out than sit here in the dark waiting on him."
Lila's eyes flicked back to the ceiling. "And what do we do about the ceiling though....?"
BUZZ!!!!
Suddenly, the scanner—now in his pocket—gave a single short buzz against his thigh that was just enough to jolt him. He stopped with one foot still half-lifted. His free hand went to the pocket immediately, hesitated there a second, then pulled the device out slowly.
The screen lit his face in cold blue and red pulses. He frowned down at it before he finally swiped the alert quiet rapidly. Lila had already taken two small steps forward and stopped just behind his left shoulder and laid her hand lightly on the back of his upper arm. "Why....did that thing just vibrate?" she asked quietly. "...Marcus...?"
Marcus didn't answer right away. His thumb was still hovered over the screen, then stopped completely. He blinked once and without a word, that's when his instincts kicked in and his eyes flicked up from the device and locked on the window next to where he was previously reading the letters
The blinds were half-open; the streetlight still leaked through the slats. She turned her head slowly, following the line of his stare. The window was quite dark and felt ordinary. But the way Marcus was looking at it made her confused.
And just outside the glass—maybe six inches from the pane—stood the dark outline of a person. They had large shoulders and the head tilted very slightly downwards, the figure wore a suit or a jacket.
Marcus's next breath came in two quick inhales through his nose, then he held it a long second before letting the air slip out slowly. Lila's fingers closed around on his forearm which started light, almost absent, then tightened gradually as the realization hit her.
Her voice dropped to a bare whisper.
"Marcus…?"
He didn't wait for the rest.
"I know."
He slowly met her eyes for a second then turned back to the window. His first step was quite slow, almost reluctant and when he reached the sill he stopped again. And his right hand rose slowly, before they closed around the latch.
He eased the window open inch by inch as the cool night air slipped inside. Marcus leaned forward only halfway at first, before his torso tilted gradually. His left hand planted flat on the sill.
"Hello…?"
His voice echoed loudly.
Though it came out low and perhaps rough, barely above a normal speaking volume. He cleared his throat once and tried again, to seem friendly. "....You okay? Can I… help you with something?"
The man in question didn't move an inch.
Marcus stayed leaned out for several long seconds. His free hand lifted from the sill, hovered uncertainly near his side, then settled back down.
"Hello...?"
Still no answer.
And with that he pulled back—slowly, like he didn't want to make any sudden motion and he eased the window shut slowly. Lila had uncrossed her arms sometime during his approach to the window.
She took one small step forward. Her head tilted to the side, just a few degrees, eyes searching his face. "What… what happened? Did he say anything?" She paused, swallowing once.
Marcus rubbed his chin slowly. "Not at all...," he said quietly. His voice dropped even lower on the last word. "He didn't… even....just stood there like…"
He trailed off, shaking his head once. He took a slow breath. "Just… keep your phone ready, okay? And pull up the emergency dial. In case this gets weirder. I'm gonna step out front, see if he'll talk if I'm closer."
Lila nodded—small, quick jerks of her head. "Sure. Yeah. Okay. Just be careful okay...?" She turned off the flashlight, and was already swiping to unlock the phone. She opened the emergency app but didn't press call yet.
Marcus nodded.
Lila's other hand drifted to the hem of her robe; fingers found a loose thread and began twisting it slowly out of nervousness. Meanwhile, Marcus moved toward the front door, reached the knob with his right hand; fingers closed around it one by one, then turned it with a gentle, drawn-out twist as the latch disengaged with a soft click.
He eased the door open a few inches at first—enough for the night air to rush in again.
The man stood maybe seven feet away now—along the side of the house, near the edge of the patio stones. Still mostly facing away, his crisp black outfit was what caught his attention. Though what annoyed him the most was the fact that this man was still completely motionless, like a mannequin someone had propped there as a prank.
Marcus cleared his throat once, and again, this time louder, so he could actually be heard. "Uh… hey. Excuse me?" His voice came out quite frustrated as he wanted, so he tried again, forcing more volume. "Hey—you there. Do you mind… getting off my property....?"
"....please..."
No answer.
Marcus walked slightly forward as he raised his palm higher as if the gesture alone could push the stranger back. "It's late, man. Like, really late and you shouldn't be here by this time of the night. "If you're lost or need help or something, just say something. But you gotta get off my property. Okay?"
He paused and yet, the man was still motionless.
"The police are already on their way...."
But that didn't even seem to have phased the man either.
Marcus edged forward another small step once again and decided to try once last time. "Look… I.....I don't want any trouble here. Seriously. But you're standing on my patio at—what, two in the morning? Come on. Just walk away. You need a phone? Directions to the main road? I can call someone for you, Uber, what....whatever"
He leaned slightly sideways, trying to catch even a glimpse of the man's face in profile. The angle showed only the neat line of combed hair, the pale curve of an ear and a straight nose.
Marcus's fists balled slowly.
"Hey," he tried again with anger. "I'm talking to you. You hear me? This isn't funny. If you don't leave right now, I'm calling the cop. I mean it. I've got my phone inside, one word and they're on their way. You want that?"
Still nothing.
Marcus took one more step closer now. "Alright, that's it. I'm done asking nice. Get the hell off my property..."
Then the man suddenly raised his right arm, then extended it—slow at first, almost mechanical—fingers spreading wide as his hand approached the window from outside, his palm met the glass with a faint, dry tap.
Marcus froze.
In the next instant the pane shimmered and dissolved into fine, glittering grains, cascading down across the outer sill, then drifting inside onto the dining tiles.
"Jesus—damn it—"
"Lila!!"
"Lila—call the cops—now!!!"
Inside, Lila backed away slightly from the window, as her thumb jammed down on the call button so hard. "Come on, come on—" she muttered under her breath. The line started to ring—once, twice—
But before the dispatcher could answer—
The figure walked inside and with one fluid, impossibly fast motion—he seized the nearest wrought-iron patio chair by its frame, fingers wrapping tight around the metal. With a casual, almost negligent flick of his arm the chair sailed end over end and struck Lila's left shoulder with a heavy thud.
The impact spun her sideways; her knees buckled instantly. The phone flew from her hand—clattering across the tiles of the hallway, the screen still glowing, the ringing tinny and distant now. She dropped hard, and her hip landed first before her head snapped back to crack dully against the floor.
A small, involuntary gasp slipped from Lila's lips. Her eyes rolled back once, fluttered weakly, then drifted shut. Her body went numb against the floor.
A triangular spear of glass—nearly eighteen inches long and as wide at the base as a man's hand—jutted from her lower left abdomen, just above the hip bone. It had entered at a cruel upward angle, disappearing several inches into flesh before the ragged point stopped somewhere deep inside. Blood welled steadily around the wound. A second, smaller gash came from on her temple where her head had struck the hardwood.
Marcus dropped to his knees beside her so fast. "Lila—Lila, baby, look at me." Her eyelids fluttered. He yanked his flannel shirt over his head in one frantic pull, buttons popping loose and started folding it into a clumsy pad, he pressed it hard against the glass shard.
Lila's body jerked once—a small, helpless spasm—and a low moan leaked out. "Shh, shh, I got you," he whispered. "Stay still okay...?" With his free hand he fumbled for his phone in his pocket, as he swiped to unlock it.
"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"
"Hello....."
"It's my wife—she's bleeding badly—there's glass—huge piece of glass in her side and she's—she hit her head—please.....hurry—"
"Sir, stay calm. Can you confirm your address?."
"142 Oakwood Drive, Bethesda, Maryland—please, she's barely breathing—there's blood literally everywhere—"
"Units are being dispatched. Stay on the line. Is the glass still in the wound?"
"Yes—yes, it's—it's sticking out—should I pull it?"
A soft scrape of footsteps on the wooden floor was suddenly heard.
Marcus's head snapped up.
The man—the one who'd been standing motionless on the patio only moments earlier had stepped fully across the ruined home. Just a tall figure in a dark navy jacket zipped to the very top. On his head, a plain black baseball cap, brim pulled low, only his grey eyes were seen. Perhaps he was in his mid-thirties, with tactical black boots, laces double-knotted. He had on a pale, stone-washed jeans worn almost white at the knees and thighs.
"Take whatever you want okay...?" Marcus blurted, voice high and shaky. He kept both hands pressing the shirt to Lila's wound. "The TV, the laptops—cash is in the top drawer of the desk—please—just take it and go. You already hurt her—look what you have done—"
The stranger didn't say a word, he just remained five feet away.
Marcus's gaze flicked sideways to the small black device sitting on the entry table now—the old Alpha-7 program field scanner, the matte rectangular brick he'd kept powered down for nearly a week.
Now a single red LED had just blinked awake.
The screen lit pale blue instead, and a metallic like female voice echoed:
█▓ ☣ 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐓: 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 ☣ ▓█
☠ 𝘾𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙁𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉:
> ⛧ 𝘼𝙀𝙂𝙄𝙎𝙊 𝙂𝙍𝙀𝙔 ⛧
✖ 𝙎𝙐𝘽𝙅𝙀𝘾𝙏:
> Adam Grey
𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎
⟶ ❖ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗
⟶ ❖ 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗢𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗦 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗗
🜏 𝙋𝙎𝙔𝘾𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙄𝘾𝘼𝙇 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙀:
> ₁₀₀% ₥₳₦ł₱ɄⱠ₳₮łØ₦
₲Ɇ₦łɄ₴ ł₦₮ɆⱠⱠɆ₵₮
₦Ɇ₮₩ØⱤ₭ Ⱨ₳₵₭ɆⱤ
And with an obsessive focus on complete annihilation of his victims.
⚠ 𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙆 𝙇𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙇 ⚠
☣ ₥₳Ӿł₥Ʉ₥ / ₵₳₮₳₴₮ⱤØ₱Ⱨł₵ ☣
"Not quite the introduction I expected." He let out a brief, humourless pause "Well, I guess it's out there now."
Marcus's stomach sank almost immediately as he remembered that name, and perhaps that code name on the screen. He had helped write parts of it himself back in the old days. The phone slipped right out of his bloody fingers and clattered on the hardwood floor.
Still the phone lay face-up on the floor, as the dispatcher still spoke into the empty room. "Sir? Are you still there?. Officers are two minutes out now. Can you tell me what's happening? Is the injured person still conscious? Or someone else in the apartment with you?"
Ægiso tilted his head just a little toward the scanner on the table. "Still got that, eh Marcus?" His voice stayed calm, almost friendly. "Figured you'd have put a match to it years ago."
"Though every man has his own way of forgetting his past"
".... don't they?"
Marcus's heart had never pounded this fast or this loud, his eyes stared at the name still glowing on the scanner, then back at the man standing in front of him. "You," Marcus breathed. "You're supposed to be—"
"Dead?" Ægiso finished it for him, as one corner of his mouth twitched. "Abandoned and buried in some forgotten facility? Perhaps it would have given you more satisfaction...?"
"Eh Marcus....?"