Thursday, March 17, 2011

His Children Gather, Part 1

I promised myself I would not leave this seat until I updated people on what was going on.
But why am I updating you anyway? Why do I feel this compulsion?
Is it a narcissistic desire to document my life, due perhaps to negligible perception of my own self-worth? Perhaps.
Is it a civic duty? We all deserve to know what is going on in our world...the good and the bad. Possibly.

I've been sitting here wondering for the last half hour, 'why am I sitting here, talking to people I don't even know, about events which don't involve them? Especially after being on hiatus for so long. I shouldn't be.

I's a defence mechanism. By narrating these events, to an audience, I'm somehow making them...less real. Making them just another chapter. It's like that one quote from the Blair Witch Project I posted...couldn't have been too much more than a month ago.

But I'm steadily realising just how relevant it is, even outside of the Mythos.

Since I last updated properly...I've been working fairly steadily. Not on the case. On my clinical duties, and on my own personal research. Occasionally I delved into the Mythos again, but that was more out of personal interest than any attempt to develop the background of this case. In fact, I had a bit of a post developed… I remember the exact moment that particular piece of work got put down, in favour of...something else entirely.

I'd just got into work for the morning, though I didn't have an appointment until 2PM that afternoon. I'll be honest, this...Slender Man case simply wasn't a prominent feature of my work before then. Since I looked at the crime scene again...I've been a bit spooked. I've been focusing on clinical assessments, and consulting on other cases. My actual job. None of this crime drama bullshit that I seem to be heading towards.

Then, Detective White walked through my door, oddly subdued. And polite. That set the warning sirens off immediately. “Look, Rivers, I know you’re busy. And that you didn’t want to get involved in this case again. But I think I can change your mind. And I think you SHOULD change your mind.”
”And why is that?”

Detective White closed the blinds of my office before crashing down on the couch, clearly exhausted…mentally or physically didn’t seem to matter, it had come to the point where it was both, regardless. “Because I need your help. I need someone, anyone who can use this to bring this fucker down. I need someone who can rationalize this and say it was all part of a greater plan. And I…I kind of need someone to be at the crime scene with me.”

”What is…’this’?” I asked, strangely horrified. It wasn’t like White to request companionship so openly, and…honestly. That she needed it, rather than wanted to freak out the wimpy psychologist.

”Will you help?”, was her response, looking up at me with those brilliant green eyes for just a moment, before looking away.
I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t turn down such an open request; psychologically speaking, turning her down would close her off again, and it’d be months before I could regain that trust.

More importantly, she was my friend.

And that’s how I found myself standing outside of a church, with the bodies of five children arranged, extending, like petals from a flower, out from a solitary, dying yew tree in the middle. Weighed down with the swarm of black bags, looking like a murder of crows from the distance. The police were bustling around me, scrutinizing the area for evidence, but everything seemed silent. All I could hear was the beating of my own heart in my ears, and Dr. Aspen’s assessment of the crime scene. Her coldly professional demeanour was slipping as well. I don’t think I can blame her for that. I don’t think I can blame anyone for that.

“They died in about one to two minutes. Longitudinal incisions along the neck, severing the internal and external jugular veins, and in most cases, the carotid artery. Three out of five cases were also heavily drugged; we found evidence of intravenous delivery of an opiate on their arms. They wouldn’t have felt a thing, I think. The, jagged cuts on this child’s neck though, indicates a struggle, and it looks like he took two tries to…” Dr. Aspen took a deep breath in, and composed herself. “The organ harvesting procedure appears to have gone smoothly, and quickly. We’re getting the crime scene photos and then taking them into, the lab.”

I nodded. “Do we know who they are? Have their parents been informed?”
“They went to the Sunday school at this church. They were supposed to be on a camp for the weekend. We’re getting the parent’s contact details now.” Aspen said, pulling off her latex gloves and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I don’t envy the person who needs to inform the parents.”

“I’ll call them in.” I don’t know why I volunteered for it. I guess I felt I’d be able to provide the most sensitivity. And in a situation like this, I felt everyone had enough on their plates.

I’ve been trying so hard to write this update, but the words just haven’t been coming out. It feels like such a weight off my chest to be able to finally share this…I’ve been troubled.

I’ll speak more later.

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