Robert smiled and paused for a moment. He knew he must choose his words carefully here.
"I am..a friend of Balt's."
Robert let those words sink in as he took a slow sip from his tea. He had never personally met with Richard and Balt had trusted him, so why was he hesitating? Robert could tell there was something this man was hiding, a potential beyond the exterior of a meager bookseller.
Who was this man whom Balt had confided so much in?
"Tell me, Richard, what do you know of the Elohim?"
The question gave Richard pause. He looked at the father like he was an alien but took a deep breath and poured the tea anyway.
"What I know about the Elohim? Father... You're asking me the same question Balt did when I saw him last."
Richard took a deep breath and sat down looking hard at the man before him.
"I could give you the same answer, but I'll spare you the religious trappings and occult symbology I uncovered. I'll also spare you all the details I have uncovered about my unwlecome guest. And I mean both the one that escaped here on the night I blacked out and the thing riding shotgun in my soul."
Richard took on of the cups and drank deeply, heedless of the pain.
"Father... I'm not sure WHAT the Elohim are. All my texts and books say however, that they are a force for good. That is why I reached out to Balt in the first place. I had hoped... I had hoped he could help me. And now he's gone."
Richard say down with a thump. The cup fell from his hand and rolled about on the floor.
"I'm... I'm weak Father. Every night I have the same nightmare, every day the same jitters. I need help... and the only man I though could help me has vanished."
Robert leaned forward and gently laid his hand on the young man's shoulder, trying to comfort him. "When in the darkness, Richard, you must draw strength from the things you cannot see. Throughout my life I have always found that help came from those places I least expected."
"You must understand though, The Elohim are far more than anyone believes them to be. While I feel certain I can help with your affliction you will see many dark things if you choose to come with me."
Robert slowly stood and walked towards the bookcase and sipped at his tea as he looked over the titles. "You will have quite the journey, Richard, and I do not know what will happen to your soul as a result. But this demon that haunts you know; I promise we will show him the true meaning of nightmares."
"So, my son, shall we go for a ride?"
"A... A ride Father?" Richard tilted his head and then chuckled a bit.
"I suppose I'm game for just about anything. But Father... you should know, wait... Did Balt tell you anything before he dissappeared? About Nekros and the Shadow within me? About what could be in the city right now?"
Richard stood and grabbed a pile of notebooks and a pen. Hurridely he dug out his keys and flipped the "Closed" sign on the door.
"If we're going anywhere you'll need details. Details only I have from my conversations with the head of Nekros. If he and his pack are still out there, then my dreams are going to be the least of your problems."
__________________________________________________ _
Somewhere in Dark Astoria
The sound of bone crunching was loud. It was a sound that can not be easily mistaken for anything else. Even the Death Shaman knew the sound, simply from the times he crushed bones for his voodun invocations.
"Dis... Dis be bad sign." His entorauge of hollow shells of men looked at him blankly. He shook his head and fingered his necklace of knucklebones. Several times he had cast the runes this night, and several times he saw something dark. Darker than even his own soul.
The air in the cemetary was stale, but normally there was at least a wind to move it. Tonight however, tonight the stillness of the grave had taken over.
"Bad Mojo... We should go. Totems be damned..." He whispered under his breath. He turned to face his corpses, only to find them gone.
In their place stood seven figures in black wool robes. No symbols, no decorations, nothing but black voids beneath hoods filled with glowing eyes.
The tallest of these figures took a step forward. His robe was tattered and had stains of yellow on it. The Death Shaman heard something drop in front of him.
It was an arm of one of his husks...
"Damn you Heroes... I gonna send you..."
"You will send us nowhere raggety-man."
The voice crawled across the Death Shaman's brain and seemed to seize his throat. He stood in abject terror looking at the things, and finally noticed they didn't STAND right. They moved forward in ways men can not move. The eyes... the eyes were digging into him.
"You have fed us raggety-man. Fed us well for tonight. You shall pass, but I ask you this... Have you seen it?"
The Death Shaman fought the urge to scream and run. Every fibre of his body cried out to bolt away at top speed but he stood.
"I... I don't know what you speak about. What you mean I fed you? What you mean have I seen it?"
The things in the robes laughed. The tallest strode forward, his red eyes boring into the Death Shaman.
"Your puppets feed us. If you wish to pass through here again, being more. If you wish to find a BETTER way. A way that makes you even stronger than you are now, you will find it and see it."
The figures turned as one and began to leave.
"SEE WHAT?"
"Seek the one known as Pickman. The secret is within him though he is yet blind. He will not part easily with it, but seek him out and take what you need to see, and then bring him to US."
The Death Shaman shook with fear. Whomever this Pickman was... he obviously had made the wrong moves to anger this group of seven... things.
"Bring... Bring Pickman to you. Ya... Ya I can do dat. But who ARE you, and what am I supposed to see?"
The figures faded into the mist. A hollow laugh followed by a most inhuman cry split the night.
"I... am Nekros. And you need to see... The Yellow Sign."
The Death Shaman fell forward and screamed as an image burned into his head. A city of death and decay, a city lit by a black sun and black stars, a burning ocean... and something... something with six red eyes staring out of a cloak of yellow...
He grasped at his eyes, wanting to make the vision stop... He screamed in agony as the vision flamed itself into his soul. His cries died out and blackness engulfed him. When he finally realized the visions had ended, he realized he could no longer see. His hands felt wet but somehow... he could FEEL everything. Everything became clear now. So very clear.
"The... The Yellow Sign... PICKMAN."
The blinded raggety-man felt the remnants of his eyes flow like blood stained water through his fingers and seed the ground. He was no longer a Death Shaman, no longer a tool of the Banished Pantheon... He was shown the way. The way to be something FAR more.
And the way was through the one called... Pickman.
The car sped along the streets as the rain poured down. Robert peered through the windshield, it was getting harder and harder to see. For nearly twenty straight minutes he had listened to Richard recount everything that had happened between him and the head of Nekros. He wasn't very comforted.
Leaning forward to try and see Robert pulled over in front of a small and nearly hidden stone church. Turning his collar up he headed out into the rain and motiond for Richard to follow him inside. The unmatched quiet of an empty chapel greeted them inside. Rows and rows hidden in the dark, the altar and crucifix casting odd shadows across the faces of the two men.
Walking onward Robert led Richard into the small office.
"Richard, I think we have work to do." Robert motioned to a phone sitting on the desk, "Can you contact everyone who was there that day you were hurt? I think we should start there."
((OOC: Hope it's alright that I jump back in...if something doesn't fit (like my post, maybe 
) just lemme know.))
"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."
Beep.
"Hey, Ezzy? It's Chris. I know you're there, man. Pick up the phone. Esmond? Pick up! Piiiiiick up! ...Alright, I see how it is. Listen, if you ever get done with your little science projects, come over for once! I'm beginning to forget what you look like, man. The whole 'superman' thing you've gotten into is valiant and all, but everybody needs a break. Or at least time to breath. Anyway, I have work. Call me, man."
Esmond sighs and puts down his glasses. He takes the index finger of his right hand and applies pressure to a small button on the end of the armored glove on his left hand and forearm. Something inside of the high-tech glove releases, and he removes his arm from the gadget, which proceeds to make a quiet whining sound as the lights on the wrist dim and finally go dark.
His long brown hair hangs tangled about his shoulders and a ways down his back, covering his sweat-covered gray t-shirt. A strong lamp lights the table before him, which is littered with various tools and pieces of something or other. He leans back in his chair, and stretches, letting out a groan that can only come from hours of staying in one uncomfortable position. The rain patters against the window incessantly, and for the first time he notices that it was raining at all.
Esmond pauses, looks over to the answering machine, and sighs again. He rolls his computer chair over to his desk a few feet away, and grabs a small piece of fabric. He proceeds to use it to put his hair back into the usual pony tail, and stands up. There is a moment of disorientation as his blood finally begins to flow more freely through his body after such a long period of time of using nothing more than his hands and arms.
He walks across the room, and looks around searchingly. He stops, and wonders what it is he's looking for. He looks back at the table, and gets a nagging feeling, as if there's something important he's forgetting. He quickly remembers that he always feels like that after trying to put distance inbetween himself and his work. Deciding to do something with himself now that he's detatched himself from his chair, he heads to the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.
He takes a few gulps, and then sits down on his small, rugged couch he bought at a garage sale.
I should be doing something with myself. But working on the gloves gets so bloody tedious...and somehow I don't think it would be safe for me or anyone around me to be fighting crime in the state of mind I'm in.
After a few more moments of indecision, Esmond finally gives in to his own laziness, and turns on the television, hoping that something showing will inspire him, or at the very least, hold his interest.
"Contact someone Father? I really... I really didn;t have too much of a chance to get to know anyone before... Well before the incident. Before the darkness leaked out of me. I'm not too sure, WAIT! There was a man, a young man who was able to fight me out and into the daylight. I think... I think his name was Esmond... Esmond Anthony. I remember him visiting once or twice in the hospital."
Richard smiled weakly and reached for the phone. He dialed 411 and waited.
"Um yes hello, I'd like the number for one Esmond Anthony. He's in Paragon I believe. Yes thank you." Richard looked up at Father and grinned.
"Um... there's a seventy five cent service charge to connect directly. Shall we do that?" Richard meanwhile jotted down the number the automated voice rattled off with his free hand. Shrugging before Father could answer he accepted the charges and let the phone ring.
"Be there... PLEASE be there..."
__________________________________________________ ____
Meanwhile at Pickman's Occult Books
The raggety man had come. It was no where NEAR as long or as hard as he suspected, but there was no one home in the darkened shop. The raggety man chuckled sending several pedestrians skittering for cover.
He no longer wore the feathers and trappings of a shaman of the Banished Pantheon. No, he no longer was one of those poor deluded fools. He had been given power. He wore rags, rags to cover his body, rags like that of any hobo. Only the blood stained cloth covering his eyes set him apart, but even then not much from the other transients of the city.
He was the raggety man now. And Richard... Pickman Held the way.
When he was a shaman he would have had his servants smash the glass and tear the place apart. He would have foolishly strode in and probably be beaten by some hero. But now... now he knew better. He could FEEL what he was looking for was not here. He could feel the residue of Pickman and knew, KNEW he would return.
The ghost winds whispered to him and the raggety man grinned with black and broken teeth.
He found the alley behind the shop, and he found a nice nest of garbage. These he took and these he laid down in to wait.
"Hey! Dems MY place it is!" It was another bum... for now it was. The raggety man smiled, he could feel the man's life pulsing red and hot.
"They can be yours again... But I must ask before I move... Have you heard of the raggety man? Have you seen it?"
The bum staggered and tilted his head. "Raggety man? Nope... And seen whut?"
The raggety man launched himself and grabbed the face of the bum. The drunkard yelped and then screamed as the raggety man removed the bandage over his empty sockets.
"Have you seen... The yellow sign?"
Blood dripped from the gouged out holes. Blood dripped into the open and screaming mouth of the bum. And then... then there was quiet.
"The... Yellow... Sign..." the former bum whispered. The late bum.
"Yessssss... I have yet to see it but I know it. It burns in my soul and I must find the way to it. Now you... you shall help me." the raggety man replaced his bandage and smiled. The bum grinned too and staggered close to the raggety man.
They took to the nest together. The raggety man to sleep, and the bum... the bum to change.
"You shall be my first and finest servant... You shall be my Omega."
A cackle and a giggle came from the bum as his body seemed to fall in upon itself and melt. the bones twisted in horrible ways sending resounding cracks and rips into the night.
"You shall be ready tomorrow night... Omega. Sleep now, and we shall both wait for the retrun of the Pickman."
"The return of the way..."
Esmond lies down on the couch, not fully aware of what it is he is watching other than that it is some sort of reality show, and two women seem to be argueing over something or other. He reaches for the remote control when the telephone rings from across the room on the kitchen counter. Esmond sighs, and stares at the phone for a moment. As if to signify that he'd come to his conclusion, he hits the channel button on the remote and ignores the ringing. The answering machine is heard.
"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."
Beep.
I'm in no mood for more annoying friends bugging me. I'll just screen the call.
[ QUOTE ]
"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."
[/ QUOTE ]
Richard paused and sighed shaking his head gently.
"Oh, um... Mr. Anthony. This is Richard Pickman... you uh... well you saved my life and a lot of others the day I "Blacked Out." Right now however I am in the office of one Father Macleod. He's a friend of Balt and I'm trying to help him. I'll be honest with you Mr. Anthony... something is out there and I think we need your help. Please contact us at this number as soon as you can."
Richard rattled off the good Father's number and looked up.
"Is there anything more I should mention?" He asked while cupping a hand over the mouthpeice.
Esmond jumps off of the couch and pulls a 180 degree spin, knocking over a lamp he had no real use for in the process.
Pickman? After everything that's been happening, this must be important!
"Wait...wait...waitwaitwait..."
Esmond murmers aloud, dashing towards the phone. He hits the corner of his chair with his thigh, and grunts as he halts in front of the table and picks up the phone, now breathless.
"Wai...<huff>wait...wait a tic!"
Esmond stops, winces as he feels the bruise forming on his leg, and takes in a few large breaths before continuing.
"Pickman? Richard Pickman? From the book shop, right? I remember you! That bloody demon thing or whatever it was, nearly killed you! Geeze, last time I saw you, you were out colder than an ice cube in some hospital bed. How are ya?"
Esmond pauses and smacks his forehead.
Again with the rattling off...
[ QUOTE ]
"Pickman? Richard Pickman? From the book shop, right? I remember you! That bloody demon thing or whatever it was, nearly killed you! Geeze, last time I saw you, you were out colder than an ice cube in some hospital bed. How are ya?"
[/ QUOTE ]
"Well to be honest with you Mr. Anthony, I've been better." Richard gave a weak smile and held a thumbs up to the good Father.
"I'm glad you were home. I was not too sure who else I could contact. I'm not too sure how to describe all of this over the phone. Is there a place we could meet? Suffice to say I think things have progressed past the "Bloody Demon Thing" as you out it."
Richard coughed and paused, weighing his words carefully.
"As I recall you came into the shop late so you may not have been privy to all of the details. I... I guess I assumed that Balt and whomever else was there might have told you. It's a long story Mr. Anthony, but simply put, there is something out there. It's worse than the things that stalk the night already and I don't fear so much for me as I do for others. You see it will come back for me, to try and change me... I can already feel that, but I know... In my heart I know that it wants others as well. We need your help Mr. Anthony."
Sighing deeply Richard shook his head. "This... This is too much for the phone. Where can I meet you?"
"Buisness, Father?" Richard asked totally perplexed. he watched as the elderly gentleman made himself comfortable.
"Well uh...Tea? Yes, Tea. Let me put a pot on and then we can talk." Richard walked to the back of the shop and filled his kettle with water from the small kitchenette sink in the back. He set the water to biol and went out to rejoin his guest.
He watched the man with some interest. A preist that did not want to burn his place down for being of the "Devil." At least the man had that going for him.
"You mentioned my selection. Well I seem to cater more towards the serious student of the occult. Granted this really limits my buisness but I feel I offer something different. Most folks come in and leave soon enough. But I have enough steady customers to keep me busy."
Richard sat down and looked at the man. He had a kind enough face but for all the world Richard could not think of why a preist would want to talk to him... until a single name entered his head. Elohim...
What better representative for a group named after a lost choir of angels than a man of the cloth?
"Are... Are you here as a representative of Balt?"