The Watchtower Affair: Finishing Research

Part 10
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't


Bridgette's Diary
13 February, 1925 (cont...)

            We called it a night at around 2 am. My computations and thoughts had been carefully copied from the blackboard into my journal. I thought I had the necessary formula to create a willpower elixir. But first, we all needed sleep. Even the wonder of Coke Cola wore off eventually and there was only so much you could do when that exhausted. It had been a VERY long day.

            Someone – Belle?- had arranged for hotel rooms for the three of us. I remember spending the ride back into the heart of the city absently rubbing my hand and thinking of the man who had somehow marked me. I still wondered what it was he wanted and I was a bit disconcerted over the feelings he had awakened in me. Given the circumstances of our encounter, could I even trust my reaction to him? Weren’t vampires supposed to be able to use some mesmeric ability to seduce their victims? If memory served correctly, that was what happened in Dracula. And Labana had certainly looked more than capable of seducing pretty much anyone she wanted. And, given Pathos’s reaction to the news of her death, had they been lovers? They must have been close in some capacity for that strong of a reaction. Such were the questions swimming around and around in my mind as I struggled to stay awake until the hotel.

Really it didn’t take that long to drive, which was nice. One of the last things I remember was Belle bundling me into bed. I think I managed to get my shoes off before my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed in slumber.

            Dear diary, you can probably guess what I dreamt about. Only the dream didn’t relive the day’s events, even in the warped manner dreams can take. Instead, I found myself taking a walk to my favorite part of the Cambridge countryside with him, out near the pool at Byrn Forth Manor. We talked of inconsequential things. At some point his arm was around me and later on, after walking back arm-in-arm to sit on my back patio, he kissed me ever so gently. Awakening at 6 am, I found myself feeling bereft at the loss of his presence. Once more, my left hand found my right to reassuringly rub at the two small punctures there. And then I was fully awake and focused on the task at hand. Today I needed to try compounding my elixir and I was actually looking forward to the hours in the lab that the task would demand. Perhaps the necessary focus would help clear my mind of the silly fantasies which seemed to have invaded me.

            I found my way there without the other two women this time. Letting them sleep in seemed the best thing to do and it would better let me order my thoughts as to what needed done first, second and so on. I knew they’d find me at the lab later and at least they would be better rested. And it felt wonderful making my way to the campus and letting myself into a lab once more. Really, part of me had missed this greatly. I do some lab work with my archaeological research, but it really isn’t the same. I love being in the field, but part of me also misses the more scientific calling that I once answered. And yesterday, seeing to Mr. Long’s shooting injury, I discovered that a part of me missed the practice of medicine as well. Perhaps I’ve distanced myself from my former life for long enough and the wound of the war have healed a bit. It’s something to ponder when I have the time.

            I’m taking time to write in here in fits and starts as various parts of the elixir brew and process. It’s a nice way to pass the time. Perhaps one day, someone will look back on my notes with amazement, and probably disbelief, at our adventures.

Belle arrived at the lab about two hours after I did, and she brought breakfast with her. I’d forgotten to even think about eating in my haste to get back to work. I’ve no idea where she found the biscuits, bacon, and eggs that seem to be such a major part of the traditional American breakfast, but I was grateful for them, as well as the coffee and toast.

  

            While I worked, we had a chance to talk more. Finally I know what drives her so, as well as why she hates the metallic vampires with such passion. Apparently there is a mechanic, who is also a close friend – almost an adopted big brother from the sounds of it. And he is missing after having been infected with – something - having to do with the metallic vampires. They aren’t entirely sure what had happened. Charlie, that’s his name, was handcuffed to the lavatory sink in a small local hospital in one of the more southern states. They knew he’d been infected and were trying to figure out what to do about it to keep the transformation from progressing. It must have hit a crucial stage, at which point he simply broke free and took off. Belle hasn’t seen him since, although she is very determined to locate him and transform him back into a normal human, one way or another. She’s been traveling around with Mr. Smith and Mr. Wilde in an attempt to track down Charlie, as well as stop the other metallic vampires roaming around out there. She’s also been searching for a cure, some means to transform her friend back into the man he once was. Several things in her story were deeply touching, including her deep loyalty to her friend, as well as just how determined this “Southern Belle” could be over something she felt deeply about. I vowed to help her in any way I could, aside from trying to hand over Pathos on a platter. Needless to say, I did not mention the full details of my encounter with him, although I did share most of the encounter with both of them. For some reason, I’m finding myself feeling a little protective of the vampire who can certainly more than take care of himself.

 

            As the day progressed, we three became even closer friends as we chatted and talked about our lives. I was correct in assuming Belle came from money. Apparently she comes from quite a bit of money, although she doesn’t flaunt it around. Keira shared me details of her life in the Irish village, telling us of some of the funnier stories involving her patients. Things really aren’t that different from some of my stories and I suspect Belle has a few that would seem similar as well. People are people wherever they are, making the same mistakes, assumptions, and decisions.

            Early in the afternoon Belle left to go find some lunch. Keira decided to go with her as well and get some fresh air. While I enjoyed their company immensely but I really felt the need for some time alone as well. I wanted to double check a couple of calculations before proceeding and I also needed time to check on a titration that was processing.  Even with the distraction the other two ladies provided, I still felt the most peculiar sensation every hour like I had the day before. And they seemed to grow slightly in intensity as the passage of a full day approached. Still nothing fully prepared me for what happened as I hit that point in the afternoon marking 24 hours since Pathos had bitten the back of my hand. My entire body throbbed as if with a life of its own. The entire series of sensations started at the site of the bite on the back of my right hand. I completely stopped what I was doing as my mind went to the day before and the feelings that had raced through my body at his kiss. My entire body was alive, much as it had been the day before, as though an electric shock has raced through me. Every cell of my being felt alive and full of wonder. When I came back to myself, I was staring absently out the window, caressing the bite and feeling a little, well, hot and bothered would probably be the best way to describe it. I kept trying to refocus on what I was doing, but only really managed to snap out of it when Keira and Belle returned with our lunch. They had brought several more bottles of that delightful soda, which I knew would help wake my brain back up and hopefully get me back in focus instead of partly lost on thoughts of someone I couldn’t have. Someone who was obviously messing with my mind for some purpose I couldn’t yet grasp.

            I ate lunch while working, as this next bit of the process required far more attention for a longer period of time. We also ate dinner in the lab, although I tried to encourage the other two to get eat a proper dinner somewhere. There was no need for them to do without just because I was working. There were having none of it, however, and insisted on staying with me, just in case there was anything they could do.

            Belle managed to procure a snack for us sometime around 11 pm. I would think that most places would be closed for business at that time, but she seems to know her way around the city. I was most grateful, as my ability to focus was fading quickly at that point.

I think I shall have to continue this tomorrow, as the elixir is going to take most of my attention from here on out. Hopefully the outcome of our planning will be successful and I will be able to tell you all about it soon.

The Watchtower Affair: Peril Aboard the Plane

Part 2
The Watchtower Affair: Now You See It, Now You Don't

Bridgette's Diary
13 February, 1925

            We are in Chicago. I am writing this from some lab at a university while some of my experiments are processing. This time I am trying to create a potent explosive. Here is hoping I don’t blow the place up around us. (I also thin, Diary, that I need my own lab. Something portable so Walter Smith doesn’t always need to arrange space for me in strange places.)

To catch up the narrative, everything was fairly calm until we were close to Chicago. Not too far from the city, Billy Wilde takes it into his head to attack Mr. Smith with what appeared to be a sword composed of concentrated light. Considering the two of them appear to have a good working relationship, this came as a bit of a surprise. Mr. Wilde appeared to be under the control of some outside force. His expression had gone slack and while there was a determined glint in his eyes, it did not appear to be the man before us who was in control. Springing into action, Mr. Long managed to land a blow upon Mr. Wilde that shook him out of whatever trance he was in, although not before his sword cut a gash in the roof of the place. (I’m not sure how the sword functioned, but it did not seem at all frightening until I saw the gash appear. The blade of light cut through the metal skin of the plane’s roof like it was warm butter.)

            Mr. Smith was next for whatever mind control games were happening. The same blank look came over his face as all expression went slack. Pulling his big gun out, he headed for the cockpit, where Belle sat flying the plane. Since the door between the pilot’s area and our area was closed, she had no idea of the danger now heading her direction.

            Once again, Mr. Long was on the mark and managed to land a compelling kick to Mr. Smith’s solar plexus. This enabled him to shake off whatever seemed to be controlling his actions. Whatever was manipulating us then jumped to take control of Mr. Long, perhaps because he had managed to defeat it twice already. He struggled with the door of the cockpit. Grabbing a rather large wrench from nearby, I actually managed to land a glancing blow to the side of his head – just as he managed to pull the door open. Fortunately, the blow was enough for Mr. Long to shake himself out of his trance. Unfortunately, the next target was Belle herself. We discovered the new danger almost immediately as the plane entered into a very steep dive.

            I managed to make it back to my seat and held on for dear life. Kiera was already clutching hers for dear life. Mr. Long, being a bit more foolhardy than I, jumped into the co-pilot’s seat and struggled to get control of the plane. It was either Mr. Smith or Mr. Long who managed to hit Belle hard enough for her to regain control of her thoughts and actions.  By this point the plane was frighteningly close to the ground, but Belle managed to pull us out of an almost certain impact, regaining control once more and heading us into the final bit to Chicago.

            We were all jumpy and on alert for any further attempts to control the minds of our fellow travelers. Fortunately, nothing more untoward happened during the final few minutes, other than Mr. Smith muttering something about tin foil hats. Apparently he believes they can protect one from having their thoughts influenced by outside sources. Belle did decide to show off a bit as we crossed the city proper enroute to the landing field. Apparently she couldn’t resist “barnstorming” downtown. Fortunately, my stomach was able to resist the affects such maneuvers had upon it. And I’m most certain that I am not the only one truly grateful to be upon Terra Firma once again. I believe Keira joined me in kissing the ground. Even the gentlemen seem relieved to be taking deep breaths of fresh air once again.

            After getting our bearings, and stomachs, under control once more, we all pile into a rather large auto and set off for Mr. Rasicci’s office, not too far from the heart of Chicago. I am grateful that it was an uneventful ride. I’m not sure I could have handled more excitement, such as what we had on the plane.

What is going on in Chicago? Find out more next week in the next thrilling installment of The Watchtower Affair....

The Watchtower Affair - It Begins Again

Part 1

The Watchtower Affair: Now You See It, Now You Don’t

Bridgette's Diary

Tuesday, 11 February, 1925

 

 

            Dear Diary, as I was sitting down to tea this afternoon what should I spy landing in the field across from my cottage in Cambridge but a cargo plane.

What the devil is a cargo plane doing in a field in Cambridge? That question was answered in a few moments as the door opened and out jumps a man I’ve never met, followed closely behind by Belle Devereaux. Of course, my next question is to wonder why they here in Great Britain instead of over in the United States. The obvious answer is that they’ve come to see me, but I honestly had no idea why. Just then my telephone rings with a call from the States. Curiouser and curiouser. I easily place the voice on the other end as that belonging to Mr. Walter Smith, asking me if Belle had arrived yet. Answering that yes, she had indeed just arrived, I put the phone down to answer the door. Upon my return to the phone, Mr. Smith asks me to please come with her back to America. They have another incident that they are investigating and the thought is that Miss. O’Reilly and I will be of some assistance. He had already spoken with my superiors at University, covering for my absence. After confirming that there shouldn’t be any living sewer tunnels involved and hopefully no metallic vampires, I get off the phone and give Miss. Devereaux a more proper greeting. Introductions are then made between myself and the mysterious gentleman with her – a Mr. Billy Wild. Actually, he seems to be a bit of a proper cowboy, although Belle assures me that he does indeed work for Walter. She then smiles a little sheepishly and says that perhaps Mr. Smith thought her plane a bit slower than it really is in reality.

            Making us some tea, I gather what little information she could tell me about the current problem. Apparently some folks are just going missing in Chicago. And apparently it is indeed the Chicago that I’m thinking of. You know, the one with the mobsters running around all over the place. There were some other details involving a missing building as well as the missing people. It was there and then it was simply gone and Mr. Smith seems to think that the two occurrences are connected. Very curious. I excuse myself to go pack, making sure to tuck an extra flask into the medical bag, just in case of emergencies. While I find myself liking these fellow investigators, the shocks to the psyche seem to come hard and fast when around them. Goodness knows what we’ll wander into this time.

            After I was ready, we took off in Miss. Devereaux’s, er, I mean, Belle’s plane for Ireland and Keira. Belle estimated that we would return to the Washington, D.C. area by that evening if we could keep on schedule. Fortunately, Mr. Smith was attempting to reach Keira right after his call to me, so she hopefully had plenty of warning.

 

            We are currently enroute to Washington, D. C.; I’m going to stop writing now, although goodness knows when I’ll have another chance to record our experiences. And, thankfully, Belle seems a more than competent pilot.

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Into the Tunnels

Part 4
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

There we all stood, looking down into the depths of the open pit. Horrid fumes wafted up into our faces as we aimed our torches about trying to get an idea of what was down there. Miss. O’Reilly was the first to notice a glint of metal in the shine of one of the lights, inquiring, and “What was that?” And of course we all flashed our lights around even more trying to find the reason for her question.

Off to one side of the tunnel sat an open can – the kind you can purchase paint in – of about a gallon in capacity. We couldn’t quite make out what was in the can from our position in the laundry room, so Mr. Long gracefully let himself down into the tunnel and handed it back up. Mr. Rasicci accepted it, setting it safely off to one side, positioned so that it was almost completely out of sight. The contents looked to be viscous in nature and smelled faintly of something petrol-related. I must admit an eagerness to get it to a lab somewhere and try to puzzle it out.

As Mr. Long had so easily demonstrated, it looked as though we would all have to enter the tunnel to continue our investigation. One by one we passed through that dark opening into the foul smelling space beyond, carefully avoiding the questionable liquid running in a narrow stream down the middle. Being the shortest present, I needed help from one of the gentlemen below to get my feet safely on solid ground once more. Getting back out of the tunnel would prove to be interesting and I hoped we wouldn’t be in a great hurry when it happened.

             Miss. O’Reilly was without a torch, so I passed her mine to use and instead activitated my other, aetheric sight with which to see our surroundings. They proved to be other than expected for being in a sewer tunnel. I fully expected to see smooth clay walls or even perhaps rough bricks, and these walls were smooth, but they also appeared as though they would be rough to the touch. Not that I wanted to touch them, mind you. I got the distinct impression that they might even quiver or give under the pressure of my hand. While I really didn’t want to really think about what those walls might have been made of, that curious little voice in my mind started pondering just that. Of course. Not what I really wanted to be thinking of while in the belly of the beast, so to speak. (Actually, given the growing smell of stomach acid, that observation might not be all that far off the mark.)

Things only continued growing more and more bizarre as we continued down the tunnel. I would have thought it was the growing affects of the acid fumes were it not for how vivid and bizarre my observations. Every-so-often, embedded in the material of the wall, one would see a random body part. At first, about 6 feet in, I noticed what appeared to be a small hand protruding in relief from the side of the left wall. It appeared too small to be that of an adult and yet it wasn’t small enough to be that of a youth or child. I realize that statement makes little to no sense, but there was just something wrong about it.

The next odd protuberance appeared to be that of a shoulder, sticking slightly out from the background material. However, one side of it was grotesquely large while the other was of a more normal size and shape.

I’m sure these observations will be haunting my dreams for weeks to come, especially since I reached the conclusion that the walls were indeed living tissue. This was at about the fifteen foot mark and it nearly sent me scrambling back for the opening in the laundry room. I saw many things in France to shake my sanity, but this experience had surpassed them in a matter of minutes. I was nearly done in again a few moments later after noticing a bat trapped against the roof of the tunnel. Its wings were held splayed open by some sort of webbing which looked to be much thicker than what a spider spins.

Added to the strange organic parts embedded within the tissue of the walls was the increasing need to press closer towards touching those walls as the channel of liquid in the center of the tunnel continued to become deeper and wider. Not a one of us was eager to discover just how strong that acid might prove to be and yet we were all loathe to actually touch the walls. How did we know that we wouldn’t be stuck fast and at risk of being absorbed into whatever that repulsive tissue comprised?

 

It wasn’t very far past where the bat was so horribly trapped that we caught sight of Labana. We simply rounded a bend in the tunnel and there she was in all her awful glory. Even with Mr. Smith’s warning of her true nature, there was no way the majority of us were prepared for what we now saw there ahead of us. She had shed the flesh worn earlier in the day and now stood before us a being made entirely of a silver-colored metal. Those who came on our excursion armed now pulled their weapons and began firing upon the monster. Mr. Long proceeded to engage her in hand-to-hand combat, a sort of martial arts of sorts. I suspect there is more to his heritage than the evident Native American blood.

 

He proved to be an impressive master of his particular art. Glancing back, I watched more than once as he launched himself from against those grotesque walls to land a kick or some other leap driven blow upon the vampire - a description that I was now more than prepared to accept.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Rasicci rained shot upon shot in her direction, thankfully missing Mr. Hand time and again. As for the rest of us, we made our way as quickly as possible back towards the opening. Fortunately the men weren’t far behind us and quickly helped boost us up and clear of the tunnel. Mr. Long seemed extremely loathe to give off the fight, but something in Mr. Smith’s tone of voice persuaded him otherwise and he quickly joined us as well.

 

Back safely in the laundry room, we took a quick moment to regroup and gather both our breath and our wits before deciding on our next course of action. Mr. Smith had a few choice words with which to describe the woman in the tunnels. I suspect he forgets that there are women present, although at the moment I really didn’t mind. My mind was focused on returning to my room where I could have a good stiff drink to help calm my nerves.