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: Bridgette's Back In The Lab

Part 9
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't


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

            Belle declared that we ladies needed to go have a decent lunch and that she knew just the café. Linking arms with Keira and myself, she headed out the door and down to hail a taxi. As we left the building, I realized that she was indeed on the mark. I was suddenly starving and tired. All of that adrenalin and stress earlier was finally catching up with me. Hopefully a good meal would perk me back up in order to focus on my research. Keira stated that she too could make do with some luncheon.

            We took the taxi to a corner café closer to the heart of the city, Maison Rouge. It was a bit classier than what I’m used to, but the staff inside were very nice and welcoming. Somehow I think part of thatwass because we were with Belle. Something about her seems to demand good service. Maybe it’s the fact that she is wealthy just seems to exude from her very person. She’s a wonderfully nice person, but it’s also obvious that she comes from money and is used to a certain standard where regular everyday interactions are concerned.  At the same time, I could totally see her working on her plane if needed. It’s just one of those things and an interesting part of her personality.

            I see that I’ve started to seriously digressed yet again. To return to the original topic of Maison Rouge, the food was absolutely delicious, although truth be told, I was also quite famished by that point. Upon Belle’s suggestion, I tried their beef tips with noodles and gravy and finished it off with a piece of lemon cream pie that was just heavenly. I hope we can eat here again sometime before I leave to return home. Keira shared that her meal was just as tasty. I wondered what the gentlemen found to eat, since we left them to their own devices.

            After the meal it was off to Northwestern. Belle needed to stop by her friend’s office to find out where we were going, which took a good few minutes. Apparently they hadn’t seen each other in several weeks. He was a very nice older gentleman, a professor in the archaeology department. Even though our fields don’t necessarily cross over, I did recognize his name, since Dr. Mortimer Jones is nearly as notorious as he is well regarded in his field. Once I got over my surprise at Belle’s education in archaeology, it really wasn’t a surprise that she knew Dr. Jones. And really, he’s quite charming in person, with a certain intensity about him when it comes to his work. He was also a little shy, which one wouldn’t deduce from his reputed exploits.

            After we finally reached the lab I immediate set to work. First I need to find the chemistry library and look up a few references and interactions. While the analysis a few months ago, of the fluid in the living tunnels, had brought back much of my experimental technique, I was still a bit rusty at coming with formulae from whole cloth. Fortunately it all came back to me rather quickly. I was a bit worried that it might not.

            After the chemistry library, I set up shop in the lab, thankful for the blackboards since it let me write out formula in one spot without having to switch back and forth between pages of my journal. It was also easier to make adjustments as I went. Once I hit the first couple of chemical interactions, the whole thing started to take shape rather quickly, although I did need to make one more trip to the library.

            There was also the oddest distraction as I tried to work. Every hour, at exactly the same time as my encounter with Pathos in the stair well, I would feel the strangest sensation in my hand – the same hand he had bitten. Inevitably, it would leave my entire body tingling in response. Often I would begin to absentminded rub the back of that hand while I worked and every so often I would need to drag my thoughts away from the handsome vampire and focus back on the work at hand. It was quite maddening, but also more than a little pleasurable and left me feeling a wee bit out of sorts and disoriented. And there wasn’t a person present that I felt I could confide in. Keira found the existence of vampires most unnatural and rather distasteful. I suspect she felt that the dead should stay dead and really I agreed with her, at least in theory. In practice, it was now becoming a little harder to maintain that stance. After all, she hadn’t met the vampire in question. And I could tell that there was no love lost over the vampires by Belle. I had yet to find out why, but there was an extreme anger directed from her to Pathos, and to Labana before. A part of me was quite curious, since it was obvious she had already known Mr. Smith and Mr. Wilde before we joined the merry adventuring gang. As for the men, well, even if any of them had been present, it wasn’t quite the sort of thing I would feel comfortable in sharing with the opposite sex. 

            And so I continued to work, getting caught up in the dance of potential chemical reactions and their hoped for outcome and every so often I found myself bothered and distracted by thoughts of Pathos. As for Belle and Keira, they both appointed themselves my caretakers and brought me a steady stream of food and drink during the hours I labored. I was grateful for their care, knowing how distracted I can get while doing research. Often I’ve suddenly found myself famished and dying of thirst because I didn’t realize that I’d been at it for hours upon hours. And they helped me discover the most amazing soft drink, Coke Cola. It certainly helps add some pep to your work!

The Watchtower Affair: The Building Get's Its Wish...For Now

Part 8
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't

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

            Taking a deep breath to shake off the remaining affects of my “other sight” I crawled over to take a look at Mr. Long’s ankle. It didn’t appear to be injured too badly. The bullet had lost power after bouncing off of Pathos, plus the angle with which it struck him was slight enough to not cause serious damage. It was really more of a grazing wound. While bandaging it, I made sure to comment on how lucky he was that it wasn’t worse. He’d have a slight limp for a little while, but would be fine in just a few days.

            After I finished tying off the bandage, I picked myself up off the floor and tried the door once more. Blessedly, it was unlocked. Yanking it open, I strode through and headed for the front door. No, I didn’t look back to see if they followed, or if they headed to the elevators, or if they even stood around in the lobby. I wanted out of that building – now.

            Later, I learned that the rest of the gang had their own troubles on the elevator, getting into a fight in even more crowded confines than our stair landing. According to Keira, Mr. Rasicci tried to convince the “mob boys” with them that the person on the top floor was really an imposter whom they needed to kill. It seemed like a good idea and it might even have worked were it not for the mind control of whatever was up there. All of the gang, except for Mr. Wilde, dove for the floor to take cover. Mr. Wilde drew that amazing energy sword of his and cut all of the mob boys down where they stood. It sounds like the world’s shortest, least bloody fight. And for whatever reason, their elevator then returned to the first floor, where they all exited in a bit of confusion.

            Mr. Long had followed me through the lobby and out the door. Mr.Smith had started to follow before noticing the elevator returning to the lobby level. He decided to wait and see who would get off. It turned out to be the rest of our group. Together all of them headed for the door.

            I had stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, sinking down to sit on the rough cement and inhale several very deep breaths. To Mr. Long’s honor, he did stop near me and try to reassure me that everything would be fine. I’m not sure he fully realized why I was so upset, which is just as well, given his animosity towards Pathos. My apparently protectiveness, as well as my attraction to him, left me very puzzled and off kilter, although the vast majority of my discomfort did stem from the building itself. It was as though it was trying to protect itself from something, as though it feared we might find out its secrets, which it dearly wanted kept secret. And it was very, very good at protecting itself.

            It was a relief to see everyone else coming out of the building only a moment or two behind us. I continued to sit where I was, taking deep breathes and trying to calm my rampaging nerves. And then, well, the next thing I knew, I was down the sidewalk, past where our cars were parked. My cheek stung slightly from the slap that Mr. Smith had just delivered. Apparently the building was trying to get us to leave as quickly as possible, as everyone else, with the exception of Mr. Smith, had suddenly just started silently walking away from the building. We all had that vacant look to our faces. I’d barely time to give him a startled look before he continued on to Mr. Rasicci and slapped him as well. He was calculating just how hard he needed to hit everyone to snap them out of it.

            Shortly we were all piling back into the cars and returning to Mr. Rasicci’s office to regroup and figure out what to do next. For the moment, the building was getting its wish to see us gone. Unfortunately for it, most of us would be back. Whatever was inside causing all of this was going to be taken out. Somehow. Personally, I was for tearing the whole thing down and scattering the rubble to the proverbial far corners. And no, I didn’t wait until our return to Mr. Rasicci’s before knocking back a drink from my flask. Actually, I believe it took two swigs before I felt calmer. If I recall correctly, the flask was passed around to everyone in our car. Even Keira imbibed.

            Once situated in Mr. Rasicci’s office again, we ran through what we knew and discussed our options for how to tackle the new beastie. To start the discussion off,  Mr. Smith shared what he had recalled back in lobby. A few years ago, there had been a similar situation with some powerful supernatural creature atop Big Ben. The only real differences between the two cases were how strong this creature’s mind control abilities were proving to be and the fact that the building was invisible. Big Ben had remained in sight the entire time.

The biggest concern seemed to be the mind control. Whatever this “Watchtower” creature was, it was very powerful. So far it had had a field day taking control of us one by one. And at the end of our eventful visit, it had even taken control of all of us, but one, in an attempt to get us to leave. Mr. Smith was talking about the use of a tin foil hat to help protect one from being mind controlled, which sounded absolutely ridiculous to me, although I know it to be quite common in some esoteric circles. However, there was little evidence to support the theory so far, even in the parapsychological community.  Personally, I thought it just made the wearer look silly.

            Finally I had an inkling of an idea and spoke up. There was a possibility that I could make an elixir to protect one from the mind control. Perhaps boost up a person’s willpower enough that they could shrug off any attempt on the part of another to gain control over them. It was worth a shot if they could just get me into a lab somewhere.

            Belle spoke up that she knew someone at Northwestern, here in Chicago, and could maybe arrange it. After borrowing Mr. Rasicci’s telephone, we were good to go. As for removing the monster from the equation, we were all for blowing it up. Even though none of us had gotten a look at it, we were all fairly certain that it was of a good size, given its psychic powers. It was obviously pulling the strings on several people all at the same time, which was both frightening and impressive. This left us feeling that it was simply too large to make sure we could take it out with the usual handgun and also unlikely that a larger gun would do the trick. There was also the fact that we couldn’t see the danged thing either. That left explosives and we hoped we could limit the damage to just the upper part of the building, sparing any of the surroundings much damage. It was decided that while I was in the lab, working on the elixir, the men would be working to come up with a plan on how to proceed with the explosives. They would also figure out how to procure said explosives in a suitable quantity to do the job.

The Watchtower Affair: Enemies Are Made

Part 6
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't
 

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

Meanwhile, back in the lobby, most of the group headed to the elevator following the mobsters who had just arrived. Mr. Smith and Mr. Long remained behind, having decided to take the stairs up to see “The Man”.

I met with Mr. Smith and Mr. Long just as I put my hand on the door to open it. They looked just as surprised to see me standing there as I was to see them. I’m sure I appeared a bit disheveled, just to make it even more interesting.
            “Oh,” I said. “What are the two of you doing?”

Mr. Smith brushed past and started for the first step. “We’re heading up to the top floor to confront whatever the fuck is there. The others are taking the elevator with those mob boys who showed up.” (As an aside, Mr. Smith certainly has some colorful vocabulary and doesn’t seem to pay any mind as to who’s within listening distance of him.)

“I wouldn’t take the stairs if I were you. I’m not sure you would be able to make it to the top.” That had his attention.

“What happened?” He turned those penetrating eyes on me and I glimpsed the intelligence behind the tough guy image. For some reason, this was a comfort. I no longer found him as frightening before, maybe because he reminded me a bit of my late father. He was intense, yes, and definitely focused, but not terrifying Of course, I had just been in the company of a metal vampire, which perhaps but things in a different perspective. This was a bit of a relief, letting me relax around him.

I filled them in on my misadventures since entering the stairwell, including my two encounters with Pathos and how he had saved me on the upper floor. I gave them most of the pertinent details, except for the bite on the back of my hand. I had no idea what it meant, but I was keeping that little occurrence to myself for now.

Mr. Smith’s face darkened at the mention of the vampire’s name and he started to ask me more questions about what had happened, especially questions concerning Pathos, when I once more heard that whirring sound and the man in question descended through the opening between the flights of stairs. He perched upside down to one side of where we stood and looked at the two men with me. Mr. Smith and Pathos begin conversing tersely. Mr. Smith was quite aggressive in talking to Pathos, almost like he was so angry at him that he couldn’t help but try to goad him into some sort of action. They aren’t very far into their conversation before Pathos learned of Labana’s death in Boston.

            Up until now, the exchange between the two had been angry and tense, but only verbal. As Pathos reeled slightly from the news of the female vampire’s death, Mr. Long stepped up and threw in his face the fact that he had killed her. It was as if Mr. Long had physically punched Pathos, such was his reaction. He reached out and slapped Mr. Long across the face, leaving a bright red hand-shaped print upon Mr. Long’s left cheek. Mr. Long retaliated by punching Pathos in the head as well, landing a blow strong enough to knock his head back slightly. Things became insane for the next few minutes. I have no idea what Mr. Long was thinking by provoking a fight with the vampire in such close quarters. Not only had he done nothing to really start the aggression in the first place, but the last vampire that Mr. Long had taken out exploded. We had nowhere to go if that were to happen here.

            Trying the door, I found it locked. Sighing deeply, I sank down in the corner and tried to stay out of the way. And for some silly reason, I decided to activate my “other sight” for a different perspective on what was happening. I’d hoped to learn something new about the energies interacting in the stairs and perhaps I could detect something interesting about the door and why it seemed locked. I mean, it had only been used mere minutes ago. Of course, it was no doubt whatever lived on the top floor that was behind it all, but I felt the desperate need to try something.

By the way, did I say silly? Actually it was more along the lines of stupid. When I looked at Mr. Hand and Pathos going at it hand to hand, what I saw was two cranes standing in the middle of a field fighting with their long legs. The whole image was overlaid onto stairwell.  When I looked anywhere in the stair well, that’s all I saw, this placid field with a breeze gently blowing the tops of the prairie grasses about. Mr. Long and Pathos were both funny looking, long legged cranes and Mr. Smith resembled an odd fox and behind it all the faint, fuzzy image of the actual reality.

            Just as I closed my eyes to block out the disorientation of the two images superimposed over one another, Mr. Smith pulled his big gun from wherever he keeps it. A shoulder holster perhaps? Clamping my eyelids tightly shut, I prayed that in the chaos someone would miss my small corner, because there was very little else I could do to protect myself. Getting around any of them probably would have precipitated my getting hurt.

            Since I couldn’t see anything, the sound of Mr. Smith’s gun going off made my entire body jump. I heard a grunt from Mr. Long and opened my eyes. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit my relief upon seeing Pathos unscathed. He had done very little to precipitate this fight. Mr. Long however… And it was indeed Mr. Long who was wounded. Somehow the bullet had ricocheted off Pathos and struck Mr. Long in the ankle.

            With a look of anger blazing in his eyes, Pathos took off once more up the stair well. It was quite obvious that things were far from over between Mr. Long and the vampire.

The Watchtower Affair: Vampire to the Rescue?

Part 6
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't

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

Before the implications could really set in, I stood up, gathered my medical bag, and, squaring my shoulders, I started back down the stairwell. Even if Keira tried to convince me otherwise, I was still leaving the building and the others could deal with it as they saw fit. The Tunnel Monster in Boston had seemed truly impossible, as well as irrational. It had shaken my reality, but it hadn’t totally changed or challenged it. And there was another vampiric monster tossed into the mix. I had more than had enough of it all.

            After several minutes spent descending stairs, passing far more landings than were necessary, I finally arrived at a door. It was marked with a small plaque that read “32^nd Floor”. I nearly yielded to a scream of frustration. Honestly, Diary, I had started to actively hate this building, as though it were a living thing. In my defense, it was acting like it was alive – and spiteful as all get out. Standing there staring at that door, I fought back tears and prepared to open it and meet my fate, whatever it might be. Obviously it was what the damn building wanted!  And then there was a familiar whirring, clicking noise behind me. Pounding my fist uselessly alongside the doorframe in frustration, I struggled harder to control my mounting panic. I would not cry, even if I was holding onto what control remained using only my fingernails.

Turning around, I came face to face with Pathos once more. He had a slightly puzzled look on his face, or maybe it was one of frustration. After staring at me for a short moment, he said, “I thought you were going back down the stairs.”

Shrugging helplessly, I retorted, “I thought I was, and yet here I am.” I waved a hand in the direction of the door plate. “Up instead of down. I don’t understand this place at all!”

He gave a nod, as if in answer to a question only he knew. “I’ve been watching you crawl backwards up the stairs ever since our meeting.”

My lower lip quivered again as those frustrated tears fought hard for release. “I’ve been doing what? It’s really is this building, isn’t it?”

“You could say that. Actually, it’s what’s behind that door,” he answered gently. “Would you like my help?”

 “Just a moment, please. How come it doesn’t seem to affect you?’ I asked, instead of answering his question. “It’s having a grand ol’ time with me.”

“We have an arrangement.” He actually flashed a rueful smile, giving one the tiniest glimpse of the metal within. “Now, about that help?”

Honestly, Diary, what could I do? I couldn’t very well just stand on the landing forever, nor did I really want to walk through that door. So, I nodded to him. “Yes please. I would like that very much.” Yes, I was both worried and hopefully that he wouldn’t kill me. It seemed like he truly did want to help, which puzzled me a great deal. True, I’ve never really met a vampire until now – Labana didn’t really count since we never really talked to her and had only fought her – but there was still the fact, according to Mr. Smith, that they could steal the skins of their victims, wearing them to pass as human. However, Pathos and I were standing close enough right now that I would have hoped to see some sign that his flesh wasn’t really his own. And I didn’t. Also, he was being so danged polite and, well, helpful.  

Next thing I knew, I was squealing in surprise as he picked me up and casually tossed me onto his shoulder. It was only out of reflex that I managed to hang onto my lab kit. If I had left it behind, that would have been it. I would not have gone back for it, I can assure you.

After settling me on his shoulder, he lightly hopped up onto his knees on the stair railing. I’m afraid I squealed again in surprise, although perhaps by this point I should be getting used to them. And then he sprouted wings from his back! Spreading them to help steady himself, he proceeded to slid down the railing towards the lower floors, deftly managing the corners without so much as a wobble. I quickly closed my eyes to keep from getting sick, and to stop squealing in his ears. No need to tempt fate by annoying him needlessly.

Fortunately, we made it to the first floor safely, where he carefully deposited me once more on the ground. I think I was more grateful then than our landing in Chicago earlier that same day. (Amazingly, it was still the same day!) “Thank you so much for your help.”

He nodded at me once more. “You’re welcome.” And with that he spread his wings and took off back up the stairwell towards the upper floors. Most of me was relieved to see him go. Although there was that small corner of my being which found him wonderfully exciting.  Except for that biting thing – I awkwardly rubbed the back of my left hand with my right, trying not to drop my bag – he had been nothing but kind and helpful. Heck, he’d even seemed concerned when he found me on the 32^nd floor. So what the bite? Perhaps he’d simply lost control for a brief moment and hadn’t been able to help himself. I might never know.

Saturday Matinees - The Link Collection for Bridgette's Story Posts



I started to list all of the story links in the left-hand column of the blog, but quickly realized somewhere into the second adventure that it was quickly going to become rather unwieldy. So everything's been moved to here. I'll update the page as the links go live.

 

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

Part 1. The Adventures Begin
Part 2. The First Crossing
Part 3. Up and Running
Part 4. Into the Tunnels
Part 5. Preparing to Return
Part 6. Back Into the Sewers
Part 7. It Ends Now
Part 8. After Effects and Wrap-Up

The Watchtower Affair, Or Now You See It, Now You Don't

Part 1. It Begins Again
Part 2. Peril Aboard the Plane
Part 3. What Building?
Part 4. Up the Stairs We Go
Part 5. Bridgette is Smitten, er, Bitten
Part 6. Vampire to the Rescue
Part 7. Enemies Are Made
Part 8. The Building Get's Its Wish...For Now
Part 9. Bridgette's Back in the Lab

The Watchtower Affair: Bridgette is Smitten, er, Bitten

Part 5
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't

Bridgette's Diary
13 February, 1925

(cont...)

            Somewhere around my 4^th recitation of the mantra, I heard a whirring, clicking sound from above me. Looking up I see a man perched on the ceiling, dressed in a black suit with a smart white shirt and a blood red tie. Tilting his head to the side, he appeared to study me, a puzzled look on his face. Noticing my startlement, he effortlessly, nimbly, rights himself, landing lightly on his feet before me.

            Realizing there were stray tears sliding down my cheeks, I blushed lightly and quickly wiped at them with my hand. The stranger waited patiently, a half smile on his face, before extending a hand in introduction.

I gave my head a sharp shake, hoping to toss off the remains of my mental fog. I desperately wanted to think clearly. The man before me was very handsome, which only seemed to leave me tongue-tied and bashful. Fully extending his hand, he looked over at me and said something along the lines of, “I’m sorry to have startled you. Let me introduce myself. My name is Pathos. And you?” He looked at me expectantly, obviously waiting for me to extend my hand for him to take. Given the strangeness of the last few minutes, and my lack of a clear head, I was still rather hesitant.

            I did manage to nod at him in reply before answering, “I am Bridgette McCleary.”

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss. McCleary.” He glanced over at where my medical bag was resting on the floor. “Are you a nurse or …?”

            I gave an awkward smile. I’m usually not that easily swayed by a person’s looks, but something about him had gotten to me. “I’m a doctor,” I finally managed to stammer out. Diary, the interesting thing is that he had so distracted me that I actually forgot about the scorpion sting and my missing clothes.

            “Ah, so it’s actually Dr. McCleary.” He smiled, which was a bit unnerving as I noticed a glint of silver. Was he made of metal like the vampire we had encountered? Dear God, I hoped not. That would be just my luck, to cross the path of such a creature. However, he’d been nothing but friendly so far. And in all honestly, I found him intriguing and attractive. In spite of any dangers, I was enjoying his attentions.

            Growing slightly more nervous, I nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is.” I hadn’t been called Dr. McCleary in a medical context in years. It felt good to hear again. For some reason his acknowledgement of my achievement made me feel special. However, I still couldn’t bring myself to take his hand. Flattered and flustered as I was, my sense of self-preservation hadn’t completely disappeared. He had to want something from me, but what?

            “I was just wondering which direction you were heading,” he told me next. “Up or down?”

            “Well,” I relaxed enough to run a hand through my hair, “I was going upwards, but I think now that I’d rather head back down. It seems to maybe be safer.”

            He gave an apparent nod of approval. “That would be my suggestion. Here, let me help you up.” He once again offered his hand in a helpful way – and I nearly took it before glancing down and remembering my current state of undress. Flushing deeply, I wrapped my arms back around my legs, hugging them to my body.

            Pathos looked puzzled for a moment, but then a small smile crossed his face. He quickly removed his jacket and placed it carefully around my shoulders. I grasped it tightly closed in front of my chest, giving him a grateful smile. Apparently please, another glimmer of a smile crossed his face. He offered his hand once again. “Let me help you up, Dr. McCleary.”

            I nodded, having realized that his jacket was more than large enough to cover the necessary stretch of my body. Carefully adjusting the jacket for maximum coverage,  I sent up a small prayer of gratitude at my short stature and finally offered him my hand.

            However, instead of taking my hand to pull me up, he instead turned it over and bent to kiss the back. Diary, the moment his lips touched my skin it was as though someone had sent a powerful electric shock through my system. A gasp escaped as I stared in wonderment at him. A long moment later I realized that he was still holding my hand and I didn’t really mind. Even so, I gently disengaged my hand from his. I’m sure it was less graceful than I intended it to be, but this man had made me more socially awkward around him than anyone else had managed in a very long time.

            We stared at one another for a long moment and then it was as though I’d done a long, slow blink. When I opened my eyes once more, he was gone. I could no longer feel the weight of his jacket across my shoulders. Looking down, I realized that my clothes were back as well. The miasma of swirling colors on the wall were still there, although they had now faded. This rendered them less disorienting, leaving me free to think more clearly. I examined the back of my calf, but could find no puncture mark from the scorpion’s sting. I relaxed – and let some of the tension ease from my shoulders.

Filled with a sense of amazement, I looked at the back of my hand, wondering if any of it had really happened. Then I noticed what looked like a snake bite. Looking more closely, it was clear that the marks on my hand looked as though they had been made by a pair of human canines. I sank back against the wall, staring at the back of my hand in horror. He really was one of the metal vampires. And I’d just been bitten by him.

 

 

 

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The Watchtower Affair: Up the Stairs We Go

Part 4
The Watchtower Affair - Now You See It, Now You Don't

Bridgette's Diary
13 February, 1925

(cont...)

            Once inside we noticed the others standing near the reception desk, interrogating the receptionist seated there. The woman was beautiful, with bobbed blonde hair and fashionable clothes. She also appeared to be looking off into the distance, reminding me of what had occurred aboard Belle’s plane just a short while ago.

            Mr. Rasicci was asking the woman, Miss. Dallas, who used the building. He was also questioning her on who owned it. Even in my current dazed state, it was fascinating to watch him at work. It inspired confidence in his abilities. One of the last questions I heard him ask Miss. Dallas concerned whether or not anyone else had come into the building recently. A thoughtful look crossed her face before she gave her head a slight shake. “No, I don’t think there’s been anyone in quite a while. Except for you of course.”

            Mr. Rasicci appeared ready to ask her another question when the elevator chimed and out walked a couple of security guards, or hired thugs. In this case I’m pretty sure it was one and the same. They were a mass of muscle-bound, arms and shoulders straining at the seams of their suit coats. Coming over our direction, they asked if there was anything they could help us with. Another security guard/thug cames bounding out of the stairwell as Mr. Smith took the lead with the mob men. (What else could they be, really?) Ever direct, he askes, “Have you seen the two hoodlums who came running in here? Not quite 10 minutes ago now.” He jerked his thumb towards the elevator to indicate the probable direction they must have taken.

            The three thick necked gents looked at each other and shook their heads before one responds. “Nope. Ain’t seen anyone come in here in the last hour.” He looked at his buddies once more. “But maybe we should check it out.”

            With a nod in our general direction, they all headed back the way they had originally come.

            Diary, I was still quite shaken up by the recent turn of events. Even now, I can’t fully remember we were or even why we were there. Keira had suggested that I needed to analyze the window glass on what seemed to be the 4^th floor, although I’d no idea why I would be analyzing window glass. However, it gave me a focus point, so, letting Keira know where I was headed, I walked past the rest of the group and headed for the door to the stairwell. Something about the stairwell seemed so much safer than the elevators in that building. I’ve always thought it would be easy to trap someone on an elevator. Since this building gave me such a sense of foreboding, I decide to go with my gut feeling and avoid them.

            As I entered the stairwell, I could hear Mr. Smith mentioning a similar case in London involving Big Ben several years ago. He was trying to recall other details as I headed up the stairs. My hope was that things would become clearer as I went.

            I learned afterwards that three large cars had pulled up outside the building. A number of mobsters spilled out and headed inside. Included in the group was the second in command for the Chicago Mafia. Mr. Rasicci apparently has one of the most amazing talents. Right before everyone else in our little group, he proceeded to transform himself into the mob chief of the city, engaging the lieutenant in conversation as the men outside came through the front doors. They all proceeded to converse while heading for the elevator. The doors closed and they were all on their way up to see “The Man.” What happened next was really a bit extraordinary and I promise to come back to it again in my narrative. First we should return to the stairwell.

With every step upwards, I began feeling more and more disoriented. It culminated on the 5^th floor landing. If I had counted correctly, and I’m pretty sure I had been, this should have been the 4^th floor - not that I could remember seeing any other doors between the first floor and here. At some point, the walls had taken on a kaleidoscopic patterned swirl of greens and reds, all in constant motion. It started faintly at first, but continued to becoming more and more prominent as I worked my way upwards. By the time I reached the 5^th floor door, my head was spinning, and I was disoriented, and nauseated by the mass of moving colors.

I began to panic, just a little as I paused that the door for a moment. Taking a deep breath while trying to steady myself, I debated the wisdom of entering further into the building. The sense of evil, of wrongness, seemed to pervade the very fabric of the walls, making it very tempting to turn tail and leave very quickly. I dreaded continuing onward and yet hesitated to turn back. As I stood there struggling with myself, there came a sharp, sting on the back of my right ankle. Looking down, I saw a scorpion that had apparently just stung me.

Kicking it away, I examined my ankle to get an idea of just how much damage the little beast had done. The horror continued as I then realized that my clothing was gone. It had simply disappeared. I’m standing there, outside of what should be the 4^th floor door, but instead appeared to be the 5^th floor door, having been stung by an insect that shouldn’t be here in this area, and I’m naked. The swirling walls seemed to close in around me as I huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth vainly attempting to wish it all away.

            “It isn’t real,” I muttered to myself over and over. “None of this is real. Something is playing with my mind. There was no scorpion. The walls are not swirling. And I’m not really naked. My clothing can’t just disappear. It is not real.”

The Watchtower Affair: What Building?

Part 3
The Watchtower Affair: Now You See It, Now You Don't

Federal Building, Chicago (Source: Wikipedia)

Bridgette's Diary
13 February, 1925

 

I’m not sure exactly what I expected from Mr. Rasicci’s office, since I’ve never been in a private investigator’s establishment before. Perhaps something from Sherlock Holmes where he operates out of his flat? “Rasicci, Private Investigator” was nowhere near his literary counterpart.

There was an anteroom intended for a secretary, filled with a desk and filing cabinets along the wall. We trooped on through another door into the larger office belonging to Mr. Rasicci. Behind the large desk sat a chair which had obviously seen much use. (Something about the wear on the seat made me wonder if Mr. Rasicci actually slept in it on a regular basis.) On the corner of the desk sat a humidor and used ash tray and over against one wall was a forlorn liquor cabinet, sitting nearly empty thanks to the America’s crazy notion of Prohibition. Across from the desk sat a pair of chairs for clients. There was also another filing cabinet, as well as a small table with a typewriter sitting on it. Another door led off into a small bathroom. Really, it looked like pretty much an office.

            Belle and I took the two seats while the men assumed various positions around the room. After we were settled, Mr. Smith began to fill us in on the problem. Apparently something has been happening to Chicago’s more notorious element. They have always been organized, but now there seems to be something other than orders from New York directing them. Mr. Smith also believes that it is all tied in to the rather bizarre occurrences we experienced approaching the city.

            We were in the process of brainstorming various possible investigative paths when the sirens of several police cards went careening by outside the office building. Looking out of the window, Mr. Rasicci noted that they were heading downtown, in the apparent direction of the US Federal Building.

            Mr. Smith led the way barreling down the steps and out the doors, where we all managed to somehow pile into Mr. Rasicci’s automobile. Once the last person had piled in, Mr. Rasicci wasted no time in careening off after the police cars.

            Mr. Rasicci’s hunch about our destination proved correct, as we soon pulled up outside the imposing stone edifice housing the area’s federal offices. The action seemed to be taking place on the lower two floors, where, Mr. Rasicci informed us, the US Postal Service for the Chicago area was housed. The bank robbers were fairly audacious in holding up the Federal Building in broad daylight and in such an obvious manner.

 

 

There were city police and federal cars ringing the outside of the building, ready to halt anyone coming out, one way or another. I’m still not used to seeing so many firearms in one location. The Americans certainly love their guns.

            On a hunch, Mr. Smith led us around to the back of the building, where we discovered several burly men loading sack after sack into the backs of two nearby vehicles. Of course, all of the men in our happy hunting party pull their weapons and go wading into the fray. We ladies hang back from the gunfire, watching from the safety of a nearby car. Fortunately it isn’t the car that explodes from a well placed bullet. As soon as they can, the bad guys managed to pile into their cars and take off. We also clambered into a couple of nearby cars – including Mr. Rasicci’s – and head off in renewed pursuit through the streets of Chicago.

            We found the autos stopped outside what appeared to be an empty lot and watched as the men ran from their cars and onto the lot, where they promptly disappeared from site. Yes, dear diary, you read that correctly. The vanished right in front of us, apparently into thin air.

Keira stated unequivocally that she could see a building before us, but try as I might, I couldn’t make it appear. Mr. Long, ever the strategist, picked up a rock and lobbed it at the supposed building. We easily heard a crash and watched in awe as a shower of broken glass trickled to the ground. That seemed to be the trigger for everyone else to now see the building. They wasted no time running towards it, hot in pursuit of the robbers.

 I still can’t see a thing, other than the empty lot. Concerned, Keira remained outside with me, trying to help my mind see the impossible – an invisible building. I’m sure it was out of sheer frustration that she finally suggested that I go inside to analyze the broken glass. It was a clever ploy, appealing to my mind’s scientific bent. I still felt a bit dazed and confused, so I went with her suggestion. Heading to Mr. Rasicci’s car, I retrieved my medical bag, which, after my last adventure with these folks now contained a small assortment of lab paraphernalia. I believe that I squared my shoulders and heaved a sigh before walking down the sidewalk towards what I hope is the building’s entrance. As I get within a few feet of where I hope to discover a door, the building suddenly materialized and I wondered why I hadn’t seen it there earlier.

            “I see it now, Keira,” I told my friend, before taking a firmer grip on my bad and heading through the door. “I’ll see what I can do, though.” Yes, diary, my thoughts were still a little fuzzy, but I was hopeful that my thoughts would clear while I was performing more normal actions

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 Boston Tunnel Affair - After Effects and Wrap Up

Part 8
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive! Bridgette’s Dairy

Friday, 17 January, 1925

We found out the next day that a good chunk of the immediate area had suffered from the death of the tunnel monster. Several streets were either partially or completely collapsed. City officials were puzzled as to what caused the damage, since according to experts as it didn’t seem to be an earthquake. Our brave little group will spend the next couple of days at the hotel before heading into New York City. At least, I know that is where Miss. O’Reilly and I are going, since we will be filing reports of the adventure with the New York chapter of the Society. As for the evening of our final trip into the sewer tunnels, I returned to my room to shower and take several good stiff drinks from my flask. I may need to renew my physician’s credentials if there are many more trips to America, as that is the only way to get your hands on alcohol in the States these days. Silly Yanks, don’t they realize we need something to steady ourselves after fighting accursed beasties to keep them safe? As for now, I just want to find a comfy location and do nothing but sleep for several days.

Monday, 20 January, 1925

New York City is amazing! Miss. Devereaux accompanied Miss. O’Reilly and myself into the city and has promised to act as a sort of tour guide for all of the necessary sights, which apparently include several department stores as well as the usual monuments. We are in a hotel right in the middle of Manhattan, near the famed Times Square. I must admit to feeling a bit like a hick in the big city, all wide-eyed and agog at the sights. It is nothing like London, which has its own hustle and feel. We shall spend a part of the afternoon writing up our reports for the Society and then take the next couple of days to rest and play tourist. I’m sure we all can use the time to refresh ourselves after such an amazing time of it in Boston. I’m honestly a little worried as to how the upper echelons at the Society will take the contents of our reports, given how fantastical the whole endeavor proved to be. I can only report the facts as they happened. And I suspect my worries may be for naught, as neither Miss. Devereaux nor Mr. Smith appeared too caught off guard by the vampire, Labana. Hopefully I can perhaps find some appropriate time to ask her more on the subject.

It is also disappointing that I shall probably never know more about the tunnel creature. In spite of the sheer horror and awfulness of it all, the entire concept of a living “tunnel” is still fascinating. While the death of the creature has also hopefully ended the disappearances, we still do not understand what was entirely behind them. Was Labana using them as a food source before eventually killing them slowly by exsanguinations? Was she dragging them into the tunnel as food for the tunnel creature? Or was the creature somehow luring them down into the tunnels to consume without any help from the vampire? We’ll never know. And, Dear Diary, you know how very much a scientific mind hates the idea of never being able to understand things.

We shall depart for England on the 24^th. It shall be nice to be back in my cozy cottage with all of my artifacts and books once more. And fortunately for me, Miss. Devereaux has offered to fly me over whenever I need to give my lecture at Harvard. Apparently she is quite the pilot. I am rather looking forward to it. Not only will it allow me to return to the States for another visit, but it shall be nice to add to my vitae. And the added time spent with Miss. Devereaux shall be nice. Perhaps then I can find out more of her past adventures with Mr. Smith.

I wonder if the Millennium Society will have any other adventures for me in the future. Hopefully they won’t be as sanity-sacrificing as this last one. I’m trying very much not to dwell upon what happened. I may be better ready to process and digest it all after our return to England, but as of now, it’s still too new and strange.

The Boston Tunnel Affair - It Ends Now

Part 7
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Thursday, 15 January, 1925, Continued

          Up ahead the tunnel turned sharply to the left. As we rounded the corner, I saw the most awe-inspiring sight of my life. The tunnel was indeed a living entity, all be it one that I would be hard pressed to define or describe. Before us the chamber opened up, becoming both wider and taller. And there, just ahead, hung a gigantic heart. You could watch it pulse as it beat. Suspended behind it was an equally large pair of lungs, expanding and contracting as though they were actually engaged in respiration. As if that were not horror enough, perched upon the heart was Labana, drinking deeply from the blood that coursed through it. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I am certain I screamed - at least a small scream. Not so Mr. Smith, who quickly shot off two rounds from his big gun. At least one of them hit her square on, not that you could make out any discernable damage from where we stood. The second shot seemed to ricochet from her metallic exterior and careened into the nearby wall. I watched, fascinated as the creature quivered from the impact, perhaps even from the pain, and a trickle of bright red blood ran down the wall.

Shortly after Mr. Smith’s shots rang out, Mr. Long let out a battle cry in a tongue I couldn’t understand and launched himself at the metal vampire. Using the wall as leverage, he crashed into her with both feet, knocking her from her position of feeding. With a snarl, she swung at him with what I am sure was enough force to knock him into one of the walls. Thankfully he ducked that limber body out of the way before she could actually impact.

Mr. Rasicci had also pulled his gun and began to rain more bullets down upon the heart of the tunnel creature. Mr. Smith took the time to take a careful aim before firing once again upon Labana, scoring another direct shot.

During all of this, Mr. Long was in the thick of it all, going hammer and tongs against her. You could see him land blow after kick in quick succession. Labana was not entirely without her own defenses, as she continued to fight back, knocking Mr. Long on his back in the stomach acid on at least one occasion. In the end, he prevailed - landing a kick that snapped her head back and sent her falling into the acidic liquid sloshing around them. At a shout of warning from Mr. Smith, he came running back towards us as we all ducked behind the safety of the bend.

I’m not sure I could describe the explosion that followed, but I shall give it a try. Apparently silver metallic vampires explode after their bodies have taken enough damage. Labana now erupted in a rain of metal shrapnel in all directions, taking the heart and lungs of the tunnel creature with her. We watched as scraps of metal embedded themselves in the wall nearby, all accompanied with a hail of stomach acid and bits of organ tissue. It is probably fortunate that none of us had time to ponder what we had just seen, for a rumbling beneath our feet alerted us to yet another problem and we turned to run for the entrance back up to the hotel.

All around us came tumbling down bits of tissue from the living walls as well as the brick and mortar that made up the support behind them. It was as though the entire city were collapsing on our heads. We made it to our entrance, scurrying back up into the laundry room and slamming the trapdoor shut before the shock waves fully reached that far. When they did arrive, the floor shook mightily, but at least we didn’t have to worry about a backsplash of acid sloshing up through the opening and all over the floor.

 
 

Friday, 17 January, 1925

We found out the next day that a good chunk of the immediate area had suffered from the death of the tunnel monster. Several streets were either partially or completely collapsed. City officials were puzzled as to what caused the damage, since according to experts as it didn’t seem to be an earthquake. Our brave little group will spend the next couple of days at the hotel before heading into New York City. At least, I know that is where Miss. O’Reilly and I are going, since we will be filing reports of the adventure with the New York chapter of the Society. As for the evening of our final trip into the sewer tunnels, I returned to my room to shower and take several good stiff drinks from my flask. I may need to renew my physician’s credentials if there are many more trips to America, as that is the only way to get your hands on alcohol in the States these days. Silly Yanks, don’t they realize we need something to steady ourselves after fighting accursed beasties to keep them safe?

 

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Back Into the Sewers

Part 6
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Thursday, 15 January, 1925

 

 

Dear Diary, we survived, although Boston may never be the same again and I’m still not sure what in Hell it was that we killed last night. Let me start back where I last left off.

We once again met up as a group, only this time we gathered in Mr. Smith’s room. Mr. Rasicci had managed to procure enough gas masks for the lot of us, thank goodness. I’m not sure what we would have done otherwise, or how fervently I would be wishing that I didn’t need to enter the sewer once again. Miss. Devereaux and Miss. O’Reilly had purchased some extra electric torches and heavy gloves. They even managed to find heavy boots for those of us needing them. And Mr. Smith got his hands on some silver ammunition for their various firearms. My small caliber pistol was of little use in such a fight, but I did bring it along with me, just in case. Its weight in my pocket offered a small measure of comfort, even if I didn’t have any of the special bullets.

I explained that I thought the liquid in the can would serve as a protectant from the creature’s digestive fluids and shared my suspicion that Labana lost her skin in the sewer because the fluid’s acid could not affect whatever metal of which she was composed. Of course, there is also the possibility that she just enjoyed running around looking like something from a science fiction penny dreadful. Or perhaps she was merely an exhibitionist.

We suited up in Mr. Smith’s room with the boots and treated our clothing and skin with the can’s contents. The gas masks and heavy gloves we added in the laundry room just before we entered the pit to the tunnel once again. Trying not to attract any extra attention to ourselves, we also took a back stairwell down to the ground floor. I think we were successful.

Once again, one of the men had to assist me in landing on the ground, as I didn’t want to enter the dreadful, acidic fluid any sooner than absolutely necessary. Mr. Long apparently didn’t have those reservations, as he started out walking down the middle of the tunnel, commenting after a few steps that I had, indeed, been correct in my assessment of the can’s contents. Nice to know he has faith in my abilities.

We retraced our steps from the previous evening fairly quickly, even if we did slow down considerably as we once again approached the location where we had encountered Labana. She was not there and we honestly had no way of knowing if she was currently in the tunnels with us. The thought did send shivers down my spine since I had no idea just how formidable an opponent she would be. Could she take out everyone in our group without any effort? Her metal body possessed a natural armor that was difficult to penetrate.

The entire time the liquid in the tunnel was getting deeper and wider. Somewhere around the 75 foot mark, there was no avoiding walking through it and soon we were all sloshing around in the fluid up to our ankles and higher. At a hundred and some odd feet, we encountered the most curious curtain hanging across the tunnel. It covered the entire expanse without any break except for where it hung free at the sides. It turned out to be created entirely of skin, although I’d be loathe to wager a guess on the type of skin. If it turned out to be human, I’m not sure I’d ever sleep again. Luckily, Mr. Smith was towards the front and, as such, was the one who moved it aside. Mr. Rasicci was kind enough to hold it back for the rest of us to pass. Upon walking by it, I noticed that the skin appeared to still be living. I am beyond indebted to him for his small kindness in holding the curtain open for us. My quota for weirdness has already been met for the next decade and I’ve a feeling that it is only going to get worse.

A few feet farther on, we came to what seemed to be a central location in the tunnels, or at least a connecting point, as three tunnels came together into a central, more open point that continues onward. Here the acidic liquid was much deeper, reaching up to my chest. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I’m the shortest in the group as anyone much shorter than I am would be in trouble. As far as I can tell, the protective fluid from the metal can is still working to protect us from the affects of the acid. Thank goodness for small favors.

Next week, the stunning conclusion...

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Preparing to Return

Part 5
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Wednesday, 14 January, 1925

               Mr. Smith suggested we retire for the night and plan our next move. Obviously we cannot go much farther in the tunnels without the acid fumes affecting us. Our lungs felt a bit scalded as it already was from our exposure. Mr. Rasicci wondered if we could access gas masks, perhaps there were some war surplus ones available somewhere in the city? To do so, however, would require waiting for daylight.

Mr. Smith also wondered if I would be willing to analyze the contents of the paint can. Obviously it was in the tunnel for a reason. It might be helpful if we could figure out what that reason was and put it to our advantage. I’m not sure how well I will do, but I did indicate that I would try. However, I needed access to a proper lab, which is how I wound up on the campus of Harvard University today. I can assure you, dear journal, that my sleep was not the most restful last night. I kept fearing that metal monster would come crashing into my room at any second, trying to prevent all of us from telling anyone what we had witnessed.

          Needless to say, we all survived the night, even if we got little sleep. Come morning, Mr. Smith made some phone calls and here I am, trying to remember how to do what I need to do. In all honesty, though, I have done chemical analysis several times in the last few years. I’m conducting tests on stone and even some of the plant matter around them, all the time. Occasionally, in a pinch where we are really curious, I’ll even do some analysis on other finds, including organic remains, at the sight. So I’m not completely rusty, just out of serious practice. Especially with a completely unknown compound. I’m going to start with the petrol family as my reference point, simply based on the smell of the contents. One has to start somewhere and that would be as good a point as any at this moment. With that, I’m off to continue with my work. I’ll return to write more as time allows.

  

This substance is proving quite baffling. I’d hate to think Mr. Smith’s efforts to get me in here are all going to come to naught for us. And regardless of the outcome in the lab, I will still need to do a future lecture on my research with the lithic monuments in Ireland and northern England. Not that I mind. To lecture at Harvard would be quite nice; however, I would also like to know what this substance is made of and just what it does, and the bloody thing isn’t cooperating.

While I am stuck here in the lab, the others have gone shopping for added equipment for later. I believe one of them located a supply source for the gas masks we’ll need to go farther into the tunnels. It might have been Mr. Rasicci using some of the resources available to him through the American Detective Association. Who knew there was an organization just for detectives? I suspect it often comes in handy, such as now. They are also going to purchase more electric torches and, if possible, some powerful ammunition with which to take on the vampire. There was even talk of silver bullets if at all possible.

Back to the chromatograph. I believe there are some results for me to interpret before I figure out what other tests with which to subject this intriguing fluid. Oh and Mr. Smith informed us this morning, in his own colorful manner, that these silver metal vampires are quite rare. I’m, of course, now wondering if there are non-silver metallic vampires out there running around. Boy did I call this one wrong. Intriguing.

 

I’ve got it! Well, I’ve got what chemicals are present in the mystery fluid. I just can’t figure out how to create more of it. Fortunately, there looks to be enough in the can for all of us. When applied to skin and clothing, it serves to protect them from the ravages of the acid present in the tunnel. This will be important, as the depth of the liquid looks to get progressively deeper. If we need to go very far in our explorations, we will be wading in the stuff at some point. Not really a prospect I relish, but it may be unavoidable. And if there is one thing I learned about myself during the War, it is that I can tackle that which I would rather not, if it is indeed unavoidable.

My analysis complete, I need to sign off for now. I suspect I shan’t be writing more until after our trip to the sewers. Hopefully I’ll still be alive to write it.