Play@YSDC

Friday March 14th, 1930 9.00am.
Fraser Mansion, Arkham, Mass.

”Well, what have you got for me?!” snapped Fraser as they were shown into his study. His face was pouchy, with black rings under his eyes, and a bottle of whiskey already sat open on his desk. Ivy noted that he was unshaven, something she had never known before.

Taken aback, no-one spoke and Fraser slammed his whiskey tumbler on the desk. “You’ve had two days! Why haven’t you got the person responsible?!”

"Mainly because we haven't yet located her," says William, "but we have a good lead on that, and the police may be able to help there. Our primary suspect is Emily Livingstone. Apparently she was angry with you, Mr. Fraser, because you tried to keep her and your son apart. She may have been angry enough to write that letter. Lawrence and I went to her home, but nobody was there, neither her nor her landlady. We spoke to her nasty neighbor, who said that she was recently taken away by some men in white coats, presumably to a mental institution. We checked with Arkham Sanitarium, but she wasn't there. Dr. Hardstrom suggested she may have been taken to a private institution. Today we plan to speak to others on her block to find out more about what happened and where Mrs. Webster, her landlady, went. She hasn't been seen in about a week."

"I also believe she's our prime suspect, Mr. Fraser," Alex says as delicately as he can. "The handwriting indicated our suspect was female and poorly educated, which this Emily seems to be. I don't know how she's been able to obtain this chemical she's using to poison people, but It's critical we find her and learn everything we can. "

Then, only to assuage Fraser's doubts, "We already know she has a way of temping men, sir. Perhaps she has enraptured a pharmacist of some sort into her wily schemes. "

"We've also have some of the finest minds in the region examining the letter to learn what exactly is being used and find a way to protect against it." He then turns his gaze to the party. "However, you gentleman need to come clear on what precisely happens with James. Your answers have been elusive, but we need more details to determine if the plots against father and son are connected. I'd like you to tell me everything that transpired in your hunt for him." He says, his voice stern.

This was a moment Lawrence had been dreading for a long while. He could tell the truth about monsters, cults, and that snake-god, but that would win him time at the madhouse, without a doubt.

But he could tell a sanitised version of what really happened. A clean truth, that wouldn't get him committed.
"When we first went looking for James, our search led us to this place called Squatter's Lake Motel. The owners were these old British men, William and Robert Brophy; hardly the kind of folks you'd take to be kidnappers. To shorten a long story, we stayed the night, only for the brothers to escort us out to the lake at shotgun-point, where they were almost certainly going to kill us; James was with the Brophys, it seemed he'd fallen in with them for reasons I can't get my mind around to this day. We probably would have been killed, but one of the other men staying at the hotel drove in and ran over one of the brothers with his car. After that, there was a brawl and guns were fired, and we were forced to run. I ended up with a spray of pellets in my back, and had to spend some time in the hospital." Lawrence laboriously explains, still unnerved by what he had experienced on that night. He desperately hoped that his account would hold up to scrutiny, as the truth was far harder to explain than any fiction.
"There's more to the story after this, but if you've got any questions, ask them now."

Ivy listens to the tale with great interest. She’s experienced many strange things (not that she’s prepared to admit to them), so to hear someone else’s story is, in a terrible way, almost comforting.

Alex carefully takes notes.

"Did this man who intervened give you his name or contact information? Or for that matter any of the other guests staying at the motel?"

"I only know the man's first name, Jacob," says William. "He came with us to the police to tell them what happened. All of this should be in their files, including his statement. I'm not sure if any of the other guests survived."

Alex nods, waiting for Lawrence to continue.

"After I got patched up at the hospital and finished up my time there, I went back home, as you might expect. I found a postcard in my mail from Louisiana, signed William, Robert, and James. The bastard must have sent it to taunt me." Lawrence bitterly notes, before continuing his recounting of events. "Anyways, a few months later. William, Howard, and Thomas took a trip down to the motel at Squatter's Lake to go see what happened; I wasn't there, had to attend to some business at the farm, but they managed to find a flier for the Brophys' new hotel in Louisiana. We told the police and Mr. Fraser, and arranged to take a trip there; once we finally got to Baton Rouge, we had to go about actually finding this new hotel itself. As it would happen, it was in a little place called Pointe-aux-Chenes; once we got to the hotel, we learned real quick that we weren't the first ones to get there. We found Robert Brophy just about dead on the floor, his throat cut; there wasn't a thing we could do for him, in the state he was in. All we could do was call the local sheriff." Lawrence would have sold his soul to not be in this situation; words never were his strong suit, so his mind was firing on all cylinders to clean the story of its unpleasant idiosyncrasies as he went along.
"That didn't pan out well for us, but as before, I'll let you ask your questions if you have any."

Ivy harrumphs, doubting the wisdom of the question she is about to ask.

“Among these people you encountered: was there a somewhat old gentleman with a balding pate, wearing coveralls and with spectacles on a chain around his neck?”

Alex raises an eyebrow at Ivy's question, but says nothing; the vision had obviously troubled her.

He waits, silently taking notes and allowing Lawrence to continue to tell his story.

"Both of the Brophys could fit that description; why do you ask?" Lawrence replies, put off by Ivy's oddly-specific question. There wasn't any way she could have seen either of them; both of the Brophys were dead, or so Lawrence hoped!

Ivy bristles at the strange, albeit understandable, looks she is getting.

"Another letter addressed to Mr. Fraser was sent to the bank. I accidently touched the ink. Thankfully it didn't make me suicidal, but I did experience an unsettling... waking dream I suppose. The person I describe was in it; he was the only one to acknowledge my presence and sort-of pushed me back into reality."

Her face flushes.

"No doubt it's foolish of me to give credence to such tricks of the mind, but I cannot shake the feeling that his presence was somehow significant."

"At any rate, a photograph of the symbol is being developed and the letter itself being tested in a laboratory."

"Did the man speak with any kind of accent, if he spoke at all?" Lawrence asks inquisitively, very interested in this seemingly minor detail. For the farmer, this question could almost certainly prove if Brophy was involved in this; after all, how many other old British men with ties to strange and unnatural events could have a vendetta against Mr. Fraser?

"That is important to know," says William. "I don't suppose there was a return address? That would have been too easy."

“Not that I recall. I wasn’t exactly handling it much, but I very much doubt it.”

“We could always call Professor Cooper at the Miskatonic University to find out,” Ivy continues. “That’s where it’s being tested. Oh, and I seem to recall the fellow in my ‘dream’ had an English accent.”

"That sounds like him," says William. "We should call Professor Cooper anyway to find out the results of the analysis."

"That's strange, because I recall William Brophy also had an English accent; his brother, Robert, didn't speak at all. The problem is, Ivy, you've never seen him before, and he's also dead." Lawrence says in response, trying his best to not show bewilderment at this obvious impossibility; Brophy had to be dead! He'd seen the old man perish with his own two eyes, he was sure of it. He turns back to finish telling his story to the detective:
"You see, after the sheriff arrived and we showed him the body of Robert, a bunch of rubes burst into the hotel with guns and clubs; as it would happen, they had the sheriff snake-bit, and he was forced to work with them for the antidote. There was an awful fight; punches were thrown, and I shoved one of the thugs down the stairs, but we were outnumbered and outgunned. We had to surrender. We got tied up and they put bags over all of heads, and they took us off into some kind of cellar, which they had made into a prison with cells and all; that's where we met William Brophy and James again. James was acting strange, like he'd been drugged or something."
Lawrence pauses for a brief moment; perhaps he'll let a little of the stranger side of the story slip out.
"I'm not sure if you'll believe this, but the men who kidnapped us were some kind of cult, worshippers of some old Indian snake god. They didn't like the Brophys moving in on their land, and they certainly didn't appreciate us being there either. We had to strike a deal with Brophy: we'd help each other escape, and he'd give us back James. We managed to escape with his help, and we stole a flatbed truck from the snake-worshippers and drove away, sure that this was all done and over with. It was not." Lawrence dourly recalls, his expression grim.
"I was riding on the bed of the truck, then I was suddenly thrown off; the next thing I knew, the truck was a burning wreck. Howard, Brophy, and James didn't make it, and William wouldn't have either if James hadn't gotten him out of the truck before it exploded."
It agonized Lawrence to have to lie about the deaths of two of his friends, but what was the alternative? Mr. Fraser would never believe that his son was turned into a monster, and even if he did, Lawrence would also have to hide the fact that he set the truck's gas tank alight to put James out of his misery and save his friends' lives. As for Howard, the less said about that demon train incident, the better. Nobody would ever believe a story like that.

"With respect, I believe it's a bit too early to assume that because one man had an English accent he's this Mr. Brophy. I'll grant it's quite the coincidence, but something like that shouldn't be possible-- unless perhaps he was physically present there and spoke to Ms. Ripley while she was in the midst of a hallucination."

Alex listens to the tale, shocked that a lawman would be in league with common criminals. He narrows his eyes at outlandish tales of cults and snake gods, not sure he found it believable. But Lawrence at least seemed to.

"This cult angle may have been some sort of cover for their criminals enterprise, designed to intimidate outsiders," he explains. "Did you report these locals to outside law enforcement? If what you are saying is true, they could still be operating in the area." He makes a note to look into Pointe-aux-Chenes when he could and maybe refer it to the Baton Rogue police.

"The vehicle-- how did it explode? Did it crash?" He asks, still taking notes. "Did you identify the body of Mr. Brophy?"

Ivy remains tight lipped as Lawrence continues his somewhat bizarre story. Was the man in her 'daydream' really the same dead man her new acquaintances encountered during their search fir Fraser the younger? And what of all this talk about cults, serpents and such?

Perhaps anchoring all this with cold, rational science will shed any light on the puzzle?

"I will call the Miskatonic," she declares. "Let us see what they have discovered about the letter."

OOC,Hope everyone had a good day yesterday :) Bullfrog - nothing was reported to the Police. You left town in a bit of a hurry.

As Alex waited for Lawrence to continue, Ivy picked up the phone on her boss’ desk and called the university. Her call was put through to Professor Cooper’s office. Where the Professor answered. “The sample from the letter? Ah, yes!” he replied. “Now, I trust you understand that I’ve had the sample for less than 24 hours so there is a limit to the time I have been able to spend on this.”

“That said,” he continued, “I’d suggest that it is some type of toxin, possibly related to curare, although there are a number of different elements that I haven’t seen before. My assistant, Alexandra, advised that people who had been in contact with the substance had experienced some hallucinations and that one had died, possibly at his own hand. If that is the case, then it isn’t anything I have ever come across before.”

He paused for a while. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”

"Does the toxin bear, by any chance, any relation to snake venom?" asks Ivy.

"We didn't notify the Louisiana police; we were in a hurry to get out of there before the cultist-criminals-whatever-they-are could find us again." Lawrence regretfully admits.
"As for truck: it rolled onto its side, though I don't know how; explosion might not have been the right word, but it caught fire very violently. William was the one driving, so I think he'd have a better idea of what happened than I did. I do know one thing for sure, though, and that's that Brophy died; I saw his body with my own two eyes."

”It is really too early to answer that conclusively,” replied Professor Cooper. “But my initial research suggests it is less likely.”

“Was there a reason you thought it might be snake venom?” he asked.

"I'm afraid I was too busy being on fire to pay attention to anything else," says William. "All I know is that James saved my life by pulling me out of there, but it cost him his own."

“Oh, just idle speculation,” replies Ivy. “I should know better. Thank you Professor Cooper; please call when you’ve discovered everything you can.”

When the opportunity allows she will appraise the others with what she’s learned and will also suggest contacting the photographer.

”So what are you going to do with this information?” snapped Fraser Snr. “A letter sent to me at the bank and another sent here, at my home! What are you going to do about it?!”

"We're going to find Emily Livingstone," says William. "Perhaps a search of her house will turn up evidence, if the police can authorize it."

“I will speak to Carl, the photographer,” Ivy declares, unfazed by her employer’s tantrum. “He should have developed his photographs by now. We should have a reproduction of the address and be able to discern the symbol as it had bled through onto the envelope.”

”Wait in the hall. I’ll call Keats. He’ll sort it out.” He picked up the phone and waited for them to troop out and close the door before he put in his call...

It was an uncomfortable ninety minute wait until they had a response. The hall had but one chair between four of them, and no-one appeared with any refreshments while they waited. Eventually, the front door opened and Trooper Dan de Vries looked in. He glanced across at Alex. ”The Captain says he’s sorted a warrant. It took more than a few calls and he got some grief about jurisdiction so he wasn’t happy but he said to head up to Amesbury and someone will meet you there.”

OOC,Anything you want to do before heading there?

"Thanks Dan." Alex says. He turns to the others. "I don't like involving civilians in this, but after that story I can't help but feel this is all connected. I suggest we press on to Ms. Livingstone's house and see what we find-- hopefully something, or the chief will be rather unhappy."

"If there's nothing of interest in that house, I'll fry up my shoes and eat them." Lawrence remarks, very sure that this warrant would be justified. "With all the info we've gathered and pieced together, Ms. Livingstone has to have some ties to this."

OOC,I have no problem moving forward from here.

"I'm ready to go there now," says William. "We should also look at those letters in the mailbox that she never opened. We hadn't been able to read them before, but now it shouldn't be a problem."

You return to Amesbury here: https://www.callofcthulhu.org.uk/pbp/vi ... 438&t=7316.