Play@YSDC

Thursday March 13th, 1930 11.10am.
8 Main Street, Amesbury, Mass.

Lawrence and William said little to each other on the journey north. Both had their memories of their last journey up this way, fears for James’ safety but hope that he would be found alive and well. Sadly, those hopes had ultimately been dashed.

Amesbury was much the same as it had been when they visited the previous year. The streets were quiet, with scudding clouds and heavy drops that threatened a downpour keeping people in their homes. 8 Main Street also looked the same, except for the grass being slightly over-long, suggesting that the first cut of the season was overdue.

"Well, this is it. Who'll give her the news?"
Lawrence questions, stepping forth onto the path leading to the front door; it had been roughly five months since that initial visit, yet all of those events still rang clear in Lawrence's memory like they had happened yesterday.

"I'll do it," says William, walking up to the door with the letter in his hand, kept inside his jacket to shield it from the rain.

William knocked on the door but there was no response from inside.

Lawrence tries knocking on the door himself, a bit harder than the previous attempt; perhaps she just couldn't hear them?

Lawrence was sure that anyone inside the house couldn’t have failed to hear him knocking, given that the door shook in the frame.

"I don't think anyone's home,
William. Could have been gone a while, judging by the fact that the grass isn't cut." Lawrence points out as he tries twisting the doorknob to see if it's unlocked.

"That's possible," says William. "If so, her mail will be piling up unless she told a neighbor to collect it for her." He checks the mailbox.

William notices nothing out of the ordinary.

OOC,Spot Hidden roll (60% skill) checking the mailbox: [dice]0[/dice]

William dropped the flap on the mailbox and found a number of letters inside. Half a dozen were addressed to Mrs Webster, who he remembered was Emily’s landlady, with a couple more addressed to Miss Emily Livingstone, James’ former girlfriend.

William checks the return addresses on the letters to Emily to see who was writing her. "I could put the letter in here," he says, "but chances are it would just sit there unread. Maybe we should check with the neighbors to find out when the last time she was here was and where she went."

Lawrence tried the door handle. It turned and the door moved, but the mortice lock held and prevented the door from opening.

By the mail box, William looked through the mail. Of the two addressed to Emily, one was a formal letter with a typed address but no return address; the second was a handwritten envelope, with the return address a Mrs C. Livingstone at an Arkham address.

William fills in Lawrence on what he saw in the mailbox. "I wouldn't want to open her mail," he says. "That would be illegal. But we can try talking to the neighbors about her, and later we can find out who Mrs. Livingstone is and why she wrote to Emily."

William recalls something.

OOC,Know roll (70% stat) looking at the mail: [dice]0[/dice]

"We spoke with a neighbor last time we visited, very paranoid sort. He should be worth asking, strange as he was, because he was certainly the type to be constantly watching his neighbors." Lawrence suggests, looking over towards that odd neigbor's house.

As William studied the letters, it occurred to him that Livingstone was Emily’s surname...

Lawrence looked over to the neighbour’s house. As he did so, he could have sworn he saw the neighbour’s curtain twitch...

"Emily's surname is Livingstone," says William, closing up the mailbox. "Let's go talk to him."

"Mrs. Livingstone must be a relative, then; maybe her mother or a sister." Lawrence notes, converging back with William before heading towards the neighbor's house.

An old man with a lined face and wispy hair peered through the crack in the door in response to William’s knock. He glanced between him and Lawrence and snapped ”What do you want? Disturbing a man’s rest! I oughta call the cops on you!”

"We're sorry to bother you, sir," says William. "We're looking for Miss Emily Livingstone, but she appears not to have been home for some time. Do you know where she has gone?"

The old man looked confused but then comprehension dawned. ”Who? That young girl who lived with the crazy bat next door? She ain’t been round here for a few weeks. Her and her damn cats! Crapping on my lawn! Good riddance!” he cackled.

"Has anybody else been there since she left?" Lawrence inquires, just now remembering how utterly off-his-rocker the neighbor was. This was going to be interesting, to say the least.

"Has the landlady still been around?' asks William.

”Missus Webster?” the old man said, looking thoughtful. ”I ain’t seen her for a p’raps a week? Ain’t seen her cats for longer, but that’s another story! Hee hee!”

"I like stories," says William. "What happened to the cats?"

The old man looked around slyly. ”You knows what cats is like. Always prowling around, sneaking around and crapping everywhere, except in their owner’s garden.”

”Well, I got fed up with that, an’ throwing those cat turds over the fence made no difference, so I gave pussy a little treat and he don’t come around here no more!” He cackled again. ”Missus Webster played hell about it, and that young girl was crying and wailing, but you get what’s coming to you! Thou shalt not let your cat crappeth on your neighbour’s yard, sayeth the Lord!”

"Did the cat die?" asks William.

"William, I think we should maybe direct our questions to something more relevant." Lawrence hesitantly cuts in, not too eager to hear about this old nut's vendetta against some cats.

”Who knows?!” cackled the old man. ”But it didn’t come around no more!” And he laughed some more.

As Lawrence tried to steer the conversation back to matters at hand, the old man squinted at him. ”You came around here last time, looking for a friend o’ yours, didn’t you? Did you find him?”

"Yes, we did," says William. "However, he did not make it back with us. We have a letter from him that we were hoping to deliver to Miss Livingstone, which is why we came here. Are we the first ones to come looking for her since she left?"

The old man laughed, but more uncertainly this time. ”Didn’t come back, eh? One o’ my boys went to France and didn’t come home in ‘18.” He looked around at a photograph that hung by the door, which showed a young, dark-haired doughboy. A black ribbon was tied around the bottom of the frame.

He looked back at William and Lawrence. ”It’s been a few weeks since they look that young girl away and I ain’t seen Missus Webster for about a week, I reckon, so maybes she’s gone away.”

"Ms. Livingstone was taken? By who?" Lawrence questions, his attention snagged by this detail.

”Dunno,” replied the old man. ”Was a big black car, with a driver an’ everything. There was a serious looking guy, and what looked to be a nurse - a man though, like they got in the loony bin.” He didn’t laugh this time but looked pensive, somehow smaller, causing Lawrence and William to wonder what lay in hs past and what effect his own grief had had on his mental health.

"Thank you, I think that explains where she went," says William.

"I've got one last question: did she go willingly, or did they have to force her to get in the car?" Asks Lawrence; it seemed that Emily had taken James' disappearance even worse than he originally thought.

The old man thought about it for a moment and said, ”Well, she didn’t look too happy about it but that big nurse fella didn’t look like he was takin’ ‘no’ for an answer. Missus Webster was fussin’ around her like an old hen, telling her it was for the best but that didn’t seem to mollify her none.”

"Thank you for your time," says William. "Good day."

"You've told us all we were looking to know; thank you." Lawrence states, grateful for the information. "Well, we'd best get going, William."

"Let's go to Arkham Sanitarium," suggests William. "I think that's where we'll find her."