[IC] Act One: Savannah

"That... is correct. Now, Mr. Job, do you remember why you're hospitalized?"

Samuel wasn't good at this, but when both of his companions looked at him when Edgar was brought in, he took the hint. Sam figured if he could get Edgar talking, the others might be able to make sense of it all.

At least, he hoped so.

"Dr Keaton doesn't want me to relive those days, or uh...to, uh...externalise my fears. He don't like me talking about monsters unless they're me. It's harder to remember these days exactly what happened anyway. I'm on nine different pills, you know. They're not too big. Blue ones and red ones. Two capsules. The other ones are, you know, they're just pills. Say, you got a cigarette?"

He looks hopefully at Samuel.

Gabriel observes the interaction with interest, then reaches for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He stops, looking at Keaton for permission.
"May I?" he asks.

He will give one cigarette to Job if he gets the Doctor's permission.

Edgar takes the cigarette, puts it between this thin lips, and, after it is lit, takes a long drag from it, holding the smoke before letting it stream out of his mouth, which turns into a smile. He's a somewhat enigmatic figure - certainly Dr Walker can't get a good grasp on what makes him tick just from looking at him and his reactions. It could be that he's a little deadened by all the drugs he's on, which affects his mien and makes him hard to read.

"Thank you," he says. "If I can answer any of your questions, I'll try to."

Lillian tries to get her own read on Job, before approaching the underbelly of the beast, still somewhat nervous after being attacked before.

Lillian watches Edgar carefully as he deals with the others. It seems obvious to her that his slowed reaction to questions is due to the drugs he's on, that he's trying to be helpful, but is very wary of upsetting the progress that he's made so far. Lillian thinks that Edgar might respond to just about any approach, but that his fogged state might make him miss out information, as would his desire not to undo his progress in treatment. It might be worth asking him to start from the beginning, with how he was brought into the cult, as that seems safest.

"I understand Dr. Keaton doesn't want you to focus outside of yourself," Sam begins again once Edgar has his smoke, after glancing to each of the doctors in the room, "but we'd like to understand the full scope of what lead you to be institutionalized. What monster did you believe you ran across?"

Dr Keaton interrupts as Samuel asks his question:

"Let's try not to focus on the supernatural or make-believe in this interview, ok?" he asks, looking at Dr Walker rather than Samuel.

Edgar, meanwhile, sucks on his cigarette, as if trying to smoke the entire thing in one go before anyone takes it off him, then, emitting a cloud of smoke, says "I'm not supposed to ask about that night, what happened that night. About Henslowe's friends. About Echavarria. I'm not ready yet."

He looks to Dr Keaton, who adds "it's ok Edgar, you can answer about that part. No mumbo jumbo though."

Edgar mournfully, it seems, puts out the cigarette, little more than the filter at this point.

"We didn't really have a name, we were just, you know, Echavarria's, you know, people. I guess you could call it a cult. It's as good a word as anything, yeah. I met him around the time I was at UCLA. George introduced us, I think. George Avery? Ayers? I swear, I can hear his voice, see his face, why can't I remember this? It's all still hazy."

He pauses before continuing, his face a little scrunched up as if trying to think, before returning to his placed, if slightly vapid look.

"That Echavarria, if that was his real name, had a heck of a library. Creepy books. He gave us ideas for things to do, sex things, and things to say, out of those books. Threw damn crazy parties. Sex. Drugs. I was basically high from 1923 through August of '24. So my memory is not good. I remember, you know, a lot of sex. And the drugs Echavarria got us. Potent stuff. He promised us all. Promised me power. He said that, 'power.' Said we'd all get whatever we wanted when Gol-Goroth was here. We called him the Fisher from Outside for some reason. This...isn't what I wanted. Echavarria put spells on us. Or on me, anyway. The night of the summoning. This spell, I guess it was kind of a big deal. He put it on me the night of the summoning, right before the Fisher, or, or, the Thing, before it showed up. I don't know what it was supposed to do, but I survived, so...maybe that's something. It had long weird weird limbs and no head, but mouths, lots of mouths. I couldn't really make it out, and I didn't really try. I know I was screaming. Just screaming. and then I stabbed that guy."

At the mention of this Gol-Goroth, Dr Keaton clears his throat, a clear if implicit warning, but Edgar continues:

"This one guy, with a shotgun. Vincent Stack. He just blew Echavarria away. Shot him right down. I stabbed the guy with Echavarria's knife, this big ugly knife, a few times. To get away. I was so sure he was going to kill me too, I'd been right by Echavarria's side when he shot him. I had to do it, to get away from there. I just ran the hell out of there, through the fields. I knew it was wrong. I see his face every night. I can't undo it, so it's best if I move on, That's what Dr Keaton says. Whatever that thing was that we summoned...it wasn't what we were promised. It wasn't what he said it would be. And that thing is still out there."

"Why are you certain this thing, this Fisher from Outside as you called it... was real, and not a result of say... a bad reaction to the drugs?" Samuel asks, not acknowledging Dr. Keaton's earlier objection but trying to explore a connection between the mumbo-jumbo and the real world. Sam wasn't a therapist, but he hoped attempting to bridge the two would appease their host... at least long enough to get some more answers out of Edgar.

"I was there. I saw it happen. So did Henslowe. Ask him."

"Can you tell us anything about this George A. that you met, Mr. Job, please? What he did, what he looked like?" Lillian asked.

"He was a professor at UCLA, when I was there. Don't know what he taught though. Not maths. Glasses, pencil moustache, middle aged, you know, professor type."

Samuel nods at the information. It was sounding as if UCLA may well be a destination at some point. With a soft clearing of his throat, Samuel continues his line of questioning. "Thank you, Mr. Job. Now, regarding what you witnessed... I've been told you can see, hear, and feel many things under the effects of hallucinogenic drugs. I'm just trying to understand how you know what you saw? I appreciate that you were there, but you yourself admitted to being under the influence for an extended period of time. I think we can all agree the easiest explanation for what you witnessed would be the drugs, Mr. Job. But based on Dr. Keaton's guidelines for your recovery, it seems you don't believe that to be the correct explanation. I'm not taking a side, mind you -- I'm just trying to understand. How do you know something when your own senses deceive you?"

Samuel falls silent, waiting for Edgar to reply. He wants to glance at Dr. Keaton, but he doesn't allow himself to. He keeps his focus on the patient, and trusts the line of questioning was grounded enough to keep Dr. Keaton from outright objecting. Depending on Edgar's response, though, their interview may well be coming to a close...

"You ever seen people you know being ripped apart by something? Just come apart as their limbs are wrenched from their body, and eaten in front of you? You smelled what that's like? You tasted their blood on your tongue as you get sprayed with it? You heard those inhuman sounds it made? You want to see if I'm hallucinating, you go out there and see ofr yourself. Get yourself eaten."

Edgar starts to rise from his chair, an incredulous look on his face. Dr Keaton attempts to pacify Edgar, and glances with an annoyed look at Dr Walker, as if to say control your man.

"I think that's enough. Orderly, please take Edgar back to his room."

The orderly complies, leaving the room with Edgar.

"I noticed some graffiti on the wall on the way in. Reminds me of the things Mr. Job was talking about. Perhaps it should be painted over," Lillian says to Dr. Keaton.

"That was pretty disturbing. "

Dr Keaton gives a vague, non-committal "promise" that he'll have the graffiti seen to, as he ushers you out. He talks briefly with Dr Walker again about his research, and the unique nature of the relationship and shared delusions between Henslowe and Job, eventually leaving you at the side of the road next to your car.

Samuel won't press for any work related information, beyond asking how her day was. Although she's certainly welcome to vent if she needs to unwind in that way. He's just there for an enjoyable, pleasant evening.

Savannah, Georgia. 28 May, 1937

After a quick breakfast, having met up in one of the many parks near the river again, you climb back into the car and make your way back over to the Henslowe estate. It's just as hard to locate this time as the first - there are so many unmarked and poor roads that are little more than tracks in the rich, red mud that it's easy to lose your way.

As you pass by one fork (unmarked, of course, you spot a brown dog with obvious mange laying on a patch of grass under a heavily moss-laden tree. As you drive past, it lifts its head towards you, but soon drops it back down and starts to scratch at a flea, the sight of your car unremarkable enough not to stir it to life.



Eventually, after only a couple of false turnings, you recognise where you are, and soon you arrive at the gates to the Henslowe estate again. Once more you get out of the car, your shirts sticking to your bodies with sweat already, and Samuel tugs hard on the rusted bell chain. You hear the dogs before you hear or see the old man again, chuntering as he comes (you think about both the dogs and the "constant disturbances," though you doubt there's been anyone else here since your visit yesterday. As soon as he sees you, the shotgun, initially pointing at the ground, raises slightly under his arm.

"You again? Didn't make meself clear yeaterday? You ain't invited, so clear off. " He offers a smile, of sorts, though there's no pleasantness involved, just black gaps between the few remaining stained teeth left in his mouth peering out behind his unkempt beard.