"Honestly I don't know if he should execute people without evidence. As to whether Tony would execute someone without evidence, I think that is a yes. He is unscrupulous, cunning and slightly mad."
Blair leans back and rubs the bridge of his nose.
"If I had gotten a way to contact that younger Warden, we might have had that as an option. But I didn't think about it...I was too busy facing down an old nightmare. Anyways, that ship has sailed for the moment. You want to know what to do with the woman. I am not certain that she is a woman anymore...she seems to be more of a carrier for that demon than a mortal. Even worse, it appears that it was done of her own choosing. I could be wrong, but what I saw did not indicate that she was under any significant duress, rather the demon that she was chained to was seemingly imprisoned. We do need to investigate further to see if we can determine the penultimate cause of her malady."
"How about you and I go check out where she lives, take a look around her neighborhood, ask some questions and then we can do some research and see if we can find a phenomenon that matches what I saw."
The lioness turns and growls deeply at the trio of mobsters; 'You will regret your actions, as do mine.' a quick flick of her tongue and she licks her whiskers. She dives forward in preparation for another volley of bullets.
"Seems as good a place to start as any," Simon says with a sigh, retrieving the Lanning's contact details from his pocket to check their address, "how exactly did Lisa show up on the Warden's radar anyway? This has been going on for at least a year, now, and I suspect that it might have started as long as six years ago... Is it possible that something done to her so long ago could have been laying dormant until recently?"
"Goodness, I have no idea. For all we know they monitor the psych wards, or the morgues and test bodies that show up. Or the local Warden's ran into something."
"Do you have an accurate history on Lisa? Where she has been working, living and the like? Investigating where she has been, may be the best first step."
"I've got some information on her background," Simon answers, pushing himself to his feet and disappearing into the back room. "She's an aspiring artist," He continues, re-emerging with a pad and fleshing out his notes while the conversation is still fresh in his mind, "so I thought someone might have taken an interest in her through her work... in fact, until going to art school she was apparently far less motivated, perhaps whatever has been done to her also gave her the drive to pursue her dreams?"
The man screams, and Zoe can feel his blood on her fur, and smell it in the air. The men both turn to look at one another for a moment, then one screams "F$&# this, I ain't dying for a job." And runs. The other looks disgusted for a moment, and then pulls a similar maneuver. Zoe's senses scream out to follow, to hunt, to kill!
Instinctively her soft tongue licks at the fur, the sharp bitter taste of the man's blood assails her senses. As he runs every fibre resonates with the thoughts 'Prey, weak, running, eat.'
The taste of copper pennies and fear makes her heart pound and nearly threatens to overwhelm her. 'Control yourself, don't eat.' she tries to reassure herself.
The laughs came easy while they sat in the small airport cafe. Eddie continued to add condiments to his omelet, wondering if there would be enough hot sauce in the bottle he was shaking vigorously. "So what I need to know mostly about this situation is who I am dealing with. If they think they can just fry my brain and leave it at that." He trailed off, a little too upset to speak for a moment. "They're just lucky that I'm no killer."
Tears mist up her eyes; conflicting emotions run through her as she tries to supress the animal instincts that threaten to overwhelm her. The lust; for blood; action; strength burns in her veins. Whiskers speckled with drool at the prospect of food. 'No, I just want to know who they are working for and what the ritual is.'
Zoe moves on quiet paws to look where the men have run off to and if there is anyway of following?
Simon leads Blair outside where they clamber into his vehicle. A few moments later and they are moving through the mid-day traffic to the address that Simon knows.
Zoë stops herself from pursuing the fleeing 'food'. 'Damn.' Slinking back into the mess of a room she looks about. 'At least I am alive, but looks like this is a dead end.'
The lioness stalks slowly around the space trying to slow the hungry pulse of her heart. Closing her eyes and concentrating, at first all she can smell is the tang of blood, fear and stale sweat - then slowly she gets herself under control.
Focussing she removes the ring, it bounces on the floor with a metallic clang. Her body strains as if a rubber band has snapped, a great release of energy. At once she feels pain, but under all of that a tired exuberance as from running a marathon. She stands up a human once again. Reaching down to the floor she picks up the ring and clips it to a navel piercing. Opening her eyes Zoë realises she is crying, a steady flow of emotion.
Looking around the room at the upturned mess of what was these mobsters poker game, Zoë has a moments hope. 'Maybe they have left something here? But I'll have to be quick.' Brushing away the water from her eyes, she scans the floor looking for coats, wallets or other information about these men and their employers. Zoë grabs a few of the dollar bills from the upturned table and turns towards the window and where she dropped her coat.
Littered on the floor is the tattered remnants of her vivid blue dress, she picks it up and wipes down her face and hands. Emotionally wrecked she retrieves a light cotton summer dress and drops it over her head, whilst replacing the ruined bloody original in her pocket.
Moving to the fire escape she bounds quickly down to the street, using an unthinking feline grace. Her hand sub-conciously reaching for her phone. Walking down the street semi-calmly she presses the buttons.
sorry Mr Whittaker. Are you there. I think I need to talk, just been involved with some thugs and a weird ritual, sorry if I am not making sense, everything seems out of control," the usually calm and closed woman speaks rapidly. "I can still taste their blood, no I didn't mean that, it's just they pulled guns, what should I have done. Sorry, I know you are busy but could you fit me in at some point?" She asks over her mobile.
Pulling up on a street near to the Lanning's residence, Simon takes out his phone, which had chimed to indicate a voice-mail had been left during the drive. About to press the button to retrieve it, he hesitates with a sideways glance to Blair... after a moment's thought he opens the door with a grin, "can't be too careful," he offers with a wiggle of his fingers as he move a few paces away to listen.
Ritual... Blood... Guns? Simon's face turns grim as the message plays out, apparently it was going to be one of those days. "Sorry, Blair," Simon says, walking back to the car, "that was another of my clients, she sounded desperate... do you think you can handle things here while I go take care of her? I can come pick you up in a couple of hours."
"In fact," he offers with an apologetic smile and a resigned shake of his head, "this might turn out to be something else I'll need your help with; she mentioned some sort of ritual. Hopefully it'll turn out to be nothing, there's certainly enough on our plate as it is."
Blair looks at Simon levelly. across the interior of the car, then turns to look over his shoulder at the house. He stares at the house quietly for a moment, thinking, but finally turns back to Simon and shrugs.
"I don't have enough information to form an opinion right now. I don't believe that she is going to explode in demonic rage while we are gone...she certainly seems to be stable for the moment. So we might as well deal with the active problem first. Lead on MacDuff."
Blair re-buckles his seatbelt.
Nodding to Blair, Simon presses a few buttons to return the call, "Hello, Zoë? It's Simon, I got your message," he says in his well practised soothing tone, "where are you? Are you hurt?" "is anyone else hurt?" he resists the urge to add, preferring to save the answer to that particular question until they could speak in person.
Walking down the street in a slight daze Zoë jumps the ring-tone goes off. She stops and leans against a shop front, retrieving the bleeping box. Zoë answers it, sounding slightly less flustered; "By a bookies on the corner of 17th and Hartfort. Sorry, if I am a bit frightened, it's just that I think it would be best to talk. Where and when can we talk? Your offices?"
"That works, I can head to my office now. Are you alright to make your own way there?"
Relief thick in her voice; "Thank you, Mr Whitaker. You're a life saver." 'Hopefully not literally.' Zoë replies. "Yes, I can be there soon." she brushes imagined hair out of her eyes. "Thanks bye."
She hangs up the phone and pushes off the wall, in the same fluid motion she puts her hand out to hail a taxi. Zoë pulls her coat tight about her and bounces upon her bare balls of her feet as a car pulls up.
Jumping into the dented yellow car, Zoë figuratively holds her nose against the strong stench of urine. The accented man behind the wheel looks dubious at the young woman before asking her "where to?" Pulling out a wedge of the pilfered stolen notes, Zoë hesistantly gives the Doctors address. With a jerky screetch they pull away from the curb.
Not long after, though with a nervous drive, Zoë enters the building. Looking about the office she paces back and forth on bare soles in the waiting room muttering quietly.
Putting away his phone, Simon gets back into the car and buckles up.
The drive takes longer than he would have wanted, but eventually they park up near to his mid-town office. On the way into the building, Simon turns to Blair hesitantly, "would you mind waiting outside for a while? She sounded pretty shaken up, so I don't want to overwhelm her by pushing too much at her before we've had a chance to talk things through."
"Fine, fine. You probably don't want me to sit in the car for very long though, I am starting to be a bit agitated by all of this. You don't need me melting your car stereo," Blair replies grumpily.
Blair unbuckles and steps out of the car onto the curb. He turns in a slow circle on the sidewalk before spying a bookshop across the street and a few stores down. Jay-walking across the street carefully, Blair makes his way to the store where he non-comittally grunts and waves at the single employee manning the register, before disappearing into the musty stacks of forgotten fantasy, self-help psychology and wonky metaphysics.
Walking back and forth across the floor, she gently bites her thumb-nail. 'What do I say? What do I tell him, whta is happening to me?' she brushes her hair out of her eyes; 'I have too many questions.'
Leaving Blair, Simon heads into his waiting room to find Zoë.
"I'm sorry, Zoë," he opens, "I got here as soon as I could. Have you been waiting long?"
She pushes her hair back off her face; "No, not long. I appreciate you being able to see me at all. Sorry, if I interrupted any appointments... it was just like this." she pauses in the wating room as she explains; "I had just left my Aunties office; then I saw some men dragging a bloke into an alley. They were trying to hold him up, for his urn which they required for a ritual; then my friend Eddie grabbed the man and we scared away they bad guys." she says quickly unning on with her words nervously.
Zoë takes a slow calm breath, trying to focus her thoughts. "I am just going on, you know this isn't like me. I feel so confused." she pulls her coat tighter around her as if she is cold or just vulnerable.
"That voice you have in your head, you know the one in the back of your mind. Like when a train speeds past, it wonders what would happen if you stepped out, or that you should have one more drink." she looks down at her feet, not even seeing their unclad nature.
Quietly she continues; "Well it speaks to me, persuades me that I should do more. I have skills, I want to help people."
"So, today, these 3 mafiosa were-like shaking down this nervous bloke. Threatening him, but Eddie & I scared them off. Whilst Eddie took him and the ritual urn to the airport, I followed them back to a coffee shop. Then I broke in the back," she says nervously. "The trio of blokes were gambling they pulled guns... the last I can recall is the blood. I just wanted to be punish them." she blanches then suddenly realises what she said putting her hands in the coat pockets.
"Errr, I am sure they are fine. You don't have to call the cops? Do you, patient confidentiality?" her voice hopeful.
Simon listens thoughtfully as the girl speaks, offering a reassuring smile at her question. "Technically I am obliged to inform the police if I believe you are a threat to yourself or others," he admits, "but I'm under no illusions that involving them will do anything but make matters worse... whatever you share with me will stay between the two of us until you decide otherwise."
"Why don't you take a seat? You've clearly been though a lot." He offers, moving into the room.
"It's perfectly normal to feel the urge to help people," he reassures her, "and despite what your Aunt would probably want me to tell you, I'm not going to try and convince you to ignore that voice you hear... ignoring yourself is typically a very bad idea; much better to listen and try to understand. What was your reasoning when you decided to help this man with the urn? What about the situation made you feel you should intervene; was it about his need, perhaps? Or more about your ability to help?"
Zoë follows Simon into his office with a wane smile. She sits down upon the couch carefully. "Thanks." she says shyly.
"Back in New York, there were these guys. Politicians, bad blokes, they were going to threaten my Aunt. I felt powerless to stop them, they had the power to enthrall her. Suddenly, they vanished in the holocaust. So although I was relieved, I knew what it was like to be helpless." she says sadly.
With a bit of an incline of her head; "Of course that got her transferred here, but now I try to do what I can to stop the damage that is happening to our town. The motor city has lots of parasites, I just feel like trying to help out." Zoë gives a self-deprecating smile.
"It's obviously esteem issues. Or abandonment. Hmm." she snorts derisively, "Listen to me with my depressing moaning." she states attempting to inject humour, but there is a sorrowful catch in her throat.
"Hey! "The Cat Who Walked Through Walls!" Man I haven't read that book in years. Heinlein wrote some good stuff..."
Zoë rubs her blood-shot eyes; "Thank you, for listening. What do you think?" she pauses with a slight silly smile "I know I shouldn't externalise my opinions and self-worth."
"Is that what the self help books are saying?" he answers with a smile of his own, "Well, they're right. You can't worry about pleasing other people until you're happy yourself... not that helping others can't be part of what makes you happy, of course."
"You want to help this man, but how? What was your plan beyond following the men who threatened him?"
"Presents from my Aunt." she says with a shrug. She takes of her coat and places it upon the arm of the chair. Just visible is a piece of blue material with maybe a slight tell-tale red stain.
She wearily drops into the chair; "I thought I would follow them, see who they worked for, maybe what this ritual was. You have a calming voice."
Pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes; "Maybe it was 'the voice' that told me. I told you about that; I cannot really remember much of the event. But this dark creature on the moors, the Beast of Bodmin, attacked my mother & I. I heard this wrong voice, tell me to put on her engagement ring. I changed became a beast, I survived. I shouldn't without that voice I wouldn't. But I know it is wrong, evil." her voice is quiet.
"When we find ourselves in dangerous or otherwise extremely stressful situations, we can often do things we might otherwise consider beyond us." He says, soothingly, "it seems that this voice is pushing you to do what it takes to survive. There isn't anything evil or wrong about wanting to stay alive; it's just important to come to terms with what you do, and try not to simply deny that it ever happened, or pretend it wasn't really you doing those things."
"It sounds like you would have been seriously hurt if you hadn't let your survival instincts take over when you were attacked by this beast on the moors, and by the men with guns... but you don't seem entirely comfortable with what they let you do, you hurt these men, yes?"
Zoë raises her hand as she talks absent-mindedly; "No, I slashed at one with my claws. I can still smell the blood on me. But it wasn't fatal as he and his friends ran after that."
"I am still awaiting upon what Eddie has found, he also said he needs my help. It's good to feel needed. Is that why you got into this position Mr Whittaker?" she asks.
"Yes, I think it probably is." Simon replies before fully processing what Zoë said, "Wait, did you say your claws?"
She hesitates, "Errrrrm... maybe." and you don't have to be a psychiatrist to tell that she is lying or hiding something. "Yeah, maybe. But you probably already think I am crazy, so we don't want to make that worse do we?" Zoë lamely concludes, leaving the door open for him to push further biting her lip.
"I prefer not to jump to that sort of conclusion, Miss Campbell," he says, shifting himself in his chair, "I'm not here to judge you, and I've learnt to keep an open mind. Whether or not I believe what you have to say isn't what really matters, though; the fact that you do believe means that it's important to you, and I think you'd feel better if you talked about it."
There is a slight wry, amused smile upon Zoë's face, but Simon can see a tightness in her eyes and halting breathing that she is plainly nervous. "Oh, I didn't tell you I can turn into a Lion!"
The unstability in her voice comes out in a rush; "Well it's a lioness actually, because I am a woman, although that has nothing to do with the change, else every woman could and of course they cannot; I know every month our moods may change slightly, but this is different it's a physical change; and it has nothing to do with the moons, I am not a lunatic!" Zoë's words tumble in a single sentence that leaves her breathless and gasping slightly.
She tries to avoid looking at the Doctor, fearful of his reaction. Instead Zoë looks at her finger-nails, as if inspecting them for blood residue.
"And this... change," he starts, after a few moments spent carefully choosing his words, "it has something to do with the voice, the one that told you to put on your mother's engagement ring back on the moors?"
"Yes, I think so. The ring pre-empts the change, but the voice is there all the time. Ever since that day on the heath, it's been there in the back on my mind." Zoë's voice is calm but shaky. "It marked me with it's sigil, etched into my flesh." she scratches her shoulder gently.
"My father vanished before I was born, no-one knows why. Maybe it's his voice?" she says slightly hopefully. "All the kids teased me that he dealt with spooky witches, so maybe he is talking to me. Although, it couldn't be him... the voice is wrong." the last word causes a shudder down her spine.
"It marked you with a sigil..." he repeats, his gaze following her hand to her shoulder. "Could I take a look?" he asks cautiously.
Zoë bites her lip lightly; "Yes."
She gets up and turns around, knocks the strap off her summer dress. Upon her shoulder is a circular tattoo with certain lines seem to be branded into the flesh. "A wizard friend of mine, said it was Libyan, some ancient near eastern asiatic dialect."
"Huh." Simon says dumbly, after standing to take a closer look at the tattoo and immediately being faced by the sense of power emanating from it.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better," he offers after a brief pause, "I'm fairly confident in saying that you're not crazy..."
Reassured by his calming voice Zoë responds with a smile and slight joke. "Can I have a certificate to say that!"
She slips back down into the chair; "Thanks, you are very re-assuring."
Returning to his own seat, Simon speaks carefully, "You mentioned a wizard friend of yours, who took a look at that marking. Would I be right to take it, then, that you are aware your... situation, is not entirely uncharted ground?"
With a bite of her lip; "Yes, not just by Stoker, Lovecraft and Tolkien. There are some things I have seen that you cannot explain;" a pause "mists rolling against the wind, dragons flying across down the Park Lane avenues, flames bursting from the hands of a elderly elementalist."
She shakes her head slightly; "Yeah, I have seen some strange things, I am not crazy... well not if I can be fixed."
Time seemed to stand still while Eddie thought intently on the details of his day. 'Why would I tell myself to not recover my memories until I see her? I don't see how flying blind would be anything but a hindrance. However, my note didn't mention anything about grabbing fragments. I should see Mr. Whittaker after this.'
Her brow creases slightly; "Why do you know something about the strange stuff in the world? And I am not just talking about how the conservatives keep being elected."