2019-06-23 - Next Available Convenience

An invitation had been issued again to Alexander to join Andi at her home. Her own home this time, not the one of her family. While there are a few notes and even fewer papers gathered, Andi had urged him to come when possible because she had a small amount of news to share. It's early in the afternoon and she's already worked overnight and slept the morning away. Now she was just at her home and waiting for word from Alexander. Or a visit from him.

The invitation was returned with a terse acceptance - no frills, subtlety, or social graces, so typical Alexander. He appears at her door, and knocks. He's dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, and has a file folder tucked under his arm. When he's allowed in, he stares openly at the interior of her house, watching both her and the surroundings warily. "Detective. Nice to hear from you. Are you well?" He even tries a smile, although it fits oddly on his lips, and doesn't match the hunched shoulders and wary expression.

Opening the door, Andi allows him inside and steps back long enough for him to join her. Once he had, she closes the door behind him and offers him a seat on the upholstered chair or the sofa, his choice. "I am as well as can be expected upon investigating my family and ancestors." A wry look as she takes a seat on the sofa only to reach for small amount of papers she'd had resting there. "And how are you, Alexander?" Looking up from where she was seated to where he had chosen to sit. "Thank you for coming."

"Sounds like you found something interesting," Alexander says, staring at both seating offerings for a long, tense moment. Eventually, he slouches to the chair, and settles gingerly into it. A glance towards the papers. "I'm fine, Detective. Alive. Not currently under arrest for anything." A glimmer of humor there. "As well as can be expected. No need for thanks. I have more information to share, too, although not directly related to your branch of the family."

There's a look of relief and she places her own papers on her lap. The humor of the moment doesn't escape her but Andi can only manage a bit of a slanted smile. "By all means, would you please go first? Maybe I can make more sense of things I found if you add in what you've got." As if bracing herself she takes a few deep breaths and smooths a finger over the face of her notes she had hand written, her expression thoughtful. "Also, I'd like to know your stake in this investigation? What is it you're wanting to learn from it exactly?"

"Stake?" Alexander sits back, tackling the more ambiguous question, first. "I don't know. Baxters die. I don't like it when people die. A lot of other, unconnected people tend to die with them, and I like that even less. It means whatever's responsible doesn't care who it hurts to accomplish its goals. That's dangerous. And unfair." He frowns down at his knees, where his file folder has been relocated to. His hands fidget with the edges of the outer folder - from the ragged look, this happens a lot. "And Gray Harbor is strange. But why is it strange? Why are things more fucked up here than elsewhere? I don't like not knowing. If you know, then you can prepare."

"Let me ask you this then. Are there any surviving Baxters that you are aware of at all? Or are they all well and truly dead?" Andi lets that settle a moment, the information given from him and she gives a nod. "And we're going to exchange any information we both find?" Her brow furrows and the notes on her lap are fiddled with, a general folding and unfolding, creasing then recreasing the fold lines.

"There's one person who may be a surviving Baxter, or connected to the family. I haven't had a chance to interview them, yet, so I can't confirm nor deny whether it's the right family." Alexander says this, tonelessly. He shifts in his seat, gaze flat and intense. "We can. I don't have any right to demand it. Nor you. Being horribly murdered through the ages probably isn't a crime, so not the GHPD's jurisdiction." It's deadpan. "But it would be the most efficient method of investigation."

"Oddly enough my information I have managed to gather was more personal and closer to home. Newspaper clippings, entries into the family bible. Even someone scribbled out that I can't quite make out. It's something really personal since it involves my family but I'm willing to part with some of it. Most of it. I'm not sure if it's safe to part with all of it because I'm not sure who else you report to." Andi is blunt in her statement though and doesn't look away as she awaits his return.

"I don't report to anyone," Alexander says, without notable offense. "And if there's something you don't want me to share, I won't. This is a self-directed investigation. But," a roll of his shoulders, "it is your decision. I won't ever attempt to force you, Detective. Your history belongs to you." There's a flat little smile. "Which doesn't mean I won't pursue the information through other means." Fair warning, his tone suggests.

"Then let me begin telling you what I know and when it comes to it, I'll see how I feel about it. There has to be complete discretion though, on anything I have told you in the past and anything from here on out. This includes my parents and my siblings. I want to protect as many people as I can even if they are involved in some cover up." Andi hesitates then before she rummages through her few papers. "I found an entry in the family bible. It seems that Mark, Great Uncle Mitchell's son, married someone in 1965. I say someone because the name has been scribbled out and I can't make it out. Apparently there are other things scribbled out in his lineage. Reading it though, It suggests that Mark and his nameless wife had at least one child in the 60s, and that child had at least one child later on."

Alexander makes a thoughtful noise. "Hm." He considers the request,his hands fiddling at the edges of his own file folder, then slowly nods. "Yes. But not on information that I had before. The mortuary fire is mine, and other people saw it as well. That information may still come out. But the rest, yes. I won't tell anyone else." He quiets then, to listen to her story. "Mark. The one who died in a car crash?" He's clearly filling out some sort of mental framework, and trying to check his work.

"I mean the information I gave you prior." Andi reiterates. "And yes, Mark, that one. That means that child is a Baxter, even if watered down." For a moment she says nothing before tilting her head and regarding him quietly. "Who do you think may be a Baxter? Do you think they are one and the same?"

"I understand what you meant," Alexander says, quietly. "Just establishing parameters, Detective. And yes, it does." He considers this with a frown. "Hospital records, old ones, might establish a link. Have reason to look into those already." There's a distant sort of expression as he tries to put things together in his head. "Hm. Not enough evidence." He shakes his head, and gives her a twitchy shrug. "Haven't confirmed. Don't want to link the person until I have. Since they die. And I don't know how. Maybe saying a name is enough. I hope not."

"I don't have a guarantee that the person is one and the same, but I do know a birthdate on the alleged Baxter after all of my research. It matches someone else's I know and I am very reluctant to also mention a name in case that is enough. Especially not knowing exactly who burned down the mortuary and laughed about it in the first place. And who had my aunt committed. And who ensured there was a lobotomy despite then being disallowed. Who caused the crash that killed my cousins and who has extinguished every other known Baxter. Except one." That Andi knows of anyway. "I don't need a name maybe, but if you have one, a birth date may suffice?"

"I don't have a birth date," Alexander says, with a shrug. "At this point, Detective, I don't have anything but a possibility. When I have evidence one way or the other, I'm happy to share it with you, unless the person wishes me not to. But I'm not actually trying to inform on people's dirty little family secrets," he says, a bit dryly. "Except perhaps the Addingtons and the Baxters. But only because I feel that situation warrants it. I don't understand how it plays into," a wave, "everything, yet, but it feels important."

"Apparently my own family has its own dirty little secrets as well. Not that I would have ever considered it that before I read proof of some sort of cover up. Now I am trying to come to terms with what I believe to be a lie that has been told over and over, so many times I wonder if they now take it as the truth too." Andi muses and reaches for a small piece of paper with a date on it. "This is the birth date to what I now believe is Mark Johnson's granddaughter." She traces a finger over it, the date puts the person a few years younger than Andi herself. October 20, 1994.

"Everyone is broken. Including families." Alexander leans forward to look at the date. "October 20, 1994. Hm. I'll remember that." He sits back. "Did your source data link the date to a gender, or is it a connection you've made on your own?" There's no judgement either way, it's more thoughtful than anything as he sits back, and rubs at his temple a bit. His gaze jumps to the windows, as if he heard something, before flicking back to her. "And do you want to have contact with her, if I should come across her?"

Andi pushes to her feet, the papers falling to the floor. She leaves the few scraps there and there's nothing written on them after the date had been written. She paces to the window and looks out, her expression uncharacteristically stoic. "If it's who I think it is, someone with that very birthday,," there's a hesitation there and she shoves her hands in the pockets of her black utility pants as she spins on a heel to face him. Suddenly the stoicism fades away to be replaced by a bleakness. "Then it's my sister." Her voice sounds almost hoarse on the word sister, like she had to work to push it out.

Alexander stands when she does, with a jerk and a sort of wild look around like he might have been missing some sort of social cue to stand up. He pivots to keep her in sight, his eyes narrowed. And then she spins to face him, and he takes a step away, hands coming up a little: no weapons here, just file folders. And then her expression changes, and his changes with it. He drops his hands. "Oh." He looks down, scuffing one foot on the floor. "That. Yes. Not ideal. I won't tell anyone that is even a possibility, Detective." He looks up at her. "But it may still be just a hypothesis. Is your sister adopted?"

Andi looks apologetic first when she realizes his reaction to her had been more off than she had intended. "My apologies, Alexander, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm just.. off. I've been off since I found out. I don't know if she's adopted or not. If so, my family has been lying to me since she was born. I don't remember my mother being pregnant at the time. But I don't remember her not being pregnant either. I was too young to deal with things like that and I am not going to my brother with it. I'm also not going to my parents unless it's a last resort. I wasn't prepared for this, for anything involving my immediate family so close. Krissy is my sister."

"Yes, she is." The agreement is a statement of fact, not an attempt to reassure. He holds the file folder over his chest, an unconscious sort of shield, even as he relaxes a bit at the apology. "It's natural to be distressed when your family is in danger, Detective." A pause. "You have more...legitimate access to records than I do. Have you tried to see if there's a case file? About your sister? There might be one even in case of arranged adoption." He takes a breath. "If you can't find it, I might be able to look into things." He doesn't say that it'll be less legal; he's not a cop, so that part can be taken as obvious.

"I haven't yet. It was such a shock I've just been trying to get used to the idea that all my life I've been lied to." Andi clenches her teeth a little at the very idea of it. "I'll poke around some more and see what I can find out. I'm afraid of the answer, but not as afraid as I am not knowing." Stooping down she gathers the few papers that had fallen and takes her seat again. "Check into the person you had thought may also have a link to the Baxters, would you? And let me know if you can find out who hurt the others." Killed them. "Would you?"

"I can do those things," Alexander says, quietly. He moves to take his seat again, as she does. He studies her for a long moment. "Parents always lie, Detective. They always think it's for the best. But everyone is lied to." Then he looks down at his file folder. "If you like, I can share a bit of what I found out. Or I can leave you be. It's not directly relevant to your family. It might not be directly relevant to anything, although it is historically interesting."

"Please." Andi says softly, looking a little deflated now that she had told all she had to say. "Please do tell me what you've found out. Maybe we can find some tie-ins along the way also." She falls silent and gives him her full attention.,

Alexander leans forward a little. He puts his file folder on the table and opens it. "In the eighteen eighties, there was a preacher named Baxter. I haven't found his first name, yet. For reasons yet unknown, he decided to start a witch hunt here in Gray Harbor. They burned eight women as witches, citing confessions from the members of three old families - one of them his own." A pause. "Speaking of unfortunate betrayals of kin." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure if this has anything to do with what has happened to Baxters afterwards. Or with Gray Harbor being...what it is. But." He pulls out a photocopy of an old microfische of an old newspaper photograph. It's still striking, in a horrible way: the preacher standing triumphant before the eight pyres, the eight women before them, with it very clear what is about to happen to them. He slides it over, and stares at Andi, almost eagerly. "What do you see?"

"I assume the preacher was Baxter by surname and not some random person named Baxter." Andi knows that's too good to be true. "Who are they all? Their names?" When he holds out the picture she reaches for it to look down at it. There's nothing so unusual about it other than knowing what was about to happen. There's a definite cringe and she closes her eyes briefly and takes a shaky breath. Opening her eyes again she looks down at it with a shake of her head. "You said three old families. I probably don't have to ask, but I assume Addington is involved in some way?"

"You assume correctly, Detective," Alexander says, with the faintest of smiles. He watches her, eyes narrowed as he searches her face. "Do you see the shadows?" In answer to her question, he rattles off the names: " Melba & Beverly Addington; Petula, Rose & Briar Whitehouse; Lari, Everly & Ebba Baxter." Then he settles back. "So, yes. The Addingtons are involved, but apparently as victims in this case. But I don't know if this is where it all began, or just another exchange in an ongoing conflict, or..." he sighs. "Still not enough information."

"I will look into Preacher Baxter at the department and see if there's anything I can pull up. From the 1880s you say? I will look into that while I am looking into things regarding my sister, maybe I can speed things along in a more legitimate fashion." Andi looks back down at the picture and gives a light shake of her head. Shadows meant a lot of things to her and not really any of them were good. "Shadows? I don't.." she hesitates.. "What do you see? Do you see something I don't?" Thinking it odd at the time he had asked her what she sees in it.

Alexander looks like a dog who has just been offered an unexpected scrap from the table, all perked interest and sudden joy. "Would you, Detective? That would be very helpful. I'm not sure there would be any records from back then, but if there were, it would be much easier for you to access them than I." He even offers her a bright smile, although it disappears almost instantly as he looks back at the photo. It's his turn to rise to his feet without warning, and pace nervously around the room. "You don't see it? Maybe that means it's not there." He shakes his head. "No. No. Other people do see it. It's not just me." He stops, takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. "The preacher. He is surrounded by shadowed tendrils. It may be a mark of being a servant of the Shadows. Maybe. It's a working hypothesis."

The sudden transformation startles Andi more than his sudden rise and pacing but she takes it in stride, offering a tentative smile in return. "You have my interest in it. I'll definitely look into it. I hope I don't attract the wrong sort of attention when I do, but it's worth finding out." I hope. The last but a thought but it mirrors in her eyes transparently. "I admit to being fairly new at learning the abilities. I learned as a child, but I didn't know what it was I was learning. Now I know how to focus more deliberately. I'm sure it is there, but I regret I can't see it. Or maybe I don't regret not seeing. It's very possible about the shadows. I know there's something. Always something. Just hovering. Something bad."

"Don't put yourself too far in danger," Alexander says, quietly. "It would be awkward for you to die, Detective. You're one of the few cops that tolerates me," he points out, with a certain wry amusement in his tone. He doesn't sit back down, but her support seems to ease some of his nervous self-doubt. "There were actors, not long ago. They tried to feed us to the Shadows. We never got a photo of them, but if we had, I wonder if this is what we would have seen. But I don't know that. It's just a working hypothesis. Maybe this preacher was just vicious and cruel enough that it made an imprint, even on ancient film." He moves to put the photo back into the file. "It's not a lot. I'm not sure what it means. But it's interesting. I think."

"Maybe we should try and capture it on film the next time we see things that are shadows." Andi shrugs, not sure if that would even be possible. "In the picture you have, could you draw it? Or could you describe it to someone who could draw it? Or even someone else who can see it that could." There's always a possibility. "I don't accept brick walls right away, surely there's something we could find out about them. We'll put our efforts together and in regards to this and maybe we'll find something."

"There isn't much to draw," Alexander muses. He glances down at the file folder, as if he can see the photo through the covering. "The preacher just has these dark shadows, like tendrils, coming from behind his shoulders." He huffs out a breath. "I've tried to take cameras into lost places before. It doesn't work. Anything that would prove that things are...wrong, doesn't work. The film doesn't turn out, something breaks, something just happens to get in the way. It's very frustrating." A deep breath. "But. Yes? If we continue looking, gathering data, perhaps something will present itself." He rises more slowly to his feet, this time. "This has been productive, Detective."

"It has been, I feel like we're close to something. We'll get together again as soon as either one of us have something new to add. I'll keep you on speed dial." Andi also gets to her feet and she takes her notes to tuck into her pocket, intending to follow him to the door. "We should call out some of those Ghost hunters or something." It's offered purely in jest as she follows him, should he indeed go doorwards. "Thank you for sharing what you know."

Alexander heads to the door, his animation already fading into his usual hunched slouch. "Yes. Of course. Thank you, Detective. For allowing me to pry." He opens the door and steps through. "I'll let you know when I have more to share. Be careful. And say hello to your sister for me." No goodbyes other than that, of course. He ducks his head down and walks off into the night, file folder held protectively to his chest.

Andi remains at the doorframe, leaning against it after telling him goodbye, as she watches Alexander go off. Then she glances around the street, looking for anyone suspicious, suddenly feeling watched and paranoid.