2019-06-30 - Secret Lairs and Secret Histories

It is the day before the explosion downtown, and there are grumbles from patrons coming in and out about what an inconvenience utility work downtown always is and how it is just going to ruin parking for days, for DAYS, MARGIE. Alexander is not grumbling, or gossiping. In fact, in his ragged sweater that is significantly too warm for this weather, and the underslept mask on his face, everyone tries hard not to look at him at all. He slouches his way into the library, looking around. When a scan doesn't get him what he wants, he approaches the front desk. Stares at Melinda for a long, uncomfortable moment before saying, "Is Harper available?"

Melinda looks up from the desk with a far more subdued expression than Harper wears, at least that Al has seen. She definitely looks like the sort of librarian who takes her shushing quite seriously -- a one-eighty from Harper who would like the library to be a simmering, life-filled place. The woman is about 50 years old and has staid down to a 'T'. "She's working today, yes. May I ask who to tell her is inquiring?" Then Melinda softens a bit. Just fractionally. "She's doing her research. She gets very wrapped up and --" Melinda pauses, trying not to down-talk her superior. "-- rather focused, you see." A bit of a smile from the assistant librarian. She waits politely for a name while checking some children's books out to a young mother and a pre-school-aged little girl. The parent and child turn to leave with the books, talking about ice cream and bedtime stories.

"Alexander Clayton," the man supplies, solemnly. He doesn't seem upset by the gatekeeping, but adds, "If she has time." One good thing about Alexander: library books don't usually have the right emotional resonances /or/ social interactions to set him off, and he hardly ever speaks above conversational level, so he's probably never run afoul of Melinda. Well. Maybe once or twice for returning badly damaged library books, but he pays his fines without complaint or explanation, and takes the scolding meekly.

Someday, /someday/ Harper will learn about Alexander's tactile interactions with the world and things will make oh-so-much more sense. Melinda stands up from the chair behind the main desk and excuses herself. "I'll be back shortly." She even wrote his name down on a small piece of paper and tore it off the pad before heading for the Staff-Only door near the back of the main floor, nearest to the soul-suckingly slow line of computers provided for library patrons.

Alexander waits. He's not still while he waits, but drifts over to the new arrivals and idly browses them. A new true crime book is picked up, paged through - either skimmed, or Alexander reads unusually fast. Either way, it's only a few pages, before he puts it down and looks at another. This time a glossy book on art history, which makes him almost smile for a moment or two.

No more than two minutes later, Melinda exits the staff-only door and heads back for the circulation desk. If she catches Alexander's eye she holds up a finger in the universal sign for 'wait, just one minute'. It's hardly sixty seconds before Harper pushes through the door in a burst of frenetic energy. ( outfit, not pb: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/493073859203880625/ ) It's a little odd to see her without her usual cardigan. But it's a warm summer day and it just may be that Harper was moving some boxes around, given the smudge of dust across her left cheek, and another against one hip onvher skirt. She exhales a puff of breath to try to blow her hair out of her eyes and pulls off her black glasses, tucking them in the pocket of her blouse. She scans the library with a keen eye -- not that Alexander is difficult to pick out in a crowd -- and then curves a smile and strides directly toward where he is browsing. "Mr. Clayton," she murmurs playfully. He did give Melinda his full name, after all. "What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you this lovely afternoon?" Her brown eyes sketch over Al's form and she adds, "A cool glass of water, perhaps?"

Alexander is keeping an eye on that part of the library even as he wanders and browses, so when Melinda makes the wait signal, he gives her a curt nod. And continues to wait. When Harper emerges, he puts back the book he had picked up, and turns to regard her with the faintest of smiles. No match to her energetic greeting. "Harper." His eyes go to the smudge of dust on her cheek. "Research taking you to some dusty places, I see. Are you well?" He shakes his head to the offer of water.

"Don't even get me started on flood damage. Then there are books that seem to have been forgotten for decades down there. And cobwebs and --" She waves a hand demonstratively. "-- ALL the dust. And, well, it's a travesty. Yes," she adds. "-- and research. But that deteriorates so quickly into the need to organize and categorize and database..." She stops herself. "Enough about my obsessions." No water? Harper would have loved to have offered something of sustenance. But then that's a fixation of hers, isn't it? "I'm as well as I ever am. How about you, Alexander?" The conversation is held at a volume that doesn't carry through the larger space of the library. "Your visits usually vastly improve my days." She takes in his visage thoughtfully. "Getting more rest, I hope." Because the diner the other night.

Alexander's eyebrows go up. "That sounds...interesting." And he seems like he means it. "Do you need any help sorting? I wanted to talk about something. I can sort and talk." He looks around the public floor of the library at her question, a flicker of wary skepticism at the compliment. But then, he never takes compliments well. "No. Sleeping is difficult. But I'm alive. I have an interesting line of inquiry to pursue." A thoughtful pause. "As well as you ever are. How well is that?"

Harper flickers a startled look at Alexander as if she'd never considered anyone else helping with anything behind that door. It even gives her pause. A long pause that could border on awkward, at least for Alexander, depending on the man's state of mind. "Help sorting ..." Harper smiles a bemused smile. "I'm trying to figure out how I could relay my process without getting very tiresome and becoming not-at-all good company." But, tick-tick-tick. "If you'd really like to get a glimpse of the travesty downstairs, I think I could sneak you in." As if there were all sorts of national security interests vested in keeping non-employees from the library basement. "Have you found anything to combat the nightmares?" Because Harper would like to use those remedies if they exist. "Come along," she gestures, leading him back toward that so-official Staff-Only door. She opens it and the musty smell accosts the nose just a bit more than it does in the library-proper. "I hope you believe me when I say that I very much look forward to your visits, especially when you have 'lines of inquiry to pursue'. You really are a bright spot, Alexander Clayton.

Then she is leading him past the door. Beyond it is a large-ish break room and a glimpse at some significant storage with lots of book carts and other library paraphernalia, plus a bathroom as well. One doorway has EXIT in lights above it with a fire alarm to one side. And immediately to the right of the door is a flickeringly lit stairwell leading downward. "My life is a collection of storms of horrors, punctuated by moments of lovely sunlight and all the carpe diem I can manage. Does that sufficiently answer your question?" She heads for the stairs, expecting Alexander will follow her down into the possibly-surprisingly large basement of the library.

Alexander just waits. Awkward seems enough of a part of his daily life that he doesn't seem surprised about having said something that caused someone to go silent. He just studies her, passively, as if it doesn't matter much whether she takes him up on the offer or gets offended and kicks him out, or anything in between. And when she decides to allow him entry into the sanctum, he jerks his head in a nod, once, and follows her. "No," he says as they walk. "Nothing stops the nightmares." A long pause. "Almost nothing."

"You have unusual taste in patrons," he says, voice dry, as he follows. There's only a momentary hesitation at the door - even though he /asked/ for it, he studies the room beyond warily, as if there might be an ambush, then starts walking again. Her final answer brings a brief smile to his face. "It does. It sounds familiar. You seem good at the lovely sunlight. In my experience." And follow he does!

"Almost nothing," Harper echoes softly in gentle inquiry as she leads the way down the stairs and through another door into the main area of the basement. There are rows and rows of tall, metal bookcases, labeled here and there with all sorts of shorthand notes. There is a huge pile of flood-damaged boxes to the far left against a wall, and there is another, smaller and more neat stack of newly packed items near the right side. Along the wall they just came down is a long bank of tables. There is a far more state of the art computer, a laptop, an industrial grade scanner, a copier, two micro-fiche readers and various other items one might expect in such a basement. A legal pad is neatly tucked into a leather portfolio that Alexander may recognize from their meeting at the coffee shop. A fountain pen lays across the closed cover, lidded.

Harper gestures around. "My secrets, my obsession, my children, my enigmas, my basement." Alexander teases? Harper quirks a smile that she ducks her chin down to half-hide, some stray strands of her dark hair falling forward. And then a compliment on the heels of the teasing. Does Harper flush the faintest bit? Couldn't be. Everything in stride, with the librarian. "What do you think?"

Alexander doesn't elaborate further. Cruel person, hoarding the secret for himself! He stops when they get to the main area of the basement. He looks around, pivoting to take it all in. His gaze lingers on the micro-fiche readers, then the portfolio. Eventually, he turns back to her. "It's impressive. I imagine there's a lot of knowledge here, just waiting to be rediscovered. I can see why you like it."

Harper is watching Alexander closely as he takes in one of her most favorite places in the world. She looks a trifle crestfallen when he doesn't offer to share the sometime-remedy for nightmares, but doesn't press him about it. "It's a small town library basement, prone to floods because of a faulty, outdated city sewer system and annual floods." She smiles faintly. "But it's mine." And yes. The secrets. The discoveries waiting to be made! Her golden brown eyes positively sparkle at the prospect. She gestures to one of the chairs at the bank of tables. "Please, make yourself comfortable and tell me what brought you here today." Because small comforts are all that Harper can offer those she cares for in this dark, horror-filled world, with tragedy waiting like an eager understudy in the wings.

Alexander studies the tables, and picks a chair with its back closest to the wall, and the best view of the door he can manage. "Technically, I believe it belongs to the city of Gray Harbor," he points out, eyebrows rising. "But we'll assume emotional ownership trumps physical, in this case." A brief stretch of lips that hints at amusement. "You remember the actors? The ones who were going to feed us all to the Shadows?"

Whether joking or not, Harper shakes her head slowly. "They'd have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers." She apparently isn't concerned that saying such things will make them occur. She, too, takes a seat -- the one nearest to where Alexander sat, while still giving him space -- "I like the way your mind works, Mr. Clayton." says the librarian formally, "I heard /of/ them from someone who was there, if you are referring to the play. But I was not present, myself, for that particular event." Implying there have been others. "Why?"

"Dedication," Alexander remarks, expression impassive, but with a twinkle in his dark eyes. It doesn't last long, and the compliment appears to sail entirely over his head as he considers the subject at hand. "We killed them. Most of them. One escaped - a blonde woman who called herself Megan. I have wanted to track her down. She is...powerful and dangerous, and I can't guarantee she won't seek revenge. I reached out to the police, and got this." He pulls out a note and pushes it towards her on the table. It has a license plate number and the handwritten remark 'Heaven's Gate?'. "She seems to be associated with a car that is registered in the name of a woman named Beatrice Phillips. Unusual, because the car is a 2010 model, and Phillips died in 1997, one of the suicides at the Heaven's Gate compound." He glances away at the last, studying one of the shelves with a frown.

Harper is learning to discern those minute twinkles and dry teases the more time she spends in Alexander's company. She quirks a little smile at the single word. At least it wasn't 'obsession'. "How? How did you kill them?" Harper can't help but lean forward for the answer to that question. After he's answered and he pulls out the note, Harper takes it between her fingers and looks it over thoughtfully. "Do you have a few minutes? I can see what I can find, though I doubt it will be much more than you already have." She reaches over to the sleek, up-to-date computer and wakes it up, enters a complex password and opens a few windows, minimizing some others that are all different sorts of research sites and databases. Heaven's Gate. Beatrice Phillips. 1997. License plate. "How is all this connected to one of the creatures? She was an actual human being?"

Alexander stares at Harper for a very long moment. Then, in a voice so completely without inflection that it has to be covering up some sort of deep emotion, he says, "I wasn't keeping track the entire time, Harper, but I believe one had his head set on fire. The woman I murdered, I fried from the inside out until I could smell the scent of her cooking flesh in her last exhaled breath." There's a brief pause. "Do you have any other questions about that?"

And then he moves on, as if it didn't matter, and graciously nods to the suggestion that he has a couple of minutes. He watches her impassively, his entire expression on emotional lockdown. "The actors weren't creatures. They were human. Just ones who chose to lead others to the slaughter they avoided. Megan did not look old enough to be Phillips, I think. But maybe a relation. Or there is something stranger going on. In this town, it's always a good bet something stranger is going on."

"So they're not impervious," Harper muses thoughtfully, tapping a fingertip idly against the mouse as she considers implications. "And /you/ can ... cook them. That's --" Horrifying? "--/marvelous/ news!" Harper looks at Alexander like a mother whose son just hit a homerun in T-ball. "And impressive. I'll have to remember to visit you when the weather gets nippy." Now she's joking. Now? Really? "No, no... not right now. But if there's a way to learn /how/, I would do just about anything to be taught."

"Okay, okay." Now Harper's fingers move with great dexterity over the keyboard. Search keys are entered, screens fly past. She stops on a screen. "You've seen all of this?" [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heaven%27s_Gate_(religious_group)] Harper scoots her chair over a little so that Alexander can lean in and even control the mouse if he chooses to.

Alexander stays very still, although his hands twitch on the table once, briefly. His eyes bore into her. "Don't ever joke about that again, Harper." It's flat, but not toneless. There's steel in it; far more than he shows at almost any other time.

Then he takes a deep breath, and turns his attention to the screen. One hand comes up to rub at his temple as if a headache is starting. "I'm familiar with the cult, yes. I've considered reaching out to one of the surviving members, but I was hoping to locate a picture of Phillips to match with Megan. Or not match, as the case may be."

Harper's gaze flickers sidelong first to the reaction in Al's hands. Then up slowly to that expression that says so very much. Instead of an apology, she exhales a sigh that is just this side of the quietest moan. No measuring the way the woman's stomach knots up. No telling what barrage of possible words to say., clamoring in her head along with the Other voices. Just a faint dip of her chin in response to the correction. Harper slides back in front of the keyboard and begins working her magic once again. She shows another few pages, finally offering, "This confirms Beatrice Phillips committed suicide as part of the Heaven's Gate cult in Rancho Santa Fe, California, in 1997." Harper continues, scanning, skimming, her eyes focused and bright. "She purportedly had a small child, but no evidence of the child's whereabouts have been found. The child's father's name is unknown." But. "No photos here. If you give me a couple of days, I'll see if I can dig deeper." What does she have access to that she cannot simply bring up here and now?

"A small child." Alexander's eyes close for a moment with concentration. "A child born around 1997 would be in her twenties now. That's a possibility." His eyes pop back open. "Information on the child would be appreciated. It speaks to something interesting if she is using her dead mother's name as an alias." He looks down at the table, brow furrowing. "Unfortunately, I don't have the training to know what." A shake of his head. "But yes, please, Harper. Look deeper, if it isn't a distraction from more important things."

Harper just stares and stares at the screen as if doing so might unravel her snowballing collection of mis-steps with Alexander, the tint of the monitor lighting her features since the lights are half turned off in the basement for the time being. She eventually nods. "The child. I'll look into the child and keep watching for photographs." She doesn't add anything else. Silence stretches out.

"Thank you, Harper." Alexander goes quiet, too. Although, after a few minutes, he does seem to realize that the silence isn't really /natural/ around the librarian. It might even be awkward. He clears his throat. "Is something wrong, Harper? You seem quiet."

Usually with Harper, sudden distractions and long silences are canon. But somehow Alexander senses a difference in this one. She turns her head slowly, her gaze somewhere around Alexander's shoulder before it drags upward to his face, to find his own gaze. "You're welcome," she says very quietly. He asks if something is wrong. Harper rails inwardly. "... always break things." The murmur is almost incoherent and not seemingly directed at Alexander, though she's looking right into his eyes when she speaks. Why, it'd be romantic, except that it's really not. "I don't like upsetting you, Alexander. And I have a propensity for doing so. I only want good things for you." To give him good things, even. Harper doesn't sound mewly, nor does she sound as though she's feeling sorry for herself, despite the preface of words. "I'll get on the research." She lifts a fingertip from the keyboard and makes a small cross above her heart like a second grader might.

Well, that murmur goes entirely over Alexander's head, it appears, even when he's staring directly at her as she stares directly at him and speaks. At least, he doesn't react to it in any way, not even in the ways that suggest he's deliberately not reacting to it. He shakes his head. "Harper, many things upset me. You do so statistically less often than many others. Don't worry about it." He stands up. "I should probably go. But let me know if I can help. With this, or anything else."

Harper remains seated at the computer. Oh, she'll worry. She watches Alexander stand. "You can show yourself out." And what that really means is that Harper trusts him. Implicitly, oddly enough. Anyone else who didn't work there and she'd be escorting them all the way to that Staff-Only door. "I -- don't know what you can do to help. But I'll be in touch to let you know what I find." Because she damn well is going to find /something/. So much for the dusty work she was doing earlier, that same smudge still brushed across her cheek. She pulls her glasses from her blouse pocket and puts them back on. "Stay hydrated, Alexander." And she turns back to her monitor and keyboard.