2019-08-02 - Maps to Lost Places

It's a sluggish summer evening. Shift change. Next shift, same as the first. Teresa's outside with her bag and a smoke, leaned up against the building and watching the sky. She's got no momentum. She's just going to stand here and watch the moon rise.

Alexander walks with a slightly lopsided cant, his shoulders hunched, his head down except for the little twitchy glances off to each side. In his ratty clothing, one could easily mistake him for one of the habitual drunks, capable of just enough hygiene to get himself out the door and to the bar without attracting police attention. The near-black eyes in the slightly haggard features are alert, though, and it's not the bar they're drawn to. He moves in Teresa's direction. Stops just inside conversational range, stares at her for a moment. "Miss Fulton. Good evening."

Teresa lowers her eyes from the sky to meet Alexander's steadily. She takes a steady drag on her cigarette. "Hi," she says. "Funny. You look even worse than you did the other day. Been rubbing trash into your wounds?"

"No." It's flat. His expression is blank as he considers her. "Miss Whitehouse is a friend of mine. She says you've agreed to help on an expedition. I wanted to talk to you about it. Your experiences." A long pause. "Do you have time? I'll buy you a drink. If you want."

"I never want a drink." Teresa lowers the cigarette. Her studying of Alexander has acquired a certain sharpness. "But I have time. I'll talk. Don't expect to dissuade me."

"Dissuade you?" Alexander lifts his head, one eyebrow quirking upward. "On the contrary. There are people you need. To find the keys you're looking for. And then, for us to find the asylum. I've never met anyone who can get lost on purpose. It's interesting." He shoves his hands in his pockets, slouches in place. "You're going to help rescue Miss Whitehouse's sister. Thank you."

It takes a moment, but the edge blunts in Teresa's expression. "This is unusual?" she asks, and draws the cigarette back to her lips. Then, "Who do I need to meet? You're all new moons and little suns. I know a few of you. I'm tired of tending bar. But who are you?" She drifts the question. "Really."

"Alexander Clayton. Town crazy person. One of many, really." His smile is barely there, just a suggestion of amusement. "And yes, this is very unusual. I've never known any one who could open a door to the lost places. Or bring anything back. Except some serial killer bones. Which I feel like were an exception. But maybe not." A pause. "Easton Marshall. Dr. Vivian Glass." A pause, curiosity flickering to life. "What happened? Have you always done it?"

"Shadow with a hook hand dragged me through. Was like passing through a skin. I was in an alley, then I was somewhere else. Saw the car. Saw the map. The car let me know the way out if I'd bring the keys back. I broke through the door out. So here I am." Teresa says this wary, staccato, like a card-player who doesn't know the rules, and doesn't know what cards she truly has. "Easton. Vivian. I'll remember. And I'll remember you. If you can't get lost, what do you do?"

"Hmm. Have you tried to do it again?" Alexander rubs the back of his neck. "Good. Being forgotten is rarely enjoyable." He considers her question, looking down at his feet. "I can get lost. But it's not voluntary. Hence lost. We probably need a different concept for doing it deliberately. Traveling?" His eyes come back up. "Wait. The car let you know?" The question lets him avoid the question of his own abilities for the moment. Maybe.

"No. I haven't. But I've seen the weak points. Like thin places in a curtain where the light sneaks through. I think I could get back in. Should I try?" Teresa asks with a faint tilt forward of her head. But then she closes off. A little. "Should the car not have?"

Alexander makes a thoughtful sound. "Might should. Not alone, but grab some adventurous souls who don't mind maybe dying horribly. But probably best to know if it's reproducable before anybody hangs a plan on it." Then he smiles, just a bit. "Cars don't. Usually. Have many preferences on things, one way or another. At least, not that they're willing to communicate."

"Would you like to go with me? You and your Vivian and Easton? Dry run into the fog." Teresa drops the cigarette and snubs it out with her toe. "You're right. Cars don't talk," she says, easily. "Perhaps it was just a shadow."

Alexander seems to relax visibly when the cigarette is snuffed out, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "Mm. I've got a bum leg. Still healing. Not sure if it should be me. But maybe. Easton, for certain. He might be able to suggest a couple of other good people for a practice run." He shrugs, easily enough. "I didn't say they don't, just that they don't usually. I'm pretty much learning not to rule anything out." That's dry. "Are you okay? Going over there?"

"All right. I'll confer with him where practice's concerned. I could use practice." Teresa smiles, then lets her smile fade. She looks almost uncertain. "I'm all right," she says. "Chasing shines is more interesting than the rest of what's going on with me. Rest of what I have left. Might as well explore."

Alexander frowns at her. "Don't." It's short, sharp. "Miss Fulton. Don't let this be your everything. Go out, make...friends. Or something. Gray Harbor isn't a good place, and whatever's over there, I don't think it's good, either. Even if it's not all evil. It's not ours. I want your help. I think we need your help. But just." He makes a frustrated sound. "Have other things to chase, and don't be stupid about it."

"I'm never stupid," Teresa says, suddenly chilly. Then she relaxes. Or seems to. "Fine. I'll quit my job. Figure out something else."

Alexander blinks a couple of times. His head ducks, posture going somewhat submissive, regretful. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to say you were stupid, Miss Fulton. I don't know you. Just. If you get lost over there, right now we don't know who we would be able to send to find you again." A grimace, an uptick of surprise at the last. "Um. I. Wasn't suggesting..." a pause. "Well. You do what you feel you need to do."

"I see. I need a friend as an anchor." And then Teresa suddenly -- sighs. Her shoulders bow a bit in turn. "I want to do more than tend bar, but I don't know what. I feel so fleeting. But I'll stick where I am until I got a direction.

"It helps. Probably." Alexander's posture eases a little, and he watches her with an unsettling, even rude, directness. "I can't help with gainful employment. Sorry. But." A pause. "A lot of people have gone missing in Gray Harbor over the years. If some of them are over there. Still. And not dead. Then maybe you could help some of them find their way back home. No guarantees. But." He looks off to the side. "You should talk to Tobin Gilford. Runs a boat tour. Probably one of the nicest people in town. You might, if you feel comfortable, tell him what you can do. May be able to do. I think he could use your help."

"I think I understand. I could help, can help, but only if I'm anchored. Only if I don't get lost myself. Can't help anyone if I'm gone." This seems to be a strange concept, or emotion? for her. "So I will meet your list. Your nice list. Your capable list. Help and be helped. But here you are." She studies Alexander again. "What do you do? I imagine you're only helping me to help your friend."

"I don't know you," Alexander says in return, with a shrug. It's not exactly a 'yes' to the only helping her to help his friend, but it's not a 'no', either. "We'll see how it goes." There's a faint smile. "I do a lot of different things. Look into crimes, investigate things, bother the local police, and," his expression turns wry, "apparently become a general coordinator of local weird shit, for some reason. And you don't have to help. Nobody's gonna make you. But thank you. If you will."

"I will," Teresa says, and this without hesitation. "I will help. I will try not to be," she tries to keep her voice gentle, "stupid about it, but I will help. I can see where your -- position? obsession? helps you know who to talk to and who to lead where. You're very knowledgeable then. If I imagine that puts you in danger."

Alexander looks uncomfortable. "Not really. I don't do this much. Just trying to help a friend or two. It's not my job." Then a smile, brief but bright. "But thank you. For the help and the lack of stupidity. But once I have completely healed, and resolved a couple of things, I think that I would like to try to go over. Before we try to find the asylum. If you're willing to take me. We need to know more than we do."

"I'll take you. Pull open a door. Try to. No, I will," Teresa adds with that same sharp certainty. "We will reconvene. Soon."

Alexander stares at her for a long moment, then gives a short, sharp nod. "Good. It'll be educational. I'm sure. Here." He pulls his phone out of his pocket, rattles off the digits. "Text me. I'll add you to my contacts. You can do the same, if you want. Nice to meet you, Teresa Fulton. I'll remember you." A ghost of a smile. "Don't die." And then he's turning away, apparently intending to just leave without the basic decency of saying goodbye.

Teresa takes her phone and enters Alexander's number before naming hers in turn. "Thank you, Alexander. I've a better map of where to go now." She folds the phone closed. "Don't die yourself," she says, and waves.